2. Weston
Weston
The earthy scent of wood shavings fills my lungs as I spread them out in the bottom of Buttercup’s stall.
The Appaloosa has been watching me from her paddock the entire time, her head hanging over the door while I move around her space.
She’s the last stall I had to knock out this morning. Then it’s errands and the feed store.
Another long day, but I don’t mind it. Working keeps my mind occupied and my hands busy. I learned a long time ago that both are necessary to my survival.
Buttercup whinnies, and I glance over, amused while she nods her head up and down at me.
The white star on her forehead is nearly covered by her flaxen forelock.
Since I just washed her yesterday, her buttery gold palomino coat shines in the sun, the spots scattered across her hindquarters and sides a pristine white once more.
Though, after her pasture rotation tomorrow, I imagine they’ll be back to the dull dirt color they were before.
The mare loves to roll in anything and everything she can find.
Crossing over toward her, I run my hand down the front of her large head. She nuzzles me again, and I laugh. “Yeah, yeah, I’m going, girl.” Out of all the horses here, she’s my favorite. Fiery as they come, but she’s bombproof, and there is no other animal on this ranch I would trust in a crisis.
After setting the bedding fork aside, I toss the empty plastic packaging over the gate, then check her water to make sure none of the shavings somehow ended up in there. Once I’m sure it’s clean, I reach over and undo the latch so she can come back into her stall.
She immediately moves inside and starts sniffing the ground, then turns toward me and nuzzles my chest.
I laugh softly and reach into my pocket to withdraw a treat, then offer it to her on my flat palm. “You’re welcome, girl.”
Turning, I step out of her stall and close it up behind me, then grab the trash and manure fork before heading down the breezeway toward the trash can. This barn is my happy place. My only source of peace.
And I will protect that peace at all costs.
Which is exactly why I fired the guy we’d hired to handle the stall cleaning. He’d been spreading new shavings over the old, and I caught him only feeding the horses half of what they needed. All because he was too lazy to go back for a second wheelbarrow.
Anger burns fresh through me.
It took everything in me not to lay him out on the ground. If Vivian hadn’t been there when he started mouthing off at me—I might have. Vivian Faye may be a spitfire herself, but the woman is as sturdy as a rock. Nothing seems to rattle her. And that calmness has grounded me more than once.
As I’m tossing the trash away, Kyle Harding steps into the breezeway.
The kid had a rough upbringing and ended up getting himself—and my entire team—into a bind when he trusted the word of criminals over his own gut instinct.
Despite the fact that he reminded me a whole lot of myself at his age, I was quick to write him off, but my friend Garrison insisted the kid had good intentions.
Still, it wasn’t until I watched him risk his life for another that I realized he really did just need some direction.
He’s been working for the ranch for over a year now and is the best ranch hand we have.
At only eighteen years old, I can trust him to do as I ask and always give two hundred percent of himself to any task he sets out to complete.
“Hey, Mr. Hayes, pasture waters are filled. What else can I do for you?” He removes his baseball cap and runs a hand through his dark hair.
“Go ahead and fill up grain buckets so they’re prepped for tonight. I’m headed into town in just a few to pick up our next order, and I’d like to have the new grain on the bottom of the bins.”
“You got it, Mr. Hayes.” Kyle immediately heads for the feed room, no complaints. No questions.
If I had two more just like him, I might be able to take a vacation. Not that I’d have anywhere to go if I did. I’ve seen enough of the world to last a lifetime. Besides, it’s hard to enjoy the activities and adventure as a tourist when you’ve witnessed the dark underbelly.
Overhead, the sky is a cloudless blue, the sun shining brightly down on me. Fall is well on its way here in Stormwatch Landing, South Carolina, and I am definitely grateful for the cooler temperatures. Makes working outside a whole lot easier.
The main house is only a few yards from the horse barn, and as I make my way over toward my truck, the front door opens, and Vivian steps out.
Her once red hair is nearly completely white now, and she’s pulled it back from her face with clips.
Instead of her typical ranch clothes, she’s wearing nice jeans and a dressy shirt.
She smiles and waves me over, and even though I’m more than ready to get my errands done so I can get back, I change course and head toward her.
The woman is the closest thing I have to family in this town.
When my dad lost all our money, she and her husband bought this place but still let my mom, sister, and me live in a cabin on the property.
Sister. My chest aches. Soon, it’ll be the anniversary of her death. Nearly two decades without my little sister. I miss her every day, and even though we finally caught the guy who murdered her, I’ve found no peace.
I’ve lost hope that I ever will.
Men like me don’t deserve it.
“Hey there, Weston,” Vivian greets with a smile.
“Mrs. Faye.”
“Boy, how many times am I going to have to tell you to call me Vivian?”
“Apparently more than you already have,” I reply with a smirk. “You headed to town?”
“I am.” Her smile fades slightly. “You doing okay? I know you’ve had to take on a lot more with the ranch, and—”
“I’m doing just fine. You focus on you.” She hasn’t opened up to me about the health issues she’s had recently, but I know that it’s a whole lot more than just “the cost of getting old” like she’s claiming.
She’s been forgetful and dizzy lately. And more than once, I’ve caught her napping throughout the day.
“I’m doing just fine, too.”
“Good.”
She smiles again. “Look at us. Two stubborn mules.”
“Till the day I die,” I reply.
“Are you headed into town?” she asks when I start toward my truck.
“Picking up our feed order. Need anything?”
Her expression is shielded. Spend enough time around people whose job it is to keep secrets, and you learn quickly how to read the signs. What are you hiding? “Why don’t you take the day?”
“Why?”
“You’ve been working too hard.”
“I appreciate the offer, but I’m doing just fine with the work. I prefer to stay busy.” I open the door and toss my gloves inside. “You sure you don’t need anything?”
“No,” she replies. “Thank you for being here, Weston. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Yeah. No need to thank me.” Uncomfortable with the direction of this conversation, I climb behind the wheel of my truck and close the door. After I’ve fired up the engine, I roll the window down. Vivian is still standing on her porch, watching me. “You sure you don’t need anything?”
“Nope. The Good Lord has already provided me with more than enough.” She smiles. “See you later, Weston.”
“See you.” As I pull out of the drive, I fight the urge to stop and point out to her just how ridiculous it is to believe there is a bigger plan for anything. If God exists, then I can’t believe He would have allowed half of the things I’ve gone through to happen.
My dad’s drinking.
Gambling.
Losing everything we ever owned.
Losing my sister.
Losing—I grip the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles turn white. I will not go there.
The gravel crunches under my tires as I head down the drive, my thoughts still on God. If He does exist, He certainly doesn’t seem to care for me. So, there it is. Not much I can do about it.
I’ll just keep living my life, moving toward a death that won’t mean anything.