And I admire the hell out of him for that.
He walks through the pasture now, wading through thick water. Head lowered slightly, hands loose by his sides. He’s humming under his breath, some old country tune he’s probably been humming since the day he was born.
A young mare sidles sideways, her whole body vibrating with fear. I move closer, ready to grab her halter before she bolts.
“Easy,” Marshall murmurs, gentle as breath.
The mare’s ears twitch. She goes still.
I swear it’s witchcraft.
“You got her?” I ask, stepping in beside him.
“Yeah.” He strokes the mare’s cheek. “Let’s lead her in with the others.”
We walk her forward, and she follows him.
Sometimes I wish I had that in me.
That calm power. That ability to reach out and quiet something wild.
I’ve got jokes. Charm. Strong hands for building fences and fixing roofs. I’m good at braiding Eliza’s hair and mediating Caleb’s emotional crises about cereal.
But deep inside, where men keep their pride and their regrets, I wish I was a little more like Marshall Jones.
I’m doing all right. But I want to give my kids more than all right.
“Jesse?”
I blink. “Yeah?”
“You’re thinkin’ too loud.”
I laugh, rubbing the back of my neck. “Didn’t know I was doing it out here.”
He squeezes my shoulder once, his version of a hug, encouragement, and a threat all rolled into one. “You’re a damn good hand. And a better father.”
My throat gets tight.
Then a cow moos too loudly, and both of us jump a little.
He grunts. “Let’s keep moving.”
By the time we start moving the herd in earnest, my phone says it’s pushing ten. We spend the next hour guiding animals to the far pasture—open land, greener, with a creek running through it and less dry brush waiting to turn into kindling.
Abilene’s bees are set up there now, and I keep catching myself glancing toward that new little cluster of hives.
She trusts us. That twists up my chest in a way I’m not ready to unpack.
I’m lining up a gate chain when my phone buzzes in my pocket. It’s late enough that the stars are sharp overhead, fire glow still licking the edge of the horizon, and anyone calling now would have to be important.
I pull it out.
Silas Harlan.
My best friend. My brother in everything but blood.
And a man who doesn’t call unless there’s something serious going on.
