Chapter 13 Cal
Cal
The problem with treating cows for IBK isn’t just that it’s hot and dusty out here and smells like cows.
It’s that I’ve treated cows so many times, I could do this with my eyes closed.
Which means I’ve got plenty of time to think about Frankie.
But also plenty of opportunities to get hurt.
Familiarity doesn’t mean these animals aren’t still bigger and stronger than I am.
So, when I’m slow getting the antibiotic ready and a mean heifer bucks in the alley, pinning Wes against the metal panels, I snap back to attention fast. Bennett and Dad distract her so Wes can scramble over the gate and out of its reach.
She takes a few minutes to calm down, enough for me to get the meds in her eyes. Once we open the chute, she darts out, still mad, but she quickly runs it off.
Dad pats Wes down, brushing dust off his back while checking for injuries. He’s a little bruised and out of breath but not broken.
“Where’s your head, son? You’ve been distracted all morning,” Dad says to me when he’s done with Wes.
“Sorry, Dad. Won’t happen again.”
I’m too old to be lectured by him. I can count on one hand how many times he’s actually done it. But this last mistake wasn’t the first this morning. His frustration is fair.
“I can tell you where his head’s at,” Wes says. “Hollywood.”
I shoot him a glare. He fires one right back, but I keep my mouth shut.
He’s got a right to be mad. I’m mad at myself for all the same reasons he is.
I’ve let myself get distracted from my responsibilities.
I’m thinking more about myself and Frankie than I am my own family.
Same mistake I made last night when I kissed her.
I can’t make that mistake again. Until she knows if she’s staying or going, we can’t be anything more than friends.
I refocus my attention on the job at hand until I’ve treated the last half dozen infected cows.
“That’s the last of them.” I slap my hat against my thigh to shake off the dirt. “Let’s get out of this heat and grab some lunch.”
I promised Frankie I’d take her home, and while I have appointments closer to town, going all the way into Serenity Cove is going to add time onto my trip I don’t have.
Not only that, but I worry people will be waiting to take pics of or harass her.
I’m fighting my urge to keep her here where I know she’s safe.
The fact Mom and Junie have both attached themselves to her like ticks on a dog, only sharpens my urge to keep Frankie here.
If I’m honest with myself, though, I’m not only worried about Frankie’s safety. A big part of me is worried if I take her back to her place, she’ll decide not to come back to the ranch, and I won’t ever see her again. She’ll disappear, like she tried to do in Serenity.
But fear’s not a reason to make her stay.
My dad and brothers head home in one truck. I follow in mine.
They’re done with me today. All morning, I’ve been distracted, bossy, and impatient. I blamed my mood on the stress of dealing with so many cows, trying to treat them all quickly before the infection spreads. But no one believed that. Not even me.
I appreciate them giving me a minute to work out what’s going on in my head before I get back to the ranch. Mom always says alone time is my love language, and I need it right now.
I flick off the radio, unroll my windows and let the lowing of the cows and chirping of birds calm my nerves as I roll slowly down the dirt road away from the pasture.
I pick up speed when I turn onto the paved road.
The wind blows through the cab, carrying with it the smell of fresh-cut hay and cooling me down for the first time today.
My head clears enough to sort through the million thoughts driving my emotions.
The only person I’m more worried about than Frankie is Junie. She’s already attached to Frankie, and it’s happened so fast I didn’t notice until it was too late. Probably because I’ve been too busy getting attached to her myself.
It’s one thing if Frankie were to leave me. It’s another thing entirely if she were to leave Junie.
Junie doesn’t remember losing her mom. But I remember weeks of her refusing the bottle because she’d never taken one; the months of her crying; a year of never wanting to be put down.
We both stopped sleeping through the night unless we were in the same room.
That lasted for more than a year. Sometimes she still crawls into bed with me.
She’d just started to crawl before Kayla died. Then she stopped. She didn’t smile as much. Her laugh disappeared long enough I worried it was gone for good.
No matter how much Cassidy and Mom and I loved on her, Junie knew her mom was gone. I think part of her still knows it. That trauma is part of her DNA now. My responsibility is to make sure nothing ever happens to make her relive it.
That’s my job as her dad. To protect her any way I can.
Frankie needs to understand that. I guess that’s what I’m most worried about. That she won’t understand that my walking away last night had nothing to do with her and everything to do with my being a dad before anything else.
By the time I pull up at the house, Mom’s loading up coolers to take down to the grove. Dad and my brothers pack them out to the ATV’s and bungee them onto the back. But I don’t see Junie anywhere.
My first instinct is to look out the back door toward the pool to make sure she hasn’t snuck in there.
When Junie and I moved to the ranch, Dad fenced the pool and put in an alarm.
But now that Junie’s figured out how to unbuckle her car seat, it’s only a matter of time before she figures out how to unlock that gate.
And what if nobody notices the alarm in time to keep her from drowning?
I let out my breath when I don’t see her by the pool, but the worry returns when I see her swing set and playhouse is also empty. That’s where she spends most of her time.
“Where’s Junie?” I turn to ask Mom.
“Cassidy took her down to the grove a little bit ago,” she says, carefully stacking sandwiches in the last cooler. “Hayes got her all wound up about helping with the harvest. She’s been begging all morning to go. That’s why we’re eating down there too, even though it’s hot as blazes.”
I turn back to the glass door and look toward the grove, knowing I probably won’t catch a glimpse of Junie, but I don’t want Mom to see that I was worried.
“Thanks for looking after her, Mom.” I take off my hat and rake a hand through my hair. “Frankie’s helping pick, too?”
“Yep. That’s why Junie had to go. She’s got a thing for that girl.”
“I know.” Worry slips into my voice.
The sound of Mom’s footsteps follows, and within seconds she’s standing next to me, staring out the window with me, and rubbing my back. “She’s not Kayla.”
“Yeah.” I let out a breath and look at Mom. “But who is the real Frankie? An actress? A waitress? A billionaire’s daughter?”
Mom shrugs. “She’s just Frankie, son. She’s still figuring out what that means too.
But that’s true of all of us. We spend our lives trying to figure out who we really are.
” She stops long enough to make me meet her gaze.
“But I think she knows one thing about herself. She’s willing to sacrifice everything to do the right thing. And that’s something.”
Mom offers a smile. My chest loosens. Of course she’d know what to say.
“Now, why don’t we go eat? You must be starved.”
I nod. That’s the second most right thing she’s said. “I could eat.”
I take a breath and get a whiff of myself. If I were just eating with my family, I wouldn’t mind the smell. But I’m not going to subject Frankie to it.
“I’m gonna rinse off really quick. Got some appointments after lunch. Clients don’t want to smell me.”
Mom grins and nods. “Your clients…” She makes air quotes around the word. “Do have sensitive noses.”
I return her grin and jog to the shower, not waiting for it to heat up before getting in. I lather up and scrub my hair. I should shave, but I haven’t got time. Water still sticks to me when I slip on my jeans, and the blue shirt Mom says looks good on me.
Then I walk to the grove. It’s only half a mile, and an ATV will just kick up dust. I’m within a hundred yards of my family, stretched out under trees near the old tractor and all the avocado bins, when I notice Junie’s not with them.
I scan the hillside and catch a glimpse of her bright yellow t-shirt, then Frankie’s red hair.
As I get closer, I lose sight of them in the trees, but I catch Junie’s giggle in between the songs the crew has blasting from their stereo.
When I reach my family, I have a better view of Frankie and Junie who have reached the end of a row not far from us.
Frankie snaps an avocado from a tree, then hands it to Junie to drop in her bag.
“They didn’t want to eat?” I tip my chin toward the pair.
“Frankie wanted to finish filling her bag,” Hayes answers. “Junie insisted on helping.”
He shrugs like the six adults here had no power to tell an almost-four-year-old no.
With a sigh, I walk past three rows of nearly picked clean trees until I reach my daughter and my…friend?
“Daddy! Look how many cados we picked!” Junie runs the last few feet to grab my hand and pull me over to Frankie.
I look down, but not into the bag. I stop at Frankie’s eyes. “That’s a lot of avocados, Bug. Good job. Now run eat some lunch so you’ll be ready to pick more. Jo-Joe has Goldfish for you.”
“Okay, Daddy!” She sucks in her breath with excitement, then runs as fast as she can to the blanket.
When I turn back to Frankie, she’s moved to the next row, still picking. I stuff my hands in my pockets and follow. Might as well get the conversation we’re both avoiding out of the way.
“You don’t want to eat?” I ask, picking the avocado she’s on tiptoe trying to reach.