I make a show of pretending to consider him for a moment before shaking my head. “Not a chance, city boy. These squares of chocolaty goodness are all mine.”
He ducks his head and tips his Stetson with a damn smile before walking back to the blue Chevy. “Fine then. Now, you owe me one.” He winks. “See ya around, Red.”
I lift the bag in a wordless thanks and watch as Wes Dawson drives off, kicking up dust as he goes.
Bittersweet Memories
Wes
Isit by the large pond on the west side of the property, watching the leaves on the trees drift to the ground in droves. This was always my thinking place during my summers here. Not that I did a whole lot of thinking back then, but when I did, it was always out here with the pulsing music of cicadas and katydids blaring from the trees. It’s too late in the year to hear their song now, but the crickets still chirp and a bullfrog joins their chorus from about ten yards in front of me.
I glance down at my phone to see I have two full bars of service right here as opposed to none at the house, and there’s a text message from my sister, Quinn.
Quinn
Dad says Pops has you confined to the ranch for eight weeks. Are you going to survive that long?
It’s not so bad. We did it every summer when we were kids.
You getting cold feet about selling? Coming to my way of thinking?
My sister was the only one of us who fought for Pops keeping this place, but in the end, her soft heart couldn’t beat our logic. Pops just couldn’t do the ranch on his own anymore, and it was better to sell it now rather than be rushing to do it if something tragic happened.
Pops wasn’t getting any younger, and I’ve seen firsthand how much longer things take for him now. We were lucky to have Tripp here. To have a large enough herd to pay him to be here full time. It’s time for the old man to retire, but I know it’s a bitter pill for him to swallow.
You agreed that selling the ranch made the most sense.
I agreed it was logical, but I still think we could have spent more time coming up with another plan. He loves that place. Not just the house, but the land, too. He had a story for every piece of it.
A knife twists in my gut and my fingers find the keys in the lingering light of dusk.
You’re not making my job easier.
Good.
This task wasn’t as simple as I thought it would be. It’s not cut and dry, especially since Pops threw a wrench in my plans to be in and out ofhere in under a week. Still, I want him to see the sense in selling. I don’t want him lamenting the loss for the rest of his life.
How’s the ranch?
I can smell the cow shit from here.
Delightful.
You’ll miss it when it’s gone.
Ha! Right…
A pirate bug lands and delivers a sharp bite. I slap my arm and wipe the bug guts off on my jeans. Those suckers are tiny, but damn, do they hurt.
I stay by the pond until the moon is high in the night sky, bright and orange, thinking about the ranch and what might happen to it when it gets sold off to a stranger.
Will the land get broken up into pieces? Will there be anything left of the old farmhouse I knew as a child? Would I ever be able to come back and walk these same fields and sayI remember when...
So many of the best memories from my childhood happened right here on this property.
Pops used to drive us around in the old army jeep he had restored for fun one year. He’d floor it through the pasture, Quinn and I squealing and giggling as we bumped along.
Tripp and I threw a party in the field that the creek runs through and lit a bonfire that almost torched the whole pasture. We spent the next two weeks shoveling shit and scrubbing down the stalls, not just at Dawson Ranch, but at every ranch in the vicinity as our penance.
