14. brooks
fourteen
brooks
. . .
Fillin’ My Cup (feat. Little Big Town) - Hailey Whitters
Man, I love being a cowboy. Whilst officially I’m a ranch hand, not a cowboy, no one outside of a ranch really knows or cares about the difference, and I spend a lot of my life in plaid and boots with a Stetson on my head.
But the point stands. There’s nothing quite like being up before the sun, riding around on horseback, doing physical chores that make my muscles burn…
and being done by lunchtime. It’s a little before noon right now, and my entire to-do list for the day is done. I’m in a great mood.
I whistle to myself as I let myself into the main house.
It might not be my own home, or the house I grew up in, but it almost is.
I know every creaky step on the staircases in this house.
I know the contents of every bathroom cabinet.
And I know for a fact that my sister—the Tanners’ cook and housekeeper—made cornbread muffins this morning, and I fully expect to find them stashed in airtight tins in the pantry.
What I don’t expect is to find my pregnant sister atop a stepladder, leaning so far across the shelves that the ladder is beginning to wobble precariously.
“Hattie? The fuck are you doing?” I immediately cross the threshold and grab the ladder, steadying it as Harriet stretches to the back of the shelf.
“My job,” she growls in response. “Ugh.”
“Get the fuck down,” I demand. Harriet descends the ladder and I take the feather duster from her hand, swiping it across the top shelf with ease. My sister never grew much past five feet and three inches, but luckily for her, I’m six-five, and the top shelf is a breeze for me.
“Can you grab those cans of beans up there?”
“Beans?”
“All of ‘em.”
I load myself up with catering-sized tins and usher Harriet out into the kitchen, where I dump the tins and pull out a stool for her. She’s practically swaying on her feet, and she closes her eyes as she sits and rests her head on her elbows on the counter.
“Harriet,” I say. “You gotta look after yourself.”
She looks up at me tearfully as I sit on a stool in front of her.
“Emmy had me up half the night. And if it wasn’t her, it was this guy turning somersaults.” She points at the neat bump of her pregnant belly. I bite back a smirk. I can’t wait until my nephew is old enough to join me for some hijinks.
The door flies open and boots click on the terracotta tile.
“What up, bitches?” Ashton announces herself as she beelines for the fridge.
That’s when she notices Harriet all but slumped over the counter.
Frowning, she fills her arms with three cold bottles of water, and hip-checks the fridge to close the door.
She hustles across the kitchen to us, sliding two water bottles across the breakfast bar and pulling up a stool of her own.
“You okay, Harriet?”
“She’s okay. My new little bestie kept her up all night.”
“Replacing me already, demon? Only just got home.” Ashton twists the cap off her water bottle and tips it back. I find myself fascinated by the line of her throat as she swallows the water down.
“Bet he’s cuter’n you.”
“Probably,” she agrees. “You do make awfully cute babies, Harriet.”
Harriet grins, still tearful. “I do, don’t I?”
I brush a stray tear from her face. Call me biased, but my niece is definitely the cutest kid I’ve ever seen. And my nephew? I already know he’s gonna be the most handsome little guy ever.
“Found her on a damn ladder in the pantry,” I explain with a grumble.
I’m still having a hard time not being angry about it.
I don’t want to think about what might have happened if Harriet had stretched further.
If the legs of that stepladder had started to tip.
If she’d fallen. If she’d been distracted by my unborn nephew’s in-utero antics.
“Nope. Nuh-uh. No ladders, Harriet.” Ashton frowns, a deep furrow creasing her brow. “Don’t make me tell Mom about this.”
“I just wanna do my job, Ashton,” Harriet whines quietly. “I love this place. I love our families. I love being the housekeeper-slash-cook-slash-whatever people need me to be. You know I’m not an outdoor girl, but I love this ranch.”
I take my sister’s hand and she squeezes my fingers immediately.
“I know you do. And we love you. We just want you to be safe, Hattie.”
“Since EJ came along, I’ve just been… Mom.
I want to do my job, I want to be me. I love Dean, and Emmy, and I love this baby.
I love them so much I could cry, or burst, or…
probably pee, but that might just be ‘cause he’s sitting on my bladder.
I love my babies so damn much. They’re all I’ve ever wanted out of life.
But being Mom takes over everything, it erases everything that ever came before it, and I just… I’m tired, you know?”
Ashton stands up and leans over Harriet’s shoulder; long, inked arms wrapping around her neck.
“Let me take Emmy for a day, huh?” she whispers. “We can bake. Ride. Go into town and get up to no good. Whatever. Let me have her, and you can do whatever you need.”
“Sleep, preferably,” I say with a wink. “Catch up on that before the little guy comes along.”
Harriet lets out a laugh that turns into a sob.
“I love you both so much, you know that?”
“We know,” Ashton says smugly. “Lemme take Emmy to go get her nose pierced.”
I study Ashton, her chin resting on Harriet’s shoulder. It takes me a moment to figure it out—why she looks different today—but she’s swapped the usual ring in her nose for a small stud that glitters when she moves her head. It’s hot as fuck.
“Absolutely not,” Harriet says dryly.
“At least wait ‘til she turns three, Ash.” I wink across the counter at my sister. Ashton is still hanging over her shoulder, arms wrapped around my big sister. It’s a familiar sight, one I remember from our shared childhood, with a teenage Harriet giving young Ashton piggybacks.
Slim arms draped over her shoulders, skinny legs hitched high around her waist. Our families forever intertwined.
“You can have her this week. No chocolate before lunch. No tattoos or piercings. Keep her away from bees, and don’t forget her EpiPen. And if she’s on a horse, she’s wearing a riding helmet and knee pads.”
“Of course. I’ll keep her EpiPen with mine. She’s safe with me, Harriet. I promise.”
“I know,” my sister whispers, a tearful smile lifting just the corners of her lips as she presses them together and tips her head against Ashton’s.
For a moment, I forgot about Ashton’s allergies, and I say as much out loud.
But when she mentions her EpiPen, I’m suddenly struck with both the memory and the fear of an afternoon we spent in Heath.
Ashton must have been about fourteen. She and I, along with Ev and Jody, decided to grab lunch from a new taco truck that had rolled into town.
None of us ordered shrimp, but Ashton took one bite and reacted immediately.
Jody blew up at the truck owner, who apologized profusely and admitted he must have handed over the wrong taco, and Everett held Ashton on the sidewalk as she used her EpiPen and her symptoms began to subside.
I vacillated between Jody’s side, fists clenched, and Ashton’s side, ready to throw up with the fear of losing her to a fucking shrimp taco.
Apparently, the memory is so traumatic I’ve managed to block it out until now.
“Trust me,” Ashton says drily. “I did not forget. Thursday work for you?” Ashton releases Harriet and stands to her full height.
“Come over after nine. I’ll be back at home and Dean will be at work.” Harriet wipes her eyes with the back of her hand and sniffles before opening a drawer beneath the counter. She pulls out a can opener and places it on the counter between us, idly spinning it on the surface.
“You gonna be okay on your own, Hattie?”
My sister levels me with a terrifying glare.
“I’m pregnant, Brooks. I’m not broken. I just need some sleep, and maybe a massage.”
“Well, sleep, I can help out with. Ashton will take Emmy. Maybe I can have her a day next week. Buy her a leather jacket. Teach her to tip cows or drive stick or something. But you gotta ask someone else for the massage.”
Harriet slaps me lightly on the chest.
“You’re such an ass.”
“Learned it from the best.”
“Dad, I assume,” Harriet says dryly, with a smile on her face. Our father is one of the best men I know. He’s hardworking and loving, and he’s been there for every one of both of our milestones. He’s a wonderful grandpa to Emmy, and he’ll be the same to her baby brother, too.
“Of course,” I agree.
“You take that back,” Ashton argues. “Mr. Hart could never. I think you must have learned it from Jody.”
We argue playfully for another few minutes until Harriet sniffs loudly, wipes her eyes with the backs of her hands again, and stands up.
“Right, y’all get out. I got a chilli to make, and I’d like to see you explain to a buncha cowboys why there ain’t no food for ‘em if you keep distracting me.” She picks up the can opener again and reaches for one of the tins of beans.
Ashton immediately steps back. “Don’t let me stop you. I, for one, will be taking full advantage of that chilli later. Man, I love ranch Wednesdays.” She skips out of the kitchen even before she’s finished speaking, leather-soled boots clacking on the tiled floor.
I can’t say I disagree. Ranch Wednesdays are the best—the spacious kitchen is filled with all kinds of laughter, people bring their families along, and it’s always been my favorite night of the week.
Even after I moved out of my parents’ house, even now that I have my own space, I make it a priority to be here for ranch family night.
Having Ashton home, and knowing I’ll see her here later, just makes it even sweeter.