14. Sutton
14
SUTTON
My sleeping pill wears off right as the morning sun is peeking over the mountains outside the window. I squint in the dawn light, trying to make sense of everything.
And then I see her.
Even in that ridiculous shirt, with her limbs wildly strewn out, and her bangs sticking up at all angles, Laine looks beautiful. Somehow, a subtle wash of red still stains her lips, turning them a shade that perfectly matching my mother’s peonies out in the garden.
Realization hits me all at once like a punch to the face. I actually slept with—rather, near—Laine. The girl I’ve been—as Frankie so embarrassingly put it—pining after. Pining ever since the night of the date auction. Maybe even since she came into class late in her bright patterns, demanding to be seen.
It’s a good thing I took that Ambien, otherwise I would’ve been up all night, acutely aware of her every movement, terrified I would do something embarrassing in my sleep. I almost close my eyes again to bask in Laine’s nearness, but it doesn’t feel right. Sleeping alongside her when I was knocked out was one thing. Lying here conscious, as my feelings are becoming harder to ignore, is a whole other thing.
I sit up as quietly as I can manage, my eyes still on her. She stirs a bit, covers her face with her arm, and tucks the corner of the patchwork quilt under her ankle. Her breaths even out once again, and her body relaxes completely.
I take twice as long as usual to get dressed, even though I’m just getting ready for a day on the ranch. It’s not my dream itinerary, working with Wells today, but Laine needs to make headway on her articles, and I don’t want to distract her. Knowing my father would be gone for a couple of days for his unspecified appointments, I encouraged Laine to take advantage of that and get as much interviewing done around the ranch as possible.
I’ve had little of an appetite since arriving back in Montana, so even though the cook has a solid start on the breakfast spread he’s prepping for all of the ranch hands, I grab only an apple on my way outside.
Staying away from the barns yesterday was intentional. Laine would have loved a tour of them, I’m sure, but I couldn’t bring myself to get too close right away. The farthest building, the bunkhouse, is already alive with raucous laughter and teasing. I nearly get to the open door before doubling back and heading for the stables, not yet ready to face the others I’ll be working with today.
If I stop overthinking, it can almost feel as though no time has passed. The sound of dirt under my old boots, the morning chill, that distinct smell of hay and sun-warmed wood mingling with the sharp tang of leather and faint traces of horses—it’s a scent that lives somewhere deep in my memory, tangled up with summers spent working under skies of endless blue.
Did I even move to New York?
Did I spend six years in school ?
Or am I still eighteen years old, living every day on this stretch of practically untouched land?
Hank sold my paint horse the same day I moved away, but the others I was familiar with are still here, with the addition of a couple of new adults and three foals. Even Duke’s horse is here, in the last stall. He’s a gorgeous quarter horse with a russet coat, a blaze of white down the center of his face, and matching white socks on each leg. When Duke was here, he was on his horse daily and pampered it to death—constantly training, brushing, and bonding with it. His horse, in turn, took on Duke’s same personality—gentle yet powerful. However, it’s been six years since Duke was here. And if Wells took over the care of his horse, maybe his personality rubbed off on it, meaning I need to approach cautiously.
“Hey, bud,” I whisper as I close the final distance between the horse and me. I hold a hand out high, pausing midair to study the horse’s reaction. It blinks and tips its nose down, almost bowing. My hand falls to its forehead and down its muzzle. “Come on,” I murmur. “You’re mine today.”
The ranch hands come in as I’m bridling Duke’s horse. I look at the group of twelve, doing my best to not appear as sheepish as I feel. There are a handful of unfamiliar faces, but some of them have been around since I was a kid.
“Mornin’,” I say, shocking myself by subconsciously dropping the “g.” I pull the horse along with me as I walk to the group. Some smile. Some glare. All seem to know exactly who I am, but I introduce myself anyway. “I’m Sutton Davis. I’m Hank’s…” Am I technically the oldest now? No, that doesn’t feel right. “I’m his…other son.”
“The writer,” one of the younger in the group says, crossing his thin arms. Just by his wiry build, I know he’s new to the ranch.
“Editor.” Assistant editor, technically. And technically , not even that for a few more weeks. They don’t need to know that, though.
Bill, who has been working at Silver Ridge since it was my grandpa’s, nods at me, the closest thing I’ll get to a welcome. “You’re here for Wells’ wedding?” Bill’s silver mustache hangs so low it nearly touches his chin. He was always friendly to me when I was young and even kept a pocket full of Werther’s Original caramels to give to me and my siblings whenever we walked by. But now, there’s no hint of kindness in his eyes. And of course, no candy offering.
I know my father and brother feel I abandoned the ranch and, by extension, they feel I abandoned them. I suppose the others here must think the same. Beyond that, Wells surely hasn’t had the best things to say about me to them over the past years.
“Yeah, I’m here for the wedding,” I confirm.
A few of the familiar employees lean over to the ones I don’t recognize, hushed conversations slipping between them. I can’t actually hear what they’re saying, but it’s no mystery. That’s the brother who dated the bride-to-be. The fresh faces light up with amused delight.
Then, one of them barks out a laugh. “She must be a hell of a lay,” he says, loud enough for us all to hear.
A voice so strong it’s unfamiliar in that moment booms out. “ Who? ”
Wells strides in, his scowl accentuating the dark shadows under his eyes. He’s only twenty-three, but his voice was enough to flatten any humored smiles. To me, he’s still the sixteen-year-old kid getting in trouble for sneaking into bars and getting into fights. As such, his bravado makes me cringe, but for a moment, I can see him as the others do. Strong-willed. Commanding. Powerful.
I can see him trying to be our father.
Wells scratches his beard, looking even taller with his cowboy hat on. “ Who’s a good lay?” he asks again, his fiery gaze flitting to me for a second.
Everyone is tight-lipped.
Wells walks directly to the guy who made the comment, his stare unyielding. “You’re on shit-shoveling duty today. I want the stalls mucked and washed out. Every horse is coming home tonight to fresh bedding. It better smell like a damn field of roses when we get back.” Wells grabs a nearby pitchfork and shoves the handle toward the guy’s chest—hard enough to push him back a step. “Got it?”
“Y’sir,” he mumbles back.
Wells continues staring at him, even when giving directions to the others. He tasks a few with fence repairs, half with moving cattle, and the final few with miscellaneous work near the home base.
“What are you doing?” Wells asks me, finally looking away from the shit-shoveler.
“Whatever you need me to.” I look at the faces of the crew again. “Laine, my…girlfriend…”—I wince, still weird to say —“will be around today,” I tell them. “She’s a journalist and is doing a few articles about West River and Silver Ridge Ranch. She might ask some of you questions, if that’s okay.”
Wells nods, his jaw flexing, and turns back to his crew. “I’m not going to make any of you do an interview, you all will be kind. And gracious. You’ll tip your hat and say things like ‘ma’am’ and ‘excuse me’ and ‘pardon.’ And you won’t embarrass me.” The group gives an audible agreement.
It takes effort for me to keep my mouth from popping open in surprise. After all, Wells embarrassed himself plenty yesterday, by his own attitude. The last thing I expected was for him to stand up for Laine. Frankie really must have let him have it last night.
“Get to it, then,” Wells instructs his men, heading for his horse .
“Is it alright if I take Duke’s today?” I ask Wells as he passes me.
“Whatever.”
“And thank you,” I say. Wells keeps his back to me as he gets to work on his own horse, but I continue anyway. “Thank you for asking them to be nice to Laine. So far, she thinks this place is a little slice of heaven, and I’d like for that to continue.”
Wells says nothing.
“Is there anything specific you want me to help with today?” I ask.
He turns to me, his body as tight as a drawn bowstring. “I don’t care what you do, so long as you don’t get in the way. We don’t need you here.”
I lead Duke’s horse out of the barn without another word.
Everything comes back naturally. Mounting Duke’s horse. Kicking my heels against his sides. Feeling that brisk morning breeze as we trot through the fields, working our way along the emerald grass, wandering deep into the trees. The mountains progress in levels, and once I get to the lowest ridge, I pull the horse up to the edge, studying the views below.
The morning sun casts a golden glow over the panoramic landscape, illuminating the vast expanse of rolling hills and steep mountains that circle the ranch. The fields stretch out in waves, like a lush green blanket peppered with vibrant wildflowers. Here and there, cattle graze lazily, their forms mere specks against their backdrop. The river at the base of the mountain roars over rapids, winding swiftly through the small, private valley. But it's the mountains that command the most attention. Their peaks reach for the sky with dignified pride, standing like guardians over my family’s home.
I close my eyes, drinking in the smell of wet dirt and the songs of nearby birds. Everything feels so raw, so real, so quiet . It grounds me in a way that the city never can. And for the first time in years, I feel like I can take in my first true breath.
I can claim that I don’t regret my decision to move away. I can tell Laine about how my father made life here a challenge. I can truly and honestly love so much about my life in New York. But I can’t deny that I’ve also missed some aspects of life at Silver Ridge. There is no calm like that found in the mountains.
If not for the thought of missing out on time with Laine, I could stay here in this spot all day. When I start back down toward the barns, I prod Duke’s horse into a full gallop, my body bouncing in time with the beat of the horse’s run.
And there she is. Red cowboy boots and all.
Laine sits on the top of the corral, watching Bill and Wells work on breaking one of the foals. She waves her arms high in the air when she sees me, calling my attention as if my eyes weren’t immediately drawn to her. Even in the city, in crowds of people, I could spot Laine in a second.
In addition to her boots, she’s in a patterned tank top that flares out at her waist and cutoff jean shorts that show off the curves of her thighs. And yes, she has her red lipstick on, though it looks more sheer than usual.
When I dismount Duke’s horse and tie him up, I waste no time getting close to Laine. Her beaming smile is enough to almost forget about dinner last night.
“I didn’t enjoy waking alone this morning,” Laine says with a wink, loud enough for Wells and Bill to hear. She slides herself backward toward me, and I reach up, grabbing her by the waist and lowering her to the ground. Almost without thinking, I hug her from behind. “Nice touch,” she giggles in my ear. “Very convincing.”
Laine spins around to face me. My hands linger on her, now resting on her hips. She looks up questioningly. “Can I kiss you?” she whispers under her breath, tilting her head ever so slightly back toward the corral, where Bill and Wells are watching our exchange.
My heart drops to my stomach, and my mouth goes dry, but I give her a minuscule nod. Before I have time to overthink it, Laine brings her hands to my neck, pulling me down as she tilts up. My heart is beating so fast she can probably feel it as our chests press together. I can barely see the corners of her lips twitch up before our mouths connect.
This isn’t real , I remind myself in a last-ditch effort to maintain clarity.
Fake dating or not, Laine’s kiss sets me on fire. Her lips are as soft and warm as I imagined, and they mold to mine perfectly. She draws back for just a moment before reconnecting again, longer and deeper this time. Her smile breaks the kiss, and she laughs breathlessly against my chest as she lowers back down on her heels.
Without a word, she grabs my hand and turns back to the corral, with her back to my chest. She pulls my arm across her so it drapes over her collarbone.
Wells stares at us, his mouth tipping into something almost resembling a sideways grin, and I finally see more of the kid I used to know.