Chapter 3 Shared Burdens #3
"I always wanted to stay."
Sawyer's smile faded.
"It just never worked out."
"Why not?"
"The Army moved me."
"And afterward?"
"I kept moving myself."
"Because?"
Sawyer thought about the question.
He wasn't sure anyone had ever asked it before.
"When you've spent enough years leaving places..."
He slowed for a curve in the road.
"...you stop believing anywhere is permanent."
"So you leave first."
"Sometimes."
"Before someone asks you to?"
Sawyer nodded once.
"It's easier."
The truck continued down the quiet highway.
Fence posts blurred past.
A small herd of horses grazed beneath a cluster of oak trees.
The peaceful landscape stood in sharp contrast to the memories stirring quietly inside Sawyer's mind.
"My grandfather used to tell me something."
Tucker looked over.
"What?"
"'Home isn't the place that keeps you.'"
Sawyer smiled sadly.
"'It's the place that makes you want to stay.'"
"He sounds wise."
"He was."
"Did you ever find that place?"
Sawyer didn't answer immediately.
The question settled somewhere deep inside him.
For years his answer had always been simple.
No.
But now...
He wasn't completely sure.
"I don't know."
It wasn't the answer Tucker expected.
"I thought you'd say no."
"I would've."
"And now?"
Sawyer looked through the windshield toward the fading sunlight.
"Now I'm not certain."
Tucker didn't interrupt.
Sawyer appreciated that.
"When I came to Red Hollow..."
He laughed quietly.
"...I figured I'd fix equipment for a season."
"Then leave."
"That's always been the plan."
"And now?"
Sawyer's hands tightened slightly around the steering wheel.
"I've started memorizing roads."
Tucker frowned.
"What?"
"The back roads."
"The shortcuts."
"Where the best coffee is."
"Which gas station closes early."
"The names of people."
He smiled.
"I've never bothered learning those things before."
"Why not?"
"Because I was never staying long enough for them to matter."
The words hung quietly between them.
Outside, the first stars were beginning to appear above the distant horizon.
Finally Tucker spoke.
"I think they matter."
"The roads?"
"The people."
Sawyer nodded.
"I think you're right."
Another stretch of comfortable silence followed.
The ranch entrance was still several miles away when Sawyer glanced sideways.
"What about you?"
"What about me?"
"You've lived here forever."
"Mostly."
"You ever think about leaving?"
Tucker smiled without humor.
"When I was younger."
"What stopped you?"
"My father."
Sawyer nodded.
"He needed help."
"He needed someone."
"So you stayed."
"I stayed."
"And after that?"
Tucker looked out the passenger window.
"There was always something."
"The ranch."
"The family."
"The harvest."
"The drought."
"The repairs."
"The cattle."
"The bills."
He let out a slow breath.
"There was always someone depending on me."
Sawyer listened quietly.
"You ever resent it?"
"I used to think I didn't."
"And now?"
Tucker rested one arm against the window.
"I don't know."
The answer carried far more weight than certainty ever could.
"When you spend enough years solving everyone else's problems..."
He paused.
"...you stop asking yourself what you wanted in the first place."
Sawyer felt something tighten in his chest.
Tucker continued staring at the passing fields.
"I honestly can't remember the last decision I made because it made me happy."
His voice remained calm.
Matter-of-fact.
That somehow made the confession even sadder.
"I've spent so much time making sure everyone else had what they needed..."
He shook his head almost imperceptibly.
"...I think I forgot what it feels like to live for myself."
The words settled heavily inside the truck.
Sawyer didn't know how to answer.
He'd expected stories about the ranch.
About responsibility.
Maybe even regret.
He hadn't expected honesty that raw.
For the first time since meeting Tucker Harlan, Sawyer saw beyond the dependable foreman everyone admired.
He saw a man who had quietly given away pieces of himself for so many years that he no longer remembered who he might have become otherwise.
Without thinking, Sawyer spoke softly.
"You deserve that chance."
Tucker looked over.
"What chance?"
"To remember."
Their eyes met for only a brief moment before Tucker looked back toward the road ahead.
Neither man spoke again.
The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable.
It was thoughtful.
Both carried their own burdens.
Both understood sacrifice better than either wished they did.
As the lights of Harlan Ranch finally appeared in the distance, Sawyer found himself realizing something that unsettled him in ways he couldn't explain.
He no longer wanted to simply understand Tucker Harlan.
He wanted to see him happy.
And judging by the quiet expression on Tucker's face, the foreman had just admitted something to Sawyer that he had never spoken aloud to anyone before.
Neither of them knew what that meant.
But by the time the truck rolled through the ranch gates beneath a sky full of stars, both men felt the road between strangers and something much deeper had become considerably shorter.
· ? ·