That’s her way of saying she forgives us.
I dry my hands and grab the bowl of cornbread from the counter. “Let me help.”
She lets me carry it and leads the way to the table. The dining room is already full—Daddy at the head of the table, Grandpa beside him, Aunt Irene and Uncle Boone across, Matty at the other end with Caison next to her. Plates are half empty, conversation already underway.
Everyone looks up when Grandma and I enter.
“You’re late,” Grandpa says.
“I know,” I say. “Late and starving.”
“Horses don’t always respect our schedules, Grandpa,” Matty says gently.
Charli and Cabe slide in a moment later, and Grandma resumes her grumbling while we load our plates.
I barely taste the first few forkfuls, and I don’t even pretend to pace myself.
“You know,” I say around a mouthful of potatoes, “if we had more help, we might actually end the day on time.”
Grandma makes a noise of agreement.
“I’m working on it,” Matty says. “Now that the bunkhouses are completed, I’m starting to interview. I’ve got several set up for next week.”
That gets my attention. “Really?”
She nods. “Yep. I want to have the ranch fully staffed—the cowboys: ranch hands, wranglers, and barn hands—before Bryce and I begin hiring for the rodeo academy.”
“Can we afford that?” Charli asks. “I mean, before the academy is open and making real money?”
Matty nods. “With the extra training work you two have brought in, the new boarders we got this spring, and the down payment of the stud fees this season, we should be able to swing it. I’m going to start conservative. I’m thinking four for now and hopefully another four to five after the first of the year.”
“I can’t believe we’re finally here,” I say.
It’s been a tough few years. But we weathered the storm, working together and refusing to give up.
“Yeah. And once we have everyone in place, you and Charli will be relieved of daily chore duty.”
Charli and I exchange a look over the table.
Hopeful. Skeptical. Amused.
“No one’s ever really off chore duty,” Charli says.
Matty smiles. “True, but the goal is to have enough help that you two don’t have to work your asses off in training pens all day and then muck stalls.”
I relax a little, the weight on my chest easing just a fraction. “That would be nice.”
The table settles into a comfortable rhythm—clinking silverware, low conversation. I tell them all about the run-in with the contractor, my irritation bubbling back up as I talk.
“He spoke to me like I was an idiot,” I say. “Like I didn’t know what I was talking about.”
Charli nods. “Bryce talked to the owner this afternoon.”
I pause. “He did?”
“Yeah. He left him a message, and Bryce called him back after his event. Apparently, he and his foreman had crossed wires, and the crew was working off an earlier draft instead of the finalized blueprints.”
My fork freezes halfway to my mouth. “You’re kidding.”
