2. Beau
Chapter 2
Beau
T he sun beat down on the back of my neck. If there was one thing about Texas summers a man could count on, it was the heat. I wiped the sweat from my brow with the back of my hand, smearing the dirt caked there from a long morning's work. The fence post I'd been hammering into the dry earth stood firm now, a testament to hours of backbreaking labor. Even Willow, my mare tied up a few feet away, was getting tired of being out in the heat. She showed her impatience by shifting every few seconds and stomping her hoof on the hard earth.
“I know, girl. I know. I’m almost done.” I said, trying to soothe her. She settled down instantly, giving me some side eye. Sometimes I swore that horse spoke better English than I did.
I sighed and went back to the fence, tightening the wire the last couple of inches. Such was the life of a small-time cattle rancher. Every time the cows broke something, I was the one that had to fix it. The ranch just wasn’t big enough to keep more than a single person on as hired help, and Frank was getting on in years. These days he kept close to the house, caring for the horses and tagging calves.
I stepped back, surveying the line of new posts stretching across the rolling prairie. The old fence had needed replacing for years, but there was always something more pressing to tend to on the ranch. Now, with the county fair coming up, I couldn't put it off any longer. Folks would be driving by, and I'd be damned if they saw the Turner Ranch looking anything less than pristine. We had a reputation to uphold. That and I’d hate for the cattle to get out and cause an accident. If there was one thing that didn’t mix, it was cows and cars.
A gentle breeze rustled through the tall dry grass, and I closed my eyes, savoring the sweet touch of it against my skin.
“Looks good, son,” came a gruff voice from behind me. I turned to see my father, Jack Turner, approaching on his old mare. He swung down from the saddle with a grace that belied his sixty-five years, his weathered face creasing into a smile.
“Thanks, Pa,” I replied, my voice low and quiet. I wasn't much for words, never had been. But Pa understood me just fine.
He clapped a hand on my shoulder. “It’s gonna look real nice for the fair this weekend.”
I nodded, squinting against the sun as I looked out over the pasture. The fair was always a big deal in Sagebrush, bringing in folks from all over the county and beyond. It was a chance for everyone to show off their best - whether that was livestock, produce, or barbecue. The Turner Ranch had been known for its prize-winning beef for generations, and this year would be no different. I’d spent the entire past year making sure of that.
“You gonna enter the barbecue contest again this year?” Pa asked, his voice casual but his eyes sharp. “Some of the folks in town have been askin’ about you.”
I hesitated, rubbing the back of my neck. The barbecue contest was a sore spot between us. I'd won it three years running with my secret recipe, but last year... well, last year I'd decided not to enter. It had caused quite a stir in town, and Pa hadn't been too pleased. Mostly because he was the one that had to deal with the fallout. I just stayed on the ranch and worked. The only person I saw much in town was the waitress at the diner when I picked up lunch now and then.
“I don't know, Pa,” I said finally. “You know how folks are. If I’m there… they'll start talkin' even more than they already do.”
Pa sighed, his weathered face creasing with concern. “Son, you can't keep hidin' out here on the ranch forever. People are gonna talk no matter what you do. Might as well give 'em somethin' worth talkin' about.”
I shifted uncomfortably, avoiding his gaze. Pa meant well, but he didn't understand. He was the picture of normal out there in the sticks. In a small town like Sagebrush, rumors spread faster than wildfire when people were… different, and they burned just as hot. The whispers had started after I'd turned down Amber May's proposal two years ago at the fair. She'd cornered me by the barbecue pit the moment the champion trophy was handed to me, and got down on one knee right there in front of God and everybody. I'd never been so mortified in my entire life. I turned her down before she could finish. And some folks thought turning down one of the most beautiful girls in town was a bit suspicious.
“I just don't think it's a good idea,” I mumbled, turning back to the fence to gather up my tools.
Pa let out a long sigh, his boots scuffing in the dry dirt as he shifted his weight. “Beau, you can't keep runnin' from people. This town... they might surprise you if you gave 'em half a chance.”
I stiffened, my hand freezing on the handle of my hammer. Pa had never been this direct about the situation before. We'd always danced around the subject, letting the unspoken words hang heavy between us. But now, with the fair looming and the whole town buzzing with anticipation, it seemed he was done with subtlety. It sounded like he was trying to be supportive, but then again, it wasn’t like he knew my secret. I’d yet to hear those words from his lips. Of course, I hadn’t admitted the truth out loud to him yet. Or myself, for that matter.
“It ain't that simple, Pa,” I muttered, shoving the hammer into my tool bag with more force than necessary. “You know how folks 'round here can be.”
“Maybe so,” he conceded, his voice softening. “But you're a Turner, son. And we go back as far as Sagebrush herself does. One embarrassing moment ain’t gonna change that.” He patted me on the shoulder again. “Just think about it, will ya? For me.”
I let out a long sigh, nodding. He really was just talking about the proposal and nothing else, after all. “I’ll think about it.”
Pa gave my shoulder a final squeeze before mounting his horse again.
“I’ll see ya up at the house,” he said, turning the mare back in that direction. “Mabel’s cookin’ up chicken-fried steak, and you know how she is about being late to supper.”
With a wave of his hand, he turned and rode off towards the house that was out of sight. I watched him go, a knot forming in my stomach. The thought of facing the whole town at the fair made me queasy, but disappointing Pa wasn't much better. And that thought of running into Amber May again made me shudder. She was the whole reason I avoided town as much as possible these days. I wasn’t sure I could face her after breaking her heart on the midway that day.
I turned back to the fence, running my hand along the rough wood of the new post. The ranch had been in our family for generations. Every inch of this land held memories - of long summer days spent riding horses, of cattle drives under starry skies, of quiet moments shared with Pa as we mended fences just like this one. It was more than just land; it was our legacy.
But lately, it had started to feel like a cage.
I shook my head, trying to clear away the thoughts. There was work to be done, and dwelling on things I couldn't change wouldn't help. I gathered up my tools and put them into Willow’s saddlebags. She was more than ready to get going, too. The moment my foot hit that stirrup, she was already walking.
“Hold on a damn second,” I cursed, swinging the rest of my body up into the saddle. “Impatient cow,” I muttered .
Willow stopped dead in her tracks and swung her head around to stare at me with one large, disapproving eye. Damn horse was too smart for her own good.
“Sorry,” I grumbled. “Now come on. Let’s go home.”
She huffed but followed my lead as I turned her toward home. It was a short ride and as Willow and I crested the ridge, the familiar sight of the Turner homestead came into view. The old two-story farmhouse stood proud against the Texas sky, its white paint gleaming in the late afternoon sun. I’d just repainted it that spring, in fact. The red barn beside it was a stark contrast, its weathered boards telling tales of countless storms weathered and cattle sheltered. That was on my to-do list. Frank kept saying he was going to take care of it for me, but being a man near seventy, I didn’t particularly want him on a ladder thirty feet off the ground.
I guided Willow towards the barn, the smell of hay and leather growing stronger as we approached. As I dismounted and led her inside, I could hear the distant clatter of pots and pans from the house. Mabel, our housekeeper, cook, and Frank’s wife, was likely putting the finishing touches on dinner. As Pa had said, being late was not an option. Mabel didn’t like her hard work getting cold. But being early was just as bad. The dining table was in the kitchen, and she had a rule about being in her space when she was working.
After settling Willow in her stall and giving her a good brush down, I filled her rack with fresh hay and fed her for the night. She made sure to tell me she appreciated it by giving me a nudge in the shoulder with her soft muzzle. That was her way of showing affection, always had been. Once she was settled, I made my way to the house. The screen door creaked as I entered, the sound as familiar as my own heartbeat.
“That you, Beau?” Mabel called from the kitchen. “Supper’s ready.”
“Just let me wash up,” I called back, hanging my hat on the hook by the door.
“Make it quick, darlin’. Don’t want your steak getting cold. ”
I trudged up the stairs to my bathroom, eager to wash away the day's grime. The cool water felt heavenly on my sun-baked skin as I scrubbed my hands and face. Grabbing a towel from the rack, I dried myself off, making sure I got every last bit of dirt. I glanced up into the mirror as I put the towel away. I saw the same reflection I always did - tousled blonde hair, blue eyes, and tanned skin peppered with freckles. But tonight, there was something different in those eyes. A restlessness I couldn't quite shake. Why did Pa have to bring up the fair again? I just wanted to leave all that behind me, to forget that it ever happened. But maybe he was right. Maybe I was just running from the truth. One I didn’t want to face.
Sighing, I changed into a clean shirt and headed back downstairs. The smell of Mabel's cooking hit me full force as I entered the kitchen, making my stomach growl. Pa was already seated at the table, Frank beside him, both of them eyeing the steaming plates piled high with gravy that Mabel was setting down.
“There you are,” Mabel said, giving me a warm smile. “Sit yourself down before these two jackals gobble up your dinner for ya.”
“What is this?” Pa said, stabbing his for through something green and holding it aloft. I couldn’t help but smile as I saw the steaming piece of broccoli. Pa hated green food.
“It’s good for ya and you’ll eat it,” she shot back without looking. The woman had eyes in the back of her head.
“I don’t want it.”
Frank and I exchanged a nervous look as Mabel rounded on Pa.
“Jackson Montgomery Turner,” she growled.
Uh-oh. Full name. That was never good. Pa immediately cowered in fear as she put her hands on her hips and gave him a look that could have killed a weaker man.
“Don’t you think for one second I didn’t hear about your results from the doctor last week,” she snapped. “Your cholesterol is through the roof and you’re one good meal away from being on an operating table.” She stepped up to him, pointing a threatening finger at his plate. “You will eat every bite of that broccoli, ya hear? I thought I’d wean you off the fried stuff slow. But if you’re gonna be a nuisance, we’ll go straight to kale and grapefruit.”
Pa swallowed hard. “This is fine. I love broccoli.” He took a bite, wincing like a little kid forced to eat his veggies. “It’s… ugh… great.”
“Why do I have broccoli, Mabel?” Frank asked, looking at his own plate.
“Because ain’t nobody in this house going on a diet alone. If one of you’s got a problem, the other two aren’t far behind.” She put hers and my plate on the table, both with a bigger helping of broccoli than the others. I was always better when it came to veggies, anyway. “Now eat up and stop acting like a couple of spoiled cattle dogs.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Pa and Frank said in unison, but they didn’t look happy about it.
Mabel led us in a quick prayer before we started to eat. I wasn’t the religious type, and honestly, neither was Mabel. But she liked her traditions, and she was brought up praying before a meal by her folks. When I asked her about it, she said it gave people a sense of unity and togetherness. As far as she was concerned, the world could use a little more comradery regardless of religion. Sometimes I thought she was right.
As we ate, the conversation flowed easily around the table. Pa and Frank discussed the upcoming cattle sale, while Mabel chimed in with town gossip she'd picked up at the general store. I stayed quiet, focusing on my food and trying to ignore the knot of anxiety that had taken up residence in my stomach since Pa had found me in the pasture earlier.
“So, Beau,” Mabel said suddenly, turning her attention to me. “Your Pa tells me you're thinkin' about entering the barbecue contest at the fair this year.”
I nearly choked on my steak. Apparently, I had good reason to be anxious. Seems there was a lot of talk happening in the house without my knowledge. Shooting a glare at Pa, I cleared my throat. “I, uh... I haven't decided yet. ”
Mabel's eyes softened. “You know, honey, folks have been askin' about you. They miss seein' you around town.”
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. “I've been busy with the ranch and there’s more yet to do.”
Mabel tsked from her seat. “Now, don't you go hemming and hawing, Beau Turner. That recipe of yours is too good to keep to yourself. Why, I remember the first time you won that contest. Never been so damn proud in my life.” It wasn’t like Mabel to curse, not unless she really meant it. “Nothing like watching your own kin do somethin’ special.”
Mabel and Frank had been around my entire life, but we weren’t related. However, they were just as much family to me as Pa. Frank had been hired on before I was born to help with the ranch and Mabel came with him as a package deal. They had a small house out behind the main one where they still lived. However, when my mother died just a few weeks after I was born, they pretty much spent all their time at the house, helping Pa raise me. Mabel was the only mother figure I’d ever known, so it made my heart sing to hear her claim me as her own.
“Oh, I almost forgot. Amber May's mama was asking after you at the market today, too.”
I nearly choked on my mouthful of steak. “What?” I managed to sputter out.
Mabel nodded, her eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief. “Said Amber's been wonderin' if you'll be at the fair this year. Seems she's still sweet on you, despite... well, you know.”
I felt the heat rising in my cheeks. “I... I don't think...”
“Now, Mabel,” Frank said, pointing a piece of steak at his wife. “Leave the boy alone. He didn’t want her then, and he probably doesn’t want her now.”
“I didn’t want you when I first met you either, Frank McQuinn.”
“Yeah, but I won you over.”
“You nearly drove me to drink is what you did.”
“Forty years later,” he smiled. “Happy as can be. ”
“That’s all I’m tryin’ to say,” she continued, looking back at me. “Some things that don’t feel right at first… well, they can grow on you. And despite everything this old fool says,” she said, shooting a glare at her husband. “It all turned out for the best.”
I knew what she wanted me to say, that I was going to become barbecue champion, take Amber May on a date, and marry her all in one night. Mabel meant well, but she could be a first-class meddler when she wanted to be.
“So maybe,” Mabel adding, pushing her point even further. “You should… I don’t know… call her or something.”
Her eyes were so full of hope as she stared at me that I couldn’t find the will to puncture her dreams completely. Too bad my stomach was so twisted up and knotted that I felt like I was going to be sick.
“I will think about it,” I said at last, not lifting my gaze from my plate.
“That’s all I can ask for, darlin’.”
Suddenly, the food no longer held my attention. Instead, I was far too wrapped up in my own thoughts and anxieties. There were things that I felt I needed to say, that needed to come out so everyone would finally understand why Amber May and I couldn’t be together. But I wasn’t brave enough to say them and so they remained unsaid.