Chapter Two
Apparently, Grandpa died almost instantly. His Life Alert notified emergency services that he had fallen, and he was found soon after.
The moment that Mom texted us, Emery and I left the rodeo for the hospital – the only major one near Silver Springs or Pinto Valley.
On our way through the waiting room, I saw the barrel racer watching TV, cheeks stained with tears and make-up.
Even through my shock and grief, I wondered if the bronc rider was OK.
The remembrance ceremony for Grandpa a week later was just what he would have wanted.
We spread his ashes around his ranch, his favourite place in the world.
He used to say it was cursed because nothing has grown here for one hundred years, except for the cherry trees, but it was the place he called home since he was born.
We left coral, pink and butter-yellow peonies for him in each of his favourite spots. They were the colours of the sunsets he loved to watch – the sunsets we’d watch together.
This morning, Mom and I scoured the ranch house for his will and finally found it in an old shoe box in his closet. Now we’re sitting on the porch to open it together – Mom in Grandpa’s chair and me in Grandma’s old rocking chair.
“Should I have insisted Emery be here?” Mom asks, her voice quiet from exhaustion.
She makes a haphazard attempt at twisting her unkempt grey hair into a clip, but it ends up even messier than before.
Despite the amount of time she’s spent resting, the bags under her eyes have grown darker each day.
Grandpa was Mom’s rock, her one lifeline besides me, so him being gone has been a massive blow.
I peer into her bloodshot eyes. She doesn’t need the extra stress of worrying about Emery right now.
“No.” I shake my head. “She knew we might find it, and she didn’t want to help, so no. Honestly, Mom, she’s never been as connected to this place, or to Grandpa, as you and me.”
She pulls up the sleeves of the threadbare cardigan she’s worn on repeat this week. “That’s true,” she sighs.
“Yeah, so stop feeling guilty.”
Her finger trembles under the envelope flap and the glue crackles as she slides it open. She reads slowly and, when she’s done, she pulls another piece of paper from behind the will. Instead of reading it, she hands the letter to me and smiles, tears pooling in her hazel eyes.
“It’s for me?” I ask.
“Mm hmm.”
Dahlia,
I could start this letter many ways. There is so much to say, but as you know I’m not one to fuss. So here it is:
The ranch is yours, just as it should be. I know you’ll take care of it. Don’t let anyone stand in your way, and hell, prove them all wrong. If anyone can break the curse, I know you can.
Love you,
Grandpa
PS Take Shadow on walks with you and keep riding Blue. He may be an old man now, but he still likes adventures. Most of all, never let the magic and wonder of life fade away. It’s easy to get cynical with age.
I laugh in disbelief through my tears. He left me the ranch. The entire ranch.
“Why did he…?”
Mom hands me the deed and beams with pride. “You know why, love.”
*
To Mom, Grandpa left his small savings. It will be enough for her to pay for all the prescriptions she needs for her lupus, at least for a few months.
To Emery, he left some of his treasured possessions, like his turquoise bolo tie.
She told Grandpa multiple times she didn’t want to have anything to do with the ranch; visiting now and then was good enough.
Grandpa took her word for it but part of me feels guilty he left it all to me.
I walk across the ranch, breathing in the fresh air, trying to get my head round this new reality.
Now I’m owner of the ranch and everything that goes with it, including Shadow, his cat who likes to go on walks.
He affectionately called her Shadow-Kitty-the-Ranch-Dog because when they were both younger she’d follow him around when he did ranch chores like fixing fences, and ride in his lap on the four-wheeler.
It was hilarious watching her black-and-white fur blow in the wind.
Then there’s Blue, of course, his trusty steed. The ranch has always felt like home to me, and whenever we’d visit I’d ride Blue, which made me feel like I truly belonged here. Grandpa never ceased to help me feel at home too. He knew life wasn’t easy with Mom and Dad not getting along.
Blue’s in the paddock now. He raises his head from the hay he’s munching when I approach with peppermint treats in hand.
Mom and I have been at the ranch for a little over a week, since the day after Grandpa died.
We needed to stay so we could take care of Blue and Shadow, but now that he’s truly my responsibility it feels different.
He nickers at me as I bend down and step through the fence. There’s no better greeting. “Hey there, sweet guy,” I say, handing him a treat. “I guess it’s you and me now, huh?”
He brings his soft muzzle to my cheek and breathes me in. I turn and huff breaths back at him through my nose. When I was only up to Blue’s knees, Grandpa taught me this is the way horses say hi. Ever since, the scent of a horse’s breath grounds me in a way nothing else does.
I stroke the old horse’s neck. Grandpa named him Blue because his colour is blue roan, which is really just a blend of black and white hair.
His white hairs dominate, so his body is light grey, and his mane, tail and face are black.
His mane is a tangled mess, I notice. I take one of the knotted strands between my fingers and pull at the hairs, trying to free them.
I pull and pull and pull, but nothing comes undone – they’ll have to be cut off.
Grief and guilt take over me and tears fill my eyes.
This poor horse isn’t neglected, but he hasn’t had the attention he deserves.
His hooves are chipped and his old eyes are gunky in the corners.
Grandpa didn’t have the energy to do much but feed him, and I was too busy finishing senior year. I haven’t been here enough.
“Blue boy,” I cry into his side. “I’m so sorry I haven’t been around much lately. Will you still take me for a ride?”
I get a halter from the shed and ride Blue bareback around the ranch, taking in the sights and smells of the landscape I love so much.
We ride down the road near the cliffs. Dark-green junipers with twisted trunks grow strong within the cliff crevices, keeping large boulders from tumbling down.
I get lost in the silence of my surroundings, remembering that our lives are short compared to the millennia of red sediment layered within these rock walls.
Blue turns uphill as a light breeze blows warm air at our backs, seemingly pushing us towards the barn.
Blue walks slowly, his arthritis probably bothering him, but his ears are perked forward and his head held high.
Almost to the barn, I guide him to the pond where the beehives are – the real root of my love of honey.
Then to the orchard where we walk through the rows of cherry trees – Grandpa’s pride and joy.
I pull a cherry from a branch and test its readiness – close, but not quite.
It’s still a little firm and not yet vibrant red.
They’re a little early this year. Grandpa said it was a warm, dry winter over here.
Winters are always long and arduous where I grew up in Silver Springs.
It’s a ski town with an elevation of ten thousand feet.
We pretty much get eight months of snow.
I’m so ready to get out of there, and before Grandpa died I was set to go to college in the fall.
But now that the ranch is mine, does that change things? Or is it going to change everything?
*
In the afternoon, Mom convinced me I needed to break the news to Dad.
So I forced myself to pick up the phone.
He scoffed at Grandpa’s “outlandish” decision, but he was surprisingly upbeat, telling me how much money he thought I could make by selling.
Then he lectured me about the importance of going to college for so long I zoned out.
It was nothing I hadn’t heard before. Making money and getting an education to get a high paying job is of the utmost importance to him.
This morning, I video call Lani. Hawaii is four hours behind, but I know she’s an early riser.
Her chin and lips pop up on the screen. “Aloha! I can’t talk long,” she whispers, holding the phone too close. “Helping Auntie with a sunrise shoot and we don’t have much time before the sun comes up.”
“Lani, I have crazy news.”
She holds the phone back and her beautiful round face and big dark eyes come into view. They’re on the north shore of Maui in a cute little town called Paia, and the waves are crashing in the background. I hear her auntie call, “One minute, OK?”
“What’s going on?” Lani asks. “Is this about Wyatt? Or have you found your hot cowboy?”
I blush. I told Lani about the bronc rider who got injured at Silver Springs.
“No – I’ll hurry. My grandpa left me the ranch.”
Lani’s eyes go round. “What? Just you?”
“Crazy, right?”
“That’s wild.” Her voice wavers slightly. “What are you going to do now?”
I half laugh. “Not sure. Ride Blue a lot? I’ve got a lot to think through.”
Lani’s eyes dart away, towards her auntie. “I bet…” she says. “So you might stay?”
“I don’t know…” I say. “I’m trying to choose.”
“Look, I’ve got to go. But we’ll catch up later, OK?” Lani smiles. “This is exciting, Dahlia.”
“Thanks, Lani. Speak soon.”
Before she hangs up, a blur of the sandy beach and the golden beginnings of a sunrise streak across the screen.
Here, the sky is overcast, but the June air is warm. Thankfully in these hills, among the cliffs and junipers, we’re close to the mountain peaks that send a cool breeze down every morning. It’s still evident in the rustling of the cherry-tree leaves, sounding like a late morning lullaby.