JD
How long are you going to avoid me?
I tuck my phone back in my pocket. Since the disaster on Saturday, my sister has left me three voice messages before resorting to texts, which have been coming in pretty steady.
I’m not ready to listen to what Una has to say.
Ma is still pissed and ignoring me, and Pa is trying to be a peacemaker, but so far has only managed to get Ma angry at him as well.
I don’t know what my sister thought was going to happen with a dramatic announcement like that, to be honest. It’s almost as if, by creating a circus around the revelation of her sexual preference, she was trying to force a bad reaction from our parents; in order to justify keeping it from them for all those years.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy for her she found someone she wants to spend her life with, but I have a sneaking suspicion this woman, Rachel, might have been the catalyst for the grand reveal this past weekend.
“Talk to her.”
Pa is standing in the door opening, his hands in his pockets, looking a little forlorn.
So much for hiding out in the tack room until the end of my last workday before I take off for the rest of the week. I sigh, put down the rag I’ve been oiling my saddle with, and wipe my hands on my jeans.
“Not sure that’s going to do any good.”
“Fucking try. She’s not listening to me. She’s banging around the kitchen, huffing like a damn bull at anyone who even crosses her eyesight. Everyone is tiptoeing around her, and I think Jonas has had just about enough. You know there’s gonna be fireworks if he calls her out.”
Shaking my head, I curse under my breath. Yeah, I know. Jonas and my mother adore each other, but both are blunt and headstrong. It could get ugly.
“Fine. I’ll talk to her.”
I can hear her moving around the kitchen when I step in the front door of the ranch house. Walking down the hall, I pass Jonas’s office and glance inside. He’s sitting at his desk, his jaw clenched, and his eyes on me.
“Make it fucking stop,” he grinds.
I nod. Shit. No pressure.
The moment she catches sight of me, she slams the pan she was holding on the stove with a loud bang, puts her hands on her hips, and locks her eyes on me.
“What?”
“Two minutes, Ma. Out on the deck.” I move to the sliding doors and reach for the handle. “Two minutes you can yell at me, but then I want two minutes to have my say.”
She stays put and tries to stare me down, but I’ve learned from the best and stare right back.
Finally, she starts moving, looking down at the ground in front of her feet. I slide the door open to let her pass and follow her out on the deck, making sure to close it again. Ma keeps walking until she reaches the edge, bracing herself on the railing as she looks out at the view. I move up right beside her and lean my back against the railing, turning my head toward her.
“All right, let me have it,” I invite her, but it’s like the starch has gone out of her.
“You lied.”
I expected that one, but I’m discovering it hits harder when it’s delivered in a soft, pained voice, rather than yelled in my face.
“Both my kids lied to me. Did I raise you like that? But you know what the worst part of it is?”
When she turns her face to me, I see rare tears swimming in her eyes. There’s a gut punch.
“What, Ma?” I prompt her gently.
“That you two would feel the need to hide that from us. Have we ever given you reason to believe we wouldn’t accept either of you, just the way you are?”
“No. I know you haven’t.”
“Then why?” She throws her hands in the air as her frustration returns, and with it her temper. “For how long? Since Una went off to college? All those wasted years.”
“You need to talk to her. Not yell, but talk. You are more alike than you know, you two. Go from zero to full blast in a second, and when everyone’s yelling, no one is listening. It’s been like that since she was barely in her teens.”
One fat tear finally manages to escape and rolls unchecked down her face. As much as I want to wipe it away for her, I know it would sting her pride. So like her, I pretend it’s not there.
“She was always spirited,” she muses.
“Still is.”
“Unlike you. You were more like your father. Calm, with a quiet strength. Protective, even as a little boy you were your sister’s keeper.” She turns to face me, and I see anger simmering there. “None of this would’ve been necessary if you’d told me.”
I shake my head.
“No. That wasn’t mine to share, it was Una’s. Don’t try to put this on me. And if you’re doling out the blame, don’t forget to include yourself. You had as many years as Una to work on your relationship, but you were both too stubborn to do anything about it. If you had, perhaps none of this would’ve been necessary either.”
Her lips form a thin line as she presses them together, and I know whatever else I say will fall on deaf ears, so I don’t bother. I leave her standing by the railing and head inside, hoping some of what I’ve said will filter through.
I find Jonas and Pa keeping old Thomas company on the porch. All three of them with a thick cigar between their lips.
“And?” It’s not a surprise Thomas is the one to ask. He rarely holds back. “Did you get the woman under control?”
“Jesus, Dad.” Jonas shakes his head. “Don’t fucking let her hear you say that, or we’re gonna have bigger problems.”
My father doesn’t say a thing, he just looks at me with a steady gaze.
“Had my say,” I volunteer. “And I hope some of it sticks, but it was a lot, so give her a little time.”
I get a set of harrumphs as confirmation and start down the stairs to go back to the barn, but Jonas stops me.
“Aren’t you supposed to be off starting tomorrow?”
“Yeah.”
He jerks his head to the side. “Go. Take off early. It’s quiet anyway.”
“Thanks. I’ll head out after I finish up in the tack room.”
Maybe I can head over to Doc’s place and finish putting in that new subfloor in the bathroom before she comes home.
Janey
“What the fuck are you on about now?”
I swivel around to find John Mackey stalking toward me, thunder on his face. I swear his boots touch the tips of mine as he stops to hover over me. With his bulbous, blue drinker’s nose inches from mine, I can feel the spit hitting my face as he continues yelling at me about my bleeding-heart incompetence. Slapping his dusty hat on his thigh and stomping his foot for emphasis.
I’ve dealt with men like him, bullies looking for the first sign of weakness to pounce on, so I don’t even flinch or blink an eye. Eventually, he runs out of steam when I show no reaction, and that’s when I speak. Calmly.
“Was there some kind of issue, John? I couldn’t quite hear you clearly.”
Some of the hands standing nearby chuckle, and Mackey swings around to glare at them, letting out a frustrated growl. It makes me smile. A bit more composed, he turns back to me.
“There’s nothing wrong with that bronc.” He waves his hand at the jittery roan I just pulled aside.
The horse has an open rubbing wound, right where a flank or bucking strap would be tightened. In addition, his left front fetlock—the ankle joint—is swollen and warm to the touch, suggesting inflammation. I suspect it’s damage to or deterioration of the flexor tendon, which is pretty common in bucking horses.
I sent Logan home after we were done inspecting today’s arrival of animals, but I kept this horse aside.
I outline my findings to Mackey and explain the horse needs rest to heal, and is a write-off for the rodeo. Despite my calm tone, I can tell he’s getting all fired up again, cursing up a storm at my expense. More accusations of incompetence, a general contempt of my gender, and a few juicy, bigoted insults I’m trying not to respond to.
In my peripheral vision I catch the approach of Jericho, who has been around the past two days, keeping an eye on things. He’s not my favorite person, but he hasn’t really bothered me much and I’m glad he’s coming to check out this confrontation. I’d rather have him as a witness if this escalates than Mackey’s own crew, even if they did laugh at him.
Apparently, Mackey caught sight of him too, because he immediately tones down.
“Then put him the fuck down. He’s no use to me now and I ain’t gonna waste good food on a bad horse.”
“Are you kidding me? Put him down? All he needs is a few weeks of rest and some proper care and he’ll be good as new.”
I know it’s his right as the owner, but I can’t believe he’d ask me to kill the horse over something that can be easily fixed. It goes against everything I stand for.
“I run a business, not a goddamn hospital. My horse, and if you’re too fucking soft to do your job, I’ll do it my goddamn self.”
His eyes are fixed on me as he pulls a gun from a holster on his belt. For a moment I’m frozen, wondering how the hell we got to this point, but then he walks up to the roan and puts the barrel to the horse’s forehead.
“I’ll take him,” I blurt out, impulsively grabbing for his arm. “Save you the bullet and the mess.”
Since I’ve managed to pull his gun away from his target, he tries to dislodge me, sending me stumbling back. That’s when Jericho steps in.
“Mackey! You hurt my vet or shoot that horse and we’ve got issues.”
His tone is calm, but his voice holds an authoritarian threat which is impossible to miss. This is not a man to be messed with.
Apparently, John Mackey realizes it too, because after only moments of facing off with Jericho, he grunts, holsters his weapon, and turns on his heel.
“Take the useless carcass then,” he fires off his parting shot as he stalks back to the stockyard.
Great. Now I have a bucking horse I have no use for and I sent Logan packing. I could’ve had him run up to the clinic to grab the small horse trailer from behind the barn.
“Tomorrow we’ve got the cattle coming in,” Jericho reminds me, interrupting my thoughts. “The trucks should get here around ten. Are you bringing the kid?”
“Logan? Yes, he’ll be with me.”
He nods. “Good. You’re gonna need the extra hands. It’ll be a long day.”
“We’re prepared,” I return, perhaps a bit defensively.
Jericho flashes a grin. “I’m sure you are. But maybe stay out of Mackey’s way tomorrow. You hit any problems, send the kid to come find me.” He glances at the horse. “Best get that animal out of here before he changes his mind.”
Right.
As I pull my phone from my pocket and dial the clinic, I watch him walk back to his trailer.
“Libby Veterinary Clinic.”
“Frankie, it’s Doc. By any chance did Logan stop by there?”
“No, I haven’t seen him.”
Shit, I was hoping maybe I’d catch him there and could get him to run the trailer over here. I don’t really want to leave the horse because I don’t trust what’ll happen to it if I’m not here.
Plan B, and I’m keeping my fingers crossed.
“Okay. By chance have you towed the horse trailer before?”
I know it’s a long shot, but I’ve noticed the hitch on her older GMC Jimmy. I’m hoping maybe she’s hauled something before. It’s not ideal, but it’s not that far and the trailer would be empty coming here. But her answer knocks the bottom out of that plan.
“No,” she scoffs. “That would freak me out.”
“I have a horse here I need to move ASAP. Got any brilliant ideas?”
“Maybe…I saw JD’s old pickup come up the drive earlier. He must be working on your house. I could ask him.”
“That’s okay, I’ll call him.”
He answers my call a minute later and I explain my need. Twenty minutes after that, I watch him pull my little horse trailer onto the rodeo grounds. He skillfully backs it up to the gate of the small enclosure I have the horse confined in.
“Hey.”
He grins, stalking toward me, his long legs eating up the distance. A large hand hooks me by the neck as he bends his head to lay a kiss on me. It’s what he’s done the past few days; kiss me when he sees me, kiss me a little harder when he leaves, but nothing other than the promise of more. Lord knows I’m ready for more.
“This the horse?” He nudges to the roan.
“Yeah, that’s him. He’s a bit skittish,” I warn him when he approaches.
I’d been able to handle him okay, but I noticed his response had been distinctly different when a man came close.
“I’d expect so,” JD returns, taking the lead from my hand.
Then he slowly approaches the animal with an outstretched hand as he mumbles soothing words in a low voice.
The horse is on high alert, his ears are pricked, his nostrils are flared, and I can see a slight tremble in the muscles of his neck. Still, when JD offers him the palm of his hand, the animal tentatively brushes it with his lips. Still alert, but not fearful.
“Can you get the gate for me? Or do you want to do the honors?”
“Either way is fine by me,” I assure him.
As JD soothes the horse with his touch and clips on the lead, I quickly release the latch and open the gate to the pen. Then I release the ramp of the trailer which is lined up with the opening.
But the moment JD tries to get the horse to move, he rears on his hind legs.
“Whoa, easy boy.”
Instead of forcing the horse, JD moves with him, turning tight circles in the small pen. After passing by the wide-open gate a few times, the horse seems to relax a little. Then on the next pass, JD firmly leads the horse through the open gate, and this time the roan follows him straight into the back of the trailer.
“Nice work,” I compliment him when he climbs out of the small escape door at the front of the trailer.
“He could smell the hay I tossed in there before I left the barn. He’s already munching on it,” he points out as he follows me to the back of the trailer, where we lift the ramp back in place and bolt it shut.
Food is a great motivator, even for a bucking horse, apparently.
Showing my appreciation, I put my hands on his chest, lift up on my tiptoes, and press a kiss to his lips.
“Thank you. I’ll follow you home.”
I watch him as he heads for his pickup and climbs behind the wheel. Then I turn to walk to my own truck when I notice Phil Jericho standing in the open door of his trailer, watching me. I lift a hand in greeting, but instead of returning the gesture, he turns away and shuts the door behind him. Weird.
Instead of turning to the clinic, I park my truck in its usual spot outside the house, and walk over to where JD is already lowering the ramp of the trailer beside the barn doors.
“Before you get him out, let me check if Frankie got the stall ready for him.”
“Does he have a name?” JD wants to know.
I shrug. “I heard them call him Big Red, but I don’t know if that was referring to his color, or his actual name.”
His coat graduates from the deep red chestnut color of his head and neck, to the almost white blend on his hindquarters. But his tail is red like his mane and he has a white blaze down his face.
“Call him Red, everyone can see he’s big,” JD suggests.
I give him a nod in agreement before I poke my head into the barn to see Frankie left the stall door open and appears to have spread fresh straw inside. Then I give JD a thumbs-up, indicating he can bring the horse inside.
Ten minutes later, with a little coaxing from JD and some fresh oats from me, we’re hanging over the half door, watching Red explore his new stall.
“What are you gonna do with him?”
I glance at JD and shrug my shoulders. “I’m not sure. Get him better first, I guess.”
“You can always talk to Lucy at Hart’s Rescue. Maybe she can take him in.”
The thought crossed my mind when I was waiting for JD to get there with the trailer, but I don’t really want to pawn the poor animal off on someone else.
“As a last resort,” I concede. “I was thinking maybe I could see if he could be retrained to ride.”
JD turns to me with a dubious expression on his face.
“These bucking horses are notoriously difficult to rehabilitate,” he cautions me. “If bucking is all they’ve known their whole life, it may be an impossible feat.”
I hold out my hand when Red closes in, curiously sniffing, and I feel a small sense of triumph when he lets me stroke his soft nose.
“But he’s fairly young still. I think maybe I’d like to try.”
“It’s gonna be a lot of work.”
Red seems to have satisfied his curiosity with us and returns to the bucket of oats hanging on the wall. I step away from the door and turn to face JD.
“I know, but I feel like I owe it to him to try.”
One side of his mouth tilts up. On its own it’s barely a smile, but when you add his warm, dark eyes, fine lines fanning out from their corners, it couldn’t be any clearer.
“In that case, I’m happy to help,” he shares, grabbing my hand and pulling me to the door. “But first let’s eat.”
I snort. “It’ll have to be takeout because my fridge is empty.”
He lifts my hand to his mouth for a kiss on my knuckles.
“No need. I made us chili and cornbread.”