I wait as Chet gets a rough head count and gives Carson and me the go-ahead to close in. Chet handles most of the pushing while Carson and I give the herd direction at a careful distance. If you get in too close or too far ahead, the cattle will cut back and scatter.
If a member of the herd gets by us, there is no chance of roping it and dragging it back to the herd. Dallying off onto one of these tin cans will end in me getting dragged through this pasture, so I keep a close watch and speed up when one cow tries to fan out. Another drops her head, trying to turn around. I hammer down and make a quick circle to get myself behind her before she can separate. Horses are better for this job, and easier on cattle, but ATVs are way more fun.
The sun is setting as the last cow jogs through the gate. The ranch hands, who have fixed the fence by now, close the gate behind them. Chet, messing around, guns it towards the gate, turning sharply and skidding sideways to a halt. Sid, the hand riding with him, goes rolling out of the ATV, kicking up dust as he somersaults.
The guys all laugh as he gets up. That’s when I notice Carson laughingandsmiling.
“Look at that, boys. He can smile. I was starting to wonder if you had any teeth.”
Chet laughs. “They’re new. Dentist just put them in last week.”
“Shut up, Chester,” Carson grunts. “I can’t help it none of you are very fucking funny.”
I mock gasp. “Ooh, he used the full name.”
“That was uncalled for.” Chet scowls.
Sid, unharmed and good-humored, heads off with the other hands. We put the ATVs away and head back to the ranch.
I might not do horses, but there are a lot of jobs on a ranch without them in the job description. Hell, maybe ranch work is what I’ll do when I retire someday.
Maybe even here.
Chapter 12
Jessie
Work was brutal. The only bright side of today isshockinglyTrey. He texted me about getting takeout earlier, and nothing in the world sounds better right now. We’ve developed somewhat of a friendship since Gran fell. No more avoiding each other or awkward silences when we cross paths. We’ve shared a couple of meals, got groceries together and even hung out in the living room on occasion. We still bicker and sometimes flirt, but I think we’re friends now?
Having someone to talk to has been nice. I’ve always liked hanging out with Trey, but I just have to be careful not to spend all my time checking the man out. Friends, roommates with boundaries—nothing more.
I weave through the living room on my way to my room, ready to change into comfy clothes and read my book.
Knock, knock.
That’s weird. No one ever comes over. It must be the food delivery, just earlier than I expected.
I unlock the front door and freeze.
My father.
“Hello, Jessie.” His gravelly voice, torn to shreds after years of smoking, washes over me. It feels like a brick just dropped in my stomach. I replied to his text as soon as I left Gran’s the other day. I’d said I could meet him soon, so I didn’t expect him to show up here.
I swallow, trying to form words. “Daryl,” is the only greeting I give him.
I don’t open the door farther. I can’t risk Trey seeing him. Though his hair is more gray than red these days—with a matching unkempt beard—all it takes is a few questions around town and Trey would easily figure out who he is. Thankfully, Daryl has his beat-up dirty ball cap pulled low, likely to hide his yellowing, bloodshot eyes.
I try not to think of Daryl; it only breeds anxiety. He’s never loved me or been a father to me. If I’m honest, I’m terrified of him. Rightfully so, but I still hate him for making me feel afraid. I hate him for being able to make me feel small and weak all these years later.
I’m sure he heard Trey is living here. As the local dealer, he has no trouble getting information. With the assumption of rent coming in, I guess he’s come to collect.
Daryl has stolen money from me and threatened me to the point I’m fearful to let anyone but the Harts into my life. He isn’t stupid enough to mess with Cody or Carson. But Trey? He’d have no issue going after him.
My first year working at the hospital, a man came into the ER beaten to hell. Broken cheekbone, ribs, eye socket, missing half his teeth—the list went on and on. When he heard my last name, hefreaked, yanking out his IV, trying to scramble away. Later, I found out my father and his friends beat him when he didn’t pay what he “owed.” That’s when it hit me how dangerous he is.
“Well, aren’t you going to invite your old man in?”
I straighten my spine and muster up all the fake courage I have. “No, I’m busy. You need to leave, and we’ll meet soon.” I’m trembling now. I’ve never spoken to him like this, but I have to get him out of here and far away from Trey.
