Chapter Sixteen #2
I study him, wondering why life doesn’t always align us with the people who set our souls on fire.
“I’m not sure he’s my type,” I sigh.
“No? What’s your type, then? Tall, dark and devastatingly handsome?” he says in a deep voice and quirks one eyebrow up with a cartoonish grin.
“Sure…” I tease with a doubtful tone. I put my phone down and decide I’ll reply to Wyatt later.
“Seems everyone’s into that type.”
I furrow my brow while giving the cherry mixture a good swirl with the spoon. It’s done. I scrape the excess off the spoon and take a taste – God, it’s good.
I put a hand under the spoon and carry it to Cash. “Try,” I say, in a breathier voice than I intend.
He puts a hand over mine, holding the handle, and pulls it into his mouth. The red gel coats his lips and he swipes his tongue out to lick them.
“And you think everyone’s into that type?” I ask, taking a step back.
“Absolutely. Not just girls, either. My friend, Hank, thinks I’m hottie with a naughty body.”
“A little cocky, are we?” I look over my shoulder as I toss the spoon in the sink.
“Just know when I’m wanted,” he says.
“Oh, really? Do you feel the same way about him?”
“No,” he cuts me off. “I love Hank, but I … I’m more into girls with curves and cur—”
Mom walks in, rubbing tired eyes. “How’s it going in here?”
I don’t answer right away. All I can think is, curves and cur— What was he going to say next? Maybe that’s what he’s into, but Kaylee doesn’t fit that description with her slender figure and straight blonde hair.
“It’s going great,” I finally respond. “Look at how many cherries we have.”
Mom yawns and slumps over the stove, smelling the cherries in the pot.
She dips a clean spoon in and takes a taste. Her eyes close and then she stands up straight, turning to me with a smile and new brightness in her eyes.
“Sure was a good idea to add honey.” She pulls the silverware drawer open and lifts out a larger spoon.
After filling the spoon with cherries, she blows at them and steam rises gently into the air.
“Dahlia,” she says, not shy about reaching for yet another clean spoonful.
“They’re transcendent. Cash, have you tried them yet? ”
“I have.” He sets down the cherry he’s pitting and stares at me. The corner of his mouth creases into his cheek. “They’re amazing.”
“Dahlia’s going to enter them into the Young Producer competition at the fair. Did she tell you that?”
“Mom.”
“What? It’s exciting.”
Cash’s eyes still haven’t left mine. “I’m sure you’ll win,” he says.
Before Cash leaves, he lifts the rope handle to the root cellar and gets in. He’s so tall that his chin is at the same level as the floor. I hand down the jars full of cherries. They radiate in the glass like giant rubies.
“I’m still not sure how I’ll get them all to the market and the competition without making a zillion trips.” I sigh. We look down at the jars of cherries swimming in rich honey and scarlet juices. “Hey, what was it you wanted to tell me earlier before I got that text?”
He pushes a hand through his hair. “Oh, I … I wanted to tell you that … that you should use my truck for the next market.”
I look up at him, surprised. “Your truck? Don’t you have rodeo practice on Thursday?”
“Right, but what if … we load up my truck on Thursday morning, you drop me off at the fairgrounds for practice, then you go to the market. And if you’d want to … you can bring the truck back and watch. I’ll be there most of the day.”
“Really? You’d be OK with that?”
“Absolutely.”
“What have you got there?” Mom asks as I step up on a creaky porch board later, carrying Daisy’s saddle under both arms.
The saddle feels unnaturally heavy, but my stomach flutters as I tell Mom, “It’s Daisy’s saddle. Look.” I point to her name on the back. “Isn’t this cool?”
She runs a hand across the seat, from the saddle horn to the cantle and back. “It’s gorgeous. Amazing it’s been sitting in there all this time.”
“Not any more. I’m going to clean it up and start using it again. That is, if it’s OK with you.”
Mom chuckles. “When are you going to realize this is your ranch and I just live here?”
“Mom,” I say, plopping on to the porch and resting the saddle carefully next to me.
“It’s true.” She sips her iced tea and leans back in her chair. “OK, so … I don’t mean to meddle, but I noticed you and Cash today. It’s easy to tell that he’s awfully fond of you.”
I blush to the edges of my ears. “We’re just friends. He has a girlfriend.” The sun is setting against the red cliffs, and coral-coloured clouds streak across the sky. I’ll never tire of this view. I open a jar of cherries I saved from preserving and stretch across the saddle to hand Mom a fork.
“Then why has he been here so much?” she teases.
“He says he’d like to work here,” I say, reaching for the leather cleaner. “He has some ideas about how to get the hay operation going too. I told him it’s impossible.”
“Hmm, maybe … I’ve been pondering what happened. The desk opening for you…”
“Oh yeah?” I rub a sponge across the saddle leather.
“I think the desk chose you.”
I chuckle. “It must have. I can’t stay away from it. Mom, I’m scared the ranch will stay cursed this way for ever.”
“So you believe in the curse now?”
I look down. “Not really. Well, maybe?” I say quietly.
“Well, I’m glad it scares you.”
“Why?” I ask, exasperated.
“Because it means you care. What’s the point if you don’t have something worth fighting for?”
I look at her. She fights for her health every damn day. “Yeah, you’re right.”
Mom retires to watch TV. I clean the rest of the saddle and then rub leather conditioner over every last inch. The porch lights allow me to work for an hour more, paying attention to each crevice in the tooling, each piece of leather holding it all together.
A text comes in from Emery with an attachment:
Got a label designed. Sorry it took a bit. Let me know what you think.
I tap on the attachment, and it’s an image she created.
At the top of the label is a chunk of shimmering honeycomb oozing with honey.
The golden honey pulls away from the honeycomb in one large drip and morphs into a brilliantly red cherry.
Below are all the essentials for the product to be sold under the Colorado cottage foods act: the ingredients, my address, date produced.
In the largest font, Emery wrote: product name?
Emery! I absolutely LOVE it. Thank you for your help. It means a lot to me.
Thanks. Glad I could be part of it somehow.
Me too, I say. What do you think about Cherry Tree Ranch for the name?
Brilliant! she writes. Adding it now. Let me know if you want a different font.
OK. Seriously – thank you! I’m going to build a website and make some pamphlets. Can I use the image you created?
Sure thing.
My heart swells. This may just work out after all. I peer down at the saddle. It too is a work of art. Now it’s ready to be appreciated again, and if I win the Young Food Producers competition, I may never have to sell it.
A tear falls from my eye at the thought of losing this ranch and all its history. I pull the tear away, staring at the wet drop on my hand. Mom said Daisy loved this place like I do, and I’m going to save it for both of us. For all of us.