7. CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER SEVEN
DEACON
The boys head over to Carter Farms to start work. Westin pays everybody who helps with the haying well, so they’re always fine with the extra work. At the last minute, I get a text from Jensen asking me to come with him to the auction in South Platte. One of his wranglers fell and broke his ankle last night, leaving him without anybody to help load up his purchases.
“You go on ahead, Dad,” says Slate, leaning out of the truck window. “I think the four of us can handle this.”
I’m standing in the driveway, sweat already dripping down my forehead. Honestly, I’d rather be at Carter Farms than in the auction barn. It’ll be blistering hot, nothing but manure and dead air to breathe in all day. But Slate is right: they can easily get through the haying this morning without my help.
That throws me for a loop. My boys are getting pretty damn independent.
“Yeah, that’s fine,” I say. “Make sure you’re drinking water and break for lunch.”
Slate shakes his head. “You know Diane won’t let us starve.”
I watch them drive off, a hollow in the pit of my stomach. The front door opens, and Freya appears. She’s in jean shorts that hug her pretty ass perfectly and a gray t-shirt with the café logo on it. She was up late last night, tossing and turning as she thought about her next move. To me, taking on the café seems like a natural step for her, but I think it’s weighing on her differently.
I whistle. She smiles, coming out to the driveway. I slip my arm around her waist and kiss her head.
“You’re not going?” she asks.
“Jensen asked me to go to auction with him,” I say. “Slate took the boys.”
She tilts her head, chewing her lower lip. There was a little catch in my voice I tried to hide, but I think she heard it.
“You okay?” she asks softly.
I nod. “Yeah, it’s just weird that they’re doing shit all on their own.”
Her mouth curves into a smile. Her arm slips around my waist, and I hold her close.
“Everybody is growing up,” she whispers.
“Yeah, they are, sweetheart.”
There’s a long silence. A soft breeze comes down off the hills. The mountains are a white and gray line across the northern horizon. In the fields, summer flowers dot the scrubby grass and dirt. Freya gathers them as they go in and out of season and presses them in her books. Sometimes, when I’m up in the attic with her, I’ll open a book, and they cascade down onto the floor.
This house, this home, is everything to me, just as it is to her.
“I get it,” I say quietly. “Stepping into a new phase is a big deal.”
She nods, looking away. Her dark lashes brush her cheek. “I’ve been thinking about the café, about what I want the next ten years to look like. And what I envision… I think I like it.”
I stroke over her curls. “It’d be good for you.”
“Maybe I can find somebody to help the way Tracy took me in,” she muses.
“I think you’ll find your Freya Hatfield.”
She smiles, leaning up to kiss me. Hand in hand, we go inside. Jensen isn’t leaving for another hour to meet me in town, so I have a minute to spend with my wife. The house is quiet for once. I sink down at the table and watch Freya start making coffee.
“You remember when you danced with me in this kitchen?” she asks.
The coffee machine sputters and starts dripping.
“I remember everything,” I say.
“Except the parts where you were behaving badly,” she teases.
I rub the back of my neck, shrugging. “Yeah, I do not recall misbehaving at any point.”
She laughs, and I’m taken right back to that moment. She was scared then. It’s amazing to see the way she blossomed into peace, into confidence, now that she’s safe. It’s amazing what giving her autonomy and a safe place to live did to her. She glows now.
“Come here,” I tell her.
She obeys, letting me pull her onto my lap. I brush her hair back and look into her eyes.
“I think you should take on the café, sweetheart,” I say. “You’ve earned it. You can do this.”
She’s thinking hard, her jaw working a little. When she looks back up at me, there’s vulnerability in her face. “Sometimes, I think everything I have is because of you, that I didn’t earn all this. What do I know about running a business? I’ve never done anything like this before.”
My heart breaks a little bit. The coffee machine beeps, going quiet. I turn her so she’s facing me fully, legs hanging down on either side of my hips.
“You have had the hardest job in the world for almost two decades,” I say firmly. “You’ve raised the boys, you’ve helped me with the ranch, and you did all that while working for Tracy. There’s nobody more competent than you, sweetheart. On top of all that, you deal with me.”
A little smile breaks her sober expression. I touch the round curve of her cheekbone.
“There’s no reason to be scared,” I say. “I’ve got your back, the same way you’ve always had mine.”
Her throat bobs. “Thank you.”
She kisses me, and I kiss her back, taking all the time in the world, because nothing is more important than this. When she breaks away, her face is flushed, and I think I might get lucky tonight.
We have coffee together. Then, Jensen calls, and I head out to my truck. My mind stays the entire drive. This offer Freya got to take the café will change the dynamic of our day-to-day life. She’ll be much busier, and there will be late nights and early mornings. She’ll need my help with the business side, which means the boys will need to pitch in more with the ranch.
But something like this is what I hoped would happen. There’s still a little part of her, deep down, that needs independence. She was always plucky. God, I remember the way she fought me the night I kidnapped her from her stepfather’s truck. She might have settled in, but I know, under it all, she never settled down.
I’m pulled out of my thoughts as I park on the side of the road. Jensen stands on the curb, hat in his hand and coffee to his lips. He glances up, nodding as I step out of the truck.
“We good on time?” I ask.
He flips his wrist to look at his watch. “We got five minutes. You want a coffee?”
I’m pretty wired, but I follow him into the diner, the same one we once stood outside of and argued over who was going to talk to Freya. The same waitresses work there, the same cooks. I like that. It’s a steadiness I don’t find anywhere but out here in Knifley.
“How’s the missus?” I ask, digging into my pocket for some cash.
“Good. Renovating the house again,” he says.
“Well, she married the owner of a construction crew,” I say, taking my cup and thanking the clerk. “She gets free renovations for life.”
He laughs as we head back out onto the street. Jensen still, somehow, drives the same truck he bought for his business twenty years ago. It rattles, the exhaust holding on for dear life, and one of the windows doesn’t roll down. The air conditioning works, but only because it’s the one thing he can’t stand being broken.
We get to the auction just as the doors open. As I predicted, it’s boiling hot and permeated with the cloying scent of manure with a hint of cigarette smoke. I swing out of the truck and grab my hat, fitting it on. The quicker we get these cattle bought and paid for, the quicker we can get our asses back on the road.
Onwards and upwards.
We break about an hour later with no luck. Jensen goes to get some drinks, and I take a break in the truck to call Slate. He picks up on the third ring, which means they’re likely still up in the pastures.
“Hey, what’s up?” he says.
I can hear cattle in the background, along with a suspicious shouting. “What’s going on?”
“Red and Remington are fighting,” he yawns.
“How’s that?”
“Who gets the better horse.”
“Jesus,” I mutter. “Well, let them at it, I guess. But don’t tell your mother. They won’t hurt each other. Not more than a couple bruises, anyway.”
Knock-knock. I glance up to find Jensen is waiting outside, frowning slightly in the sun. I lift my hand, mouthing that I’ll be there in a moment. He flips me off, wiping the sweat from his eyes.
“I have to go,” I say. “Just try to keep everybody in one piece.”
He yawns. “Yeah, can do.”
As I hang up and set my phone aside, my mind goes back to our conversation the other night. Slate turned out to be my most competent, level-headed child. It’s strange, because he started out being a big, bold personality, and as he grew, he became more of the strong, silent type. Gage did the same thing. He was bullish and quiet, and now he’s a bullish powerhouse. If I was going to make a bet about who’d be better going to college, I’d pick Gage, but that’s not my choice to make.
I get out of the truck, glad to leave these heavy thoughts behind for a minute.
“There just ain’t shit out here today,” says Jensen, taking off his hat and rubbing his sweat-streaked forehead.
“We can head up to the city. They’ve got an auction day going on too.”
He shakes his head, leaning on the truck’s hood. “Let’s go pick up your truck and head out to Carter Farms, get the feed pickup for the week, and be done with it. Call it a bust and get a beer.”
“I’m fine by that. My boys are already up there,” I say, getting back in and shifting to the passenger side. Jensen goes to grab his things from the tent and returns, turning on the air conditioning so loud, we can’t talk over it.
Jensen drops me at my truck and follows me back onto the highway, heading up towards Sovereign Mountain. We live in two different directions so it doesn’t make sense to carpool. That’s life in a rural area, but I don’t mind it.
Just before we get there, I take a left and go the roundabout way to Carter Farms. The two properties are connected now, making it a lot easier to get business done when we’re on this side of town. When we pull up, everyone is standing around in the yard, taking a water break. Jensen parks beside me, and I jump out, crossing the lawn to where Westin stands with Slate, Gage, and his son, River. He’s a lanky teen with a shock of brown hair and a rebellious streak. He’s also one of the more talented up and coming horsemen I’ve met, aside from Gage.
Westin turns as I pull up beside them, leaning on the fence. He jerks his head in greeting.
“Thought you all were at auction today,” he says.
“We meant to be, but it was a bust,” says Jensen, squinting through the sun.
“What are we all looking at?” I ask.
Slate moves up to the fence, planting his boot on the lowest rung. I follow his eyes to the middle of the pasture, where there’s a black horse with white socks grazing. It’s a fine specimen, less stocky than a quarter horse. I reach out, snapping my fingers. It lifts its head with a quick jerk and shies back, gaze locked on me.
“You got a problem horse?” I ask Westin.
He shrugs. “I wouldn’t say she’s a problem. This is one of River’s charity cases. We picked her up the other day. I think she’s got a little thoroughbred in her.”
Jensen moves closer for a look. “She’s got good form. I wonder if she had papers once upon a time.”
“I doubt it. I’d say she wasn’t worth investing in for her previous owners if she’s made it to adulthood without training,” I say, circling the paddock to the gate. “Mind if I take a look?”
“Knock yourself out,” says Westin.
“You come on in, River,” I say. “But stick with the gate for now.”
Elated, River slips through behind me and hangs back. The mare does a nervous circle, blowing heavy puffs from her lungs, head down. Instead of heading straight at her, I do a half circle around the paddock. I keep my eyes on hers, letting her get used to having me nearby.
She lets me walk up to her side without running. I lift my hand, and she tenses, but she doesn’t move. Slowly, so slowly, I lay my palm on her side. She stays tense. I don’t move. Then, her head swings around, and she sniffs my arm. Her velvety nose moves up my arm, and she takes a hay-smelling inhale and exhale into my face.
I keep quiet, still, but I move my hand up her neck, turning to face her. Every move I make, she shies, but she relaxes a moment later. I turn slowly, wrapping my arm beneath her neck. There it is again: a tense. Then, she relaxes her neck into the crook of my elbow and lets me pat her nose with my other hand.
“Hey, girl, you’re all good,” I murmur, testing how she reacts to my voice. She pricks her ears but doesn’t tense up this time. I lift my head, jerking it to River to indicate he should join me.
Slowly, he puts one foot over the other until he stands just a foot away. I keep my hand on the mare’s neck, pressure even. Her dark eyes are glassy, following River as he gets close. I don’t speak, because I’ve helped River train a few of his horses, and he knows how to approach a skittish one. I just keep still to reassure the mare until River can reach out and offer her the flat of his hand.
“You got any grain?” I ask, voice low.
“I got dried apples,” he says, taking a handful out and offering it to her. She eats carefully, never taking her eyes off him. I have him shift to stand beside her and back off, circling to the gate. Westin comes up, leaning on the fence.
“He’s a good horseman,” I say. “I know I’ve said it before, but if you want to send him up to Ryder Ranch, I’ll hire him on.”
Westin shakes his head. “Weren’t we supposed to be competitors?”
I shake my head, smiling. “If we still were, I’d be winning by a longshot.”
It’s true. Technically, my ranch is the only one that rivals Sovereign Mountain in size, but it’s been more beneficial for us both to work together, not against each other. And over the years, Sovereign, Westin, and I have formed a close bond after some of the things we’ve been through together. I hope we all stay close, and that our sons and daughters keep on with that legacy.
“You eat?” Westin says.
I shake my head.
“Diane’s got food on the table,” he says. He waves a hand at everybody in the yard. “Come on, lunch time.”
I leave the paddock, clapping Gage and Slate on the shoulders as I go by. They stay behind for a few minutes, all the boys talking together. Then, we all head into the kitchen of the Carter farmhouse.
Diane stands in the kitchen, cutting flowers. She’s a slight woman with long, golden hair, streaked with a bit of gray. Her brows rise as she sees us all come in, and her eyes dart down to our boots. That’s all it takes for everybody to stop short and take their boots off, lining them up all down the hall.
We all sit down together at the table. There’s a lot of good natured joking, and the room is loud enough that I can barely get a word in edgewise.
I don’t mind. This is another part of my life I never thought I’d have—friends and a community. And now that I’m here, I’m going to soak it all in.
Diane’s cooking is wonderful, as usual. I make sure the boys thank her after Westin pays them. Then, we talk for a bit in the yard as we make our way to the trucks. Apparently, Sovereign is bringing a pretty big head of cattle through his western pastures, down via Carter Farms, and housing them in the lower area, where the water is more accessible. Westin says he’s going to help next Monday. I offer to come over so we can make quick work of it. Then, we part ways, and I follow Slate’s truck down the highway towards home.
It’s quiet alone in my truck. I hit the radio button and turn the music up. It takes me a moment to realize, but it’s that same damn song I danced to in the kitchen with Freya all those years ago.
I flip it up a little higher, and I can’t keep the smile off my face all the way home.