“Why not?”
He shrugs, his focus back on the clay. “Why would I worry them about somethin’ like that? It’s not like they’d have some magical solution the doctor didn’t have.”
“Yeah, but it’s ranch related,” I say. “You know they’d take whatever they needed to off your plate to help.”
“They don’t need to,” he pushes back stubbornly. “I’ve done this work my whole life. I’ll figure it out. They do enough.”
Gentry got here about a half hour ago, right at the end of my class. After the last student left and I locked up, we got to work. I’m giving him a little more freedom tonight, since it’s no longerhis first rodeo. He did pretty well last time, really only needing my help toward the end. I’m sitting across from him at my own wheel, molding my own slab of clay, while he does the same. It’s relaxing. And it’s giving me a chance to pick Gentry’s brain a little since he has a basic understanding of what to do.
“You know you won’t be able to keep this up forever,” I point out. “There will come a time when your body will have to slow down, even if you don’t want to. At some point, you’re goin’ to have to give some of the responsibility to them.”
“I know that,” he grumbles, a scowl deepening on his face. “I watched my granddaddy age and take a step back from the business, and my own father. I’m not an idiot, Remington. I know I won’t be able to work on the ranch forever. But I’m not there yet. I’m only fifty-four, for Christ’s sake. I’ve still got some years left in me. My father didn’t start slowin’ down until he was at least sixty.”
“But you’re not him. You can’t base what’s best for you and your health off of what your father did, or what his father did before him. That’s not sustainable. And I’m willing to bet they probably should’ve slowed down a lot earlier than they did too, but like you, they were stubborn, hard-headed men.”
A sound somewhere between a snort and a scoff comes out of him as he lets go of the wheel and stares at me. “I’m not stubborn or hard-headed.”
“Yeah, right.” I chuckle. “Whatever you say, old man. Why are you so hellbent on runnin’ full speed ahead, anyway? You have to know that Finn and Hollis are more than capable of takin’ over. It’s what you’ve raised them for their whole lives.”
Gentry is quiet. I’m not even a little surprised that he won’t answer me. He’s always been a man of a few words. A mystery, if you will. It makes sense, the way he rarely shows emotion or talks about his feelings. After all, heisa man raised in Texasduring a time when it was engrained in little boys that showing emotions made you weak.
“I might be up for captain at work,” I say when it becomes clear he won’t be giving me anything. I don’t know why I want Gentry to open up to me so badly, but I do. Maybe pivoting the conversation will help him do that.
He raises his brows, giving me a quick glance before getting back to the clay. “You don’t sound too thrilled.”
“What? Yes, I am.”
“You seem to forget that I’ve seen you excited about things before. Like that god-forsaken death trap of a bike you and Hollis brought home. Hell, when you made lieutenant, you damn near exploded through my front door to tell all of us during Wednesday dinner. This”—he gestures in my general direction—“isn’t that. Not by a long shot.”
It’s my turn to scoff, my pulse kicking up. “Ever thought that maybe I’m just older and more mature now, so I don’t feel the need to ‘explode,’ as you put it?”
Gentry chuckles, the sound rumbling from deep within his chest. “No, that’s not it.”
The wheel stops spinning, and I sit with my forearms resting over my thighs. “And how can you be so sure?”
“Because, Remington, you wear your heart on your sleeve. Always have. If this was somethin’ you genuinely wanted, there would be no hidin’ the fact.”
I pause, swallowing thickly against the lump in my throat. “But I’m tellin’ you right now…”
“Tellin’ me and bein’ excited about it are two very different things.”
I’m not sure what to say to that. It’s not like I can say he’s wrong… He’s not. I’m not exactly quiet or chill when I want something. I’ve always been a give-it-all-you-got type of guy, and when I’m excited about something, people know.
Blowing out a breath, I press down on the peddle that starts the wheel again. “I want to make captain,” I say. “It’s always been part of the plan.”
“What plan?”
“The one where I follow in my father’s footsteps. The one where I make him and our family name proud.”
“Ah,” he hums, nodding like suddenly everything makes sense. “You mean that’s always been the expectation.”
I stare at him, my brows pinched with confusion. “That’s the same thing.”
“No.” He shakes his head, breathing out a small chuckle. “It’s not.”
“How so?”
“Let me ask you this,” he says, sitting up straighter. “If your father hadn’t been a firefighter, and had he not expressed a desire for you to become one too, would you have still taken the path you did?”
