33. Exactly like Expert-Level Tetris
EXACTLY LIKE EXPERT-LEVEL TETRIS
brAXTON
I could get the hang of this. That whole it takes a village is true though. Or I’ll need to survive on zero sleep.
I get up earlier now than ever. I hang with my boy and hand him off.
I hate it, but I like why I do it. I believe that Emberleigh wants what’s best for Colt.
That makes it easier to trust she won’t fuck him over, even though I know, given the opportunity, that fucking me over wouldn’t cause her a moment’s hesitation.
Ranching isn’t nine-to-five. Shit, in the summer, it’s more like five-to-nine. But a baby—my baby—means that’s not reasonable this summer. So I’m giving in and allowing Emberleigh to help with the transition.
I just hope she understands that it is a transition…
that we’ll begin one place and end another.
This co-parenting thing is good for Colt now, but won’t work for me long term.
I don’t think I’ve ever considered long term aside from taking over the ranch, but that’s in my blood.
It’s as much a part of me as my last name or my DNA.
Long term, I’ll be ranching.
Long term, I’ll be raising my son. If he wants to be a rancher, I’ll help with that. If he wants to do something else, I’ll respect that. This life isn’t for everyone.
Long term, I should think about good schools and college funds.
Shit.
I look over at Colt asleep in his Pack ‘n Play. Long term is a pipe dream if I don’t do the short term right. In the short term, I should think about doctors and medical care. I should be considering what day care looks like.
“What’s that face?”
I look up to see Cyler with a confused but amused look on his face.
“What face?”
“You look like you’re trying to do complicated math in your head. Or that you’re trying to sing the national anthem so you can avoid a boner,” he says, tamping down a smirk.
“Well, shit. It’s that confusing, but I’m glad it’s neither of those.”
Cyler laughs.
He and I have spent the last three days putting together emergency water provisions for the horses.
The land is so dry, wildfires could become an issue.
But our horses dying of thirst or getting sick from dehydration is my principal concern.
The reservoir is low. The aquifers are low.
Water restrictions are at level four already.
Something’s got to give, and I’ll be damned if it’s my horses.
I am now the proud owner of not one, but two fire trucks. Stupid though it sounds, pumper trucks hold five hundred gallons, so I now have two and both are full. It cost me my ass, but I couldn’t have it cost me my ranch.
This part of the Hill Country has drier summers and drier years. We’re used to it. But what we’re experiencing this year has now reached critical levels. So I own a small fleet of trucks my local volunteer fire department was willing to sell when they replaced theirs with newer models.
The horses will have water, and the land will be able to grow enough to keep them in grass and supplement their hay feeding. Bright volunteered to look into additional supplementation since we’re in a way we haven’t been for more than a decade.
“Cyler, we’re going to need additional water brokers. Will you work on that? I need to go find Bright.”
“Sure, boss. I hope you work out that math equation before your brain explodes.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I say, my signature self-deprecation obvious in my tone.
I grab Colt and move him into the wrap that I’ve managed to master in the last couple of weeks. It’s like expert-level Tetris. It’s exactly like expert-level Tetris.
We find Bright in her office in the stables. She is at the ranch enough she needs a place of her own. She’s one of those that would rather be with the horses, but there’s too much paperwork and other business to conquer.
The regulations, the documentation, the medical records, ordering feed, hay, and food. I have no problem with her being here as much as possible. I know she has other clients, but her love for this place is a saving grace for our horses and for our family.
She has old Kenny Rogers on in her office and is singing as she works on her laptop.
“You were born at least a decade too late.”
“How many times have you said that?”
“More than I can count. And I’ll keep saying it if you keep listening to the Gambler and Willie and Don Williams.”
“Their music is timeless.”
“Whatever you say, Bright.”
“Remember that—whatever I say—and we’ll always be good.”
I shake my head but smile at my little sister. She’s an incredible woman, a brilliant vet, but the thing I love most about her is that she knows exactly who she is. She knows her value and she’s not afraid to lay it all out for the whole world to see.
As a teenager and into college, she hated that people thought she was arrogant. She wasn’t and she isn’t. She simply knows making herself less to make others comfortable is dumbing down her worth for those who will never be enough.
She doesn’t pretend to know shit she doesn’t and she isn’t out there to impress anyone. She just doesn’t give a fuck what anyone thinks of her, so she’s one-hundred-percent Brighton. It’s brilliant.
“How many times have you said that to me?”
“Apparently not enough for you to remember it,” she says.
A laugh barks out of my chest, making Colt stir in his wrap.
I’ve been happy. Colt makes me smile more than I could’ve imagined, but I haven’t laughed in way too long.
And since there’s no time like the present—something, unfortunately, that Emerson’s death taught me—I tell Bright exactly what I want her to know.
“I love you. You impress me, and I’m thankful for you. Thank you for all you are and for everything you do for all of us.”
“You dying, Brax?” Her sarcasm is evident.
“Nah. Just reminded that you’re my favorite sister and wanted you to know.”
“I’m your only sister.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“What brings you to my John Denver and Dolly Parton sanctuary?”
Emberleigh
I’m absolutely lost in work, so when I hear the door open and the mews of Colt’s hunger, I flick my eyes to the clock to see it’s after eight.
Colt should be in bed by now. Fed, bathed, and already asleep.
He proves he’s half Carrington with his meticulous schedule.
My father would be impressed, and Wainwright Carrington isn’t impressed by much.
My mother would fuss that he will spend two days paying for my or Braxton’s lack of discipline that pushed his precious bedtime off schedule.
Both of them can shove it. I need to check on my little man and see what I can do for him.
“Be right out,” I holler as I review the email response one last time before hitting send.
“All good,” I hear from my doorway. “We’re late. Sorry if you worried.”
My head whips up. Polite and apologetic Braxton Ranger is just weird. I should be suspicious, but before I can reply, he continues.
“Horses and drought don’t mix. Pregnant horses and drought really don’t mix. And we have a mare that’s showing signs she’s close to birthing. We needed to pull forward our prep. Got it done, but Colt is grumpy.”
I consider for two seconds explaining that he should’ve been more responsible or called to ask for my help. Instead, I appreciate his gracious apology and recognize the worry creasing his eyes.
“When was the colt due?”
“We normally wouldn’t expect her to foal for another three weeks. This isn’t unforeseen or unusual, but it can lead to more complications for the foal.”
“So, it’s safe to deliver? Everything is formed?”
“Formed?”
“Like babies. At thirty-six weeks, a baby’s lungs are fully developed, and they can live safely outside the womb. You want the full forty, but thirty-six isn’t as scary as thirty. Like that?”
A slow smile crawls across his face as Colt leans out for me, his little hands batting the air.
“Want him?” he asks.
“I’ll never not want him.” My eyes are locked with his; my intensity doesn’t go unregistered.
I see him move Colt back a little. It’s a reflexive action, not calculated, and probably not meant to be seen.
I’ve said too much. Not that it’s anything new, but it’s definitely something Braxton Ranger does not want to hear.
His solid eye contact isn’t broken until he sighs and his eyelids drop along with his face.
“Gonna grab Colt some dinner and a bath and then do the same for myself after he’s down.”
“Mind having company? I haven’t eaten either.” It’s an olive branch. Not a great one, but I don’t see any reason to leave it like this. The “next time” after this would be awkward and I’d much rather push through it now. I want all the time with my nephew I can get.
His affirmative answer is negated ever so slightly by his walking away.
“Are omelets okay?”
“Sure. Want me to get Colt’s bottle?” I ask.
“That works.”
We set to working in tandem. I warm Colt’s bottle and cut up some avocado to go with his pears and peas. I’d bet we could skip those tonight and just do a bottle as I rock him, but I don’t want to push my luck.
I set the feast before him along with a sippy cup of water. The bottle can wait.
I sit with him, watching him dive in and squish everything between his fingers before sucking it off his little hands. He hums a little and bounces, but his eyes are slow to recover from the blinks.
“You’re such a boy… humming and playing with your prey. Eat up.”
After eating enough that he was just playing, I grab a wet washcloth and free him from his seat. I wipe his hands and face and that dip between his chin and slide him down into the crook of my arm and offer the bottle.
He sucks down half the bottle. I have to tickle his cheek to wake him to try for more. Another swallow and he’s out.
I feel Braxton over me, his presence too near, but his silence is deafening. He quietly slides a plate in front of me. My mouth waters at the smell.
A simple pepper, onion, and cheese omelet and a piece of buttered toast beside it.
“This looks delicious. Thank you.”
I don’t know if he nods or not. I can’t take my eyes off Colt. He’s grown so much in the last month.
“What’s the mare’s name?”
“Huh?”
“What’s the name of the mare who’ll foal soon?”
“Marron. It’s Spanish for brown.”
“I see. Is the pony a boy or a girl?”
The silence has me lifting my face. Braxton’s fork is suspended mid-air.
“She won’t have a pony. That’s different. But we expect a female. A filly.”
I nod but look back down at my nephew. My Colt.
“He should be there,” I add quietly.
“Who? Colt? It could be unsafe. It could be the middle of the night. It could—”
“Braxton,” I interrupt. “He is a Ranger and he is a part of this family. He won’t remember the birth. But he will know the horse. And to have her born within weeks of his arrival is a moment of his inclusion on this ranch that shouldn’t be withheld from him.”
“I’m not withholding.”
“Let me finish. My sister and I fought round and round about his last name. I fought for Carrington.” His jaw hardens as he grinds his teeth. “Stop it. There was no reason for me to fight for anything but Carrington.”
He unclenches his teeth and continues to eat. I grab my toast and take a bite, letting the silence hang there.
“She insisted he was a Ranger.” He opens his mouth to rebut, but I lift my toast-filled hand to stop him.
“It was her choice. Not mine. But she didn’t just name him Ranger.
She named him Colt. I never questioned it.
But tonight, for the first time, I’m considering my nephew’s name and the fact that Emerson made a specific point, not once but twice, to make sure he was part of the Ranger fold. ”
He stares at me, his gaze intense. His shoulders drop a bit as the fight leaves him.
“I don’t know why she did it.” I stab at my omelet and shovel in a bite. “I can’t remember her saying anything to indicate she planned to reach out to you.”
“I—”
“I’ll stop talking with you if you argue every time I open my mouth. I’m being honest, and you need to know.”
He nods and finishes his omelet as I begin my second bite. He stands, clears his plate into the sink and then comes back, arms out for Colt.
“Let me put him down.”
I lift Colt just a bit. Braxton reaches down easily and scoops him up with his large hands, grazing my breast ever so slightly as he does. He stops and stares for one beat too long. I would laugh if my mouth weren’t full of eggs.
And if that touch didn’t go straight to my core.