Chapter 26 Heston
HESTON
July
When I was bullied for having a stutter as a kid, I did what I could to brush it off. For the most part, I was tough and took it on the chin as my parents told me to.
Missy and I had been homeschooled. While she had adjusted well in public settings, I was the opposite. They had to stay on top of my abysmal social skills and ingrained in me the idea that I shouldn’t get worked up about things in life I can’t control.
Hearing the phrase spit it out on a daily basis wasn’t too upsetting. I didn’t mind being laughed at for “not growing out of it yet” or getting mocked, either.
What really got me was when boys my age would tease my sister. They’d ask her how embarrassed she was to have a stupid brother.
That’s when my grisly attitude problem started, I suppose.
It was nothing for me to go with my family to whichever rodeo grounds my dad was competing at and leave with an ice pack held to my eye. The fist fights didn’t help smooth my voice out, but they were satisfying as hell, even as an eleven-year-old.
The day I turned sixteen, my parents gave me a gift that I now realize is the best one I’d ever received.
Breezy.
She was an immaculate colt. Pitch black and shiny all over. Young, spirited, and edgy. At times though, she showed flashes of intense composure, which confused me about her personality. Something about that made me fear and respect her at the same time.
Her wild nature and unpredictability matched the storm of words in my head. We were two of a kind, she and I.
My family did everything they could to support and encourage me despite the stubborn stammer that was determined to drag me down. But I credit Breezy for keeping me going on the days when being a kid with a speech impediment and a lot of pent-up anger felt like more than I could handle.
Years of speech therapy for me, five “PRAO Horse of the Year” awards for her, and four world championships together later, I find myself smoothing my palm over her cheek in the pasture next to the house I grew up in.
I’m thirty-two now, her muzzle is speckled with gray, and we’re both far removed from our professional rodeo days.
It’s hard to admit, but her signs of arthritis showed up long ago.
She took care of me when I needed it most, and now it’s my job to return the favor.
“You know Missy is going to spoil her with oats and alfalfa cubes every chance she gets,” Mom says.
I nod, knowing she’s right. I’d like to keep her at the ranch in Westridge, even though I wouldn’t be riding her. But I was taught that most living beings, even animals, associate peace and comfort with the place they grew up. Their nervous system longs for it.
My family’s homestead is a dream for any animal headed toward their well-earned retirement. Between the open fields, my dad’s watchful eye, and Mom and Missy’s nurturing personalities, Breezy is going to think she landed herself in paradise.
“And you’ll come visit,” Mom adds.
She’ll pull out a pen and paper so that she can send me back to Texas with a literal list of reasons that I’m doing the right thing if she has to.
We turn away from the fence and slowly walk back toward the house.
I look over my shoulder to see my horse already grazing happily, then wrap an arm around Mom.
“I’m so sorry that Hattie couldn’t be here. You know that she’s welcome any time,” she offers gently.
“I’ll let her know you said that. Thanks, Mom.”
Hattie didn’t want to get off the phone with me last night when I told her what I was doing today. I learned a long time ago not to get emotional over things I can’t change. By contrast, my girlfriend had a good cry and then asked me for my best Breezy stories until one in the morning.
She’d have been with me today if she weren’t on her way back from a summer camp that her vet school puts on every year. From what I know, it’s for high school seniors interested in veterinary medicine.
“Oh, she already knows,” Mom points out with a confident nod. “I texted her myself.”
The corner of my mouth lifts in a rare smirk. “Easy. Don’t scare her off, I’d like to keep this one.”
Mom does a little happy dance with her lips pressed together. And that right there is part of why I know I struck gold with Hattie. My family’s approval goes a long way with me.
Missy is in the rocking chair with a mess of yarn in her lap when we reach the house. Dad sips on a glass of tea with one boot crossed over the other, leaning against a front porch post.
The theme song from Bonanza is playing at a low volume from the TV in the living room, filtering out through the screen door.
Dad almost replaced it last year, but I talked him out of it.
I like the chipped red paint, and something about a screen door not creaking as it opens or not closing with a loud slap doesn’t sit right with me.
This home hasn’t graced the cover of any magazines.
The old roof needs a little love, and the original hardwood floors might gift you with a splinter every now and then.
The fences lean in a few places, chickens run feral through the yard, and the garden would be considered overgrown this time of year by some standards.
But it sure feels perfect to me.
The strange part about being here today is that the homesick feeling usually disappears the moment I cross the state line and the familiar road signs leading me back to this place come into view.
This time, even now, as I stand with my family on the soil I was raised on, I’m still homesick for something else.
Someone else.
It strikes me that this might be what it feels like when the person meant for you comes along. I wonder if loving someone means more than just missing them, and if where you are no longer matters, because they’ve become your home.
Huck Landry is not known for his psychic abilities, as far as I know. But as I’m deep in thought, my dad is eyeing me from across the porch with a knowing look on his face.
“That two-hour drive is going to look a lot worse if you wait until the sun goes down,” he suggests.
“I’ll pamper Breezy within an inch of her life,” Missy promises, setting aside whatever craft she’s working on and standing to wrap me in a tight hug. “And I’ll send pictures every once in a while, too.”
I rub her upper back. “That’ll be fine, sis. Thanks.”
“Do you want to take some sweet corn back with you?” Mom asks.
I almost chuckle. Coming from her, that’s a rhetorical question. Before I can answer, she’s already lifting a brown paper grocery bag full of freshly-shucked ears of corn and placing it in my arms. I kiss her on the cheek, give her one last hug, and wave them off as I walk to my truck.
I don’t mean to throw the bag in the back seat and jump in to start the truck with such urgency. But the thought of making it back to Westridge to see Hattie this afternoon after almost a week away from her was bound to put me in a rush.
“Hey, you!”
I smirk before turning around. The door to Hattie’s truck slams closed, and she beams at me from where she parked next to the bunkhouse. I’d been fixing a broken weld on the working arena gate, so I didn’t hear her pull up until she shouted in my direction.
After flipping off the stick welder, I yank off my work gloves and Aviators. She’s already running when I wipe the sweat from my brow with the sleeve of my t-shirt and begin walking toward her.
With only five feet left between us, I stop and brace for impact. Hattie squeals with delight as she jumps into my arms. With one hand at her lower back and the other gripping her thigh, she circles her legs tightly around my waist.
Kissing her makes everything feel right again after the day I’ve had. Her soft lips press against mine. I inhale through my nose just to take in more of her.
The challenging look on her face surprises me when she finally pulls away an inch. “You know you’re going to go blind if you don’t wear a welding helmet.”
“Couldn’t find it.”
“Lies,” she argues, even as she goes in for another kiss on the side of my neck.
Rather than setting her down, I carry her toward the bunkhouse and furrow my brows when I realize that her truck is still running.
“Oh!” She slides down my front to jog around her truck. “Stay right there, I have a surprise for you!”
I frown. “Me?”
“Yes, you.”
My arms fold in front of me while she leans over the center console to cut the engine. There’s something big and fluffy in her arms, but I can’t tell what it is through the tinted windows. Her eyes are lit up with excitement as she approaches me again.
“Did that blanket just bark?” I ask.
She nods with a wide smile. Curious, I narrow my eyes at the bundle of fuzzy, purple material in her arms. It wiggles. Then, a head pops up.
My mouth drops open when the puppy peers up at me and tilts its head. Only one of its ears sticks up; the other is still folded down. Two black rings cover each of its eyes, giving it a mask.
“She’s the sweetest thing. Don’t you just want to snuggle her already?”
The dog barks once, but it comes out more like a sassy yap. I let her sniff my hand before scratching the side of her little neck and behind her ear. It only takes a second before she hangs her tongue out, squints lazily, and flops her entire head into my palm.
“You’re giving me a dog?” I ask, still looking down at the tiny blue heeler pup.
“I’m sorry if it’s too soon since you had to drop Breezy off this morning,” Hattie says in a soft, soothing voice. “And I’m not trying to replace her or anything. But I brought a group of campers to volunteer at the shelter yesterday, and this girl was all alone. ”
Before I know it, the puppy is yawning and lifting her front paws, trying to fit her entire body into my hand for a nap. There’s no sense in pretending she isn’t cute as a button. I can’t help but smile.
“I took her out to play in the grass for a little bit and fell in love,” Hattie explains.
“When I brought her back in and started to clean her kennel, she got feisty and wouldn’t quit nipping at my heels like she could herd me back outside.
Right then and there, I said, ‘This girl is every bit a cow dog, and Heston would love her.’”
I glance up at Hattie’s bright grin and chuckle at her story. “She seems really up to the task of chasing cattle through a field.”
The puppy burrows its nose against my palm and then lets out a snore, making both of us laugh.
“So, you want to keep her?” Hattie asks hopefully.
I nod, even though the feeling that’s already settling in my chest has me on edge.
A gesture like this means a lot to me because only someone who knows me well would do this.
My parents had a gut feeling that Breezy was what I needed at that time in my life.
I think Hattie’s intuition told her this puppy was what I needed now.
I sniff and move to grab Hattie’s bags from the backseat. We’re heading toward the front door of the bunkhouse when she bends her head to whisper in the sleeping dog’s ear.
“I knew he’d keep you. You’re lucky you’re cute and that your daddy is a sucker for animals.”
I let out an amused huff. “Lucky.”
A staggering thought takes shape in my head while I hold the door open, and Hattie ducks under my arm to walk inside. She happily floats through to the hallway, and I follow her into my room with a hard swallow.
Her things are everywhere because she stays here so often.
We talk about serious things that I’ve never talked about with anyone else.
I feel like a different person when I’m around her. A better man.
Any time she’s gone, I fucking hate it. And I worry constantly because she’s not in my line of sight, where I can make sure she’s safe, taken care of, and happy.
Hattie gently places the puppy between two pillows on my bed. She kisses the fuzzy paw that sticks out of the blanket, then turns toward me with a smile that knocks me off my damn feet.
She tilts her head. “Are you okay?”
“I love you,” I rush out.
The corners of her mouth lift in a closed-lip smile.
A comfortable silence settles into the room as she slowly sweeps her gaze over me from head to toe.
At first, I think she might just stay silent, but her small smile quickly breaks into a full grin.
I walk toward her, and she reaches up to smooth her hands over my shoulders as I lift her off her feet.
She presses her lips to mine for a kiss that’s entirely too short. “I love you, too. I’ve been loving you for a while, Heston Landry.”