Chapter 5
Carli
Cowgirl is a spirit, a special brand of courage.
~ Dale Evans
My body is sore in the best of ways. I rub my cold fingers together in front of the vent heater in my truck and smile the rest of the way down the familiar two-lane road between the Lawsons’ ranch and ours.
Maybe I should feel more frustrated or wrung out having been so close to Cody—yet no closer to anything meaningful between us.
Instead, I’m content—dangerously so. Contentment leads to hope—a hope I can’t afford to entertain.
The ride out to the pasture on the UTV was the closest I’ve been to Cody in a while, unless you count the frosting explosion—which I totally count and recount with equal amounts of mortification and private delight.
My chest buzzes with warmth. And it’s not just the way he looked at me when we were wrangling Hoss.
Working alongside the rest of the Lawson brothers and ranch hands has a certain rightness to it that few other experiences can match.
Our main house sits broad and wide at the end of the driveway, a landmark and a refuge. I park next to my dad’s truck and hop out. The porch swing sways in what I think is a breeze until I step up and see Mom’s welcoming smile, soft and gentle. She’s curled up with a blanket and a book.
I’m still in my clothes from this morning, dirt under my nails, the smell of cattle clinging to me. My boots hit the porch floorboards and she looks up.
“I should shower,” I say, looking down at myself and back at Mom.
She’s slow to answer—her steady, peaceful presence never hurried. Boone and Lottie, our Aussies, lounge at her feet. Boone stands and trots over to me. I run my hands over his silky hair. Lottie lies dutifully in her favorite place on earth. Mom pats the bench next to her.
“I’m gross,” I warn her as I move to accept her silent invitation. “I probably smell like a bull. And I’m caked with dust.”
“Like I’d care,” Mom says softly. “You’re talking to the wife of a hog farmer.”
Her voice is subdued, a combination of peacefulness and possibly weariness.
I sit on the swing, careful not to send it rocking. Mom lifts the blanket, draping it over both our laps, and I lean my head on her shoulder.
She wraps her arm behind me and strokes my hair like she did when I was little.
“You do stink,” she says with a soft laugh.
“Thanks. And to think, I was over there flirting with the Lawson boys.”
“Were you now?”
“Not really. Unless you call wrangling cattle flirting.”
“Not much in this world would be sexier to a rancher than a woman who can move his herd.”
“That’s just weird, Mom.”
“Maybe.”
I almost spill it all. Almost. The way Cody looked at me—familiar and proud—still managed to send goosebumps racing across my skin.
All my feelings for him press just behind my lips, tempting me to expose my secret.
But Mom and I are joking. If I ever were to actually flirt with a Lawson boy, she would not be this chill about it.
The longing for him threatens to swallow me whole this afternoon.
We shared easy touches, glances, laughter—like empty promises of a future we could share if only life hadn’t given us the hands we were dealt.
A breeze blows through and I snuggle close to my mom. The smell of damp pasture and woodsmoke filters through the air.
Mom reaches over and smooths my hair, plucking a stray piece of hay out and holding it up as if it’s evidence of my day out galavanting with heifers and cows.
“Where’s Dad?” I ask.
“He went to take a little mid-afternoon nap.”
Neither of us says anything more—words would reveal something that’s better kept at bay. I don’t like the idea of my parents aging. They’ve been pillars in my life and our community. What happens when the pillars start to chip and crumble?
Mom gently turns toward me, and I lift my head off her shoulder.
“Did the Lawsons feed you?” she asks.
“No. They offered, but I’m not exactly indoor-friendly with the way I smell.”
“You’ve got a point.” Mom makes a show of pinching her nose. Truth be told, most of the time we can’t make out the ranch smells around us. We might all stink to high heaven and we’d never know it.
“Come on,” Mom says, standing and folding the blanket. “Go shower. I’ll heat you some stew and rolls.”
The next morning, I wake in my cabin, get dressed and head over to the big house. Not seeing Dad yesterday makes me oddly antsy. It’s not him. It’s me. He’s been a ballast in my life—strong and stable.
Maybe interviewing for a job in town has me turning introspective and overthinking the future.
My parents aren’t retiring anytime soon.
So, he took a nap one afternoon. He’s been a little more winded lately.
He’s not buying a cane and dentures anytime soon.
I let out a breath that it feels like I’ve been holding for weeks.
“Hey!” I say when I walk into the kitchen.
Dad and Jace have already been out to feed the pigs. They’re sitting around the table talking shop. Mom’s somewhere else in the house or on the property.
Dad smiles. “Morning, sweetheart.”
I walk over behind Dad’s chair and wrap my arms around his shoulders and squeeze. He places one calloused hand on my forearm and pats softly. He smells faintly of the hog barn, but mostly just himself. My heartbeat slows and something settles deep inside me.
Jace looks up and smiles. “Morning, sunshine.” He makes a show of looking at his nonexistent watch. “Or should I say, ‘Good afternoon’?”
“Ha! I only skipped morning chores once this week. Did you already eat?”
He holds up his coffee as an answer.
“What about pancakes with a side of bacon?” I offer, moving toward the stove before they answer.
I lose myself in food prep while they chat. When everything’s cooked, I set a heaping plate of pancakes next to a plate of bacon in the center of the kitchen table, and the men dig in. I join them, half listening, half distracted by my plans for the day.
Dad laughs at something Jace said, but when he reaches for the syrup, his hand shakes lightly. My stomach tenses. Dad grins a tight smile and flexes his fingers.
Dad’s muttered, “Cold weather” is all that’s said by any of us.
Jace switches the subject. He looks at me with a note of amusement in his eyes. “Heard you had a run-in with a bull.”
“What’s this?” Dad asks.
“Nothing. One of the bulls at the Lawsons’ got through the fencing trying to get to his herd yesterday. He was being pigheaded.” I turn my attention to my older brother. “I actually coaxed him into the pasture.”
“That’s my girl.” Dad smiles.
I smile back even though the weight of one hundred and eighty hogs presses down on my shoulders.
They’re not literally on my shoulders, of course.
But they may as well be. Jace has stepped up to man the farm with Mom and Dad these days, but he’s got aspirations—maybe I’m the only one he’s told.
I wonder if he’s talked to Cody about his plans since they’re best friends.
My older brother is waiting for the right moment to drop the bomb that he wants to pursue becoming a livestock vet.
I take a bite of my pancakes, then run a piece of bacon through the syrup on my plate, dragging it more slowly than necessary.
My own experience confirms that it’s never the right moment to step away for something that’s yours alone.
The ranch has constant needs—it’s like raising two hundred babies all year long.
We never have a break in the demands. Any talk of either of us committing to something other than the needs here on the farm is met with resistance and skepticism.
Sometimes it’s shown in silence, but the message is the same. We’re Buckners. We raise hogs.
I glance out the kitchen windows at the landscape that has always brought me peace.
If Jace pursues his dream, the weight of our family business falls on me.
All one hundred and eighty hogs, the land, the structures, the employees, and the well-being of our parents as they age.
The Wicked Witch of the West was flattened by a house.
That’s nothing. Have you ever been suffocated by a barn full of swine? It’s not pretty.
I already share the burden with Jace, but with his eye on the horizon, the pressure is quickly shifting in my direction. And the timing couldn’t be worse.
I stand and refill Dad’s coffee, glancing across the acres of land outside the window. I love this property—love ranching too. But I don’t know if I’m cut out to shoulder the whole operation.
When I take my seat, Dad asks, “Where are you off to this morning?”
“I’m meeting McKenna and Daisy at the bookshop.” It’s half an answer. I don’t mention why I’m meeting them. “Need anything from town while I’m out?”
“I think we’re good,” Dad says, smiling at me and then lifting his mug. “Double check with your mom before you go.”
I make quick work of my breakfast and stand to rinse my plate.
Dad adds, “Could you run the health checks on your way out?” Then he turns to my brother and says, “Jace, muck and do equipment checks.”
Jace nods and I say, “Of course. I’ll pop in the barn on my way out.” I pause, broaching the subject we all silently agree to avoid. “Are you okay, Dad?”
“I’m fine. Better than fine.” He gives me a closed-mouth grin. “Healthy as a horse and twice as handsome.”
“Half as modest, though,” Jace teases.
I lean in and give Dad a hug and tell him, “I’ll be back this afternoon.”
I send Mom a quick text asking if she needs anything while I’m in town. She answers with a grocery list. Then I zip off a message to McKenna and Daisy telling them I’ll be a little late since I have to check on the hogs.
I pocket my cell. “Well, I’d better get going. I’ll see you when I’m back.”
Jace follows me onto the porch. “Where are you actually off to?”
“I’m really meeting my friends at the bookshop.”
“Okay. If you say so.” He studies me.
“I do. And I’m already late.”
“Drive safely,” he says before turning to go back inside.