“And I need to call Wade,” Dot says, pulling her phone from her pocket. “I’ll tell him to expect a crowd. He can post a deputy at the door if it makes him feel important.”
I nod, unable to speak past the emotion clogging my throat. I pick up my fork and take another bite of pancake, but it tastes different now. It tastes like acceptance. It tastes like home.
I came here to escape. I came here because I was confused and scared and angry at Boone for making me feel things I didn’t want to feel.
But looking at these two women, I realize something. Maybe I don’t have to figure it all out today. Maybe I don’t have to solve the ranch problem alone.
Maybe I can let people help me.
“Okay,” I whisper. “Let’s do it.”
Pearl claps her hands together, the sound ringing through the kitchen. “Excellent! Now, drink your coffee. We have a party to plan, and you’re going to need your energy if you’re going to keep up with us.”
Rhett
The mud sucks at my boots, making a wet noise every time I lift my foot. It’s heavy, clay-heavy, the kind of mud that clings to skin and doesn’t let go. I wipe the rain from my forehead, but it’s a losing battle. The sky is a relentless sheet of gray, weeping enough water to turn the entire ranch into a bog.
I kneel beside the irrigation ditch, my knees sinking into the muck. The PVC pipe is split wide open, a jagged white gash in the brown earth. Water gushes out, creating a fast-moving stream that cuts through the pasture, washing away topsoil and heading straight toward the creek.
“This is a clean cut,” West Montgomery says from the other side of the ditch. He’s crouched too, examining the break point. He’s wearing his uniform, the badge glinting dully under the gray light. He looks too young for the badge, but he has the eyes of an old man. Tired. Observant.
“Clean?” I ask, tracing the edges of the plastic.
“Yeah,” West says, standing up and wiping his gloves on his thighs. “See the tool marks? Someone used a saw or a knife. This wasn’t wear and tear. This was intentional.”
I look down the line of the ditch. Another ten yards down, there is another break. And another.
“Vandals?” I ask, standing up and groaning as my knees pop.
“Probably,” West says, kicking at a clump of weeds. “Kids, most likely. Bored with the rain, looking for trouble. Or maybe someone with a grudge against the ranch. You guys haven’t made many friends in town lately.”
I know he’s referring to the situation with Saramaria. The rumors. The tension.
“Maybe,” I say noncommittally.
We walk along the ditch, surveying the damage. It’s going to take all day to fix this. We need new pipe, primer, cement. And we have to do it in the rain.
“So,” West says, breaking the silence. “The whole town is talking about the party at The Salt Lick. Friday night. A hoedown to save the ranch.”
I nod. “It was Saramaria’s idea. Or rather, Pearl and Dot’s idea, but she agreed to it.”
“You going?”
“I don’t know,” I say. I look away, focusing on a distant tree line. “I have a lot of work to do. This fence. The barn repairs. The generators.”
“It’s a fundraiser for the place you live,” West points out. “Seems like you should show your face.”
“I’ll think about it.”
We reach the end of the break. West sighs, checking his watch. “I need to get back to the station. The sheriff is having a fit because someone parked in his reserved spot at the diner. I have to go mediate.”
“Good luck with that,” I say.
“Thanks.” He heads toward his patrol car, parked near the gate. “Hey, Rhett?”
I turn.
“Fix the pipe soon,” he says. “If the County sees this much water waste, they’ll add it to your fines.”
