Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
RHETT
D espite the low temperatures we’ve had over the last few days, the sun is warm today, and by mid-morning, I’m burning hot enough that I have to take my jacket off not to overheat. Beads of sweat trickle down my temples and over my jaw as I continue to work through both sides of the first barn, turning out horses to Kasey in the nearest corral so I can muck and feed each stall before the farrier gets here. The ranch feels busier than ever with almost twenty rescue horses currently on the property. There’s another half-dozen out at pasture that also need the occasional doctoring, but for the most part, they take care of themselves.
The horses housed in the two main barns are all in various stages of rehabilitation and training, and with only a few of us around to get shit done, their turnaround seems to take weeks longer than it normally would. Some of them are more difficult to move from one place to another, fearful and distrustful of halters and lead ropes and us, but if there’s one place a Bennett knows how to practice expert-level patience, it’s right here on this ranch.
Horses are a mirror into our own psyche, and I’ve learned a lot about myself growing up with them. Starting a morning irritable and frustrated only leads to trouble that could turn extremely dangerous, so as much as I love to throw a middle finger up to the world, I know my place at home with these animals. We exist to protect and honor their lives as much as we exist to protect ourselves. At its core, Bennett Ranch is a rescue ranch, and our only focus is making sure the horses that come through here leave happier and more stable than the way they came.
Still, the work is not without its bad days. It’s impossible to hustle as hard as we do and not have moments of failure. Last fall, I got too cocky with a mustang and let his training become my own physical release. I missed the signs of his fear masked by his aggression, caught up in my own internal bullshit, and pushed him too far. After we were down and I led him into his stall, he cornered me in the barn and kicked me so hard in the gut I broke three ribs.
I was lucky.
It was the reminder I needed that, regardless of the shit I put myself through, what happens on this ranch has to stay separate. But I still worry—as hard as Kasey, Wells, and I are pushing to keep up with everything, our exhaustion is bound to lead to mistakes. We have to watch each other’s backs and keep a careful eye on these horses. Especially the skittish ones.
Layla helps as much as she can when she isn’t watching the boys, but she doesn’t have the experience the rest of us do. Her instincts are strong and she’s got a knack for caring for the colts and fillies we see, but it’s not the same as having Brooks’s focus and Sawyer’s smarts.
“Yo,” Kasey calls from the open doorway. I look up to find him poking his head in. “You expecting someone?”
I frown. “No. Just the farrier.”
“Hm,” he hums, disappearing back around the corner.
Curious, I rest the shaving fork against the wall as I leave the stall and make my way outside, where a sleek gray sedan is pulling up the drive—definitely not the old two-tone Chevy Hank drives. I move to stand beside Kasey as we watch the car approach, wiping my hands on my dirty jeans. “Probably lost,” I mumble.
“Yeah,” Kasey agrees.
But then the man in a suit parks and steps out of the car, smiling so big when he looks at us it shows a majority of the white teeth in his mouth. “Good afternoon,” he calls out cheerfully, rounding the bumper toward us. He closes the distance about halfway before pausing, throwing a hand up. “Let me guess, Kasey and Rhett, right?”
What the fuck?
“Who are you?” I demand, widening my stance as my mind flips through the Rolodex of people who might try to fuck with us. Kasey straightens next to me, crossing his arms over his chest, no doubt worried about the same. Outside of family and the hands we hire on occasion, no one visits us. Wells is the only one who ever really had friends hanging around, but that shit stopped years ago.
The man somehow smiles wider. “My name is Stuart,” he says. “I just have a few questions about the ranch I’m hoping you can help answer, and then I’ll be right on my way.”
“It’s not for sale,” Kasey says flatly.
Stuart’s eyes widen. “Of course not! The ranch has been a Bennett birthright for over a hundred years. I assure you, I have no interest in seeing a change in ownership.”
How the hell does this guy know so much about our family? “What is it we can help you with, Stuart?” My tone is a little harsher than intended, but I don’t really give a shit.
“I was hoping William might be around?”
Kasey stiffens as Stuart, who has the audacity to look over my shoulder, scans the grounds for evidence of my father. I haven’t heard anyone call him William since I was a kid, and this guy sure as fuck isn’t going to find that man anywhere near the barn or horses.
“He’s not,” Kasey says simply. A clear door closed.
“Right.” Stuart nods. “I figured as much. A shame, to be sure. Look, as William is the current acting trustee of all Bennett family assets and operations, it’s imperative that I speak with him as soon as possible. Do you know when might be a better time for me to come back around and see him?”
I snort. “It’ll be a cold day in hell when William is ready for any sort of meeting with you.”
Stuart’s eyes narrow, but there’s something that flares to life in his expression. Something . . . triumphant, like he’s got the best hand at the table. I don’t like it one bit.
“Do you have a card?” Kasey asks.
“Oh, sure!” Stuart reaches into his suit jacket to pull out a black card with white lettering. “That’s my cell phone there, and my email is also listed beneath if that’s easier.”
“Great,” Kasey mumbles. “I’ll, uh, reach out soon.”
Stuart nods, that ridiculous smile shining bright again. His comb-over doesn’t so much as bounce when he turns on his heel and marches to the passenger side of his sedan.
It’s not until he’s all but disappeared in a cloud of dust that Kasey speaks again. “Fucking hell.”
He’s turning the card over in his hands. “What is it?”
“He’s a fucking lawyer.”
* * *
Hank and his usual collection of farriers-in-training arrive not long after our unwelcome visitor, forcing Kasey and I to set aside whatever the hell just happened. Wells, who’d spent the morning mucking through the second barn, pulls out the large stereo we keep shelved in the office and sets it up on the back of an unused trailer bed, plugging it in with an extension cord that winds along the ground from the open office door.
It’s tradition on the ranch to have a little fun on farrier days, cranking old ’90s country music as we all work together to get as many horses as we can in front of Hank and his team by the day’s end. The music and casualness of what could easily become a stressful process seems to settle many of the horses, and as many of them as there are—and as few of us—it doesn’t matter if fun is the last thing any of us feel like having. We owe it to the horses to keep things light today.
Kasey and I help Hank and the others set up the portable forge and anvil outside the first barn, careful to keep both far enough away from the hoof stand so we don’t spook the horses. Most of them are back in their stalls, but we kept the first few in line for new shoes in the nearby corral for easy access. I push through the gate and hook a lead rope to Pistol’s bridle, gently leading the huge paint horse out where Hank waits.
I catch a glimpse of Mom trailing a sullen Brooks out of the main house in the distance. She throws us a small wave before following him to his truck so they can no doubt head back to the hospital. Brooks doesn’t so much as glance our way. Minutes after, Layla appears on the porch surrounded by the boys. Liam beelines it down the steps with excitement splashed across his face. Noah follows, forever shadowing his big brother, especially around the ranch. Where Rooster goes, Bruiser follows.
James is the only one who hangs back with Layla, his small hand wrapped firmly in hers. My chest tightens at the way his little brow furrows as he takes in all the extra people around, no doubt nervous from the commotion. He’s had the hardest time being away from his mom. There’s a level of uncertainty wrapped around Brooks’s family, and I know the pressure of it increases with every day that Melody isn’t home and healthy.
Liam and Noah eye Pistol curiously as they approach. “Is that a new one?” Liam asks, eyes tracing along the horse’s muscled hind.
I shake my head. “Nah. He’s been here almost two months.”
“Are we riding today?” Noah asks, a hopeful gleam in his eye.
I smile, shaking my head again. “Not today, Bruiser.”
“It’s farrier day,” Liam tells him, glancing toward Hank.
“You boys gonna help or what?” I ask.
“Yes!” Noah shouts, pumping his arm toward his hip.
I laugh and look around, spotting Wells heading into the barn to ready the next wave of horses. “Why don’t you go find Uncle Wells in the barn, yeah? You can help with halters.”
Noah nods and takes off like a rocket, but Liam hangs back with a determined expression. “I’m not a kid anymore, Uncle Rhett. I can do more than hunt for halters.”
My smile slips, and I look him up and down. To be fair, the kid is almost twelve years old. My brothers and I were already learning to ride the wild ones at his age. But I know Melody would never forgive us if one of her boys got hurt—especially without their dad here to keep a close eye on them.
Still, they’ve been through their share of shit lately, and there’s plenty of us around to watch them. Liam deserves this. “All right.” I nod. “You listen to me real good then. These horses are not playful. Most of them want to be anywhere else but here because they don’t know how good it is here. Not yet, anyway. When you lead them, you have to be confident. You can’t be scared or show them weakness or they’ll see it as their chance to hightail it. And Rooster, if I have to chase one of these horses down because you let him go, I’m gonna be real pissed. Do you understand?”
His eyes flare wide, but he does his best to keep his expression schooled. The boy’s tough—I’ve gotta give him that. “Yes, sir,” he says with a nod.
“All right. Why don’t you walk Pistol here over to Hank, and I’ll get the next one ready.”
Liam takes the lead rope from my fingers and looks at Pistol, clicking his tongue. And then they’re on the move. Liam’s shoulders square as his attention stays focused on the horse beside him, and a swell of pride burns through me. Liam and his brothers are the ranch’s next generation, and I want so badly for them to have an easier time with it than my brothers have had.
It helps that Brooks is a much better father than ours has ever been.
Liam and I work together to rotate horses out of the corral and over to Hank while Noah and Wells bring more horses out of the barn, and the next hour runs as smoothly as we can hope for. Kasey takes the lead on making sure everyone has what they need, checking in with each station as the horses’ hooves are trimmed and fitted with new shoes. Layla keeps a close eye on little James, who runs along the lengthy fence that separates this working part of the ranch from the wild pasture beyond, stopping to ogle at two mustangs who peek out from behind a cluster of trees in the distance.
More than once I catch Wells looking at Layla like she’s the sun, and it twists something in my chest every time I see it. Brooks used to look at Melody like that, but now he looks at her with so much pain and longing it nearly crushes me. I wish I could tell Wells to jump out of that saddle, to pull on his ripcord and get out of that mess while he still has his heart intact. But he’s always been a stubborn one.
Can’t really blame him for it—most of us Bennetts are.
When the sound of an engine snakes through the wind, we all look to find another approaching car weaving up the drive. This time, it’s a car I recognize—one that sends my pulse into a frenzy.
“Hey, Kasey!” I holler, keeping a close eye on the moving vehicle.
“Yeah?” He walks up beside me, and I can hear the What now? in his voice.
“I got this one,” I say quietly. “You got Liam?”
I feel him look at me, but I can’t get myself to face him. To show him what might be written all over my face. “Sure,” is all he says.
And then my feet are moving.