Chapter 6
Hadley
The sun burns my back and shoulders. I pluck another bale from the pile high on the semi, tossing it down to Kayley.
She lets it bounce before bending down to grab the twine wrapped around it, swinging it up and onto the row she’s making along the barn’s southern wall.
The far end of the barn is already stocked with round bales for the cattle, the old red tractor parked next to them ready for tomorrow morning’s feed out.
“You guys got a new photographer?” Kayley huffs through deep breaths, screwing her face up as she looks up to me on top of the truck load of hay.
“Unfortunately.”
“Hadley Matthew Jones.” She frowns at me, hands on her hips.
“Stop, Kales, you’re starting to sound like Mom.”
“Someone has to,” she mutters, taking the next bale I toss down and fixing it to the top of the wall of hay she’s meticulously building.
“The last one ended up in the back of an ambulance. Why don’t they send someone who knows rodeo?” I roll my head on my shoulders, letting my neck crack.
“How many rednecks know anything about taking photos, you dolt?” She tosses her glove at me. And misses.
I throw it back down.
She has a point. We want good images to promote the sport and gain sponsors.
It has to be professional. And I don’t know anyone around Clinton who does that kind of thing professionally.
Most folks hire talent from the bigger towns and the city when the occasion calls for it. Weddings and all that shit.
Guess we had a run of bad luck. Maybe Maggie—I think that was her name—will improve as she goes.
Kayley stands there with empty hands. “Give the girl a break. You know how infuriating you lot are to work with?” She lifts an elegant brow as she opens her arms to prove her point. “See what we have to deal with?”
I toss a bale at her.
She ducks to the side, and it hits the ground with a heavy thud.
“So incompetent.” She chuckles and swings it, tossing it to the front of the wall of bales and starting a new row. “We need to step on it, Hads. I have to have the truck back before three. Dane gets antsy if I’m late back.”
“Speaking of why we put up with—”
A glove hits my face.
“Shut it. He gave me a job when so many others wouldn’t.”
“Yeah, I know. He’s still a pain in the ass, Kales.”
“You oughta know.” She disappears around the back of the semi.
Same stupid shit in our small town, like so many other backward map-dot holes. Kayley job hunted for over eighteen months before someone would give her a decent job with a paycheck to match that of the guys in the same workplaces. This inequality shit’s gotta stop.
She works harder than most men I know. More brains than the lot put together.
The semi starts up, sending a shiver through the few remaining bales. I make quick work of them, and Kayley lines them up with the rest. That should get us through the next few weeks until the rain comes. Fingers crossed.
The cows and calves need the feed. After a hard winter, we’re biding our time until the rain arrives and the grass returns. One of my least favorite parts of ranching is being subject to the weather and its whims.
I jump down from the back of the semi and tug my shirt from where it hangs over the side mirror. Rubbing sweat from my face and neck, I watch as Kayley rolls up the tie down ratchet straps, storing them away in the metal box under the truck’s trailer.
“You doin’ another Alberta gig next month?” Kayley straightens, sending her hands into her lower back.
“Yeah, every weekend is accounted for this year. Need the points.”
“Going for the championship again this year?”
“No other reason to risk my neck every week.”
“Well, if you ever get sick of playing hero, big brother, you can stop your suicide weekends and stay home. We like having you around.”
“We need the money.”
She adjusts her cap over her long blonde ponytail. “We do. Just saying there’s better ways to earn it, is all.”
I slide my shirt on and pluck my hat from the hook by the barn door and shove it on my head. “Yeah, well. You find me one as consistent as rodeo and I’ll take it.”
She shakes her head. “Any excuse. See you, brother.”
“Later.” I wave her off as the semi jerks forward and rolls out of the barn, leaving a littering of hay remnants in its wake. The big old machine shifts through a few gears and rubber meets the gravel road as I close the barn up and make for the horses.
The fields behind our falling-down weatherboard house are home to our six horses.
The small stream running at the back of their paddock is low this time of year, and when I whistle, the herd tears through the water, galloping, hell-bent toward the fence line by the house. I lean on the wooden fence.
Something rustles in the golden grass to my left.
Patch, our—well, Nia’s—King Charles Spaniel, trots through the grass, coming from out from under the big old tree in our backyard.
“Patchie, where’d you run off to?” Nia calls.
A muzzle nudges my arm resting on the rail. I run a hand up the bay mare’s face and she nibbles at my shirt, looking for treats.
“Not this time, Missy.”
“You’re not taking her out today?” Nia moves in beside me, book tucked under her arm, and rubs the mare’s face, looking her over.
“Nah, might take Chester for a run.”
She screws her face up. “His attitude would scare the devil’s undies off.”
I chuckle.
Nia and her humor. If she doesn’t have her head in a book, she’s working on her dad jokes. And since ours was a joke, guess it figures.
“I ain’t scared of a little devil, sissy.” I mess up her hair with my hand, and she bats me away.
“Suit yourself, thrill seeker.”
Looks like the take on my pastime choices is unanimous.
My sisters, God bless them, would rather a brother than a ranch.
Or so I’ve been told, many times, when I’ve been bucked off and sitting in some emergency room, broken and bruised.
But until I can find a better way to earn extra money to keep our little patch of this sun-kissed, stunning country we call our own, I’ll stay chasing the thrills and money rodeo brings.
The back door of the house creaks open and snaps. Mom stands on the back step, arms hugging herself. “Need a hand today?”
She always asks.
And I always tell her I’ve got it handled. I don’t remember the last time she was on a horse. Or the last time she was up to doing much more than surviving.
“Doing a quick once-over on the cows and calves. A hot lunch would be nice later.” I give her my best smile, tugging my hat down firmer on my head.
She nods and smiles, heading back inside.
I duck into the tack room by the end of the horse field and grab my gear, resting it on the rail. Saddle. Bridle. Saddle pad.
Fisting the bridle and not bothering with a halter, I open the gate and coax Chester out. He shakes his head at me. Paws at the ground.
Off to a great start, bud.
I swing the reins around his neck, lead him from the paddock, and shut the gate behind him. Slipping the bit into his mouth, I slide the bridle over his head and secure the throatlatch buckle. He shifts on his feet, lowering his head as he closes his eyes.
Better.
“Just a quick run today. Back before you know it.”
He simply chews the bit, loosing a shuddering breath.
I throw the saddle pad onto his back, adjusting it behind his withers and then strong-arm the fender saddle over and onto his back. After tightening the girth and leading him around in a small circle, I readjust the tack and mount.
The second my ass hits the seat, he tosses his head.
I chuckle at him.
He has no idea who’s on his back.
Give it your best, you little shit.
Not giving him a chance to muck up, I push him into a lope and head for the fields. His quarters pop up as we turn into the laneway leading to the back fields. I push him faster.
I push my hat down as his hindquarters dance around. “Ah! Get on with ya.”
The thrill sends a wide smile over my face.
Who am I kidding . . . I crave this fire in my veins.
Kales is right, any fucking excuse.
Window rolled down, hand wrapped around the top of the doorframe, and fingers tapping the roof of the old pickup, I bob my way through a country rock song like I know every syllable.
A little past Okotoks, I glance at the gauges.
Gonna need gas.
This old girl sure guzzles it down. The countryside around the highway I fly down is burned from the harsh winter, as my own fields are. Grass is sparse on the ground, and I’d bet my last dollar—which won’t be too far away if I don’t have a win this weekend—they’re prayin’ for rain like we are.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m pulling into a gas station in the one-horse town of High River. I kill the engine once lined up with a pump and round the truck bed, filling up. The nozzle clicks and thunks to a stop when the tank is full, and I wander inside to pay.
Flicking my phone out of my shirt pocket, I check my messages as I walk for the counter. Two messages from Kales and one from Mom.
The same old shit.
Stay safe
Mom
Don’t die big man
Kayley
I send her the middle finger emoji and lock the screen as I look up, reaching the counter.
“Just the gas, son?” An old guy nods from behind the register.
I grab a pack of chips and a bottle of water and drop them on the counter. I don’t really enjoy junk food, but it feels wrong to not buy something. Brady can have them when I make Taber.
“Won’t make your cock any bigger, Jones.” The voice is familiar.
I turn back to find Knox behind me . . . lining up?
With a glance outside, I see his black rig at the pump on the opposite side the one my truck’s at.
“Fuck off, Knox.”
He chuckles, no warmth in the sound at all.
The old guy behind the counter clears his throat.
“Oh shit. Sorry, man.”
Sliding my wallet from my back pocket, I flip my card out and tap the machine in his waiting hand. The machine pings, approved.
Releasing a pent-up breath over concerns about available funds, or more likely the lack of them, I grab the snack and water.
Not paying Knox another glance, I walk from the small gas station.
Without wasting time, I climb into the driver’s seat and turn the engine over in my truck.
She roars to life, and I roll out and onto the highway.
No doubt Kade will pass me in a few minutes in his big shiny black truck.
Trying not to let it get to me that a guy like him made the team draft and can afford the truck of my damn dreams, I lean back in the seat and drive on down the highway, one hand on the wheel, cap pulled down over my forehead to block out the afternoon sun.
The black rig appears in my rearview mirror. I roll my eyes.
As soon as I set my focus back to the road in front of me, an outline of a small van on the side of the road comes into view.
Geez, sucks to be stuck on the side of the road anywhere, but out here? Not great. Poor guy. I lean forward, resting my forearms on the wheel to take a better look as I close in on them fast.
The yellow-and-white VW van looks familiar.
Almost one hundred percent sure I’ve seen it round the circuit in the last month or so.
As I get closer, I see the engine cover is open, steam pouring from it.
The side door is open, where I make out a head of wavy brunette hair hanging over bent knees and boots perched on the van’s step.
I slow down, and Knox flies past, honking like an idiot.
The brunette’s head flies up, and she pushes off the step and turns to face me as I roll up behind her van.
The second I see her face, my gut flips over like a fish on a line that knows all too well it’s done for.
Fuck.