Chapter Two
A gentle breeze wafts into the window, and I open my eyes before my alarm goes off, the world outside still pitch black even as the
suncatcher on the porch begins to chime. It’s a nonsensical melody that is somehow still easy on the ears. I smile as I lay there for a
moment, remembering when my sweet Melanie had hung it up when we’d first moved in, telling me we needed a little color and flair
in our stark white farmhouse.
After a while, I stretch my arms and legs, roll over to get out of bed, glance at her picture on the nightstand, and heave a little sigh.
“Mornin’ Mel,” I say like I do every day before I get up and go to my dresser, hop out of my pj’s, and get dressed for the day. But
today, I’m trying to look more professional than usual. I’ve got a potential new hire coming in, and I want to look the part of a boss—
not just some scruffy rancher.
But first, it’s time to make breakfast.
I turn on the small radio on the shelf, and as “Chattahoochee” starts to play, I put on Mel’s old apron and begin to make breakfast for
the boys and I. I make us cheesy scrambled eggs, toast, and some bacon, and then pour each one of us a cool glass of milk.
It may be just after the holidays, but in Texas it’s still hot, and already that heat is trying to eek in through the window over the sink I
got open to stop the bacon I’m cooking from smoking up the house.
“Well, hello there,” I say as Noah lumbers in, still half asleep.
“Morning Dad,” he replies as he plops down in his spot, and I slide his plate in front of him. He’s never been much of a morning
person.
“Mornin’,” I reply. “You look like you had a rough night.”
“My ac stopped working in the middle of the night,” he replies with a yawn.
“Ugh,” I say, making a face. “I’ll take a look after we get the animals fed.”
“Well, look at you, looking all spiffy,” Zack says as he strolls into the room, the yin to Noah’s yang, chipper as ever, like a ray of sunshine
in the morning. Though I suppose that makes sense, it seems twins are usually that way. At least my two are anyways.
“He’s even pulled out the ol’ bolo tie,” Noah teases as he picks up a piece of bacon and chomps down on it.
“I got an interview at nine,” I reply as I hand Zack his plate and then sit down at the head of the table, my eyes drifting off to Melanie’s
old spot as the two boys talk amongst themselves.Sometimes, I swear I can still smell her perfume in the air. . .
“You alright, Dad?” Zack asks.
“Y-yeah,” I reply, snapping out of my memories of Melanie and I dancing in the kitchen and back to reality. “Just tired, I guess.”
“Well, don’t let your food get cold now,” Noah teases as he shovels a fork full of eggs into his mouth.
“About that interview,” Zack says.
“What about it?” I ask.
“Do you really need to interview someone just to muck stalls?” Zack asks. “It’s not like it’s rocket science or anything.”
“He’s got a point,” Noah chimes in, “it’s just basic chorin’.”
“Well, I don’t see either of you two volunteering to do it,” I reply as I take a bite of toast with raspberry jam. “It’s getting harder and
harder to get some of you to do your chores even,” I say as my eyes drift over to Noah, and Zack grins.
“Come on, Pop, cut me some slack,” Noah groans. “I just want to get to know Becky better.”
“Courtin’ Becky can come after chorin’,” I say with a chuckle, and Zack stifles a laugh as we all chat amongst ourselves, shooting the
breeze while we enjoy the rest of our breakfast. There’s only one thing missing that could make the morning better. But she’s been
missing a long time now. And even though that’s been my reality for so long, every day I wake up and she isn’t there is still as jarring
as the last.
“Alright, now just because I’m doing an interview doesn’t mean you two get to dilly dally,” I say as I get my fancy jacket on. “I’m going
to head up to the office and do some paperwork I’m behind on while I wait for this guy. But you two need to get to feedin’ and
muckin’”
“Yeah, we got it,” Noah sighs as he finishes his plate, washing it quickly and putting it in the drainer to air dry. “Good luck with the new hire.”
“Thanks,” I say as I head out, hop into my beat-up ol’ truck, and head toward the office, which is toward the front gates of the massive
property I own. Not to toot my own horn, but out of all the ranches in the area, my grass is the greenest, and my animals seem the
happiest, which is something I take massive pride in.
Not everyone seems to have the same dedication that me and the boys do, but that seems to be how it is these days. Working hard
has dwindled down to hardly workin’, and as I walk into the office to work on some quarterly tax papers, I wonder if this guy coming in
is going to be another dud. I’ve had plenty of ranch hands come and go, and some of them were great. But the last one—
unbeknownst to the kids—had been a felon, and he’d tried to rob my accounts dry, which is why the interview is important to me.
While I believe that everyone deserves a second chance, I can’t risk it again on my land. It probably sounds a bit prejudiced, but if
someone looks like trouble, I’m not about to hire them on. This ranch is my life’s work. My blood, sweat, and tears are in its soil, and I won’t let anyone mess with what I’ve built. No way, no how.
“Excuse me, I take it this is the office.” I hear a man say.
“Oh jeez, I didn’t even hear you knock,” I say as I look up to see a man a little younger than me wearing a black cowboy hat, a black
dress shirt, and Wrangler jeans. He’s a bit scruffy, but I don’t mind so much. Being a bit scruffy doesn’t mean you’re bad news.
“It’s alright,” he says with a smile, his teeth almost blindingly pearly white, which is a good sign, I suppose. Means he takes care of
himself, despite not shaving. “I’m Mitch,” he says as he steps into the office, leans forward, and juts his hand out toward me.
“Nice to meet you Mitch, I’m Eli, the owner of the ranch,” I say, and his eyes widen a bit.
“Oh wow, wasn’t expecting the owner to be giving the interview,” Mitch replies.
“Yeah, well, we are a family business,” I say as I motion for him to sit down in the seat in front of my desk. “So, Mitch, I guess my first
question is how long have you been working ranch jobs?”
“As long as I can remember,” he replies. “My daddy was a farrier, and we had our own ranch growing up.”
“Oh really? Where?” I ask.
“Amarillo,” he replies.
“Oh really? I got a cousin living over in Amarillo.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty nice, but I’m originally from Kansas,” Mitch says with a smile. “We moved to Texas when I was five or so.”
“Some good ranches over in Kansas,” I say.
“My uncle runs River Rose,” Mitch replies.
“Oh wow, that’s in Topeka, right?”
“Westmoreland, actually.”
“Well, that’s not too far away from Topeka, is it?”
“About an hour or so,” Mitch replies. “But going there was a treat. And once we moved here, we moved out to the sticks, and Dad
started up our own ranch.”
“Oh, wow! So, you’ve always been on a farm,” I say.
“Basically,” Mitch agrees. “A lot of my friends hated being in the country, but I didn’t mind it one bit. On the ranch, we had most things
we needed, and the general stores and supply places in town had the rest.”
“Makes sense,” I say with a smile. “So, you worked for your daddy about how long in total?”
“Until last year,” Mitch says, but his upbeat tone shifts a bit, and I can tell by the look in his eyes that something is up.
“Why did you end up leavin’?” I ask, not wanting to leave the stone unturned and regret it later.
“I left after my wife died, actually,” Mitch says, and I can see the flicker of pain in his eyes. Immediately, I feel terrible for even asking.
“Oh!” I say, shocked. I wasn’t expecting that. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to bring that up.”
“It’s okay, it’s not like you could’ve known,” Mitch replies. “She fought a hard battle with leukemia. We moved down here to be closer
to the better hospitals, but it wasn’t enough.”
I feel all my muscles tighten as a wave of sadness washes over me. This poor guy, I think to myself as I watch him struggle to keep his
composure. It’s all too visceral, a reminder of how I was when I first lost Melanie. Even ten years later, it still stings like the dickens.
“Can I be honest with you?” Mitch asks.
“Of course,” I reply.
“I don’t know how many other applicants you have, and I don’t want to seem like some groveling sissy, but I really need this job,”
Mitch says. “There are medical bills, funeral bills, the mortgage on the new place. . . I thought I could hack it alone out here, but it’s all
piling up on me now.”
“I can imagine,” I reply with a frown. “Say, since you know so much about ranching, would you want to come on full-time instead?” I ask.
“Really?” Mitch asks, seemingly shocked.
“Well sure,” I said, trying to not make it seem like I was throwing him a pity bone, not wanting to step on his toes. “I could use a man
with your expertise and experience, and it pays a lot more than just mucking.”
“Well, shoot! Yeah, I’ll take the job,” Mitch says as he juts his hand out and we shake on it.
“When can you start?” I asked.
“Well, gosh, I guess as soon as you need me,” Mitch replies, beaming big and bright, the look on his face bringing a bit of warmth to
my soul. I know in a way what he’s going through, and something is compelling me to help him. I mean, it felt like it was the right
thing to do after all. Can’t just let a man who just lost his wife suffer. . . though the subject itself hits a bit closer to home than I’d like.
It’s almost time. . . the tenth anniversary of when my wife had been taken from us keeps getting closer, and I feel like maybe if I can ease his pain, I can quell my own. . . if only a little bit.