Chapter 3 #3
Crew stares at his brother through narrowed eyes. “Isn’t a gap year something you do before you graduate?” he asks, sitting back in his chair. “When you do that after you’ve already gotten a degree, I think it’s just called being unemployed.”
“All right,” Renata says. She looks at Grace, and a smile—one that Grace is noticing now looks practiced, routine, maybe a little bit disingenuous—spreads widely on her lips.
“First, let’s remember we have company.” Then, her gaze becomes pointed as it zeroes in on Crew.
“Second, don’t make your brother feel bad for wanting to be home.
All I ever want is for my children to be under the same roof with me—” she says, then seems to stop herself from finishing the thought, her mouth closing abruptly.
Clint glances sidelong at her as he sips his coffee.
Renata recovers quickly, taking a deep breath before adding, “He can stay as long as he likes. Forever, if I have any say in it.” She reaches over and pats Cooper’s cheek, and he ducks bashfully, gently waving her hand away.
“And you’re going to help him reintegrate,” she tells Crew.
“Let him bond with the hands. Give him things to do around here.”
At this directive, Crew actually smiles, but it’s more of a smirk.
“Happily,” he tells his mother, and then offers his brother a wink, one that seems to gleefully promise to give him many, many things to do around the ranch.
And for the first time since the meal began, Cooper looks wholly unsettled.
They continue eating without engaging again; Renata and Clint share a quiet conversation, Cooper scrolls on his phone, and Crew eats silently but heartily, helping himself to seconds and then thirds.
Grace’s plate is empty faster than she would’ve hoped, and she stares longingly at the remaining food, particularly the sticky-sweet tortilla triangles that have gone mostly untouched.
Despite knowing with some level of certainty that Renata would encourage her to eat as much as she’d like, it still feels wrong to reach for more.
To take without having anything to give in return.
Maybe she’ll prove herself and help them, paying them back for this meal and then some, but there’s also a chance that she’ll fail miserably and be back in Minetta by the end of the week, proving instead to be a waste of gas money and groceries.
Not willing to gamble with that possibility, Grace places her hands in her lap.
She’s had more than enough. As she stares down at the empty plate streaked with remnants of enchilada sauce and leftover grains of rice, something comes into her field of vision that she doesn’t expect.
A helping of the sopapillas. A big one, too.
Grace looks up as Crew sets it down on her plate and then quickly sucks off the sweet glaze remaining on his thumb and forefinger. He doesn’t look at her as he turns back to his own food, but quietly, only loud enough for her to hear, he says, “Eat.”
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After lunch, everyone scatters. Crew and Cooper kiss their mother on the cheek before they go, and Grace watches with amusement as Crew grabs his kid brother by the scruff and shoves him out of the house.
They don’t get more than a few steps outside before Crew is barreled over, trying to dodge Cooper’s fists aimed at his abdomen.
Renata watches them go with a loving, knowing expression—a mother used to seeing her children pick on each other.
Grace wonders about the picture of the girl sitting between Crew and Cooper on the shelf—the sister, the middle child, the only one who doesn’t have a reserved seat at the table.
She wonders where she fits in, if she fits in at all, but thinks better of asking.
The Caldwells seem to be a forthcoming, confrontational bunch, willing to not only acknowledge but also shine a glaring spotlight on all elephants in the room.
There’s bound to be a reason why the topic didn’t come up.
“Grab your stuff. I’ll show you to the bunkhouse,” Renata says, interrupting Grace’s theorizing, then nods in the direction in which Crew and Cooper ran off. “The hands are all out working, but you’ll meet everybody at dinner.”
“Great.” Grace shoulders her duffel bag and follows Renata to the barn she’d seen on the drive in.
The closer they get, the more nervous she becomes.
Compared to her last bunkhouse, it’s a mansion.
A five-star resort. The paint looks like it was recoated recently—crisp white with black accents and not a streak or smudge in sight.
The grassy pathway leading to the front door feels soft under Grace’s boots, as if it, too, is more refined.
Renata pushes open the barn door with some difficulty, sliding it to the right until it latches into place. The scent of aftershave, coffee, and a cowboy musk that is inescapable no matter how nice the living quarters may be hits Grace’s nose, and her eyes go wide.
Maybe it isn’t as artfully decorated or chic as the main house, but it’s something to behold on its own. While there are bunk beds, they aren’t the ancient, rickety twin things from Braxton. They’re full beds—on bottom and top—held up by strong, sturdy-looking wood panels and ladders.
A blast of cold air is enough to have her grinning as she walks in, scanning the high ceiling and the crisscrossing wooden beams above.
Where Braxton’s ranch hands treated the bunkhouse floor like their own personal hamper, the hands here all seem to have their own designated bins.
There’s a shoe rack toward the back of the room sitting atop a jute rug, and an array of boots and shower shoes are stacked neatly across the six shelves.
As Grace takes all of it in, she tries to keep her mouth snapped shut, for fear of letting her jaw hang in childlike awe.
But she fails miserably as soon as the pool table and foosball table come into view, both in perfect condition.
And behind them, a kitchen with stainless steel appliances and a dining table that looks big enough for an entire football team.
Renata stands behind Grace as she moves through the bunkhouse slowly, appreciating every square inch.
She comes upon a bed that looks vacant, a bottom bunk with a soft-looking quilt and pillow sitting at the edge of the mattress.
She turns to see Renata smiling with her arms folded over her chest. The woman nods, then says, “That’ll be yours while you’re with us. ”
With a slight pit forming in her stomach, Grace clocks the very specific way she phrases that statement. This ranch, this family, this bunkhouse, every last bit of it, could be very temporary.
“Settle in, change, do whatever you’ve gotta do, and then I’ll walk you over to the stables.”
Grace nods, setting her bag atop the mattress. Renata turns to leave, and the words bubble up in Grace’s throat and out of her mouth before she can stop them. “Renata,” she calls, feeling slightly wrong and weird using just her first name.
Renata turns, eyebrows lifting upward.
“Thank you for this. For everything.”
With a knowing smile, the owner of Halcyon Ranch says, “Don’t thank me yet, Grace. You haven’t met the horse.”