Chapter Two #2
The words lingered in the air and Henry wanted to argue. He wanted to tell him he didn’t understand. Finally, Henry settled his hat more firmly on his head. “I’ve got work waiting.”
Pastor Luke studied him for a moment and then nodded. “I imagine you do.” There was disappointment in his voice, but no judgment. “I’ll keep praying for you.”
Henry managed a tight nod as the pastor smiled at Lola. “We’ll save you a place in Sunday school.”
The little girl smiled back. “Thank you, Pastor Luke.”
With a final tip of his hat, the old preacher continued toward town and Henry and Lola resumed their walk toward the ranch.
***
The rest of the walk passed in relative silence.
By the time Henry and Lola reached the ranch, the sun had begun its slow descent toward the western horizon.
Golden light spilled across the pasturelands, turning the tall grass to bronze and casting long shadows from the oaks scattered across the property.
The ranch house stood atop a gentle rise overlooking the fields. Like much of the ranch, it had seen better days. The white paint had faded beneath years of sun and wind. Several fence rails near the barn leaned at precarious angles, waiting for repairs Henry hadn’t yet found time to make.
The drought hadn’t helped matters. The pasture was thinner than it should have been for late summer, and every week brought fresh worries about water, feed, and finances. There simply weren’t enough hours in the day, or enough hands.
Henry pushed open the gate and waited while Lola slipped through ahead of him. The little girl’s pony immediately whinnied from the small paddock beside the barn and the sound drew her attention at once.
“Buttercup’s hungry.”
Henry glanced toward the chestnut pony. “Then you’d better take care of that.”
Lola’s shoulders drooped. “I’ll do it later.”
Henry frowned. With Lola, later usually meant not at all. “No,” he said. “We agreed that you’d feed her after school.”
“I’m tired,” she said, stamping her foot.
“So am I.” The words came more sharply than he’d intended.
Lola crossed her arms. “I walked all the way home.”
Henry stared at her. “So did I.”
“You’re grown up.” The logic apparently made perfect sense to her. A horsefly buzzed between them and the pony whinnied again.
Henry removed his hat and wiped sweat from the back of his neck. “I bought that pony for you because you promised you’d help care for her.”
Lola’s mouth tightened. “I know.”
“Then go feed her,” he pressed.
“I said, I’ll do it later,” she argued.
Henry’s patience, already worn thin from months of drought, bills, and worry, began fraying further. “Lola.” The warning in his voice was unmistakable.
She lifted her chin in the same way his sister used to when she was preparing for an argument and the resemblance made his irritation worse rather than better. “It’s your responsibility,” he insisted.
The little girl’s eyes flashed. “You’re always talking about responsibility.”
“Because it’s important,” he pressed
“Maybe to you,” she dismissed.
“It should be important to you, too,” he snapped. “Because if you don’t take responsibility for that pony, I will march her right on out of here and back to where she came from.”
Lola’s face flushed. For a brief second, Henry thought she might burst into tears. Instead, she glared at him. “You’re not my father,” she said, her voice flat.
The words hit harder than they should have and silence settled between them. Even the cicadas seemed quiet.
Before either of them could speak again, a familiar voice called from the yard. “Well, now.”
They both turned to see Henry’s cousin, James Tucker, walking toward them. At twenty-seven, James possessed a natural manner that seemed to put everyone around him at ease as well.
Where Henry was broad-shouldered and serious, James carried himself with a relaxed confidence. His sandy-brown hair was perpetually untidy beneath his hat, and a permanent smile seemed to hover somewhere near the corners of his mouth. People liked James, children especially.
Lola practically launched herself across the yard. “Uncle James!”
Henry exhaled in frustration. He didn’t like to admit he was jealous of his cousin, but he had a way with Lola that Henry did not.
“There she is.” James grinned as she reached him. “The smartest girl in Parker County.”
Lola giggled but then she glanced over at Henry, her expression sobering.
James crouched, resting his elbows on his thighs. “What’s wrong?”
“He says I have to feed Buttercup.”
James placed a hand over his heart. “The horror.”
Lola smiled despite herself. “He’s being unfair.”
James lowered his voice conspiratorially. “Well, I don’t know about that.” Lola’s smile faded but James continued before she could argue. “Last time I checked, Buttercup belongs to you.”
Lola sighed dramatically.
“Which means she depends on you.”
The little girl stared at her boots. “But I’m tired.”
“I imagine you are,” he said gently. “But hungry ponies can’t feed themselves.”
Henry watched as Lola tilted her head in consideration. Eventually, she groaned. “Fine.”
James smiled. “I knew you’d do the right thing.”
Lola rolled her eyes in a way no six-year-old should have already mastered, then headed toward the feed shed. Buttercup greeted her arrival with an enthusiastic nicker.
James watched her go before straightening and the smile faded. “Trouble?” he asked.
Henry grabbed the water bucket near the porch. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
James raised an eyebrow. “You looked ready to strangle each other.”
“We’re fine,” he dismissed, not meeting his cousin’s eye.
“Uh-huh.”
Henry carried the bucket toward the pump and James followed. The dusk air smelled faintly of dust, horses, and sun-warmed hay. Swallows darted around the barn roof, snatching insects in the fading light. For several moments, neither man spoke.
“She’s lonely,” James said after a moment.
Henry’s grip tightened on the pump handle. “I know.”
James leaned against the fence. “She’s a good kid.”
“I know that, too.”
“Then you know she needs more than chores and school.”
Henry stopped pumping and the water splashed into the bucket.
James studied him. “She needs a family.”
Henry returned his attention to the pump. “She has family.”
“One exhausted uncle who spends sixteen hours a day working?” he said. “That’s hardly what I call a family.”
“Yeah, well, like it or not, it is what it is.”
James pressed his lips together for a moment before shaking his head. “You need help.”
“I’m managing.”
“Barely.”
Henry shot him a look.
James sighed. “You know what I’m talking about.”
Unfortunately, Henry did. The conversation had become familiar. The ranch needed help, as did the house and Lola. And according to James, all roads led to the same conclusion. Marriage.
James folded his arms. “A wife would—”
“No.” The interruption came instantly and James blinked. Henry set the bucket down harder than necessary.
“We’re not having this conversation again,” he barked, glowering at James now.
“You didn’t even let me finish.”
“I know exactly what you were going to say,” he snapped.
James rubbed the back of his neck. “Henry—”
“No.” The word landed harder this time and the smile vanished completely from James’s face. Henry rarely lost his temper, but when he did, people noticed. “I don’t want a wife.”
James remained silent as Henry looked toward the pasture. The fading sunlight painted everything gold and for a moment, memories surfaced uninvited. Samantha laughing on the porch, family dinners and long, lazy walks on Sunday afternoons. A life that no longer existed.
His jaw tightened. “I’m not replacing what’s gone.”
James’s expression softened. “All right,” he said as he pushed away from the fence. “I’ll leave it alone.”
Henry exhaled. “Good.”
But as James walked toward his horse, he paused. Without turning around, he said quietly, “You know, that little girl is growing up quick.” Henry frowned as James glanced back. “And you may not want a wife, but Lola needs a mother.”
With that, he disappeared around the side of the barn, leaving Henry standing alone in the growing dusk, watching a little girl carry feed toward a pony that depended on her. And wondering whether his cousin was right.