Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
Hadley
I'm on the bunkhouse porch with a dishtowel over my shoulder when Diesel runs into the water trough.
He doesn't do it on purpose.
He's running circles around the round pen with Nash chasing him, both of them moving the way kids and dogs move when nobody's making them be careful, and Diesel takes a hard left that he doesn't quite stick.
He hits the trough shoulder-first.
Goes shoulder-deep into the water.
His tail is the last thing to disappear.
Nash, two seconds behind him, doesn't hesitate for a single second.
He launches himself in.
Cannonball, fully clothed, a whoop of pure joy on the way down.
The water goes up in a sheet that sparkles in the sun, and I press my hand against my mouth and laugh—real laughing, the kind that comes out of my chest before my brain catches up.
Diesel barks once. Surfaces and then realizes Nash is in there with him.
Then he starts paddling in a slow circle like this was the plan all along.
I drop the dishtowel on the porch rail and walk across the gravel.
Spur is at the round pen with a hammer in his hand, and he's stopped working to watch.
His mouth is pulling at the corner. "Ma'am, looks like your boy decided to take a bath with his dog."
"Looks like it."
"He's gonna ruin them boots."
"He's gonna learn somethin' about boots."
Spur grins and goes back to the fence rail.
I get to the trough. Nash is standing in waist-deep water with his arms around Diesel's neck, grinning up at me with wet hair plastered to his forehead. "Mama. Diesel needed a bath."
"Did he, now?"
"Yeah. He smelled like the kennel."
"So you got in the water trough with him."
"I had to. He was scared."
Diesel—who isn't scared and who has likely never been scared of water in his life—is happily paddling in his slow circle and looking pleased with himself.
I laugh again. I can't help it. "Boys will be boys, I guess."
I crouch down at the side of the trough, reach in, and push the wet hair off my son's forehead with my fingers.
His eyes are shining. Diesel is paddling. The trough water is cold against my wrist.
And the part of me that has been clenched shut for nearly two years cracks open in a way it hasn't cracked in a long time.
I'm crouched at the side of a livestock trough with my hand on my son's head, watching him laugh in cold water with a seventy-pound shepherd, and I'm so happy I can't see straight.
Garrett would've laughed his ass off over this.
I take my hand off Nash's forehead and stand up. "All right. Out. Both of you."
Diesel jumps out first, shakes thoroughly, and soaks me from the knees down in the process.
I laugh, but give the dog a stern look. "Diesel. Really?"
He wags his tail.
I haul Nash out by the back of his t-shirt.
He's heavier than he was a year ago. If I really think about it, he's heavier than he was a month ago. I lift him up the last bit and set him on the gravel, and he stands there dripping in his boots.
Spur ambles over from the round pen. He's grinning the slow way he grins when something has amused him. "You want a hand walkin' him back, ma'am?"
"I think I've got it, but thank you, Spur."
Spur looks down at Nash. "Buddy, next time, take your boots off first. You'll thank me later."
Nash, dripping, salutes him without irony. "Yes, sir."
Spur tips his hat at me and goes back to the round pen.
The bunkhouse screen door opens behind me and Banshee comes out onto the porch.
He takes in the whole picture—wet boy, wet dog, wet me. He shakes his head once and goes back inside without saying a word.
From the barn, Blaze's voice calls across the gravel. "Cross. You teachin' that boy to swim or to drown?"
I call back, "Both, Blaze. Best to know how to do both."
Blaze laughs and disappears back into the barn.
I take Nash's hand and walk him toward our cabin with Diesel padding along behind us, leaving a wet trail across the gravel.
Once we’re inside, I get Nash into dry clothes and hang the wet ones over the porch rail to dry in the sun.
I even wipe Diesel down with the old beach towel I keep in the mudroom.
Once he’s not soaking wet, I send him out to the back porch to finish drying.
It's been quiet all day since Phantom and Marlena left.
I was on the bunkhouse porch with a coffee when the truck pulled out.
Marlena had Cal on her hip and was crying a little. Not sad crying, the kind of crying women do when they're about to have a major milestone for their children.
Phantom had his hand on the small of her back when he helped her into the passenger seat, but before she got in, she walked over to me.
She crossed the gravel with Cal still on her hip and she stopped on the porch in front of me and put her free hand on my cheek. "You take care of Rogue while we're gone, sweetheart."
Like I wouldn’t? "I will."
"He doesn't know how to ask for what he needs. He just needs it. You watch him long enough, you’ll learn."
"I’ll manage, Marlena."
She hugged me with Cal between us. Texas-grandmother style, fast and fierce. Then she walked back across the gravel, climbed into the cab, and Phantom shut her door.
He nodded at me from across the gravel.
I nodded back.
Marlena waved, then they were gone.
The ranch has been different ever since.
Not in a bad way, just unusual.
It’s odd when the Prez and the First Lady aren’t here.
Grace said something this morning when she stopped by for coffee.
She said her mama used to say Daddy being on the ranch was like a generator running. You only notice it when it's off.
I didn't know what she meant until I looked out the kitchen window sometime around the middle of the day and saw the brothers crossing the gravel toward the clubhouse for church.
Blaze in the lead instead of Phantom.
Every brother on the ranch is carrying a piece of what Phantom usually carries alone.
Rogue is carrying the heaviest piece.
I haven't seen him since breakfast. He sat at the head of the bunkhouse table this morning but was quieter than usual.
After breakfast Rogue went to his cabin and hasn't come out since. I've been listening for him all day without meaning to.
Nash, at the kitchen table with a juice box, looks up at me. "Mama?"
"Yeah, baby?"
He smiles wide and clasps his hands together. "Is Rogue gonna eat dinner with us tonight?"
"I think so, baby. He said he'd come find me for dinner."
"At our cabin or at the bunkhouse?"
"I don't know yet, baby."
Nash thinks about it. "I hope our cabin. He doesn't get to eat at our cabin enough."
I pause with my hand on the dishtowel I've just picked up and look at my son.
Six-year-old logic. Six-year-old conclusion. Rogue belongs in our cabin. Rogue belongs at our table. Rogue eats at our cabin in some other version of our lives, and in Nash’s eyes, he’s not here enough.
I sit down across from Nash. "You'd like that, baby? Him eatin' here more?"
"Yeah."
"Okay."
He nods, moves on to his next thought without taking a breath. "Mama, can Diesel sleep in my room tonight?"
"Diesel is supposed to sleep out in the kennel baby."
"Yeah, but he told me he wants to be our dog and live in our house so I think we should let Diesel live with us." He goes back to his juice box, decision made.
I sit at the table and know arguing with him won’t get me anywhere. “Fine, but only if Rogue and the others say it’s okay.”
Nash has already been through so much since losing his father. If he wants this dog, who he loves adoringly, who am I to tell him no?
Nash runs off to go play as my phone rings.
Unknown number.
Different from the one Todd called from before.
I stare at it for a moment.
I'm done letting my phone scare me.
I pick it up. I don't say hello.
There’s silence on the other end, then a woman clearing her throat. "Hadley?"
My whole body goes still.
It's Mama Cross. Garrett's mama.
I haven't heard her voice in a few weeks now.
"Mama Cross, Hi."
"Hadley, baby. Are you all right?"
My grip on the phone tightens. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm all right. Why?"
"Sweetheart. Todd called me again this mornin'. He's worried about you. He said you haven't called him back. He said... he said he thinks somebody might be keepin' you from talkin' to him."
My stomach drops.
I sit down at the kitchen table because my legs aren't going to hold me for this conversation.
"Mama Cross. Todd is not my friend. Todd was Garrett's best friend long ago, sure, but over the years he was more of an acquaintance than anything. He has been showin' up on the property here uninvited. I changed my number to get away from him."
She’s silent on the other end of the line, like she’s putting the pieces together.
Mama Cross speaks very slowly: "Oh, sweetheart. Oh, honey. He didn't tell me that."
"I know he didn't."
"I gave him your new number."
"I know."
"Hadley. Sweetheart. I am so sorry."
I get up from the table because I can't sit anymore.
I walk to the cabinets and slide down with my back against them and the phone pressed to my ear.
Diesel, from the porch, somehow senses it.
He comes inside and lies down next to me with his wet head against my thigh.
I put my hand on him. "Mama Cross, I should've told you. I should've called you when it started."
"No, baby. No. You were doin' what you had to do."
"He's been showin' up at the ranch."
"Lord."
"He calls me honey. He sat on my front porch and waited for me. He left voicemails. He told me Garrett would've wanted me to talk to him."
Mama Cross is silent on the line for a few seconds, then speaks up very quietly, "Hadley. I need to tell you somethin'."
"Okay.”
"It's about Garrett."
My hand stops moving on Diesel's head.
"Garrett knew."
I don't speak.
"Garrett knew Todd wasn’t what he pretended to be. He told me once. Near the end. He was in the hospital bed and I was sittin' with him and he said, 'Mama. Don't let Todd anywhere near Hadley after I'm gone. He's been waitin' for me to die.'"
My eyes burn.