Chapter 3
Chapter Three
HARRY
“H up-hup!” I ride behind the small mob of heifers. The old man is swayin’ on his mount. Always tanked. Serves him right if he falls off and smashes his face in.
“Harry! Move them up.”
No shit.
The only reason he’s leading is because he’s too drunk to notice when a beast straggles and gets left behind. Even in this small allotment of ours, he’s useless. I wave a hand so he knows I heard but essentially ignore his order.
He’s having one of his rare good days when he is capable of more than layin’ on the daybed for hours. Ma pleaded with me to let him help. Although he’s more of a hinderance, I know she would rather have him out of the house.
Less eggshells that way.
So, I’m more than happy to buy Ma a little parcel of relief from him. With the last heifer in the yards, I push my mare sideways and shut the gate, leaning out of the saddle. The heavy iron loop drops over the wooden post and I sit back in the saddle. Twenty head for the store sale. Should keep the roof over our heads for the next few months.
A far cry from the dairy we ran five years ago. We were too slow. Too outdated, with other farms upgrading to pumps and trucks. The old man couldn’t come at that. No use spending money on something we already do , he used to hiss. So, we got left behind. Outpriced and needing a change.
Cattle ranching became the next logical step.
I wouldn’t go back to milkin’ cows if you damn paid me.
“What time the truck comin’?” the old man says as he sways atop his horse, plodding toward the gate.
“End of day. I can handle the draft if you want to do a perimeter check?”
He glances at the milling cattle. Their brown coats shine in the summer heat. But more importantly, they’re hefty. The pastures I’ve spent three years improving have finally paid off. With this lot gone, I can put more into the business account to make a bid on a bigger place. Maybe even a sizable ranch, if I wait a bit longer.
Across the field, at the house, Ma pushes out the back screen door and stands on the top step. Tea towel in hand, she dries a plate. I wave a hand, and she returns the gesture. The silent check-in she always does when I work with Pa. As if she trusts him about as much as I do.
I can handle the old fool. The only person he’s a danger to out here is himself. Inside the house is a different story.
Something thuds.
The cattle startle.
I search for the old man’s hat.
Nothing.
Fuck.
Jumping off my horse, I climb through the wooden rails and walk to where the heifers have separated. Between hooves and covered in dirt, he lies, out cold. I knew he was drunk, but this is a new level. Even for him.
I roll him over with one hand and his head lolls. “Jesus Christ.”
I stand up, heading for the rail. “Ma! Come grab the gate, will ya?”
She drops the plate and towel to the step and hurries to the yards, her worn long skirt hovering over the golden grasses as she goes. When she sees her husband lying in the dirt, her face falls. She grips the gate, staring for a moment before undoing the latch and standing ready to open it for me.
I talk to my old man, scooping his thin frame off the ground, and carry him home, following Ma as she walks ahead. I hope she doesn’t think this is her fault. She’s partial to giving him whatever he wants these days, if only to keep the peace.
God, how the fuck is this still our damn life?
She pads up the back stairs and pushes the door open. “On the daybed, my love. I’ll clean him up.”
“Let him sleep it off, Ma. You don’t need to baby him.”
“Maybe.” The word is no more than a whisper.
Inside, the house smells almost like roast beef. The scent of seasoned veggies, herbed and cookin’, tangles with the odd meaty fragrance.
“What’s cookin’, Ma?”
“I thought more food, hearty meals, might soak up the extra booze he’s been taking in. A roast, etc.”
“Always lookin’ out for him.” I kiss her forehead. “Don’t understand why.”
“One day, Harrison Rawlins, you will love someone so much, you would turn yourself inside out to make sure they’re okay. With no regard to your own well-being. Then, you will realize you have something real. Something worth fighting for.”
She pats my cheek like she’s done for the past twenty-eight years. I force a smile. I had that. At least, I thought I did.
Louisa was my person. The one girl who had me in pieces with just a smile. For every second we were together, until the day she smashed my heart to smithereens. I still love her. Probably always will. We were young. But you don’t feel that deeply, that completely, for someone if it’s simply a fleeting phase.
When I don’t respond, Ma tilts her head. “You’ll find it again, I promise.”
I can’t even respond.
The phone rings, and she rushes to grab it before it wakes the old man.
“Oh hello, Evelyn.”
Ma’s best friend. I have the phone bill to prove it.
I nod a see you later and push for the back door. I haven’t allowed myself to think about her since that night.
That doesn’t mean she hasn’t infiltrated my thoughts every damn day since.
I walk for the cattle yards, my mount still tied to the gate where I left her. She’s a good mare. I should give her a name. But that feels too risky. Horses die. Get sold off. I can’t go through gettin’ attached again.
Hell’s hounds, I’m pathetic.
Even my thoughts are runnin’ scared with their tail between their legs.
Fuck me.
Been livin’ under a storm cloud since she left...
Too much.
That’s too much, Harry.
Snap outta it.
I untie Horse from the rail and lead her back to the barn I hand built around ten years ago. Trying to work out the loss of her with my bare hands. The debilitating pain of losing the other half of my soul when I was barely old enough to understand the gravity of what I was going through.
Understand just fine now.
Work is my salvation. I have spent the last ten years makin’ something of this small allotment. Buying up the land around us to build the equity. Equity is king, they say.
I release the clasp on the girth and slide the saddle from Horse’s back. She shifts on her feet. Sweaty, she flicks her tail. I dump the saddle on the rack I spent too many hours building and return for the bridle. Sliding the strap loose, I slip it over her ears and toss it onto a hook. I give her forehead a rub before hosing her off and letting her loose to her pasture.
“You really should give that poor girl a name,” Ma says softly from the doorway of the barn. “You owe her that much.”
I chuckle. “You two been talkin’?”
She offers me a small smile.
In this hard life, she wasn’t granted many, so I take it like the gift it is.
“Going into town today?” Ma asks.
“If you need?”
“Yes, I think I’m all outta potatoes and flour. You could stop at the diner for lunch. The roast will keep for supper.”
“You sure?”
I fight off the blush that’s creepin’ up my neck. I love my mother, I really do. But her cooking’s never been her strong suit. And she is all too aware how often I frequent Darla’s in town. Breakfast, lunch, and sometimes supper, if I’m feelin’ like splurging.
“Oh, I’m sure.” She pulls an odd face. “I know my cookin’ doesn’t even come close, hon. I’m not offended, I promise. You’ve always loved your food. Even as a little boy. Have no idea where you put it. Not an ounce of fat could hang around with all that muscle.”
She rolls her lips together, like she wants to say something else, but won’t.
I chuckle and lean on the barn doorway. “When you want to head off?”
“Give me twenty?” she says.
“Sure, be up to the house soon.”
“Oh, and Harry, change out of that shirt. It reeks of horse and dirt.”
Okay...
I shake my head at her and finish up by tidying the barn and putting out a couple bales of hay for the heifers. They make short work of it, and I head to the house to clean up for the diner.
That’s new...
What is Ma up to?
* * *
I run a hand over the wood grain of the truck’s dash. It may be old, but it’s a classic. Plus, it’s the one thing the old man gave me I don’t resent or hate. I let her idle, waiting in my clean clothes as Ma makes her way down the front steps. She locks it and hurries to the truck.
“What’s the rush?” I ask.
“Oh.” She sits in the passenger seat and fixes her hair, holding a small mirror up that she fished out from her oversized handbag. Even for almost fifty, she’s still beautiful. The deep blue eyes she gave me are lit up with excitement as she pats her brown hair with streaks of grey.
“Finished powderin’ your nose, Your Highness?”
She beams but nods and pulls her seat belt over her chest. “Yes, let’s go.”
“What’s got you all worked up?” I ask, backing the truck out of the driveway and shifting it into drive.
“Nothin’.”
I raise an eyebrow as I glance at her.
“Never mind.” She pats her bag and forces her face to a somber facade.
“If you say so.”
She stares out the window. I drive us into town and park by the convenience store. Easier to cart the groceries that way. I kill the engine.
“You want me to come with you, carry the potatoes, etc.?”
“Um, no, I should be fine.” She is out of the truck before I can crack my door open.
“Enjoy the diner!” she calls from a little way down the street.
What? Did she burn the roast altogether or something? I swipe my hat from the center of the bench seat and head up Main Street.
Folks say hi as I close in on Darla’s. The doorbell chimes, and I look around my regular haunt, checking if my usual booth is free. It is. I pad toward it and drop into the seat, facing away from the counter. No need for people to see me. Or me them. I pluck the hat from my head and place it on the seat beside me.
The place is busy. Chatter, cutlery clinking, coffee pouring fills the air in the muddled mix of food establishment sounds that relaxes me. Ma was right, this is one of my favorite places. The waitresses move around in their peach dresses and white aprons. The joint feels like something from a drive-in picture.
“Your booth is up,” Cynthia calls to another waitress.
Is it bad I’m here so often that I recognize each of their voices?
Peach falls in beside me.
“Coffee, hon?” she says, coming to a stop beside me.
The voice is new, but not unfamiliar.
I should make a good impression on the new girl since I practically live here. I sigh and mutter, “Why else would I be here?”
Deciding that’s not the first impression I want to make, I add, “Yeah, please.” I look up. “And my regu?—”
My gaze meets one I haven’t seen for over a decade.
Shock fills her face.
The coffee pot in her hand slips. Glass and hot dark brown liquid explode all over the red and gray tiled floor.
I choke on air.
“Louisa,” I rasp.
“Ha—” Her face breaks. She spins on the spot and hightails it behind the counter.
Fuck.