Colt
A few hours later, I’m standing with my hands in my pockets, watching the kid shovel shit in an empty barn stall. With the way he’s pinching his nostrils shut, Jonas’s voice comes out nasally. “It stinks in here.”
“I grew up on my uncle’s farm, and he used to say it’s the smell of money.”
“Gross.” He grimaces. “Are we almost done?”
“You’d be done already if you used both hands to work.” I sloppily gesture at the manure fork wobbling in his grip, threatening to dump the pile of horse crap he spent a concerning amount of time trying to pick up.
Jonas doesn’t respond, but he does pull his T-shirt over his mouth and nose so he can grab the fork with both hands to guide it toward the wheelbarrow.
For a kid brought out here to be helpful, he’s been anything but.
He spent the first twenty minutes chasing a pile of manure around the stall, unable to figure out how to scoop it up effectively.
And I could’ve stepped in to help, but it was too much fun watching him slowly become enraged, muttering obscenities under his breath as he struggled.
Once he got the hang of it, he spent half his time groaning and purposely dragging his feet, making the work take twice as long as it would’ve taken me to do it alone. I cleaned and organized the entire tack room while he mucked six stalls.
Slamming the last shovelful of manure into the wheelbarrow, he looks up at me with a weary expression. “What now?”
“I’m sure there’s fresh poop in the first few stalls you did by now, so you could start over again.
” I bite my cheek to keep from smiling, and the poor kid’s shoulders fall, but he doesn’t complain as he trudges across the concrete floor.
He uses his entire body weight to slide the stall door closed behind him.
“Kidding,” I add.
The back of his hand smears dirt—at least I hope it’s dirt—across his forehead. “So…am I done?”
“You’re done. Good job,” I say with a smile, and look toward the barn door. “Let’s get some fresh air.”
Stepping outside, Jonas takes a gasping breath as if he’s been oxygen-deprived for hours. The sun’s rays are strong and hot, and I’d much rather be in the barn, where the concrete helps keep things a few degrees cooler.
The buzzing of June beetles bounces around in the stagnant air, and in the distance a few ranch hands linger outside a round pen, watching what I assume is Jackson starting a new horse.
The sound of something twanging against the metal fence rails catches Jonas’s attention, and he squints to get a glimpse of what’s happening.
“Wanna go see?”
He simply nods, and we start down the gravel driveway.
“What made you want to be a cowboy? It’s not even fun.” Jonas shuffles his feet as he walks.
“Um, I’d say it was about eighty percent the movie Spirit and ten percent thinking the cowboys my dad hung out with were super fucking cool.”
“Spirit? The kid movie about horses?” I’m tempted to warn him his face is going to get stuck, considering it’s been held in the same pinched expression all damn day. “You’re missing ten percent.”
“Um, the other ten was me wanting to do the exact opposite of what my mom wanted me to do.”
Guess that answer wins me some points, because he smirks to himself.
We settle in next to where Denny’s leaned against the arena fence rail, heckling his older brother.
With all three Wells brothers running the ranch, each one has taken on a major part of the ranch work.
For Austin, the eldest, that’s finances—he’s the one I really want to keep happy so I get paid.
Jackson, the middle brother, ensures our remuda is up to snuff and sometimes takes on extra training clients, like the horse he’s working now.
And somehow Denny, the youngest, became a pseudo-mechanic—fixing everything that doesn’t require the expertise of an actual mechanic.
“Hey, man.” Denny looks at Jonas, then turns to me. “Told ya you weren’t doing anything illegal when I had you go pick him up.”
“He drove really fast on the way here,” Jonas offers up. “And can’t put a shirt on right.”
Eyeballing me, Denny laughs.
I look down at the sweat- and dirt-stained fabric and shrug. “It’s the new style. Guess you guys are behind the times.”
I meant to switch the shirt back after we pulled away from Whit’s house, then forgot. Anyway, now the inside is dirty, so it’s staying inside out and backwards for the rest of the day.
We fall silent and watch as Jackson gets the horse moving again, circling around him with an empty saddle on her back, huffing and snorting as she passes our section of the fence.
“Why isn’t anybody riding it?” Jonas asks after a few moments.
I answer, “Jackson’s getting her used to the saddle first.”
“Quit messing around, Jackson. She’s ready to ride.” Denny leans against the rail, watching the animal intently. Then his hands smack down on the metal, and he steps toward the closed gate. “If you’re too chickenshit, let me on her.”
Jackson opens his mouth to argue, but Denny’s already slamming the gate shut behind him and sauntering toward his brother.
Clouds of thick dust billow with each step.
With a grin, he playfully pushes his brother out of the round pen, then strokes a palm down the horse’s neck.
He maintains a steady touch on her shoulder as he tugs the cinch tight with his free hand.
“Your funeral, Denny,” Jackson says with an annoyed huff. “This is why I don’t do this shit when you guys are around—always gotta interfere.”
“You do this when I’m not around because you don’t want to give up your fancy schmancy trainer title when I show you up.” Denny steps a foot into the stirrup, keeping an eye on the horse’s expression.
“He just wants another excuse to pay a visit to the clinic in town,” I loudly say to Jackson.
“Don’t need an excuse,” Denny calls over his shoulder, hauling himself into the saddle. And for a moment, the horse remains perfectly still. “I’ve got a way with women and horses. What can I say?”
As if understanding what he’s saying and wanting to prove his cocky attitude wrong, the mare immediately bucks and bolts toward the far side of the arena.
With the sudden motion, Denny nearly falls off—ass coming out of the saddle entirely and cowboy hat flying from his head to settle in the thick dirt.
At least if he’s bucked off, he’ll have a soft landing.
He yells something about calling it quits, but Jackson insists he stay on so the mare doesn’t learn she can get away with this shit. I’m sure his reasoning has more to do with getting a kick out of putting his arrogant brother in his place.
“Is he gonna fall off?” Bewildered, Jonas watches Denny fight for his life with the mare.
“Maybe.” I shrug. “Getting bucked off horses is what he does for fun, though.”
“For fun? What’s wrong with him?”
Jackson’s laugh comes out more of a howl. “Kid, I’ve been asking that question for thirty-some years.”
When Denny finally appears to be getting the upper hand, the horse gives him a few solid bucks and a four-legged leap into the air that has everybody laughing. Even the little kid who’s been glaring at me every chance he gets meets my eyes with a hesitant smile.
When our makeshift rodeo is over, both the horse and the cowboy are out of breath and sweating.
And there’s no standing room left along the fence, with nearly everybody on the ranch gathered to watch.
Denny climbs out of the saddle with wobbly legs, handing off the horse to a smug-looking Jackson, and bends to scoop up his hat on his way to the gate.
“I could use a beer after that.” Denny brushes the dirt from his Stetson before placing it back on his head. “Mind taking the kid home? I was planning to give him a ride, but I’ll be a while yet. That whole thing kinda interfered with me doing actual work.”
“No problem.” I motion for Jonas to follow, and we walk side by side back toward the barn.
Finger and thumb wedged against my tongue, I whistle and Betty comes bounding around the corner of the barn not a second later.
Likely expecting another puppuccino, she’s hot on our heels and leaping in the passenger door before Jonas has time to climb in.
And this time when the truck lumbers over the cattle guard, Jonas tucks Betty under his arms and rolls the window down so she can hang her head in the fresh air.
Her big black ears bend in the wind and her tongue hangs happily out the side of her mouth.
Turning down the stereo, I ask, “Have any big summer plans?”
Jonas softly strokes Betty’s side. “A video game I’ve been waiting for comes out next month. My dad said he’d buy it for me.”
At ten I would’ve had something planned for every day of summer vacation.
Growing up on my uncle’s farm, there was always a herd of kids running amok from sunrise to sunset.
My mom had a giant dinner bell to call us in for meals, but otherwise we were practically feral.
Building forts, fishing, swimming, trying to ride various farm animals, and getting into any mischief we could.
“No plans to go swimming or fishing or hang out with friends?”
“We game online together every night. I can fish and swim in game.”
My nose involuntarily scrunches, and I steal a glance at him. “That sounds like the worst summer ever.”
“Better than shoveling horse poop.”
“Not by much, man.”
After a few minutes of silence—save for the loud panting coming from Betty, who’s made a home on Jonas’s lap—the kid clears his throat.
“I used to go fishing with my grandpa a lot,” he says.
“My grandpa took my brother and me fishing all the time, too.”
More silence. The painful kind.
“If you ever wanted to go”—my right hand twists on the leather steering wheel—“there’s a river at the ranch. We fish pretty often after work. Swim, too.”
His nod’s barely noticeable in my periphery.
· · ·
Pulling up to the house half an hour later, I’m once again reminded that I haven’t changed my shirt. Now I’m about to make a second bad impression in a single day. But, hey, I brought the kid back alive.
He didn’t exactly talk my ear off for the entire trip, but it was less awkward and stilted than the journey to the ranch this morning. Turns out he’s more than happy to explain the ins and outs of his current favorite video game, and once I got him chatting about that, the drive went by quickly.
Giving Betty one last ear scratch, he slips out of the truck and strides toward the house, stopping briefly to raise an eyebrow when he notices I’m following him.
“Just wanted to talk to your mom for a second” is my response.
Jonas flings the front door open with a squawky yell for his mom, then kicks his shoes off in the middle of the entryway and walks away without another look in my direction.
Mere seconds later, Whit turns the corner with a nervous pinching of her lips. Still wearing the pantsuit from this morning, she gives my dirty clothes a once-over, nose twitching to imply I don’t only look dirty, I smell it, too.
“Thanks for bringing him back. I hope he wasn’t too much trouble for you.”
“Actually, that’s why I didn’t just boot him out the truck door before coming to a complete stop. Wanted to let you know he was a huge help, and he’s welcome back anytime.”
As if pulled by puppet strings, her face twists with doubt. “A huge help?”
Okay, so she’s got me there.
“Okay, that might be a stretch. But he wasn’t too bad by the end of the day.”
The sight of her leaning against the doorframe, a sharp curve from wide hips to a narrow waist, makes my head go empty. Whether it’s the sun or her piercing eyes that have me suddenly hot all over remains to be seen.
Whit grips the edge of the door like she’s more than ready to close it and put an end to my ogling. “I’ll mention it to him, but I’m pretty confident he thought today was a cruel and unusual punishment. Thank you again for making sure he got back in one piece, though.”