Chapter 29 #2
As soon as I park the car, the screen door is pushed open, and Griffin walks outside. I pop my door and step out. “Welcome,” he says, his grin the biggest I’ve ever seen it as he trots down the steps to greet us.
“Hi,” I reply, closing my door and walking around to the other side to get Jacob out of the vehicle. “That’s quite a sign.”
“Yeah. It’s much bigger these days than it was when I was growing up, but so is the business of the ranch and Greene Farms.”
He reaches it the same time I do but pulls me just far enough back to steal a kiss. “That’s pure evil, leaving me hanging like that.”
“I won’t leave you hanging for long. I promise.” He opens Jacob’s door for me. I unbuckle him, then pick him up to hold him on my hip.
“I’m holding you to that.” I look around. “So this is the ranch. The sign fits. It looks like a massive property.”
“Thousands of acres.” He comes around to Jacob’s side of me and says, “Hey there, Champ. Do you like horses and tractors?” He nods with pure enthusiasm. “Your pick. Where do you want to start?”
“Horses.” I set him down, and he immediately hits the ground running. Literally. I’m not too worried because I know I can catch him, but seeing the wide-open spaces eliminates any concerns I would normally have when he does that. “Hope you know what you’ve gotten yourself into.”
“I do,” he replies with a confidence that can’t hide his happiness. There’s no cockiness, though there is a time and place for it . . . usually after he’s made me come several times in a row.
Chasing him, he scoops him up, sending Jacob into a fit of giggles. When he sets him on his feet again, Griffin points toward the grassy field behind the old wooden railing fence.
I let them have a long lead, giving them moments with me near but not hovering. I think this approach will work best. I have no idea. Neither of us does. We’ll just do the best we can. I’m sure we won’t scar the kid. I hope not . . .
“Carrots,” a man with a raspier voice says, coming toward me from the house. I remember him from the pizzeria as Griffin’s dad.
“Pardon?”
“The horses. That little boy of yours might enjoy feeding them.”
That’s when I notice the carrots poking out of a small basket hanging from his hand at his side. “Yes. He would enjoy that. He doesn’t get to see horses up close too often. He’s not allowed near the stables where we live.”
“The Dover estate?” His eyes are trained ahead on the others when I look at him.
“How’d you know that?”
Turning his gaze on me, he replies, “Horses are a business for the Dovers. Our horses work the ranch with us and are what some would cringe hearing, but they’re part of the family.”
Holding the handle of the basket in front of me, we start walking together. “I don’t cringe hearing that.”
“I could tell you were good people when we met.”
I stop again, this time facing him. “We haven’t officially. I’m Cricket.”
“Hmm.” It’s not rude, but that is not the reaction I expected. Maybe I should. This feud between the families hasn’t been a part of my life much, but here, dang, the grudge appears to run deep after meeting Baylor and now Griffin’s dad. “Cricket Dover, if I’m not mistaken.”
“You’re not. That’s my son Jacob Dover.” Why hold back now?
“Bryan’s daughter?”
“Yes, sir.” This man has not done one thing to hold importance over my head, but the mere mention of my father has me falling in line like his little soldier.
Wouldn’t want to embarrass Delancy either.
“Do you know my father?” The only memory I have of my parents mentioning the Greenes revolves around this man’s wife, who passed away.
My stomach clenches, remembering how distraught my father was and my mom more determined than ever.
“We played some football against each other in high school. School and county rivalry kind of thing. Never officially met, but I’m glad to meet you. I’m Thomas Greene.”
When he offers a hand, I shift the basket to my left to shake it with my right. “Thank you. It’s nice to meet you too.”
He’s the first to take another step, so I start walking with him. “Looks like they’ve met before.” Not a direct question, but easy to read.
“Just recently.”
I see him nod in my periphery. Silent judgment? When I peek over, he’s smiling, though. I exhale a breath, knowing I don’t need to walk on eggshells, and I have nothing to be ashamed of. “They get along well.”
“Seems so.”
Griffin looks back when we approach. “Hey, Dad,” he says, turning around. “I see you met Cricket.”
“I did. Ms. Dover was telling me about her big guy here.”
Griffin’s eyes shoot to mine—concern and panic starting to cloud them over. “She was?” He gulps for the entire universe to hear.
I hand him the basket of carrots. “I was saying how you recently met Jacob, but you two already get along like a house on fire.”
“House on fire,” Jacob repeats and giggles, hanging like a monkey from the rail.
I add, “Your dad brought carrots.”
“Just call out the word, and they’ll come running,” Thomas says, glancing at me with what appears to be a permanent smile on his face.
Squatting down next to Jacob, he tells him, “If we yell the word carrots really loud, the horses will come visit.” Jacob holds his arms up for Griffin to hold him.
My heart is clenched from the trust he’s given.
Griffin hands him the basket, then lifts him on top of his shoulders, securing him by holding his legs.
Jacob accidentally bangs the basket against Griffin’s head.
He winces but grins at me. “Okay, Champ, you ready?”
“Ready?”
Together, they yell, “Carrots,” several times. The depth of Griffin’s tone drowns out the pitch of Jacob’s voice, but they work as a team, and it’s adorable to see.
A black horse comes from a distance, galloping from behind a lighter, brown-colored horse. Both head in our direction. Griffin says, “The brown horse is named Sunrise.”
Jacob holds a carrot and calls, “Sunrise?”
Giving them space, I stand behind them next to his dad. Griffin says, “The other one is called Nightfall.” Sunrise makes it to the fence, where they step up.
I don’t have a lot of experience with horses despite the stable of ten at the Dover property, so I gnaw on the side of my cheek, a little anxious.
“He’s in good, capable hands,” Thomas says. “They won’t hurt him.”
The timbre of his voice is calming, and I find myself gravitating toward easily trusting him. “He is. Jacob’s taken right to him as well.”
“Does he like baseball?”
I laugh lightly, glancing at him. “It’s his favorite.”
“That works out well. How about you?”
“I manage operations for the Armadillos and the stadium.” I hate how I switched into business mode. I don’t have to sell anything, not even myself for Greene approval. I just need to tone it down and enjoy the day.
“By choice?”
“Not at first, but I wouldn’t trade it now. I’ve come to appreciate the sport more recently.”
“Is that how you and Griffin met? From that all-star fundraiser?”
Like his other son, I’m tripped up over how to answer this question. The honest response is not one I’m particularly looking to talk about.
“Hey, Dad?” Griffin nods for him to join them. “I was telling Jacob how you can neigh just like a horse.”
“Sure can.” As he neighs, messing around with them and causing my kid to lose it laughing, Griffin smiles at me.
He mouths, “You okay?”
“I’m okay,” I silently reply. Better than okay, actually.
When I look at the large grassy pasture and the land ahead past the barn, it looks so much like our property, which isn’t a surprise, but the buildings and the vibe feel less manicured, less picture-perfect, and more lived-in.
It makes me feel like I can be myself here.
I’m not sure I can be when I’m with my family, only in my own home.
The rumble of an off-road utility vehicle draws my attention before I see it coming from a deeper part of the land.
A woman with a wide-brimmed hat and a man with his own on his head sit inside the open-topped vehicle.
A bobble of blond curls is barely seen in the back seat, and I don’t see the baby strapped to his chest until they park and get out.
I’m thinking this is his sister’s family. I remember her from her rodeo days and being awed that she was allowed to barrel race. I didn’t dare dream of being allowed to do something like that.
She’s tall, again, not surprising after meeting her brothers. The man is near Griffin’s height but not quite. A little terror of tousles waves her hands wildly in the air as she runs to Griffin. He kneels, and she asks, “Who’s that?”
“This is Jacob. Jacob, this is Daisy. She’s three like you.”
“I’m,” he says, holding up four fingers.
“Not quite, buddy,” I say, not letting him get away with even an exaggeration. No one likes liars. “Two weeks.”
His sister takes hold of the baby in her arms, and comes closer with a welcoming smile on her face. But suddenly gasps. “They’re twins.”
Oh no.
Everyone starts glancing between the two kids, and then his sister looks at me. “Are we sure these two aren’t related?” She laughs, as does her father and husband.
Griffin and I are in a standstill of panic over what to do, his eyes hitting mine. When we are at a loss for anything that would make sense other than the obvious truth, his dad says, “Best to air these things out before they stink up the house.”
The smiles fall from their faces as they look from Griffin to me twice before a young boy I didn’t notice joining in the fun, says, “What’d I miss?”