15. Lyla
Lyla
The smell of fresh coffee hits me as I slide open the glass door and step into the kitchen.
I brought Critter with me, and set him down on the kitchen floor. If there’s one perk of this job, it’s being able to bring my dog into the office.
He starts sniffing around and exploring the house, finding all different scents that he’s never smelled back in the city. He seems particularly interested in a pair of boots at the back door. They probably smell like horses, or horse shit, or a combination of the two.
The house is quiet, I’m not sure what Wade is up to this morning, or if he’s even awake yet. But one thing is clear, Beck is already out on the property hard at it already.
Ranchers are well known for being early birds. They’re also well known for being a bit broody and preferring their solitude, and I’ve come to learn that Beck fits the mold to a tee. Maybe taking over Wild Sage is his destiny, maybe he was meant to do this, as much as he grumbles about it.
I pull a mug down out of the cupboard, one that looks like it was handmade with clay, fired with a speckled glaze so the natural ceramic shows through.
I make it the way I like, with a splash of oatmilk.
There’s a carton of it in the fridge, and I realize it must have been Beck who put it there.
There was none at breakfast the other day, and Wade hasn’t been out to the store recently.
First the whipped cream, and now this? Something warms in my chest at the thought.
I pad through the house, soft on my feet so as not to wake Wade if he’s still sleeping. I find the office, a dark and moody room, painted in a muted navy blue with cream curtains framing the window that looks out to the rest of the property, and heavy leather furniture.
Beck had it all ready for me to start work. He’d cleared the prominent wooden desk of any papers, and I have to say, it has been nice to sit on something other than the wooden kitchen chair, even though I have impeccable posture.
It takes me the rest of the morning just to get through half the pile, but I’m starting to see some progress.
The accounting software has helped me see patterns in spending, gaps in income, and I’ve even jotted down some notes so I can look into more possibilities for how to close the profit margins.
For one, Beck could sell off some extra cattle this season, more than what he normally does.
It would mean he could line his pockets a little more (pro) and keep a smaller herd for next year, reducing some of his expenses during the off season (another pro).
There’s also a decent tax break that we could take advantage of for having to sell livestock because of drought conditions.
The only con? I fucking hate that I’m considering selling off cows. It means even more of them will be bought for meat, and I can hardly stomach the thought already. But this is the job, and I have to be able to separate my own beliefs from the business. That’s a lesson I’ve already paid for.
I’m so engrossed in the work, lost in the mundanity of creating new entries, filling in the values, and then adding the sheet to my completed pile, that I hardly notice Wade knocking softly on the door jamb.
He’s wearing his usual jeans that have been so worn they’re almost white at the knees, a flannel plaid button down, and a friendly smile.
“Sorry to interrupt,” he says.
I wave off his apology.
“I wondered if you’d want some lunch. I made enough for both of us.”
I look down at the work I’ve already done, and decide it’s probably time for a break. Besides, his offer is too good to pass up. I’ve had Wade’s pancakes, I know he’s a good cook.
I nod. “Sure, I’d love that.”
My heart warms at the way his face lights up at my acceptance. I wonder how often anyone sits down to lunch with Wade. Truth be told, I haven’t had anyone sit down to lunch with me in a long time either. My shared dessert with Beck was the closest thing to a date I’ve had in years.
I laugh inwardly at that thought, because it ended just like my other dates have: with Beck getting up abruptly and leaving before anything physical could happen.
I follow Wade through the house and out to the shaded back porch, where he has lunch waiting for us. There’s a pitcher of iced tea with slices of lemon, and some kind of warm kale salad.
“It’s all vegan,” Wade says as we sit down on the rattan furniture. “Salad came from my own garden.” He gestures out to the yard to the small patch of growing vegetables.
“It looks amazing, thank you.”
I pour us both a glass of iced tea, condensation almost immediately forming on the glass in the late May afternoon heat.
“How’s the work been treatin’ ya?” He asks.
“It’s been good,” I say. I don’t exactly want to tell Wade the truth, that I’m wading through a pile of trash, an absolute dumpster fire of his doing. “It’s coming along.”
“I feel bad, you know. Leaving this mess to Beck,” Wade gazes out over the yard pensively, his white eyebrows knitting together.
“I’m glad he has you to help him. I feel like I should be doing more.
I wasn’t there for Beck growing up the way I needed to be.
I wasn’t there for any of the kids. And clearly, I left the ranch in shambles too, so some days I think I failed at everything. ”
“No, you didn’t. You did the best you could with what you had at the time.”
“I’ve finally come around. I see why Beck resents me, and now my stupid old heart won’t let me put in the work I want to do to make it up to him.” Wade's eyes are misty, but the stoic set of his jaw tells me he’s not about to let himself cry. Just like Beck.
Our conversation gets interrupted by the sound of gravel crunching as a car rolls down the drive. As it nears, I can just make out the woman in the driver’s seat. She has sandy blonde hair, clear blue eyes, and a wide mouth that always seems to be in a permanent smile.
Tessa.
She’s obviously here to see Beck, but whether she’s showing up unannounced or he’s invited her is beyond my knowledge.
I wouldn’t be surprised either way. Even though Beck told me he isn’t interested in rekindling their romance, the on-again-off-again nature of their relationship tells me the door is always open a crack.
Jealousy licks up my spine, hot and sticky.
Beck’s relationship status is none of my business, and it certainly shouldn’t make me jealous.
I don’t want to get with Beck if Tessa is even remotely in the picture.
But after last night, I haven’t stopped thinking about how close we were, how I could have kissed him if I just leaned in an inch…
It’s probably for the best that Beck left so abruptly. Getting caught in the middle of whatever is going on between them is not my M.O.
When I look back at Wade, he’s studying me and I feel exposed.
He’s a typical dad, and he raised three whole people into adulthood.
He sees through anything. Whatever it is he thought he saw on my features, he doesn’t bring it up.
Not directly. He clicks his tongue, and then stares off at the brake lights in the distance as it nears the barn.
“That Tessa. Beautiful girl.” He says it like it’s a shame. “She’s probably here to make plans for Beck’s birthday next weekend.”
I didn’t realize it was Beck’s birthday. He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who would even acknowledge it. Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve ever known Beck’s birthday, despite having known him almost my whole life.
“What’s the deal with Beck and Tessa anyway?” I ask. I can’t fucking help myself. I have to know. Only so I can avoid awkward interactions with Beck. I’m not jealous.
Wade gives me a soft smile. “Tessa is sweet on Beck.”
“But…”
“But I don’t think she realizes the relationship is one sided,” he finishes. Of course. Of course Beck would string along a woman like Tessa, giving her puny little morsels, bread crumbs that keep her following after him like a puppy dog following a trail of treats.
“Why doesn’t he end it?” I ask, trying to conceal the anger bubbling up my throat.
But a memory flickers in my mind. I never have the right words.
He’d seemed almost frustrated with himself, and I wonder if Beck struggles with the same affliction as me–communication issues, but from the other end of the spectrum.
“You know Beck. He’s stubborn as all hell, he’s as loyal as a golden retriever, and he’s determined to make something work once he’s started. He forgets to listen to his heart sometimes. He isn’t honest with himself about what he really wants.”
“Which is?”
Wade looks over at me now, a strange expression on his face. One that I can’t quite read the way I normally can.
“Beck wants someone who knows their own mind, who challenges him. That’s not Tessa,” Wade explains. “Not to mention, it’s hard to give your heart to someone else when it’s still holding on to the past.”
I let out a curt hm sound, as Wade stands and starts piling up the dishes on the table.
“Hey, do you have any scraps from that salad you made?” I ask.
Wade stops mid-task. “Of course, they’re in the bin on the counter for compost. Why?”
“I want to take them down to the barn to give to Kenny Rogers,” I say with a smile.
Wade finishes stacking the dishes. “Oh that old goat? He’s got nine-lives, and he’s spent almost all of ‘em. Spent ‘em all being an ornery old fart, too.”
I laugh, because Kenny Rogers might be eerily similar to someone else I know.
“I don’t know. I think he’s misunderstood. There’s something sweet behind those horns.”
Wade turns to take the dishes inside, muttering something incomprehensible to himself.
“I kind of like him,” I say, more to myself than anyone else.
There’s a notification on my computer screen when I go back to the office after lunch, and despite everything Wade told me about Tessa, anticipation flutters in my chest that it might be an e-mail from Beck.
Instead, I find a woman’s name I don’t recognize in my inbox.
Sherry Wright. Her e-mail address is the name of a company I recognize because I painstakingly filled out their intense application form when I first got to Sage Valley.
I filled out a lot of applications. This is the only one that has gotten back to me with a reply that isn’t computer generated.
I read through the e-mail, learning that she’s a manager at an up and coming business consulting firm in the city, and she’d like to set up an interview next week. The disappointment of not seeing Beck’s name is replaced by a burst of excitement that I try and fail to contain as I let out a squeal.
The prospect of getting a job back in the city isn’t just exciting, it’s exactly what I need. What I am working toward. I could get another apartment, resume my life in Calgary, do the job I’ve worked so hard to do and do it well.
It would also mean I wouldn’t have to stay in Sage Valley, and I wouldn’t have to keep working for Wild Sage. I could ask Beck if he’ll give me a reference even though I haven’t technically worked here for that long.
With any luck, by next week, it’ll be goodbye Sage Valley, and goodbye Cactus Jackass.