Chapter 29
“Who says you can’t go home again? That would be me. I said that.”
-Flint
When we pulled onto the road leading to the ranch, I could barely believe my eyes. So much has changed in the last three decades. But I guess that made sense. I’d changed too.
Giant live oaks provided a canopy along the main road and the road that split off toward the barns and ranch operations. When I looked down the barn road, I saw five little cottages painted in five different colors off the beaten path.
We continued along the main road to the house, which was no longer a small log cabin. Mama told me she and Jocko added onto the home, but it was still hard for me to believe how huge it was. The house sprawled in two different directions, curving around a circular drive in front. To the right of the house were a greenhouse and large garden that sat fallow since it was January. No one planted anything until Good Friday in Mississippi, no matter how good the weather was before then.
Mama pulled into the garage. I stopped my SUV in front of the main door.
“You grew up here?” Celia called out to me as she approached.
I nodded at her smiling face.
“You must have had so much fun exploring the woods and playing with the animals!”
“Playing? No. This is a working ranch. Meaning we ‘worked’ the animals,” I shook my head. The next thing you know, she was going to ask me what I named our cows.
“C’mon in, little darlin. I’ll give you the nickel tour,” Mama grabbed our suitcases like they weighed nothing.
“Mama,” I protested, but she wouldn’t relinquish the luggage.
We followed her into the entryway, where a tall Irish-looking rancher met my Mama with a kiss that probably should have set the cabin on fire. After thirty seconds of this, I cleared my throat.
“Flint! Good to see you again,” Jocko reached out to grab me in a hug. At 70 years old, the man was solid muscle. “You must be Celia.”
“I am,” Celia accepted a much milder hug from my stepfather.
“I’m Jacques O’Meara. But you can call me Jocko,” he grinned at her then winked at me. “Welcome to MOM Ranch.”
“Mom?” Celia laughed. “Like - this is where Flint’s MOM has a ranch?”
Mama laughed. “No, as in Mendota O’Meara. When I married Jocko, we combined our ranches and needed a new name to go with it.”
Celia raised an eyebrow at me, but I said nothing.
“Okay, then,” Mama passed a suitcase to Jocko. “Let’s get you to your room.”
“Rooms,” I corrected. “Plural.”
“Right,” Jocko nodded and headed down a hallway in the new wing of the house. “We’ll put you two in the guest wing.”
I marveled at how updated the house was, from the little bit I could see from our trek to the rooms. Each guest room in this wing of the house had an en suite bathroom, a walk-in closet, and the wing held a kitchenette and seating area at the far end.
“This is lovely,” Celia thanked Jocko for carrying her luggage into her suite.
“My pleasure,” Jocko winked at her, and there was a tiny part of me that wanted to throttle my stepfather for even looking at Celia. I knew he only had eyes for my Mama, but it didn’t stop the caveman response deep inside, being all protective of Celia.
I needed to get my shit together.
“I’m going to grab a shower,” I grunted as I grabbed my bag and headed into the next room.
Maybe a cold shower would cure what ailed me.
Probably not. But it’s good to have hope.
