Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
ZANE
“I still can’t believe you said that.” Arlene rolls out pastry for the chicken pot pie she’s making for family dinner.
“But he’s not family,” I protest, the same way I did yesterday, when she told me off then too. I pick up another potato and begin peeling it.
“Yes, but his own family is thousands of miles away.”
“That was his choice,” I say, which earns me a sharp look.
“Well, it was.” I dig in further and Arlene sighs.
“Don’t you think once in a while he might miss it? When do you think he last had a home-cooked meal?”
“I dunno.”
“Exactly. It doesn’t seem right that he’s over there on his own on a Sunday when we’re enjoying family dinner. I’m making it, so I can invite whoever I choose.”
“But this is my house.” As soon as the words are out, I know I’ve overstepped. Arlene is rarely angry, but her eyes flash as she whirls round, the rolling pin still in her hand and pointing towards me.
“Clive might have inherited the farm, but don’t forget, I grew up in this house too. It’s as much my home as well.”
She’s right, of course. It was my great grandfather who bought the farm in the first place, and Grandad who expanded it. Arlene might have moved out when she married Buck, but it will always be the Dawson family home.
“What happened to you? You used to be such a sweet child?” She lowers the rolling pin and returns to her work, and there’s a wistful tone in her voice.
My childhood ended the day Nova was born and it was just me and Dad.
He dealt with his grief by throwing himself into the farm, and I looked after Nova.
And now I look after the farm and my family.
It’s what I do. Thankfully, she doesn’t seem to require an answer, and I finish up the potatoes.
I still have a couple of hours before dinner, so I walk over to the barn, to the saddle room, and check over the horse’s tack ready for next week.
As I work, I hum “A Coat of Many Colours,” a song my mom used to sing to me as a lullaby. It still brings me comfort.
“Did you know Devin’s brother is famous?” Nova says over dinner.
“I wouldn’t call him famous.” Devin wrinkles his nose slightly, which should look odd on a guy with a full black beard but is strangely endearing. I look away quickly.
“But he has over five hundred thousand followers on his Instagram and nearly as many on his YouTube channel,” Nova says with awe in his voice.
“What does he do?” Dad asks.
“Godwin is an archeologist. When he was in college, he started doing small videos of interesting artifacts or buildings. Finding hidden gems in places people pass every day. It just grew from there.”
“But he’s been on TV, so he’s definitely famous,” Nova adds.
“He’s been a specialist on a few history programs, though there is also talk of him presenting his own show next year.”
“Famous,” proclaims Nova. “And look at him. He’s so dreamy.
” He holds up his phone and I catch a glimpse of a guy who actually doesn’t look much like Devin at all.
He’s more slightly built, clean-shaven, with dark auburn hair and thick glasses.
He’s wearing a crisp white button down, and has tattoos showing on his forearms where his sleeves are rolled up.
“No phones during family dinner,” Arlene admonishes, and Nova reluctantly puts it down again.
“You don’t look much alike,” I say.
“Neither do you and Nova,” Devin quips back in that way he has of handing my own words back to me like he’s returned an ace serve. It’s true. I’m several inches taller than Nova. He has Mom’s high cheekbones and delicate features, whereas I take after dad.
“What about your other brothers. Do they look like you?” Arlene asks.
“They’re both taller and bigger than I am, but they have the same auburn hair as Godwin. Just like our dad. I have my mum’s dark hair and eyes.”
“Like the odd man out,” I say.
“I suppose,” he says, but I notice his eyes flick to me and a sharp look crosses his face before it’s gone again. I must have hit a nerve, found a chink in is good-natured armour. It intrigues me, though I don’t know why. Maybe there is a depth to Devin after all.
“I saw you were in the saddle room earlier. Does that mean we’re going to the well soon?” Nova asks, changing the subject.
“I was thinking of going next week,” I reply, and Nova whoops.
“What’s the well?” asks Devin.
“Over on the far side of the farm, past where we grow hay, is an old well. It’s part of an underground spring that runs from Lover’s Butte Mountain and down to Big Butte Lake. It was built up by our grandfather.
“It feeds a series of underground aquifers, which help make this area perfect for growing hay. Every year we ride up and check it’s not blocked up and do any maintenance.”
“It’s so cool,” Nova says animatedly. “It’s practically in the mountains. There’s a cabin and loads of wild animals.”
“It sounds wild,” Devin says.
“One year, we heard a bear. It was moving round the cabin and scratching at the door.” Nova whispers like he’s telling a ghost story, and I watch Devin shudder slightly.
I bet the guy from the small island across the sea has never been somewhere truly wild.
Not that I would class this as wild, but it can seem so, and it would be foolish to underestimate the dangers.
It gives me the answer to a problem I’ve been thinking over, and I ignore the little spark of something like delight it gives me.
“Actually. I’m thinking of taking Devin with me this year.”
“What? No!” Nova almost shouts, and I see Devin’s eyes swivel to watch me warily.
“We have the feed store now. We can’t both go. I need to do the repairs and you can manage the feed store. There are no big deliveries due next week and you can have use of the truck.” I add the last as a sweetener, as I know how disappointed he’ll be.
“What does this entail?” Devin asks cautiously.
“We ride up to the well, where there’s probably a days’ work to do, and then we come back. We’ll be away for three days maximum.”
“Okay, as long as I’ll be back to go to Sacramento on Friday.”
“Easy done. We’ll leave on Saturday,” I confirm, pleased that he’s not refusing to go.
“You’ll love it.” Nova grins, obviously now happy to stay at home and be in charge. I’m glad I didn’t have to remind him how important the feed store is. We resume eating and there’s silence for a few minutes until Devin puts down his knife and fork with a clatter.
“Wait, did you say ride? How are we getting there?”
“On the horses, silly.” Nova giggles.
“No. No. I can’t do that. I’ve never been on a horse in my life. I can’t go.” He looks genuinely stricken. I shouldn’t find any satisfaction in him being uncomfortable, but I do.
“Oh, riding’s easy,” Nova laughs.
“Says someone who was probably born in a saddle,” Devin scoffs almost nervously.
“I’m sure a guy like you can pick it up,” I say and look him square in the face. “I can teach you.”
I see the moment he makes a decision.
The moment he firms his jaw, accepting the challenge I’ve thrown at him.
The moment my stomach flips over.
“Okay,” he says gruffly.
“Good. We start lessons tomorrow.”
His eyes darken like the blackest, starless night, and my stomach flips again.