Chapter 19 #3
Grace peeks up at him at this, feeling a little prickle of admiration at the back of her neck—and maybe somewhere else farther south—at his tone.
He knows they have to be up early, knows they can’t stay up here for too long without risking a crappy morning, and they have way too much to do in not a whole lot of time before the sun is at its hottest. But he also knows there are sacrifices you have to make in the name of keeping your family happy, perhaps better than anyone.
Grace, who has never had to learn that lesson, finds herself enjoying watching Crew thread the needle of being a good son and a good foreman.
He makes it look easy, but then again, he’s sharper than steel and quicker on his feet than most men could ever hope to be.
He’s unbelievably competent, and Grace is learning very quickly that the quality is a massive turn-on.
“Well, of course we are,” Renata says in a singsong voice, waving them over. She stands, walks to the swinging door that leads into the kitchen, and pushes it open. “Mia, will you bring us another bottle of the ’82 Chateau and two more glasses?”
“Yes, ma’am,” a voice calls from within.
And soon, a woman who looks almost identical to Ronnie but twenty years younger walks into the dining room with the bottle and glasses in hand, offering Grace and Crew a polite smile as she sets them on the table.
She starts to open the bottle, but Renata reaches forward, gently stopping her and taking the corkscrew into her own hand.
“You don’t have to do that, honey, but thank you.
And remember what I told you about calling me ma’am. ”
Mia looks sheepish, letting her head hang for a moment before nodding. “Renata,” she corrects. “I apologize.”
“Is your mom still here?”
Mia nods, jerking her head in the direction of the back door. “Cleaning the grill.”
Renata scoffs, shaking her head as she leans up to get eyes on Ronnie out on the porch, scrubbing away at the enormous grill with a large pair of tongs topped off with half of a white onion. “That woman, I swear to God. Did she send Luc home again?”
“She did.”
“I hired him specifically so she wouldn’t have to clean up after spending the whole day cooking, and she never lets him actually do the job I hired him to do.”
Crew smiles, reaching out a hand, into which Renata drops the corkscrew.
He begins to open the bottle as she rants—and by the looks on everyone’s faces, Mia included, this is not a new gripe.
Instead, it sounds like an age-old argument between two women who have been challenging each other for years.
Two women who refuse to give up the last word.
Grace finds herself wondering what it must look like when Renata and Ronnie go toe-to-toe.
Renata picks up her wineglass and drains the rest, then says to Mia, “Tell her to get out of here—if she’s late to another date night, your dad is going to make good on that promise to move her out to the Florida Keys.
” Mia grins, clearly aware of this threat, and nods before turning around and walking back into the kitchen.
When all the wineglasses have been filled and refilled, Grace takes a sip of hers, managing to keep a straight face when she realizes instantly she does not enjoy the taste of wine.
Red wine, at least. The sweet pink stuff June keeps in the fridge with the little footprint on it?
That, she can get behind. But this—it tastes like rotten grape juice and rubbing alcohol’s abominable baby.
“Y’all got your eyes on anything in particular this weekend?” Crew asks as he sips the wine, and there’s no evidence on his face that he shares Grace’s contempt.
Clint drums his fingers against the white tablecloth. “Not really. I was thinking I might try to bid on Geronimo just to piss off Bruce, though,” he says with a conspiratorial smirk.
“You wouldn’t dare,” Renata says, gaping.
Clint shrugs, grinning like the cat that ate the canary. “No, I wouldn’t. But he could stand to be knocked down a peg, don’t you think?”
“That man’s been eyeing that horse since 2017. He needs a win.”
Grace listens to the exchange without comment, unable to contribute.
The rumor mill of the horse auction world isn’t one she’s familiar with in the slightest—she’s never been on that side of ranching, only ever met the horses once they were purchased and ready to be trained.
She doesn’t think she’d enjoy it much, deliberating over the animals like pieces in some game, like pawns to be played only at the whims of careless buyers and sellers.
Whatever is on her face as she considers this must not be pretty, because Renata leans forward and says to her, “We don’t actually bid like that. I don’t want you to think we do anything when it comes to our animals without real thought and preparation.”
It’s strange and unexpected, the way Renata seems to feel the need to defend them, but Grace appreciates the clarification nonetheless.
She never figured the Caldwells to be reckless buyers, but in her limited experience, most people aren’t as careful with their purchases.
Braxton was more of a dumping ground than a cattle ranch, a place where Bellamy unleashed and then forgot about all of his impulse buys, his flavors of the month, everything from zebras to ball pythons.
Grace realizes Renata is still looking at her and nods, waving it off. “Of course not,” she says. “When are y’all leaving?”
With a sigh, Renata leans back and takes another sip of wine. “We have to be in the truck by six, according to this crazy person.”
Clint, who has been wrapped up in conversation with Crew, seems to hear this jab, and turns to his wife mid-sentence to say, “I am not missing the pancake brunch again. It’s the only thing that makes this godforsaken auction worth going to anymore.”
The minutes pass, the wine depletes—everyone’s except Grace’s, that is—and Grace learns about the Blue Barrel’s history, the Caldwells’ involvement and sponsorship, and that they’ve been trying to slowly relinquish all ties they have to the event for half a decade, partly because it’s far away, but also because they’re tired of seeing the same faces and having the same conversations year after year.
By the time the second bottle is empty, Grace is giggling at their dramatics, at the fantastical schemes they consider crafting to get out of going entirely, at the way they try to convince Crew to go in their stead, even going as far as to try to bribe him with a thousand dollars.
He only laughs, saying he can’t be bought, and if he could, he’d cost way more than a grand.
It’s nearly midnight when they finally leave the table, and neither Grace nor Crew is particularly happy about having to go all the way back to the summer pasture, but they know they’ll never hear the end of it if they spend another night at Crew’s house when they’re supposed to be at camp with everyone else.
His parents both stand as they make their way out, and Renata walks around the table on slightly wobbly knees to wrap Grace in a tight hug.
She smells like roses and vanilla and spicy, clean soap.
Her black shirt is soft under Grace’s touch, and she returns the hug with equal fervor, enjoying the extra affection, no doubt induced by the wine.
Renata leans back after a long moment, keeping Grace in her grip.
She smiles at her easily, her eyes slightly shiny from the alcohol.
“You’ll tell me if my son is ever anything but a gentleman to you, right?
” she asks quietly, only loud enough for Grace to hear.
A few feet away, Clint and Crew are hugging, exchanging a few of those loud back claps that men do whenever they embrace.
“Of course,” she says, and then, “but you raised him right, Renata. I doubt I’ll ever have to tell you anything like that.
” Grace says it to make her happy, to make her smile, but she realizes as the words leave her lips that she also says it because it’s true.
Renata raised a good man—a wonderful, loyal, intelligent man.
“Oh, honey,” Renata beams, pulling Grace into another hug.
She rubs Grace’s back, a much gentler, softer showing of affection than those claps, and Grace smiles, pressing her cheek to Renata’s shoulder.
It’s quiet, what Renata says next, and there’s less humor in it.
Instead, her words are thick with promise, with hope.
But above all, with love.
“I think we’re gonna have to keep you.”