“I guess you got your wish,” I say lightly.
“Anyway, she’s available,” he says, stopping at the barn door and flicking on the light. “Better get while the getting’s good.”
I laugh, face tingling from disuse. “You sound like Freya.”
“She’s got all these phrases. They stick to me like burs.”
I nod, turning to go.
“Hey,” Deacon says forcefully.
I pivot, and he’s looking at me with a slight frown.
“Freya wants you to find somebody, and I want her to quit worrying about you,” he says, frowning. “Get the fuck back in the saddle. Quit fucking around.”
“I’m in the saddle,” I say, surprised.
“Nah, you’re going through the motions. You ask Janie out, or I’ll do it for you. That’s a threat.”
He goes into the barn, whistling out of tune. I stand still for a second, off-kilter, then walk myself back home.
CHAPTER TEN
JANIE
My conversation with Mom makes me feel better, but it doesn’t clarify anything for me in regards to my work. I do call my boss and ask for another few days working remotely. It makes me feel even more guilty that they’re suddenly so accommodating.Just make sure you’re at the next company-wide meeting, my boss Richard says before hanging up.
I don’t see how I wouldn’t be there by then. I’m just asking for a little bit of time to recover from Shane, that’s all.
I’m not staying.
Thursday rolls around, and we have the mother of all heat waves starting at the crack of dawn. The ranch is buzzing from a new head of cattle being delivered the night before. All the men are out in the fields. I spend most of the morning and afternoon at the main house with Mom. She’s canning pickles and tomatoes. I’m doing a lot of holding Slate on my hip while Freya fetches stacks of glass jars and lids.
Everything feels cozy, so familiar.
“I think I’ll make some iced coffee,” Freya says, appearing at the doorway. She’s in cut-off jean shorts and a checkered tubetop, her curly hair braided down her back. Her feet are bare; they always are. I hope I look as free and vibrant as Freya just a few months after giving birth. But then again, I think that’s on account of Deacon being so hands-on.
“I’ll take some,” I say, bouncing Slate gently in my lap. He smirks, waving both fists.
“Me too,” Mom says, wiping her hands on a rag. “I wish canning day wasn’t the worst heat we’ve had all year.”
“Always comes out that way,” I say.
Freya skirts past me, taking down the iced coffee jug. “At least we’re not baking out there in the upper pasture. Deacon’s gonna be cooked when he gets in.”
She leans up, her shirt hitching to reveal a thin chain over her hip, like body jewelry. That’s interesting but also not my business. I swing my focus back to Slate, who’s trying to grab my hair. I block his fist, squeezing it gently. In a rage, he screws up his face and starts howling.
“Uh oh,” I say, standing to shift him to my shoulder. “Sorry, little guy. You can’t swing on my hair.”
“God, he’s all about yanking everybody’s hair out lately.” Freya puts a hand on her hip, filling the jug in the sink with the other. “I told Deacon he’s lucky he doesn’t have any left to rip out. All he wants to do is get a big fistful of mine. He near about got Bittern the other day too.”
For some reason, the name makes my face hot. Giving my head an annoyed shake, I swing my focus back to Slate. Freya leaves to run down to the basement to get more cans. Balancing Slate on my hip, I follow her, helping to drag several dozen jars up into the hall.
I sink back down at the table. The front door swings open, and boots sound on the floor. Deacon’s not likely to be in at this time of day. I don’t have to wonder long, because the footfalls get close, and Bittern Hatfield appears, stopping short. My mindgoes back to the conversation I had about him with Mom. I hope she hasn’t said anything to Freya behind my back.
It would be just like Mom to pull strings.
Before I can make eye contact with him, I look away, pretending I don’t see him. Or don’t care.
