“Well, that should do it.” I glance back toward the dog, now sleeping in the late afternoon sun, and shake my head. “It’s been swell,” I deadpan. “See ya around,” I say. But I can’t help but hope I’ll be out of here before I have the chance to see her face again.
The scent of cow shit greets me, and gravel crunches as my tires roll down the makeshift driveway to the house that Pops has lived in ever since he and Grams got married. It’s a small, two-story farmhouse with black shutters, settled on top of a hill surrounded by trees that I used to climb and pick apples from when I was little. The picket fence out front needs painting, the gardens are overgrown, and the house could use a coat or two of fresh paint.
It’s not as well-kept as it was when I came to stay when I was younger, but overall, it’s better than I’d expected when I’d talked to my dad about coming to help with vaccinating and separating the herd. I’m pleasantly surprised to see the lawn—around the house at least—was recently mowed, and the hedges on either side of the front door trimmed.
I grab my suitcase out of the back seat of my Lexus and lug it up the cement steps to the front door. My hand comes up to knock right as the door swings open, and I can’t help but smile as Pops stares down at me, his grin bright in the middle of his lined and weathered face.
“You better not even think about knockin’, boy! Come on in!” He slaps my shoulder, and I follow him into the farmhouse.
“Sorry, I’m a little later than I planned. I got reacquainted with your new neighbor.” The screen door creaks closed, and I glance around the kitchen and living room. It looks almost exactly the same as it did when I stayed every year. The only thing that’s missing is Grams’ sewing machine in the corner that she had used to sew doll clothes for Quinn.
Pops nods in understanding. “Oh, Sawyer. Sure. She’s a good girl. Tough as nails and a tongue as sharp as a knife, too.”
“So I’ve noticed,” I grumble.
“I hope you didn’t go acting like a jackass around her. She’ll cut you down without even blinking.” Pops shoots me a glare from under his gray bushy brows.
The man’s always been a bit irreverent. Maybe that’s why I always used to love being out here. It was a nice change of pace from my prim and proper mother, always wanting to impress her clients and friends.
“Why do you thinkIwas the one acting like a jackass?”
His brow arches in a way that seems to ask, well, were you?
“I was pulled over in her driveway changing a tire that blew, and her dog almost attacked me.”
“Oh, poppycock. Dixie’s the sweetest thing, whip-smart too.”
I bite my tongue, already counting down the days until I can go back home. This will get old real quick.
Pops stops my attitude in its tracks when he gives me a genuine smile. “Thanks for coming down to lend a hand. I’ve missed having you around.”
“It’s been a while,” I murmur, staring at my shiny loafers in the dimly lit kitchen.
“You used to love it out here.”
I nod and repeat, “It’s been a while.”
Ididlove it. Working the cattle, riding the horses, getting dirty and running wild, the wide-open spaces and the millions of stars you could see out here that were nearly invisible in the city. It was what little boys’ dreams were made of.
Once I started college, Dad stopped insisting I come and stay every summer, and I gradually became permanently accustomed to the hustle and bustle of the city. Now, I have a job at my dad's accounting firm, a steady income, and a house—one I once imagined filling with a family of my own, but that plan had gone epically up in smoke.
Pops comes to us for holidays ever since Grams died, allowing Mom to make the holiday meals. There wasn’t a reason to come out to the ranch anymore.
Until now.
“So, how’s the ticker?” I ask casually.
“Oh, you know, it’s just fine.” Wrinkles crease his forehead, and something stirs in my gut, making me wonder if things are worse than he’s let on.
I regard him as he smiles, trying to smooth the worry from his face, but he’s never been able to hide his feelings like my dad can. He must have gotten that from Grams, who always swept through the rooms of this house with a cheery demeanor in her flowery dresses and clip-on pearl earrings.
He shakes his head like he’s shaking off an errant thought and beckons me into the kitchen. “I’ve got some supper started. Let’s see if it’s edible.”
Surviving Pops’ cooking will be another challenge, but I’m only scheduled to be here for a week, tops. I can grit my teeth and bear it.
People Skills
Sawyer
