12. Tessa
12
J ackson kicks at a loose rock, watching it tumble down the dusty path before looking up at me. His oversized cowboy hat, which keeps slipping over his eyes, adds a little extra swagger to his stance.
I tried to dress the part. Dark pair of denim shorts and an orange button-down tied at the waist. It's comfortable and weather-appropriate.
His grumpy dad left us sitting on a bench by the barn and told us to wait for Roger before heading to someplace called the Wrangler Room.
He was a little extra short with me this morning. Jaw tight, words clipped and barely looking at me for longer than three seconds.
My chest is still tight over what happened last night. Guilt will surely eat me alive.
After nearly losing mine, I put another life in danger. And then made him lie about it.
I need to figure out a way to undo the damage. I might not believe it myself, but the kid should probably feel like he’s safe with me. That I’d never do anything to hurt him.
Not intentionally.
“Are my boots okay?” I flip my foot backward like a ballerina, balancing on the other .
“They’ll work. They’re a little pretty, though. Hope it doesn’t rain. That’s how I ruined some of my shoes out here.”
I poke his little chest. “Then we’ll take them off and run for it.”
He laughs and I take the moment to explore with my eyes. Rolling hills stretch in every direction. I see cabins in the distance, mountains behind them, and another structure further away. I don’t mind a good hike every now and then, but how’s one to see it all on foot? “It’s... big.”
“Couple thousand acres,” Roger says, stepping out from the barn. He’s an elderly cowboy with heavily tanned skin. His frame is small, but those arms look strong enough to lift cattle. “Where y’all want to start?”
“Let’s show her the horses,” Jackson cheers.
Roger frowns like the kid’s lost his mind. “The stables are all the way on the other side. There’s plenty to see and do before that. You like apples, miss? Couple weeks we’ll be busy for apple picking season, but we’ve got a few tiny ones growing over by the orchard. Come on, I’ll show ya.” He starts walking, and Jackson and I shrug.
“I like tiny apples,” I say, not that it mattered. I take Jackson’s hand. “Do me a favor kid, steer me clear of any manure and sh—stuff.”
We don’t walk far before reaching the orchard, a sweet and flowery-scented land that’s fenced in. I hold my hand over my eyes, following them through the small gate. “Are these edible yet?” I stretch out my hands, rustling my fingers between small trees.
“Not those,” Roger says in front of me. “But these here are.” He stops in front of a fuller tree with several luscious apples hanging from their branches. Then pulls a mesh bag from the side of his belt.
Jackson doesn’t waste any time. He’s like a pro, picking off ripe apples and tossing them into the bag.
Roger subtly inspects each one and smiles down at the boy with pride. “Good job, buddy. ”
Absently, I pick at a leaf, rubbing the smooth texture between my fingers, watching this happy kid do one of the many things he does best. Melt my heart.
I don’t envy that his childhood is surrounded by dependable grownups who will teach and protect him. But I do wonder what that's like. And if I ever have kids, will I have the means to do the same?
About one hour into an uneventful tour and way past the feeling of being babysat, I’m ready to take this kid home. When I mentioned I wanted a tour, I hoped it would be a little less touristy and a bit more personal.
Even Jackson looks bored. And he’s always raving about the ranch.
And some creek.
As if reading my mind, he tugs my hand while Roger explains livestock care and feeding. “I wish Dad gave you the tour. He’s a lot more fun.”
Doubtful.
We’re in the feeding shed, where buckets are stacked next to other feeding supplies for the smaller pasture. Apparently, after this, Roger plans on taking us to the larger one—and to be frank—I’m not quite sure how much more of this I can take.
“Hey, why don’t we head home? Looks like it’s going to rain soon anyway.” I look up at the grey clouds. “We could have popsicles and watch cartoons?”
Jackson’s deep in thought, staring off into the distance, then turns his head up to me, a mischievous spark lighting his face. “I’ve got a better idea.”
“Better than popsicles and cartoons?”
He nods, then whispers. “Follow my lead.”
I narrow my eyes, keeping my voice low. “Wiggles, are we about to go rogue?”
He shrugs. “I am. You’re just stuck with me. ”
I think I love this kid.
While I’m in my head, unsure if I should be proud or concerned that I’m a bad influence, Jackson drops my hand and is on the move, tiptoeing his way around the shed behind Roger.
When the man stands, I circle in front of him. “Wait. Show me that again. So you just fill these little buckets with anything?”
“Depends on who we’re feedin’. This here’s for the goats.”
I nod with interest, chancing a glance behind the old man. And oh…no, I really wish I’d asked what he was planning.
Jackson winds his little foot and kicks the stack of empty buckets. They clatter to the ground, bouncing and rolling in every direction. The sound echoes off the walls, startling livestock, causing a commotion.
Roger’s on his feet and out of the shed. “Stay here,” he shouts over the noise, closing the gate behind him.
“What did you do?” I hiss at the kid.
Jackson giggles as he races to the gate, pulling it open, then waving me over. “Let’s go.”
“Where?”
“Hurry!” He pulls me along.
Jackson and I bolt across the pasture, leaving behind a frazzled cowboy.
I wince. I’m in so much trouble for that.
But it’s all worth it when I look at this little boy’s face once we’re in the clear. He’s absolutely glowing with joy.
Worth it.
“Kid, that was genius.”
He tilts back his hat. “I got you covered.”
We disappear over the hill and it’s nothing but clean, crisp grass.
I stop for a breath. “What now?”
He glances back. “The creek. ”
I follow his little feet as they zigzag between trees, ducking under low hanging branches.
My heart races, but in a good way. A thrilling way as we venture freely toward someplace less… predictable. Much like my life.
“You sure this is a shortcut?” I call, my boots kicking up dirt.
“Pretty sure!” Jackson calls back over his shoulder, still running ahead. “Dad never takes this way to the creek. He’ll never find us once Roger calls him.”
I laugh—and that is not a good sign. I shouldn’t find this funny. But I do. Especially after his overprotective dad basically had someone ‘watch the nanny’ when Jackson and I were perfectly capable of…
“Hey, Jackson, maybe we shouldn’t stray too far. I can’t see over the hills anymore.”
“No, no. I think it’s this way.”
“Okay, but then we should turn around. Find Roger before he finds your dad.”
“Here’s the creek,” Jackson cries. “Dad’s only brought me here on Willow, but look, we found it.” He sits on a rock in the shade of the trees.
He looks quite proud of himself.
“Willow?”
“One of our horses. My favorite. Dad’s too, I think.”
“Pretty name.” I lower myself onto a rock next to him as we watch the water. “I’ve never been on a horse. Wild animals are not my thing.”
“Horses aren’t wild. Well, not our horses. They live and work on the ranch. They’re domesticated .”
I ruffle his hair. I’ve pictured myself on a horse before. I’ve also pictured said horse tossing off the bad seed that landed on him. I’d quicker plant myself on a rollercoaster. They have seatbelts and can’t smell fear.
A ripple in the water freezes my thoughts. It's followed by another and several more.
“Uh-oh.” Cold shivers run down my arms and I pull to my feet, blinking up at the sky.
Jackson sits up. “We…should probably…”
“Run!” I yell, grabbing his hand and sprinting back toward the grove of trees.
Before long, the rain comes down fast, soaking us in seconds.
I look for the clear path we had taken earlier –but it seems to have disappeared. We both spin in circles as panic creeps in my voice. “Where’s the trail?”
“Umm…” He points forward. “That way.” Then moves his arm. “Or…was it that way?” His eyes are wide. “Are we lost?”
I take a deep breath, kneeling in front of him and securing his hat. “Of course not. We’re close. Let’s go with your first guess, huh? I think you might be right.”
I push to my feet and tug him along toward the trees. “That will give us some coverage.”
Thunder rumbles in the distance, and I tuck Jackson beside me. We’re breathing hard and soaked through. When the rain slows to a drizzle, I turn to him. “Wait here. I’m going to see if I can find our path.”
Stepping out, I squint to see behind the fog. Nothing. To my left, I hear a faint, rhythmic thudding. It comes in irregular bursts, but there’s no doubt that whatever it is, it’s making the ground tremble.