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“I love my momma. My daddy too.” He always says daddy like deddy, even at forty-something years old, and it makes me laugh every time. Of course he loves them, everyone does.
Rowen’s mom has brought me countless casseroles over the years, and his dad has tried to teach me piano so many times that I eventually had to break his heart and explain I am just not a musically inclined girl.
Rowen saying he loves his parents is like a fish saying he prefers ocean over land.
“I didn’t mean like that. I meant with a girl.”
Ro squints at me with suspicion. “What are you getting at here, kid?”
“Just wondering. How and when and why and where and all the things.” My feet push off the ground and my spinning chair slowly goes round and round.
Rowen eyes me deeper. “If I was before, I’m not now. So, I doubt you want my advice. If you really want to know details on all that junk, go to the blond girl that follows you everywhere. She and that new kid have been making out in every dusty corner of this town imaginable.”
He’s got a point; not about dusty corners, but about seeking advice from Lottie. I guess I just thought her situation with Walker was so unique that I couldn’t possibly find someone the same way. But maybe she knows a new way to find a date.
Maybe she can help me pull something together that’s sturdy enough to really impress my mom. Maybe enough to make her consider more than just a weekend visit.
Chapter Two Knox
I didn’t mean to volunteer for this position, and yet here I am.
“So, what you want to do is really grip the carver and dig into her hoof here because that’s where the infection is going to be the worst—” My uncle Miller hands me a massive toenail clipper to help out with Clara’s sore foot.
Having grown up on a ranch, this should be no big deal. I’ve watched countless animals give birth and, honestly, much more grotesque things over the years. But the line has to be drawn somewhere, right?
I glance at the men around me, searching for anyone who appears as disturbed as I feel. Instead, these freaks look intrigued, like we’re watching a hydraulic system change. Walker is leaning in, all fascinated and asking Miller how he found the exact spot to carve out. Kit behind me looks like he couldn’t care either way. And our third apprentice, Myra, is literally picking up hoof shavings and inspecting them like she wants to put it under a microscope.
So, it is a me thing, then. Or maybe it’s just a hoof-trimming thing that I can’t stand?
What’s the opposite of a foot fetish?
“Knox.”
“Hm?” I look up, and Miller is waiting on me.
“The nippers.” He points to the contraption in my hands. “You’re gonna have to pop off this part.”
It’s not that I’m some wuss who can’t handle blood, all right? I’ve handled my fair share of animal injuries, mostly due to the situations Felicity pulls me into. And it’s not like it hurts the cow, so I know Clara, if anything, is enjoying the release of her pain. But my stomach just won’t stop curdling at the sight in front of me.
Blood and infection, and augh, I can’t do it.
“Actually, I really need to use the bathroom.” I add a hand to my stomach for the effect. Though, it’s not exactly a lie as nausea rises in my stomach at the sight of fluids dripping from the hoof.
“Can you go in, like, ten minutes?”
“Nope.” I shake my head. “Duty calls and I’ve got that rumbling, burning—”
“All right, all right.” Miller grabs the nippers from me and hands them to Walker. “Don’t give us details, just go use it and come back. We need to check the grain storage for any dead rats.”
“Can’t wait,” I mumble to myself and slip out of the barn and toward the gravel road split in a fork. When I see no one is really looking, I take a left to the back fields instead of a right toward the guest services restroom.
My boots crunch along the dirt and gravel, the midday sun resting high in the sky. I pass two guest cottages to the left and curve the corner to the creek, stopping to watch the water dance over the rocks. There’s the distant sound of children laughing in the pumpkin patch, comments of gourd sizes and a little girl asking her mom if they can grab a pink one.
The humming white noise of frogs, crickets, and mourning doves nearby settles my nerves a little along the way. When I reach the creek, I stick a hand down into the chilly water and pull it back out, drenching my face and hair. Even as fall is reaching its way here and the leaves in the distant mountain range display orange, yellow, and deep burgundy colors, the temperature hasn’t quite caught up to the idea of autumn yet. It’s not blaringly hot—not as bad as mid-August when we had two employees pass out from heat stroke, but it’s enough to make a guy working outside all day sweat through his shirt.
My reflection shows in the passing water, and the look of disgust from a few minutes prior still rests there. This is ridiculous.
I’m not a complete idiot, I know I’m lucky. More than lucky, I’m blessed to be in my position. Knowing that my dad and uncle want me to one day take over a 35,000-acre ranch and reap all of the benefits that come with it? Knowing that my future has been laid out for me from day one of walking onto this property? It’s…unfathomable.
