8. Eight
Eight
Wes
Styrofoam litters the office as Rory plays with a stray piece, sending it scratching across the concrete floor.
“Quit that,” I mutter, clutching the coffee pot’s directions in one hand as I stoop to snatch the piece of foam irritating my senses.
I don’t usually get started this early, but I got it in my head that Rosemary is right—a rarity—and I went ahead and purchased a fancy single-serve coffee pot for the staff.
True to her word, Cassidy has stuck out working for the past three weeks.
High turnover is common in this industry.
Especially, considering farm owners hire the shit out of young high schoolers.
In addition to that, they prey upon the wide-eyed lesson pupils, willing to lend a hand for the rare chance they get an extra ride out of it.
I try to be generous with riding time for those who help.
With the press of a button, the coffee pot comes to life with a spritely song.
“Jesus,” I mutter, judging the theatrics of the kitchen gadget.
Grabbing one of the new travel mugs off the counter, I glance at the Miller Run Farms logo plastered to the side.
The horse jumping over the center of a horseshoe is a common image.
In fact, I think it’s a universal logo, but I didn’t have the heart to redesign what my parents did.
It could be a feeble attempt at preserving one of the few things Jane and Andy Miller agreed on growing up.
The door opens to Grady tracking dirt onto the floor to mix with the styrofoam. The kid’s muddy blond strands have lightened in the sun over the past few weeks. A dimple pops on one cheek as the lanky college student smiles at the counter.
Syrups and individual creamer cups line the butcher block countertop on the opposite wall from the lone table.
I decided on the individual cups of creamer because they didn’t need refrigeration, and it’s already bad enough that we are storing our lunches in the fridge next to syringes of hormones for the girls at the breeding barn.
“Shit!” Grady says, a bit too enthused. “That’s new.”
“Language,” I growl in warning, throwing the mug under the pot, plucking a cup off the counter, and pressing the button. Another chime rings through the office, and Grady laughs.
“Is this for us? I’ll admit, these seem like five-star accommodations compared to what you had up there before.” He rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “The old mail and disorganized farm maps, that is.”
“Don’t get too excited,” I warn. “It was expensive, so use it sparingly.”
I pull the phone out of my back pocket, glancing at the time.
We have a trainer scheduled to come in for one of the boarding clients at 8:30, so I need to get the hell out of this office and let the herd in.
Wednesdays are typically busy since we have lessons early.
I’m not the only one to teach, but I’ve taken on a pony lesson with a few new kids, and we have a horse due any day now down at the breeding barn.
Tension weaves its way through the muscles in my shoulders. The tasks are still never-ending, and I’d give anything to have a moment to just enjoy this place, one not tainted by a hefty to-do list.
The door swings open again, and Rory makes a break for freedom, only to be met by a chipper Cassidy.
She scoops the cat up and pets her behind one of her ears, eliciting a soft purring noise.
The rainboots have not returned, and have instead been replaced by the muck boots she now wears over a pair of tight, black leggings. Her tank top scoops to reveal tanned collar bones, a pink spreading across her cheeks from days in the sun.
She looks good—happy—like little yellow flowers dotting a sea of green.
April brought rain, but we are heading for a hot day today, as if May is trying to establish itself as the new start of summer.
Just a few more days until we jump to the next month, and I’m hardly ready for the girls to start dropping foals.
Sleepless nights tend to make me unpleasant. Not that I was pleasant to begin with.
Cassidy always seems to be pleasant.
“Oh wow!” she says, gently setting Rory on the floor as she ogles the coffee bar on the counter. Her megawatt smile could stop traffic. “This looks like fun!”
I grab my mug and dispose of the used cup of coffee grounds, gesturing to the selection. “Help yourself.”
She has a bounce to her step when she passes Grady, as if the coffee bar made her entire week. A small smile tugs at my mouth, but I tamp it down.
“Thanks, that sounds great!” she says, pulling a travel mug from the shelf and starting on her wild concoction. She adds three pumps of the toasted marshmallow syrup, dumps three plain creamers in the cup, picks out the coffee, and while she’s waiting, adds one more creamer for good measure.
I can’t say I’d make the same choices for my drink. Coffee tends to be more of a functional addiction for me, but the excessive sweetener and joy Cass gets from it? It makes sense for her.
When I finally look at Grady, his brows are pinched together, arms folded over his chest. “Really kind of you, Wes,” he says, and I don’t like his tone. Lucky for him, he’s a good worker. “This stuff is pretty pricey, eh?” he asks, shooting me a knowing look. “We should probably use it sparingly.”
I swipe the worn ballcap from the table and place it on my head, taking a sip of my coffee.
It warms me on the way down, and despite its bitter taste, I guess I’ve grown to like it.
It’s both functional and enjoyable. “Y’all work hard enough,” I grumble in reply.
Cass makes a small, excited sound when her coffee finishes brewing.
She gives it a stir with one of the spoons I left out, and beams at me from the first sip.
“Drink as much coffee as you like,” I say, noting the way Grady’s brows raise in surprise. “It’s meant for you.”
I give a parting nod to Cass before exiting the office. I write the lesson assignments on the whiteboard along with a small to-do list at the bottom for anyone with extra time and a desire to keep busy.
Grady and Cassidy exit the office laughing, each with a coffee in their hands.
“Cassidy,” I say, and her smile falls a bit. “We’ve got to get the herd in and prep for this morning's lessons. I’ll need your help with the younger kids today. You might end up leading a horse, but I think the little ones will take well to your personality.”
Her head cocks to the side, blonde ponytail brushing over one bare shoulder. “My personality?” she questions.
“The sunshine and dandelions thing you’ve got going.”
Grady scoffs, and I shoot him a pointed look. “And you,” I start, “I’ll need someone who has been on for a breeding season down at the lower barn. Rose is getting ready to pop any day now, so make sure you give her a good look over. Check if she has colostrum dripping or anything.”
Despite the subtle attitude the kid’s given, he nods. “You’ve got it, Boss.”
When he takes off in the golf cart, I urge Cass to the feed stall, reminding her of who gets what and pointing to the wrinkled list on the wall.
We get buckets filled just in time for the horses to start banging at the side door.
“You ready?” I ask, and she smiles that same smile she had when she got a look at the coffee bar. I question if I should start bringing in donuts on Mondays just to see it again.
It’s dangerous territory—how much I’m bending to see this woman happy, but I try to tell myself there’s no shame in boosting morale. As the HR department, I approve of all methods being used.
“Sure am,” she answers, and I open the door to let everyone in.
Once the herd is in and happily eating, we get to work on grooming the worst of it. For some reason, the Welsh ponies we use for the little ones love the spring mud the most.
Cass works in the stall next to me, a conversational silence stretching between us—interrupted by the sound of horses shuffling around their stalls and finishing their breakfasts.
Since she got here today, there’s been an undercurrent of awareness—like I can feel where she is in the barn—like I am aware of every move she makes.
It makes me question my decision to offer the house at the end of the drive to her. I’m not sure how I’ll handle having her so close. The last thing I need is a distraction from the obligations of this place.
Or maybe that’s exactly what I need—something to think about aside from my full schedule. Unfortunately, that distraction just can’t be her.
Aside from knowing that she enjoys heavily sweetened coffee, owns a pair of yellow rainboots, and sneaks small pieces of lunch meat to Rory when she thinks I’m not looking, I hardly know this woman, and I should keep that careful distance.
“Wesley?” she says, her voice unsure.
I take a second too long to respond, clearing my throat. “Yeah? You need something?”
“Oh no!” she says, punctuating it with a breathy laugh. “I was just wondering where Rosemary is. I haven’t seen her since the one incident. I hope I didn’t make her feel weird.”
As if she could.
I keep running circles over the caked mud on the pony in front of me as he munches hay. “Back in Nashville,” I answer. “But I did talk to her. Sorry ‘bout that.”
“No, it’s no big deal.” There’s another pause. “What do you do in your free time?” she finally asks, her voice hopeful.
“What do you mean?” Mocha, the pony standing in front of me, rubs his ear on the wall.
“Oh, you know,” she says. “Do you have any hobbies? Obviously, I used to ride, but it’s been forever since I’ve done that.
I miss it sometimes.” She descends into her usual frenzy of conversation.
“I mean, I’m totally fine not riding. I didn’t mean for that to sound like I was complaining. I’m just trying to get to know you.”