Chapter 32 Magnolia
Ibreak up the hay mindlessly with the fork, my thoughts cloudy as the rest of my body screams for reprieve.
If I just keep moving, then I don’t think about how quiet the house is when I get home.
I barely have the energy most days to climb the stairs and fall asleep on the couch in a ball, still in my jacket.
I feel guilty in the morning when I’m covered with a quilt and the smell of fresh coffee pulls me from the lethargic sleep.
Joleen is patient and too kind. She doesn’t even need to be around anymore, and yet, every morning, the coffee and untouched breakfast are changed out with fresh stuff.
The laundry in the house has been done, but she hasn’t touched anything else.
I barely see her, she says good morning, and most days, I can’t even remember if I say it back.
I get up, change, drive to Whiskey River, and work.
I can feel Ford’s judgmental stare on my back.
“What?” I snap, turning to him.
He pulls off his hat, exposing the mess of brunette hair beneath which he combs uncomfortably with his fingers as he stares at me.
“Spit it out,” I say, rougher than I mean to, and it makes me want to cry. This isn’t me.
“You need to go home,” he says, and I start to laugh.
“Are you serious?” I huff, setting down the tool and chewing on my lip to keep the tears at bay. “You told me that this would help, and it’s…” I breathe in harshly.
“I know what I said, Mags.” He nods, his eyes drifting away from me. “But it’s not helping. You’re working yourself to the bone.”
“That’s the point, isn’t it?” I ask him.
“You’re nothing but grief anymore, I called Joleen…” he says.
“You did what?” I stop, my face crinkling up. It stings from the cold, and my nose instantly starts to get sniffly.
“She said you aren’t eating, Dot’s up my ass about it and…” he swallows tightly.
“And?” I ask him, pushing past him out of the stall into the barn. Bode stands at one end, talking to Peter, but his eyes are on me, and I can’t stand how badly I want to go to him. I turn my back on his expression and stare blankly at Ford.
“They’re right. You need a full day's rest, and you gotta call the lawyers back, they’re getting on Dot about the house.” He explains.
The house.
“They want me to sell it…” I blurt. I can’t.
“Do you want to?” Ford asks me like he didn’t come in here to banish me from the ranch under the pretense of it being for my own good.
“Yes. No…” I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter what I want. I can’t afford it, and all the money we had went into taking care of Mama.”
The tears well again, and Ford looks uncomfortable.
“I’m going,” I spit, rubbing them clear with the back of my hand.
“Mags…” he calls out, but I’m already halfway to the trucks.
I stop, looking at Bode’s truck and spot the thermos from our date.
I pop the passenger door quickly and swipe it from the cup holder.
Unscrewing the top, I find it still half full of whiskey, and the sip I take burns so brightly against my lips that I almost forget I’m sad.
I turn around and look at the big, stupid barn, mad at it like it personally told me to bugger off. Ford’s change in perspective is giving me whiplash, and it’s very clear that it’s not his own. I just wish that Bode Walker would stop sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong.
I’m allowed to be sad. I’m allowed to be angry.
Heck, I’m a grown woman, and it’s not up to any stubborn cowboy in all of Montana to tell me how I get to deal with my Mama dying.
I scowl at the ranch and take another sip.
I expect it to sting, but instead it blankets the hundreds of paper cuts that reside on my heart made by the grief of losing my mother.
“Screw this place,” I whisper with a tiny hiccup. I fish the keys to my truck out of my pocket and set them on the hood before I just start to walk. I don’t know where I’m going, but I can’t be here, so… I go.
“Ya know what’s wrong with today’s generation?
” The geezer next to me has been rambling on for God knows how long about politics and anything he can think of to bitch about.
Dakota winces slightly when his voice fills the bar over the loud country music.
Clearly over listening to him complain. “Ya’ll don’t wanna work!
” he bellows, slamming his beer down onto the bar top.
“Y’all just want everything for free and at the tip of your soft little babied fingers. ”
Irritation clenches my fingers around my glass of whiskey. He has no idea what he’s talking about. None of them do. I’ve drunk enough that the Devil’s Backbone seemed like a good idea when I showed up, and now, it’s just reminding me that people are selfish. Mama was selfish.
The thought has words leaving my mouth before my fuzzy brain can keep up, and I’m turned in my seat, glaring at the man.
One I don’t recognize, but he looks like he’d been dragged behind a tractor his whole life.
“You know what your problem is?” I slur, poking this robust man in his shoulder, and raise my brows, waiting for him to acknowledge me.
“Your generation is mean.” I bite when his eyes try to focus on me. “And selfish, and worst of all, you don’t give one flying fli–fuck!”
The man’s eyes turn wide, then what I can only assume is angry. “Now who the hell do you think you’re talkin’ to?”
“You!” I laugh wildly, throwing out my arms. “Or is there too much hair shoved in those ears you can’t hear?”
“Maggie,” Dakota warns, resting her hand on the bar to reach for me as I slide off the stool, but it’s no use, I lost count of how many whiskeys I’ve ordered, and the thermos had the nerve to go dry.
I poke him again, only this time in his chest, and frown when my finger squishes into it.
“You expect and take, and take and take some more in the most entitled, undeserving way! We didn’t choose to be here!
I didn’t choose to be here!” My voice cracks as my grief claws through the alcohol.
“You know how old I was when everything went to shit? Like fifteen! I couldn’t even drive, and yet EVERYTHING is our fault!
You know what else?” I snap, poking him again, “You’re all either too stupid or too stubborn to take care of yourselves, and then you expect us to do it when you can’t!
We were screwed the moment your generation grew up! ”
“You better quit pokin’ me, little girl,” the man spits back, pushing off his stool and moving to his full height in front of me.
“Or what?” I narrow my eyes up at him, ignoring the hoppy smell of his breath and the distance closing between us. “You pussy enough to hit a girl?”
The man turns an ungodly shade of red, and I don’t realize his hand raising until I feel an arm tug me back and out of the way. “Hey!” I shout and shove off whoever grabbed me.
“Magnolia!” Cam’s voice shocks me for a moment as I feel another set of arms wrap around my waist. I hadn’t seen Cam in months. He showed up first before the paramedics the night Mama fell, right before she had to get the wheelchair.
Dakota pulls me back a few steps from the bar and shoves a bottle of water in my hand, “Drink,” she urges and turns back to Cam and the man.
I don’t want it. I don’t want the water, I don’t want to be told what to do, but worst of all, I don’t want to be forced to go. I don’t want to go home.
Cam shoves the man towards the front door before turning back to me.
His blue eyes frustrated and glaring right at me.
I’ve never seen him out of his usual bulky uniform, and in the dim light of the bar, his resemblance to Crew shines.
Broad shoulders, not as bulky or tall, but like a slimmer, still attractive in an unforgiving Cassidy way.
“Why are you out here pickin’ fights with grouchy farmers?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Because I want to.” I grin lazily, the adrenaline pushing the whiskey through my veins like a freight train. “And because I can.”
“Maggie, he had like two hundred pounds on you!” Cam’s eyes widen before he finally lets out a sigh when I don’t answer. “Why don’t you go–”
“Don’t.” I sneer up at him. “I’m not going back to that hell.”
I see the moment his shoulders drop and his face softens with sadness. I hate it, and the fact that I know he’s about to make me leave makes me even angrier.
“Don’t you say it, Cameron Cassidy.”
“Alright, see, now you’ve full named me and that’s not fair.” He says, reaching for my arm again, but I tug it out of his grasp. “Magnolia,” he warns, and goes for me again, but I spin out of his reach and move into the crowd.
“You’re not the boss of me, Cassidy!” I sing song and push between two people dancing. “And I’m not going home!”
I’m almost to the middle of the dance floor when he snatches me up off the ground, forcing a surprised yelp out of me that he’s that much of an ass. “Put me down!”
“I’m taking you home, Maggie.” He grunts when I shove my elbow into his back to get him to drop me.
“This is kidnapping!” I yell. It’s a weak argument, but being flipped upside down like this has the alcohol churning in my empty stomach. “Put me down, or I’m going to puke down your stupid shirt.”
Cold air rushes past us as he steps outside and sets me on the sidewalk next to his cruiser. A hiccup forces its way up my throat as I try to glare at him, but the way he swings me around has me seeing two of him. “You can go,” I wave him off and hiccup again with a frown. “I don’t need you.”
“You don’t really have the choice anymore, Maggie.” He sighs and moves to open his passenger-side door.
“You can’t make me, Cam. I’m not going anywhere.”
Cam looks down at me, his lips pressed into a thin line, trying to figure out how to convince me to get into his cab, but it’s not happening. One way or another, I’m not going into that car.
He steps forward to reach for me, but I step back, almost losing my balance with the head rush of whiskey, and raise my clenched fists. “I swear to God, Cam.”
“Magnolia,” his voice drops and his eyes narrow on me. “Do not throw that punch–”
“Is that a challenge, Sheriff Cassidy?” I smirk mid-wobble.