Chapter Thirty-Three
By the time I pull into Ironhorse, the sun is already up.
I kill the engine of the old truck and sit there for half a second longer than necessary, rubbing a hand over my face.
I step out of the truck, and Darby is waiting, arms crossed, chewing on a piece of straw. His eyes narrowed on me.
“You’re late,” he says.
“I know.”
He squints at me. “You sick?”
“No.”
“Truck break down?”
“Nope.”
I didn’t get much sleep last night because a certain cowgirl kept me up till the wee hours. Not that I’m complaining.
I don’t share that with Darby though.
“Just forgot to set my alarm.”
I’ve been here before dawn every day since I started. I take the longest shifts. The hardest chores. The jobs nobody else wants. Not because I’m trying to impress anyone, but because this place, this work, makes me feel like I’m earning my keep.
“Don’t make a habit of it,” he finally says.
“Won’t.”
He jerks his chin toward the barn. “We gotta head out. Last herd’s gotta get pushed south before the weather turns.”
“Turns?”
“Yep. Forecast is calling for snow this week. Might get six inches. Might get three feet. Gotta prepare for it all.”
I nod and head for Blackjack’s stall. He snorts softly when he sees me, dark eyes bright, and I rub his neck the way I always do.
I’ve laid claim to the sable gelding that was once considered Caison’s horse before he purchased his new stallion, Midnight Storm.
“Hey, boy,” I murmur. “You ready to get to work?”
I brush him down quickly and tack him up. Saddle. Cinch. Bridle. Everything clicks into place like it’s supposed to.
Unlike my head.
Out on the land, the sky is already starting to look different. The blue is sharper. The air bites. You can feel winter coming the way you can feel a storm rolling in.
We ride out to catch up with the others, hooves thudding against frozen dirt, and the herd comes into view in a slow, moving mass of brown and black. We fan out, pushing them the long way south, toward lower ground and better shelter.
It’s hard, honest work. The kind that usually keeps my head clear.
Today, it doesn’t.
Every time I slow, my thoughts drift right back to Shelby. The way she looked, curled up in my bed this morning. The way she felt in my arms last night.
I shake my head, urge Blackjack forward, and focus.
We spend the day building windbreaks out of old fencing and hay bales, dragging extra feed out with the tractor, laying down straw and cornstalks in thick bedded packs behind the barriers so the cattle have a fighting chance when the snow hits.
By midafternoon, my shoulders are burning, and my hands are raw. By sunset, I can barely feel my toes.
We don’t quit until long after the sun drops behind the Tetons and the cold turns mean. When we finally ride back in, I feel completely wrung out.
I drop Blackjack off, rub him down, and fill his feed and water buckets.
Then I go get my girl.
Ruby comes barreling down the porch steps when she sees me, hair bouncing, smile bright enough to light the night.
“Daddy!”
I scoop her up, ignoring the way my arms protest. “Hey, kiddo.”
“Nana made fried chicken,” she announces, like it’s the best news in the world.
“That’s my favorite.”
“Mine too!”
Momma’s kitchen smells like heaven when we walk in.
Supper is already on the table, dishes covered to keep everything hot.
Momma kisses my cheek. “You look worn out,” she says.
She takes the seat across from me, and Pop sits in the one across from Ruby.
Over chicken and mashed potatoes, she tells me how much money her ladies’ group raised at the fall festival.
Ruby chimes in with a very detailed account of how much candy she made away with and the fact that her papa managed to talk one of the game operators into parting with a large stuffed mermaid.
“And your father and I went through her candy,” Momma says. “Made sure everything was safe and individually wrapped. We split it into ten little bags so she doesn’t make herself sick.”
Ruby pouts. “I wouldn’t get sick.”
“What did I tell you?” Mom asks calmly.
“It’ll last longer if I don’t eat too much at once.”
We run through the schedule for the next couple of weeks. Ruby’s day care is closed for Veterans Day.
“I can keep her,” Momma says. “No problem.”
“I appreciate it. That helps a lot,” I say.
“And I can get her to her barrel lessons if you need me to.”
Barrel lessons.
Shelby.
My chest tightens just at the mention of the lessons.
“Thanks,” I manage. “I’ll try to be off in time for those.”
We finish eating, and I help Momma clear the table. We say good night, and I load Ruby into the truck for the short drive home. She chatters the whole way about school and how a girl got her in trouble for talking during nap time.
At home, I get her into the bath, blow her hair dry, and help her into pajamas. We curl up on her bed, and I read her favorite book, doing all the voices, even though I can barely keep my own eyes open.
When she finally drifts off, I tuck her in, smooth her hair back, and stand there for a second longer than necessary.
Then I go sit on the edge of my own bed and pull out my phone.
I stare at Shelby’s name for a long time.
Finally, I type.
Me: I’ve been thinking about you all day.
I watch as the three little dots appear and disappear several times. I kick off my boots and peel off my dirty jeans as I wait for her reply.
Stormy: I haven’t thought about you once.
I chuckle to myself.
Me: Liar.
Stormy: Did you have a good day?
Me: Yeah. Long and hard. Just like me.
The dots appear and disappear again. And I can imagine the blush crawling up her neck.
Stormy: You’re awfully full of yourself.
Me: I seem to recall you being the one full of me.
Stormy: Oh. My. God. Good night, egomaniac.
Me: Sweet dreams, cowgirl.