Chapter 1
“Don’t touch him.”
My father’s voice snaps out into the quiet just as I’m reaching up to brush my fingertips over the neck of his horse, Raleigh. I curl them until my nails dig into my palm and let my arm fall to my side.
Raleigh snorts out a soft breath and shakes his head, his mane a bit matted with briars and hay.
“Can I brush his hair? Clean it up a bit?” I’ve learned to keep my voice low and even-tempered when asking anything of Clayborn Hughes. Any hint of what he could view as an attitude is cause for a tongue lashing, sometimes his fist.
My father pushes past me to grab an empty bucket we use to fill Raleigh’s water trough, shaking his head once he’s in front of me. “He don’t need his hair tugged on. I’m gonna saddle him and take him out for a ride later today. His hair is just gonna get more shit stuck in it.”
I step out of his way when he heads out of the small stall we keep for Raleigh in the back of the yard. The little building has enough space for the horse and his equipment. It’s insulated enough for the winters, but I do worry about the draft when it gets cold. I find myself slipping out of the house after my father has gone to sleep to lay an extra blanket over him on those extra cold nights.
My fingers twist together in front of me as I follow behind, leaving the stall. I’m not sure what I want to ask, but I’m itching to do something. As he fills the pail from the hose, I decide to say screw it and ask. “Is there anything I can do? I’d love to help out with him.”
I wait as he ignores my question, the rushing water into the metal pail loud in the small space. Once it’s full, he turns the faucet off, only the metal squeaking in the silence. Without answering me, he heads back into the stall and refills the trough. I wait for a few minutes, but when I get no answer, I ask again. “Father? Can I help with any—”
“Would you just shut the fuck up?”
My jaw snaps shut, and I look away. Pushing him is only going to make things worse, so I slip out of the shed and head out toward the back of the property. If I stay away long enough, he’ll forget I’ve annoyed him. Dinner is already prepped, and all the chores have been done inside the house.
As I pick my way through the old, rusted out appliances in the yard, I peek toward the edge of the property where our neighbors have their fence standing tall and solid. I’m not sure what happened with the Cooper family and ours, but for as long as I can remember, my father has told me to stay as far away as possible and to not create waves.
Our land is so full of junk while theirs is pristine and beautiful. I’ve always wanted to go over the fence and explore, but I fear my father’s fists more. Maybe I shouldn’t. I’m almost twenty-one years old and should be able to do what I want.
Would the Coopers be annoyed if I snuck over there? I can’t imagine they’d be terribly angry. It’s not like I’d do anything other than look.
Our properties have butted up next to each other for my entire life, and I know they have a son who runs their small ranch now. I’ve never talked to him before. My father swears he’s awful, but I’m sure that’s not true. The back portions of our properties stop right at the edge of a small cliff, which is one of my favorite places to venture.
Our town is one of four that surrounds the Broken Ridges. A break in the rolling hills that’s cut into pieces, forming ragged ridges. Aptly named, and I love the view we have. It’s one of the few things about my father’s property that I love.
Picking my way to the back, I follow the fence which separates us from the Cooper ranch. My fingers trail along the roughened wood and I snatch my hand away when I hear the thundering hooves of a horse.
Glancing quickly over my shoulder, I check to see if it’s Raleigh and my father, but I don’t see them, and the pounding of hooves is coming from more to my left. Peeking through the bushes, I watch as a form leaning low over the neck of a gorgeous white horse comes into view.
It must be Mason Cooper.
Father hates him more than any other Cooper with a passion. There have always been disputes and complaints over the clutter stacked along the fencing on our side of the property from their family. I imagine it’s an eyesore, and I can’t help but feel embarrassed by the state of how things are kept around here.
Mason doesn’t see me frozen in place as he sails past along the edge of his land, clearly in a rush to get to his destination. He’s a lot larger than I expected, his body like a God seated on the back of his horse. His muscled arms are gripped around the reins tightly, and there’s a serious look etched on his face with his lips pressed together. I haven’t seen him for a long time, and if my memory serves me correctly, I don’t think we’ve ever actually had a conversation before.
When I was younger, the few times I saw him rumble past in his truck, I only received a quick glance. Never a smile or wave in greeting, just his eyes for a brief few seconds before he’d look away and continue down the road to the entrance of the Cooper’s drive.
I’m not sure, but I’m fairly confident that he doesn’t live there any longer. I know his parents do, since the ranch is flourishing under their care. I assume Mason comes over every day to work, then leaves to head back to his home.
The pounding hooves disappear as he kicks his horse to speed up and they disappear over a slight hill out of my view. He’s headed in the same direction I am, and my curiosity gets the best of me to see what he’s up to. Maybe I can offer to help him out if he needs a hand.
I pick up my pace and hurry to the edge of the property where the fencing ends a few feet before the ridge drops off. I stay as close to the post as possible, my eyes staying away from the valley to avoid noticing how high I am right now. As much as I love the view, heights scare me to death, and I’ve only got about a three-foot space to slip around before I’m on Cooper land.
My heart kicks up to a fast pace when I consider that I’m trespassing right now. I’ve never been allowed to go onto their land, but what if he needs help? I’d give anything to be useful to someone right now.
Steeling my nerves, I lift my chin and head in the direction he was riding toward until I hear grunting and cursing. My resolve falters when I hear a loud, “Come the fuck on!” shouted.
Should I just go back? What if it’s a serious situation and he needs me?
With dragging feet, I push myself forward until I spy Mason wrestling with a calf who seems to have escaped from the herd. I’m not sure if there’s ever been a moment I’ve been this close to my neighbor, so I take the advantage to study him before he catches sight of me. Assuming he’s around the same age as my father, it’s clear he takes much better care of himself than Clayborn Hughes. There are some fine lines on his face, with some crow’s feet just developing at the corners of his eyes. Disregarding how frustrated he seems with his lips pressed tightly together, it’s easy to see his jaw is cut sharply underneath his short, dark brown beard. It’s a bit unkempt, but it suits him. I’m not sure of the color of his hair on his head, hidden in the shadows under his hat, but it seems to match the whiskers on his face.
My eyes roam over his body, and I’m surprised to see how muscular his arms are. More than the average man, not that I’ve seen many up close, but there are veins running from the back of his hands all the way up his arms until they disappear where his sleeves are rolled back. I swallow hard and jerk my eyes away, feeling guilty for ogling him.
Glancing around, I see another calf wandering about twenty feet from where he’s wrestling with the first and realize he’s got some babies who decided to go on a bit of an exploration.
Chuckling at how adorable they are, I freeze when Mason’s head whips up and zeroes in on where I’m standing.
“Who the fuck are you?” he snaps out, and my stomach clenches.
I fight the instinct to back away and give him a forced smile instead. “I’m your neighbor, Edith Hughes. I saw you riding past. It seemed like something was wrong.” I hesitate only a moment, then ask, “Do… do you need a hand?”
“I’m fuckin’ fine.” His answer is clipped. I knew he’d send me away the moment I mentioned my last name and his face grew dark. “Hughes ain’t welcome here, so you best turn your ass around and go back the way you came.”
His dismissal is humiliating, so I only nod once and take a step away to go back toward our side. I wish I knew why the Coopers and Hughes were at odds with each other, but I know I can’t ask my father. I certainly won’t ask Mason.
Scurrying away, I freeze when he calls out, “How’d you get over here, anyway?”
Turning back to face him, I swallow against my dry throat. “Th-There’s a gap along the ridge where the fence ends.”
He nods once as if he suspected my answer. Then, mumbling to himself, I can only just make out his response. “Gonna have to fix that in the mornin’.”
Without waiting for more, I walk as quickly as possible back to the ridge and slip back onto our property. By the time I’m past the fence, my heart is beating painfully hard. I don’t think I breathed for even a second during my departure. I suck in a loud, gasping mouthful of air to settle my nerves.
I never should have gone over there. Oh God, what if he tells my father?
My face falls along with my stomach, realizing I may have just seriously messed up. Father will be furious if he hears I bothered one of the Hughes.
Chewing on my lip, I squeeze my eyes shut, remembering his words.
“You stay the fuck away from them, you hear me, girl?”
I keep my eyes on the floor, nodding quickly so he knows I understand. His booted feet step closer until we’re toe to toe. It’s hard to know if he wants a spoken answer, or if I’m supposed to stay quiet.
When he growls in annoyance, I lick my lips quickly and whisper, “I understand.”
“Fuckin’ Coopers. The whole lot of ‘em need to disappear,” he grumbles, my answer good enough for now. He continues to complain about how horrible they are, and my question slips free before I can stop it.
“Why do you hate them?”
I wince at his sharp inhale. Instead of seeing him, I sense as he lowers his head to look directly into my face. His is covered in fury and disgust. “It don’t fuckin’ MATTER why, girl. You’ll do as you’re fuckin’ told and stay the fuck away. You need a reminder? I got no problem givin’ it to ya.”
Swallowing hard, I shake the memory off and hurry to my regular spot. There’s a boulder set about ten feet back from the edge that’s easy enough for me to climb onto without worrying about slipping and tumbling off the ledge.
As soon as I’m settled, I take a slow, deep breath, and allow myself to relax. It’s so unbelievably peaceful here. My mind wanders back to my neighbor, wishing he would have given permission for me to assist him.
Most likely, I would have only been in his way. I’ve never touched a cow before, though. They don’t seem entirely snuggly, but I’m fascinated, nonetheless. Frowning, I remind myself I can be useful. Maybe I’ll get in the way at first, but I’m a quick learner and never make the same mistakes twice.
Pastor Danielson and his wife Ruth have told me often they appreciate the extra hand I give them when events come up. It’s odd to me that my father insists on going to church every Sunday, but going is something I look forward to. I’m not always so sure about the messages they teach us there, or if I believe everything, but my favorite part is when the pastor stands behind the pulpit and reminds us over and over how much we are loved.
I think that’s what I cling to most; the idea that no matter what I do, there’s something or someone out there who will always love me unconditionally.
My deep frown loosens its tension when I think of that. Maybe all of it is a bunch of baloney and full of nonsense, but I’ll keep going for those good feelings. Besides, the two of them are so stinking kind. Always happy, greeting me with a warm hug and handshake when I arrive, trailing my father.
I think Ruth knows her hugs are special to me. They’ve grown tighter and longer over the past few months of Sundays, and she’s so warm and soft. It’s easy to just sink into her.
Which reminds me, I promised I’d bring some baked goods for Sunday service. Sometimes other members will bring treats for members to take on their way out, but she didn’t have anything planned for this coming service. I was sure to ask father if it was alright. He wasn’t thrilled, but he grunted out permission after making me promise I’d clean up my mess when I was finished.
I’d pay for the ingredients myself with the little cash I’ve earned when the church needed some hands. It’s the only time I’ve been allowed to work. My father says there is plenty of work to be done here at the house, so he refuses to drive me to a regular paying job.
Slipping from my rock, I find my feet and firm up my shoulders. I’m twenty years old. It’s time I found regular work, even if I have to walk every day. I’ll talk to him tomorrow when he seems to be in a decent mood. For now, I’ll focus on baking a few dozen cookies for Sunday.
Glancing toward the neighbor’s property once more, a little thought pops into my head. Maybe I’ll take a plate over to the Coopers’ place. Just because father doesn’t like them doesn’t mean I have to feel the same.