“I’m saying.” I smirk into the phone.
“I miss you!” Allie whines. “Come into town tomorrow night. Let’s have a drink to celebrate me making it through parent-teacher conference week.”
Allie was a kindergarten teacher at the local school district. And conference week was always an exhausting combination of working twelve-hour days, eight of those on her feet, and finding a nice way to tell parents their child was a little monster. Allie was stronger than I was. Lord knows I wouldn’t last a day at that job.
“Ugh, and listen to all the rumors Kyle’s spreading about me in real time? No thanks. I’ll pass.”
“Come on! We haven’t had a girls’ night in forever. Pretty please? With sugar on top?”
I could picture the way those dark brown eyes of hers would go all round and innocent when she said that. Allie was a force to be reckoned with when she wanted something. It’s how she’d gotten me to agree to go out with Kyle in the first place.
She’d been my best friend since I’d moved here when I was ten. She’d stood by me through everything. Our rebellious teen years, the two years I’d spent married in my early twenties and the somewhat contentious divorce after, through my soul-searching and going back to school to get my degree in equine science, and then finally through me starting my horse training business and buying this little old house when the owner, Rusty Henderson, went into assisted living.
It's hard to believe we’d been best friends for twenty years. She was the most important fixture in my life, other than my animals.
“Earth to Sawyer. Are you drinking margaritas with me tomorrow night or do I have to go alone and look pathetic drinking by myself?” she says, interrupting my trip down memory lane.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’ll come with you. I’ll meet you at Herds at seven.”
“Yay!” she squealed into the receiver. “You can tell me more about your run-in with Wes over margs.”
Great. Just great.Wes Dawson was absolutely the last thing I wanted to discuss.
It's Pops' World
Wes
The bellowing of the cattle wakes me up right as the sun is breaking the horizon. The stench of cow shit wafts in from the outdoors, and I stifle a groan as I get up to try to beat Pops out to start the chores.
It’s been over a decade since I’ve been here to help at all, but there’s a rhythm to ranch life that seeps into your bones when you spend summer after summer doing it all. It came back to me the instant I crossed the property line and caught sight of the small two-story house, the big red barn, and the small stable that now sits empty.
I pull on the most casual thing I packed—an old polo and a pair of jeans that are entirely too expensive to be getting mud and manure on—and trudge down the stairs, still scrubbing the sleep from my eyes.
Pops gives me a quick once-over before shaking his head with a smile. “You can’t go out with me in that,” he says and takes a deep pull from his mug.
“I left all my flannels back in the nineties, Pops. This is the best I’ve got for working the ranch.”
“And I’m tellin’ ya, that won’t do. Get your butt to town and grab what you need so you can lend me a hand.”
“But—”
“But nothin’. We won’t start vaccinating today. Tripp and I will get them all into the catch pens first and we’ll go from there. Your old boots are still in the closet of that spare bedroom. I figured you knew better than coming back here unprepared to help. And since that car of yours still needs a new tire, you can use the old blue Chevy. She still runs great.”
I roll my eyes, regressing back to the teen version of myself. “Fine, but I’m grabbing some coffee to take with me.”
His thick white mustache twitches in amusement. “Sure, but I used the last of the cream. Would you mind grabbin’ some while you’re in town?”
I nod reluctantly.
God damnit. I hadn’t wanted to parade around town more than necessary. It would take me three times longer than it should if people saw me and stopped for small talk.
I grab a travel mug from the same cupboard it's been stored in for as long as I can remember and fill it with coffee, hot and strong. After stirring in a scoop of sugar, I snap the lid in place. The crunch of tires spitting up gravel pulls my attention to the window.
“That’ll be Tripp. We’ll get the morning chores done, and you can have the day off.” His mustache twitches again, and I grit my teeth so I don’t blow up at the old man. He knows I loathetaking a day off, but if I’m going into town to get myself a ranch-friendly wardrobe that I’ll use for a week, then there’s nothing I can do about it. It’s Pops’ world. I’m just living in it.
I raise my travel mug and stalk out the door like a storm cloud is hanging over my head. The hinges scream as the screen door swings closed behind me. Tripp watches me stomp towards him, and his bright, cocky smile is a welcome sight. He was my best friend every summer. We rode together, roped together, picked up girls together, and raised a little hell together.
“Wes!” He throws his arms around me in a full-frontal hug, not the corporate handshake or the back slap and shoulder squeeze I’m used to.
