Chapter 3 It’s Pops’ World
It's Pops' World
Wes
The bellowing of the cattle wakes me up right as the sun is breaking the horizon. The stench of cow shit wafts in from the outdoors, and I stifle a groan as I get up to try to beat Pops out to start the chores.
It’s been over a decade since I’ve been here to help at all, but there’s a rhythm to ranch life that seeps into your bones when you spend summer after summer doing it all.
It came back to me the instant I crossed the property line and caught sight of the small two-story house, the big red barn, and the small stable that now sits empty.
I pull on the most casual thing I packed—an old polo and a pair of jeans that are entirely too expensive to be getting mud and manure on—and trudge down the stairs, still scrubbing the sleep from my eyes.
Pops gives me a quick once-over before shaking his head with a smile. “You can’t go out with me in that,” he says and takes a deep pull from his mug.
“I left all my flannels back in the nineties, Pops. This is the best I’ve got for working the ranch.”
“And I’m tellin’ ya, that won’t do. Get your butt to town and grab what you need so you can lend me a hand.”
“But—”
“But nothin’. We won’t start vaccinating today.
Tripp and I will get them all into the catch pens first and we’ll go from there.
Your old boots are still in the closet of that spare bedroom.
I figured you knew better than coming back here unprepared to help.
And since that car of yours still needs a new tire, you can use the old blue Chevy. She still runs great.”
I roll my eyes, regressing back to the teen version of myself. “Fine, but I’m grabbing some coffee to take with me.”
His thick white mustache twitches in amusement. “Sure, but I used the last of the cream. Would you mind grabbin’ some while you’re in town?”
I nod reluctantly.
God damnit. I hadn’t wanted to parade around town more than necessary. It would take me three times longer than it should if people saw me and stopped for small talk.
I grab a travel mug from the same cupboard it's been stored in for as long as I can remember and fill it with coffee, hot and strong. After stirring in a scoop of sugar, I snap the lid in place. The crunch of tires spitting up gravel pulls my attention to the window.
“That’ll be Tripp. We’ll get the morning chores done, and you can have the day off.
” His mustache twitches again, and I grit my teeth so I don’t blow up at the old man.
He knows I loathe taking a day off, but if I’m going into town to get myself a ranch-friendly wardrobe that I’ll use for a week, then there’s nothing I can do about it.
It’s Pops’ world. I’m just living in it.
I raise my travel mug and stalk out the door like a storm cloud is hanging over my head.
The hinges scream as the screen door swings closed behind me.
Tripp watches me stomp towards him, and his bright, cocky smile is a welcome sight.
He was my best friend every summer. We rode together, roped together, picked up girls together, and raised a little hell together.
“Wes!” He throws his arms around me in a full-frontal hug, not the corporate handshake or the back slap and shoulder squeeze I’m used to.
He’s a head shorter than me and tattoos wind up his arms. He’s got his Stetson on, covering his mop of blond hair and is smiling so big that his dimples make divots the size of Texas in his cheeks.
“Hey, Tripp. You haven’t changed a bit.”
He steps back and scrutinizes me with raised eyebrows. “Well, I can’t say the same about you. What the hell are you wearing? Don’t tell me you’re working cattle with me in that getup.” His eyes hit on the pair of designer jeans and polo I’m sporting.
My cheeks heat in embarrassment at the razzing. Why hadn’t I just grabbed some clothes before coming out here? I should have known this wouldn’t fly for ranch attire.
I shake the keys to the Chevy in Tripp’s face. “Pops already let me know I was overdressed. I’m heading into town to grab the essentials. Need anything?”
He smirks from under his Stetson. “You haven’t even been here a full 24 hours, and you’re already taking a day off? Sounds like someone’s scared to get back in the saddle, so to speak.”
My head tips toward the sky. “Bullshit.”
“I guess we’ll find out if you’ve still got it tomorrow.”
“I’ve still got it,” I mumble. It’s been years since I’ve had to rope and tie anything, but it's like riding a bike. It'll come right back.
“You’d better. We could use all the help we can get.” He glances back toward the house and takes a step closer to me. “Pops isn’t getting around like he used to, and he doesn’t like us telling him to sit things out.”
I glance back toward the house. It’s no surprise that Pops is slowing down at the age he is. It only validates the reason Dad sent me here.
“It’ll be good to have an extra set of hands around here. You should come to town and grab a beer with me at Herds later,” he presses.
I don’t have the heart to correct him, to tell him I wasn’t staying for long, and I’d be back in the city before that mud on his boots dried. So, I slap his back and give him the answer I know he wants. “Sure.”
I nod farewell before hopping into the old blue truck and making the ten-mile drive into town to get the necessities.
The coffee Pops made tastes terrible, and by the time I make it to Main Street, I’ve come to the conclusion that the only thing I’ll be doing with this coffee is dumping it down the drain. The rumble of the truck tapers off when I cut the ignition in front of the Cottonwood Creek Market.
The store front is dark and my shoulders slump when I glance at the dashboard and note that it’s only seven o’clock and the market doesn't open until eight. My head hits the back of the headrest as I groan in frustration.
The market sits right next to the Cowboy Corner Café on the two-block stretch of shops that Cottonwood Creek calls downtown. One good thing about a small town is that practically every store and business I might need is right on this strip of road.
I stare at my undrinkable cup of coffee and eye the lit-up café like it’s my saving grace.
Being this close to the best pastries in the state, it’s impossible not to stop in for a coffee and a little something to fill my belly this morning.
The heart healthy cold cereal Pops was eating barely looked edible.
I had hoped I could hit the local farm supply store for my clothes and be on my way with everyone else none the wiser about me being back here, at least until I go to Herds with Tripp tonight.
But with the market closed, I’m stuck in the heart of town and the likelihood of being seen by the town’s busybodies, who are too nosy for their own good, has increased tenfold.
The smell of coffee and baked goods floods my nostrils when I step inside the little coffee shop on the corner.
A group of men around Pops’ age sit at the table by the window.
They all glance my way when the bell on the door chimes, and eyes bore into the back of my head as I make my way to the counter.
I recognize the owner, Mrs. Mackey, behind it as she smiles at me, barely taller than the pastry cases with hair that’s fully gray and curled.
She’s the best baker around and so many of my weekends in town were spent begging her for sweets and running across the street to the mini mall while Pops chatted with his friends.
“Well, Wes Dawson. Isn’t this a surprise? Vern told me you were coming back to the ranch when we were playing cards the other night.”
“Hi Mrs. Mackey. It’s good to see you.” I slip my hands into my pockets.
I was glad to hear Pops was still going to those weekly pitch tournaments.
I wasn’t sure if he would after Grams died.
It was something they always did together with their friends.
They gathered in each other’s small living rooms, card tables set up buffet style with snacks and drinks and a good time ready to be had.
Grams had lived for pitch nights with her friends.
My throat tightened at the memory of playing pitch in the kitchen with Pops and Grams during the summer evenings when Quinn and I were still too young to drive.
“You should come to our game tonight, Wes. I’m sure everyone would love to see your handsome face.”
I blink back to the present and give her a regretful smile. “I have plans with Tripp tonight. Sorry, Mrs. Mackey.”
“Next time then. We’re always looking for some fresh faces. I'll make sure to bake up some extra goodies to bring when we play.”
“Well, then I’ll be there. I could never say no to your baking.” I refrain from telling her I plan on leaving next week before their next weekly pitch night.
“Are you seeing anyone right now?”
It takes everything in me not to wince at the question. “Nope. Still single.”
It was a slap to the face to remember that my fiancée, Hannah, had dumped me before I’d decided to come out here. I guess that made her my ex-fiancée now.
“Oh,” she coos at me. “Such a shame. You were always such a nice boy, Wes.” She puts a finger to her lips and leans on the counter.
“Now, there are a few nice girls around here that are still single. Let’s see.
.. there’s Allie, of course. At least I think she and Chase are off again.
And Andrea Colsden just broke up with her beau.
Let’s see, there’s Libby and Sarah. Who else?
Hmmm... Lilah Hart is single, but on second thought, maybe she’s a little young for you. Oh, and of course there’s Sawyer.”
I cut in before she can name the rest of the unmarried women in town. “Thanks for the suggestions, Mrs. Mackey, but I’m not really looking right now. I just got out of a relationship recently. I’m not really ready for anything.”
Her face falls and then quickly brightens again. “Oh, well. You know, sometimes love has a way of showing up when you least expect it and so often when you’re not ready for it to find you again.”
“That’s a nice sentiment,” I reply dryly.
“What can I get for you, honey?” she finally asks.
I order an apple cinnamon muffin and a large coffee to go and decide it would be best to sit and eat in my truck to avoid any more uncomfortable conversation with Mrs. Mackey.
I'm not ready for more prying questions from her or anyone else.
She meant well, but the sudden inquisition makes my skin itch.