4. Sally
CHAPTER 4
Sally
HOT TO GO
I’m sweating bullets. My legs and back ache from squatting, and my eyes are gritty.
But when I look up from the bandage I just wrapped around Pepper’s foreleg, I’m surprised to see thin yellow light streaming through a nearby window.
Pepper’s surgery was a challenge. I debated where to insert the screws, and getting the angle of the plates just right had me cursing like a sailor. My feet hurt so badly that I feel like I’m about to fall over.
At the same time, the procedure seemed to go by in the blink of an eye. My body is tired, but overall, I feel…peaceful. Proud.
Best of all, Pepper no longer has that pained, haunted look about her. She blinks lazily, still sedated, before she noses at the hay at her feet.
“I like your smile.” Dad’s eyes twinkle as he packs up the portable X-ray equipment. “You did good, Sally.”
Vance just shakes his head, staring at Pepper. “That sure was something. I know I already asked you so many questions, but I’d love a debrief if you have time. These are techniques I’d really like to learn. You saved a life today, Sally. ”
My chest swells. “Couldn’t have done it without an assist from you and Dad. I’d be happy to teach you.”
“She’s good at that, isn’t she? Teaching?” Dad gives me a look. “Which is why she needs to be at a university, not in a barn in the middle of nowhere.”
The joyful feeling in my chest dims. Truth is, I love working in the barn. I love teaching too. Most of all, I love being surrounded by our little makeshift team. Dad was handing me tools before I even told him I needed them. Vance kept me talking, asking about my residency, the goat cheese I’ve been making now that Lucky River Ranch had goats, how I liked playing in a band with my mom. And Ava was there to fill us in on Pepper’s bloodline, making us all laugh when she shared Mrs. Wallace named the horse Pepper because she liked to read spicy books.
I feel like I had a real support system of people who genuinely cared about the horse and about me too. I feel appreciated.
I feel good.
Makes me realize how I feel like just another cog in the machine at Ithaca University. It’s a super-professional environment, but it feels sterile in comparison to Hartsville. Then again, it probably feels that way because I haven’t been there long enough. My residency lasted three years, but that’s a drop in the bucket compared to the years I’ve spent in Hartsville. And I haven’t found a “squad” in New York like I have here, people I know and work with easily. I’ll eventually find those people in New York, though. I just need to give it time.
Still, I continue to force my smile. “Thanks, Dad.”
“Well, I for one am glad you’re here.” Ava holds out a gallon-sized jug. “Some cider Mrs. Wallace made from the harvest. The orchard is apparently overflowing this year.”
I’m smiling for real again as I tuck the jug into the crook of my arm. Say what you want about small towns, but never in my ten-plus years at school has someone given me a gift for my services. Much less a thoughtful one.
This is why I love Hartsville. And this is why it’s always so hard to leave.
“This stuff is delicious,” I say. “Please thank her for me. I think I’ll use it to make some mulled cider.”
“You put whiskey in that cider?”
“Of course I put whiskey in my cider. Key is to use a lot of it.”
She grins. “I like you.”
“You have to stay warm out here somehow.”
“There are lots of ways to do that on a ranch. Especially if cowboys are around.”
Vance chuckles. Dad turns red.
I blush a little, too, but I’m able to laugh, despite the image of Wyatt on horseback streaking through my mind, his hat on his head and a lasso in his hand. Man rides harder and faster than anyone I know.
I’d bet good money he does the same in bed.
I email Ava and Vance a detailed summary of Pepper’s post-op care plan. Then Dad and I climb into his pickup and head home, the gallon of cider tucked carefully behind my seat.
On the drive, Dad gets a call from a nearby rancher about a horse that’s not eating.
“Sounds like colic,” Dad says when he hangs up. “I’ll drop you back at the house, and then I’ll head over to Jordan’s to handle the horse.”
“You sure?”
“Of course. You should get some sleep. You did awesome, Sally. Really, you have so much talent. I can’t wait to watch you soar in New York.”
My heart swells at his obvious pride. I’m proud of myself too. I love how happy my success makes my dad. But I’m starting to wonder if my definition of success is the same as his.
I flip down the visor against the strengthening sun. With the light no longer blinding me, I can see just how blue the sky is. My window is cracked open, letting in a crisp, clean breeze.
It’s going to be a gorgeous fall day here in South Texas.
How many more days like this will I get? I’m supposed to start my job in Ithaca in a month and a half. It will be beautiful here when I leave. But Ithaca? It will be a gloomy, frozen tundra.
My chest hurts when I think about it, so I try not to. Only Dad seems intent on reminding me of my duty to honor the “talent” I have.
“I know you don’t want to move into your apartment until after the holidays,” he says, referring to the two-bedroom place I’m renting just off campus in Ithaca. “But since your lease starts December 1, Mom and I thought the three of us could fly up there early as a little Christmas present for us all. I’d love to get to visit Ithaca again, and we could start moving you in.”
I turn my head to look out the window. The view of Hill Country is spectacular from this stretch of Highway 21—pale earth, green cacti, the orange and fiery-red leaves of the gnarled oaks dotting the undulating landscape.
Home.
“Y’all don’t have to help me move in,” I reply carefully. “I’m not in college anymore.”
“We’d like to be there for you, Sally. This is an exciting time for you, and we’re excited too.”
Talk about twisting the knife.
“That’s sweet of y’all. Thank you. Let me think about it, all right?”
He glances at me. “Don’t sound so thrilled. ”
“I’m sorry. I really do appreciate the offer. Thank you. I’m just tired.” It’s a lie, but I yawn nonetheless.
Sighing, Dad turns his attention back to the road.
I’m going to be actually, legitimately tired once I start my job. It’ll be balls to the wall from the get-go: twelve-hour shifts, tons of overtime, eighty-hour weeks. Lots of stress. Just thinking about it makes my stomach twist.
Needless to say, I’m not going to have a lot of free time. I have to have fun while I can. Only problem? I’m not great at fun.
However, I do know someone who, in his own words, is a master at it.
My stomach does a somersault when I remember the hot glimmer I saw in Wyatt’s eyes last night when he called me Cinderella and spun me around the dance floor. Beck clearly couldn’t stay away once I had Wyatt’s attention. And I couldn’t help but notice how comfortable I felt with Wyatt. When I was with Beck, I was a nervous wreck, overthinking every little thing. But with my best friend, I was able to have fun.
I was able to be carefree.
What if…
This is crazy and inappropriate and just plain weird, but what if I asked Wyatt for another lesson-slash-date? Just so he can teach me to let go and have a good time with a guy? A fake date would also have the added bonus of making other guys jealous.
My pulse skips a beat when I remember the potluck is coming up. Wyatt wouldn’t be caught dead at such a wholesome event, but every other cowboy in Hart County will be there.
Bet Wyatt looks really good dressed up, but that’s neither here nor there. Does he even own a suit jacket?
I glance at the jug of cider behind my seat. Glance at the clock. It’s only nine, but that’s practically the afternoon on a cattle ranch. Wyatt and the other cowboys have been up for hours at this point.
Dad drops me off at our house. “Try to get some rest, all right?”
“Love you.” I grab my cider, open the door, and hop out of the truck.
“Sally,” he warns, clearly suspicious of my sudden burst of energy.
I look up at Dad with a grin. The warm sunshine pours over my head and shoulders. “I’m getting a second wind.”
“Rest, sweetheart.”
“I’ll see ya later, Dad.” I close the door and scurry inside the house, wondering if my parents have an extra bottle of Jack Daniel’s around.
I don’t know if I’ll actually have the courage to ask Wyatt to be my fake date to the potluck. Just like I don’t know if going through with this dumbass plan will make me feel worse or better.
All I know is, I have to do something.
And I know if I ask Wyatt to get his mid-morning buzz on with me, the answer will be yes. The guy can never say no to a good time.
Come to think of it, he can never say no to me either.