Chapter 5 Scarlett
scarlett
The sun has barely risen over the tree line when my eyes crack open, my brain already running on fumes, and I’m not even out of bed yet.
Two weeks on the ranch, and it’s like every muscle has lodged a formal complaint with HR.
Back home, hard work meant heels, headaches, and pretending I liked my job and the people that came with it, enough to close a deal.
Here, hard work comes with hay stuck in my bra… amongst other places. Mud is a permanent accessory. There’s usually dirt under my unmanicured nails, and my hair has taken on a life of its own in this humidity. And somehow… I don’t hate it.
The rope burn on my forearm aches as I turn my palm over to push back the blankets.
Ranger, a skittish rescue horse, decided to end my night last night with a bang, scared of a shadow as I was putting him back in the stall.
My arm throbs when I unwind the bandage, discarding it in the bathroom trash can.
The skin is tender, raw in a way that feels more earned than sealing a contract ever did.
I put fresh antiseptic on it, wrapping it again and tugging until it’s snug, but not suffocating.
There. Evidence, proof I’ve actually got skin in the game here.
I catch myself in the mirror, smirking like an idiot.
My eyes roll. Great. I’m becoming one of those men who flaunt their injuries like trophies.
I loosely braid my hair as I walk to the kitchen, punching the cold brew button with the amount of force I hope this caffeine gives me.
The machine groans, like even it’s protesting being up this early.
I get it, but for the life of me, I cannot sleep past five anymore.
Before I can blink, I’m splashing in creamer and shaking a bit of cinnamon on top like it’s muscle memory.
I groan as it hits my taste buds, quickly pulling the cup away from my lips. I stare at the coffee like it’s personally betrayed me. I’ve never made my coffee like this before. I’m strictly an iced coffee with a splash of milk, kind of girl.
And here I am, making it just like he did.
The same way I did every time he tried something new when we were kids.
What Lucas did became Lettie’s way. It doesn’t even register as wrong.
Just familiar in a foreign way. The realization lands, tugging at the hand of the girl who’s begging to come out.
But I shove it aside before it can settle. Not yet.
Outside, the stables are alive with their usual morning sounds. The shuffling of hooves, the low grumble of a horse still half in dreamland. Stella lifts her head when I approach. She’s a White Abarrio, all grace laced in trouble. Still as gorgeous as I remember.
“Hey, pretty girl,” I murmur, scratching between her ears. “Still acting like you’re all that and a bag of chips?” She huffs warm breath across my arm. I smile, taking that as a yes.
My hand runs the length of her neck. Her mane could use a brush out. Maybe she’ll let me braid it like I used to. But she’s antsy, so I take the hint. “Wanna ride, ol’ girl?” I ask as I lift the bridle from the wall in the back corner of her stall.
Her head lowers, allowing me to slip it over her, scratching the underside of her jaw. I step around the side, holding the reins loosely in my hand.
We step out into the glow of early morning, the birds chirping mix perfectly with the sound of the sprinklers spraying over the back pasture.
I brace a hand on her back, throwing my weight forward, and swing up in one slightly wobbly, yet oddly familiar move.
I settle in the middle of her back, and she shifts underneath me.
Nana used to say bareback meant letting the horse tie its heartbeat to yours, and I’ve never understood it until now.
Stella picks the trail herself, hooves sinking into the pale Florida sand. My hips fall into a rhythm that matches hers, the sway and roll silencing the noise in my head more effectively than any deep breathing exercise ever has.
The oaks still bend over the path, draped in Spanish moss that sways like a thick blanket in the humid breeze.
Palmettos crowd the fence line in the protective way they always have, their fronds brushing together, creating a sound like a slow exhale, like even they can’t believe I finally came back.
Everything looks the same, and somehow that makes me feel even more disconnected than before.
I sit a little straighter, fingers slipping absently through her mane, and keep my eyes ahead as she leads us to wherever she wants to go.
She stops in front of the koi pond Nana had put in for my eighth birthday.
Nana used to say they symbolize strength, courage, and transformation.
Something that I didn’t appreciate as a child, but now, looking at my reflection, I find myself reevaluating.
I can almost hear her as I sit here in a spot that became innately ours.
I’d run out here in tears every time I got off the phone with my parents during the summer.
I hated it, the reminder that I had to leave.
That I had to leave the real Scarlett here and go back to playing dress up.
There was nothing that tore my heart up more than leaving her and Lucas.
Truthfully, not much has changed because I’m torn up over Lucas now, too.
As much as I try to act unbothered by his presence, all I want is to fall into him.
Find out if his arms still feel like they were made to hold me.
Maybe find out if his lips still feel like home, if the feel of them is still enough to silence my mind.
To block out the voices of anyone else, to give me the strength to be me when the world has always told me I’m “too much.”
I let out a huff. Nana used to love it when he was here, she said we were her little chickens.
The two of us followed her around like shadows, learned everything we could, and then, as we got older, she put us to work.
But it didn’t matter what we were doing, because we did it together.
And there’s never been a time in life that I’ve been happier than I was here with him.
I pick up a smooth rock, running my finger over the cold surface before tossing it into the pond.
The water ripples, rings chasing each other across the surface.
A memory sneaks in with the shimmer, the same pond, but younger.
Barefoot and running across the ranch, excited to share my new happy place with the boy who brought me to life.
“Come on, Goldie! I wanna show you what Nana built for my birthday!” I yell as I grab his hand and pull him toward the new pond.
Nana chuckles as she walks behind us. “I didn’t build it, Mija. I had it put in.”
My free hand waves through the air. “Same difference.”
We come to a stop next to the pond, Lucas’s eyes widen as he takes in the orange fish swimming in the water.
“Whoa, what kind of fish are these, Ms. Anna?” he asks as he gets down on his hands and knees and leans over the top.
“Koi, they’re Japanese. They can swim upstream against really strong currents.” She sits next to him as they watch the fish.
She reaches for Lucas’s hand and gives it a small squeeze when he gives it to her. “You two are the most important people to me. Promise you’ll always look out for each other, even if I’m not here.”
“Promise, Ms. Anna,” he says as he looks at me, his cheesy grin coming out to play.
I nod wildly, sending my hair flying around me. “You and me forever, Goldie.”
I startle at the wetness gliding over my lips. I can still hear the echoes of that day, the soft slap of the water against the stone, his smile, the way the light hit his blonde hair just right that it looked like the sun.
I imagine if Nana were next to me right now, she’d say something along the lines of, “Mija, it’s okay to let people in. It’s okay to ask for help.”
She was always the most observant person in the room, two steps ahead of everyone else. But she loved, man, did she love with reckless abandon. It was one of the traits I wish I had of hers. Instead, year after year, my heart’s been encased in enough ice to keep everyone out for the rest of time.
But this ranch doesn’t need heartless. It needs love and care. Things it’s already getting from the man I’m keeping at arm’s length. Which leads me to ask, where do I fit? Do I even fit here? Should I have let my dad sell it and continue my life in Texas? The thought makes my stomach roil.
Stella stirs, and I take that as my cue to head back. I reposition my hat on my head before I haul myself up on her back, letting her lead once again. She takes the scenic route, not that I’m complaining in the slightest.
Nana was right, being on the back of a horse is freeing.
Moving with it, feeling its muscles flex underneath you with every clop of her hooves.
It’s something I didn’t treasure as a teenager, and of course, I won’t ride bareback when it’s time to work, but I have a feeling this will be a normal part of my routine out here.
One with the horse, one with the land, and a healthy dose of healing.
I’m lost in the moment when I feel my phone buzz in my back pocket.
Papi: Ready to come home yet?
I fight the urge to respond that I am home, but I don’t see that going well.
He doesn’t deserve an answer anyway. My phone is halfway back in my pocket when I hear a sharp metallic snap, the twangy echo a sound that doesn’t match the usual notes of the ranch.
I bring Stella to a stop, one hand shading my eyes even though my hat is already doing that job.
Then I hear it again, clear as day, metal on metal.
I hold my breath, hands shaking softly as I click my tongue, moving Stella in the direction of the noise. As soon as we round a corner, I see him. A man crouched near the back fence, shoulders hunched, wire cutters catching the light of the sun.