These lessons are a mistake.
Much like this entire summer plan.
We have no business being on a ranch, much less working it. And this man does not have the patience to teach children.
“No, Whitney. Stop.” Steve’s voice isn’t irritated, but it is firm.
I trot my horse, a beautiful palomino gelding I’m borrowing from him, toward that side of the large, beautiful, covered arena. He does have a nice setup, I’ll give him that much. But before I can say anything, I notice Whitney’s face. She’s not crying. She doesn’t look sad or even angry.
She looks determined.
“You’re not yanking this time,” he says, “but your hands are holding him too tightly while you’re asking him to go. That’s why he keeps stopping—mixed signals.”
Whitney nods.
“Can you try again?”
She nods again, this time keeping her hands down low, above the end of her chestnut’s mane. He trots nice and slow, just as Steve said he would. “Great. Now, you’re used to turning your horse like his head is a pulley. We’re not that precise, and we’re not that severe in Western.”
“Okay.”
“Are you two listening?” He turns toward Ethan and Izzy, who are working on doing big, loopy circles at a trot on the other side.
They both stop.
“You don’t need to stop to listen,” he says.
They start trotting again.
“I know it gets boring trotting all the time. We won’t start cantering until next week, when I’m sure you can handle it while maintaining control. The only reason you even need to be able to canter on a cattle drive is to either catch up with an errant cow, or to control the horse if he spooks. We’re going to focus this week on basic control with one hand. Who knows why using just one hand matters?”
Izzy raises her free hand.
“Yeah, Izzy?”
“So you can use the other hand for something else, like roping a cow.” She looks so proud of herself.
“That’s right.” Steve’s smile is transformative. He goes from a stern, almost scary cowboy to the star of a Western. John Wayne would be jealous of that smile.
After a terrible start in which I lost my bridling privileges, and Izzy was forced to redo her saddle girth twice, we actually make decent progress. Ethan’s struggling more than anyone near the end, which is good. Whitney manages to get her hands figured out and move her chestnut right along. Her circles are even fairly well done.
Most of my frustration is gone.
But my thighs are screaming. I wince as I swing down and out of the saddle.
“Sore?” Steve sees everything.
It’s obnoxious.
I shrug. “I haven’t done any riding in a long time.”
“I’m convinced those muscles aren’t used for anything else in the world,” he says. “You miss a few weeks and you’re back to square one.”
Why’s he suddenly being so nice?
“Should we give them any treats?” Whitney asks.
“I think the bucket may be empty.” He points at the tack room. “But there’s a fridge in there. Grab them each a carrot.”
Whitney clearly can’t find the carrots, so I duck inside to help her. I can’t help noticing the pack of Guinness beer, right next to the bag of carrots. Ugh. Just right out in the open in the barn. He can’t even keep it in the house, like a normal person.
Maybe he needs to have beer close by at all times. Geez.
After the horses have been dealt with, all of them given at least one carrot, and the tack is put away, the kids head for the minivan. “Thanks again,” I say. “I think we made some good progress today.”
“You’ll be surprised how quickly they improve with lessons each day. Most kids forget half of what they learn in the six days in between with weekly lessons.”
I’d never thought of that, but it might be true. “I hope so, because I can’t help thinking this is all a huge mistake.”
He leans against the wall of a stall. “If you think it’s a mistake, why are you here?” He’s not accusatory, but he doesn’t exactly sound supportive.
“You didn’t know what I was talking about yesterday. It seems like you’re better informed today.”
“I called Mr. Swift, and then I heard from Patrick Ellingson.”
“He’s one of the other three people who are supposed to decide whether we fulfill the will’s requirements.”
“He is,” Steve says. “And our families have been friends for a long time.”
“Well, don’t worry too much. I have to make a show of doing everything I can in order to fulfill the requirements, but we have no intention of staying past the end of summer.”
“Why come at all?”
I consider telling him it’s none of his business, because it really isn’t. But something about the earnest way he asks makes me want to confide in him. “It’s Ethan.” I drop my voice, but the kids are all in the car. It helps that ‘hot’ in Utah is apparently in the 70s. That’s cool weather in Texas. “He hasn’t taken his dad’s death very well, and he decided not to apply to any colleges at all.”
“He just graduated?”
I nod.
“But what does that have—”
“He’s a minor until September 2,” I say. “Which means I can make the decision about the ranch. Starting this fall, though, he gets to make all his own decisions, and I want him in college.”
“You made some kind of deal?” His eyebrows shoot up.
“That’s exactly what I did.” I cross my arms. I don’t care if he disapproves. “I told him we would do our very best to fulfill the requirements while we’re here, but by the end of the summer—the kids start school again on August 23—if he hasn’t convinced me that staying here and working the ranch is the right move, he’ll surrender peaceably and go to college.”
“But you said he didn’t apply,” Steve reasonably points out. “He can’t just show up.”
“That’s true,” I admit. “But I don’t give up easily. My friend’s a provost at Rice University, and I sent Ethan’s excellent test scores and GPA over to him. He’s been put on the waitlist.”
“What if he doesn’t get bumped up?” Steve asks. “What then?”
I’m sure the distaste is plain on my face. “Community college, I suppose.”
“So there’s no part of you that’s really considering letting him work this ranch?” He purses his lips.
I shake my head.
“Patrick demanded that I make this offer, and I wish he hadn’t, but here goes.” He sighs. “He’s willing to pay you, outside of the terms of the will, to walk away and let this go.”
“Why would he do that?” I’m instantly suspicious.
“It’s nothing nefarious. First, we both think it’s pretty lousy that Jed left nothing to his own kin. But second, he doesn’t want to wait until the end of the summer to buy the ranch. He’d rather buy it from the estate now, as is.”
He doesn’t say he’d prefer that we not screw things up, but his implication is clear as day. “I’ve promised my son that I would be here all summer to let him learn and try to convince me, and I know you don’t know me, but I keep my promises. Always.”
“I just told him I’d mention it,” Steve says. “It saves his family money to wait, so once I explain it, I’m sure he’ll be pleased to wait.”
“We’re not here to snatch money from a relative we didn’t even know. We’re not here to try and insert ourselves into your small town, either. We’re just passing through, and once Ethan has seen that I care enough to do this for him, once he believes that I listen to him, he’ll realize that he’s the one being unreasonable, and we’ll all go home.”
“If you say so.”
His know-it-all, nonchalant tone pisses me off. “I do say so.”
“Alright.” He smiles.
This time, it doesn’t remind me of John Wayne. It makes me want to punch him. “You’re so condescending.”
His eyes widen. “Excuse me?”
“Do you have kids?”
His nostrils flare. His hands clench into balls at his side. His face flushes red. But he doesn’t respond.
“I’ll take that as a no.”
His eyes narrow.
“Let me tell you this. People without children are often critical of parenting decisions. They frequently think that they know better.” I lean forward. “But until you have a child, and unless that child is my child—”
“Whoa, until I have a child that’s your child?”
I choke. That is what I said, but it’s not—
“I think you’re a nice lady,” he says. “But it feels a little premature to start making plans to have children.”
He is the most irritating man I have ever met. I inhale and exhale slowly. What about him makes me so angry? “It’s been a long week, and I should not have been yelling at you. I’m immensely grateful you’ve been willing to help us.”
He should be prickly. He should be incensed. But he looks. . .happy. “I get it. If I had traveled to a strange, isolated place, surrounded by strangers, and everything was new, and I was trying to work remotely and parent. . .I might get a little growly, too.”
Growly? I’ll show him—I’m doing it again. Stand down, Abby. You’re trying to show him you’re not crazy. Not prove that you are. “What time tomorrow? And here again? Or back at our place?”
“I think the setup is better here, but I’d like you to learn on your horses.” He taps his lip. “Which do you prefer?”
“You’re the professional. I leave it entirely up to you.”
This time, I feel like I earned his half-smile. “Alright, let’s do it here for the next few afternoons. I’m sorry about the time, but it’s the only time—”
“It’s great. Ethan’s moving water and helping feed cows in the morning, and the other kids are feeding animals and mucking stalls. Please don’t apologize for doing us a favor.”
“Great, well tomorrow, ask Jeff and Kevin to send you with some rope. We’ll practice holding it and maybe even throwing it from horseback. Then next week, we’ll start riding your animals every day. If I have any extra time, I’ll come by and ride them a few times, too. Should make for a smoother trip all around.”
He’s probably a drunk who sleeps until noon every day, and he’s abrupt, and his friend is obnoxious, trying to force us to sell now, but he’s a hard worker, and he seems to mean well. I suppose for a summer horse trainer, that’s more than enough. “I appreciate your help.”
“Did you use my porch today?”
My cheeks flush. “I did. I hope that you were serious. No police officers showed up to escort me from the premises, so I assume you were.”
“You can still come anytime you want,” he says.
“Thanks. It’s a life saver, actually.”
“I’m glad.”
When I walk past the front porch, I notice there’s a throw pillow on the swing. I can’t help turning around, but I don’t expect Steve to be staring at me.
“Your kids are lucky to have you,” he says.
I have no idea how to respond to that, so I don’t. I simply smile. The kids talk about nothing but horses in the car on the way back.
“I hope Maren kept Gabe alive,” I say.
“Actually, Kevin offered to take him out. He was going to clean the chicken coop.”
Poor Kevin. I imagine Gabe has talked his ear off, but at least I won’t owe Amanda a favor. As much as I’m looking forward to the end of the summer, I’m more desperate for the end of the week. The six-bedroom farmhouse, as it turns out, feels far too small for our combined baggage.
“Hey, Mom?” Izzy asks.
“Yeah, sweetie?”
“I think there’s been a miracle.”
The road is straight enough for me to turn sideways and look her in the eye. “What?”
She holds up my phone. “A text message came through on your phone.”
It might not be a miracle, but it’s a surprise. The text’s from Robert, which is not surprising at all. CALL WHEN YOU CAN.
“You need to head up to the office?” Ethan asks.
“Huh?”
“That spot on the hill where there’s good cell reception,” Izzy says. “The spot near those three pine trees all in a row?”
“I guess I do.”
“I’ll show you how to work the Polaris,” Ethan says. “It’s super easy.” The gleam in his eyes gives him away. He loves anything with a motor.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m finally dialing Robert’s number. “Hey,” I say when he answers. “Did you get the interrogatories? Their responses were infuriating.”
“I did, but your replies were great and I already sent them.”
“What’s wrong, then?”
He’s silent for a moment. “It’s a hassle for you to call me, isn’t it?”
I laugh. “I had to learn how to drive a Polaris utility cart thing in order to drive up to the top of a hill, which is the only place on this ranch with decent cell service.”
Robert swears under his breath. “I’m so sorry. I’m a jerk. I just wanted to hear your voice, I guess. Find out how you were doing. I miss having you in the office.”
Last week, saying any of that would have freaked me out. Maybe it’s because I’m so far away. Maybe it’s because I’m standing on top of a hill, not accessible by any stretch of the imagination. Maybe it’s because, in spite of my miserable remote work, Robert’s still supporting me 110%. But for whatever the reason, it warms my heart instead. “I’m happy to hear your voice too.”
“You are?”
“It’s been a rough few days,” I admit. “Exhausting, actually.” My voice cracks on the end of that word, and a surge of emotion washes through me.
“Abs, are you okay?”
I inhale deeply to keep the sobs that are threatening to break free at bay. “I’ll be fine. This is the kind of thing you do as a mother. But there’s this long list of tasks we’re supposed to accomplish, and none of it’s anything I know a thing about.”
“Like what?”
“Well, I already told you that in a little over two weeks we have to drive three hundred and fifty cattle into the forest that abuts the ranch.”
“I don’t understand why. That sounds insane.”
“They’re all branded, I’ve been assured, and they’re dying to go up there since they go every year. Apparently even with all the acreage we have, the usable meadows need to be watered and tended so that they can grow enough hay to be baled and preserved for the winter. For a very small fee, the Forestry service lets us run the cattle up there over the summer, as long as we keep them in designated areas.”
“How are you supposed to do that?”
“Well, again, we ride our horses up there and like, ride around, herding them as needed.”
“Do you even know how to ride well enough for that to be safe?”
“Most of what I remember has come back, thankfully, but the kids are having a rough time.”
“That’s too bad,” Robert says. “But how did the old drunk guy do? Is he helpful at all?”
“He’s not old,” I say. “And we had a second lesson today. I might have been too critical before.” I drop my voice out of habit. “I actually feel pretty bad. I think he heard me talking to you, maybe about him. I’m worried he heard me say he was a drunk.”
“How old is he, then?” Robert asks. “Twenty?”
“No, he’s our age, probably,” I say. “Maybe a few years younger or older. He knew Nate, apparently.”
“Oh.”
“What’s that ‘oh’ for?”
“Is he married?” Robert asks.
“I don’t see how—”
“Maybe his wife can help you figure some of the other stuff out.”
“He doesn’t have a wife.” It feels like he’s worried about Steve being my age. “Seriously, Robert, what’s wrong?”
“Your opinion of him sure does seem to have improved.”
Now I’m sure that he’s jealous. . .of a drunk cowboy. “Robert, this Steve Archer guy—”
“Wait, his name is Steve?”
That bothers him? I found it funny they had the same name. “Weird, right? At least he goes by Steve so it’s not confusing.”
“People call me Steve sometimes.”
I laugh. “When does anyone call you that?”
“You don’t,” he insists, “but plenty of other people do.”
“Don’t be worried.” I decide to wade out into the deep and muddy waters between us. After all, I’m a million miles away, standing on the side of a mountain. Surely if I’m ever going to be honest, now’s the time. “He’s unpolished, he’s abrupt, and we’ve butted heads on how he treats the kids twice now.”
“He’s not very bright, then. No one should ever question your parenting. Now, your cooking? Maybe.”
“If I had something to throw at you right now—”
“Then I’d never have been brave enough to say it,” he says, but he still sounds nervous.
“Listen, Robert, this horse trainer? He’s also best pals with the guy who wants to buy the ranch. He actually suggested that his friend pay us some kind of bribe money to walk away.”
“Are you kidding?” Robert’s level of indignation seems a little disproportionate to Steve’s crime, but I appreciate his loyalty. “If I were there right now, I would teach him a few lessons on manners.”
I try to imagine Robert punching Steve—but it only makes me chuckle.
“Are you laughing?”
“No,” I say. “I was just imagining how you’d bludgeon that cowboy where it hurts—with a nice restraining order.”
“I’m not just a lawyer,” Robert says. “I’ve got a decent right hook.”
Even so, one hundred times out of a hundred, my money would be on Steve. Not that I’d ever admit it.