“What do you mean?”
“I mean, do you know anythin’ about how much you could make or what the margins would be on a place like that?”
Remington shakes his head, breathing out a small huff. “No.”
“Then how do you know you couldn’t make a livin’ doing this?”
He pauses for a moment. “Well, I guess I don’t. But either way, it’s a moot point. I’m a firefighter, and it’s what I’ve always been meant to do. I can’t just up and walk away from that.”
“Why not?”
“What the hell do you mean, ‘why not?’” He snorts. “Because it’s what hasalwaysbeen expected of me.”
I meet his gaze, suddenly feeling like I’m seeing Remington in a whole different light. “But is it the path youwantto be on?”
His brow furrows, his mouth down-turned. “Why does that matter? It doesn’t change anythin’. If anybody understands family expectations and obligations, I think it’d be you.”
He’s not wrong.From the time I was a young boy, I knew I’d be taking over my family’s ranch. It’s what my grandfather did, my father, and now me. And eventually, when I can’t do it anymore, my boys will take over the business. It’s what the Moore men do. We’re ranchers; it’s in our blood. So, maybe I’m being a little hypocritical, suggesting Remington should go after what heactuallywants instead of what’s expected of him.
But I’m okay with that.
“You’re right,” I murmur. “I do understand, but that doesn’t mean you should shut yourself off to the idea of somethin’ more…fulfillin’.”
“Whoa, whoa.” Holding up his hands, he says, “My job is very fulfilling. And I never said I don’t enjoy it. I just said it wouldn’t matter either way.”
“Just humor me, Remington… Is firefighting ultimately what you want to do? Or are you only doin’ it because of the weight of the expectations your father left for you after he died?”
He chews on the inside of his cheek, and I can’t decipher the look in his eyes. Clearing his throat, Remington stands and wipes his hands down the front of his jeans. “I’ll grab you some more water,” he says quietly.
I struck a nerve.
When he comes back and sits down, there’s a thick tension between us that wasn’t there before. It’s clear he doesn’t want to talk about it, and who am I to push the subject? Lord knows I wouldn’t want someone sticking their nose where it doesn’t belong in my business.
“You’re doin’ better this time,” he eventually says, his tone even but lacking the usual chipperness. “Still a little impatient, though.”
My chest rumbles with a low chuckle. Hell, I might actually make something worth using this time.
“So, how’s things goin’ with the kid?” I ask.
For some reason, I feel this incessant need to fill the silence. To talk to him. And not just to avoid the uncomfortability. I’d never admit this out loud, but tonight hasn’t been terrible. I’m alone more often than not—I work alone most days, go home alone, spend my evenings alone, then go to bed alone. So, this is kind of nice.
Even though I’ve known Remington since he and Hollis were kids, this is really the first time we’re talking one-on-one likethis. He came around a hell of a lot growing up, but I’ve always been mindful about giving my kids their space to be their own people and have their own time with their friends. And not only that, but after a long, hard day on the ranch under the Texas sun, the last thing I wanted to do was sit around and chit-chat with my teenage son’s friends.
Even now, as an adult in his thirties, I still see Remington quite regularly. He’ll pop by the ranch to have lunch with Hollis while he’s working, or he’ll come to the family dinners I typically host every Wednesday night if he’s free. But aside from group conversations or the occasional “hey, how’s it going” from him when he’s at the ranch, there’s never been a whole lot of communication between us.
“Pretty good,” he says, a small smile curving his mouth. “From what I can tell, Lukas is a great kid. I found out that his grandfather was a farmer.”
“No shit?”
“Yeah, I guess Lukas used to love spending time on the farm with him. Helping out and being around the animals.” Remington snorts. “Actually, I told him I might be able to pull some strings and bring him to the ranch.”
I chuckle. “Is that so?”
He nods. “He seemed to love that idea. Think that’s somethin’ we can make happen?”
“Well, I don’t see why not.” I shrug. “Bring him by sometime next week.”
“Really?” His brows lift, his smile growing.
