59. Rules Don’t Apply to Me
RULES DON’T APPLY TO ME
EMBERLEIGH
The following Thursday sees as much movement as I ever have on the ranch. That includes the day that will live in infamy, as I’ve begun referring to it in my head.
It’s Thanksgiving, and we’re celebrating at Pop’s. If the rain holds off, we may eat outside. If the rain holds off is a good problem to have. For the last few weeks, we’ve seen intermittent rain, enough to see green again, even though the grass and trees tried to go dormant early this year.
Layton doesn’t have a game today. His team had the Monday night game and we cheered him on from our living room, hosting for the first time.
He got in yesterday and leaves tomorrow afternoon, but this time has been nice since his last visit, when Pop was in the hospital, was rushed.
He says he’s tired of coming home for a crisis, so he wants a drama-free Thanksgiving. We’ll see.
Braxton has a brisket smoking outside. He put it on at a quarter to four this morning.
He came back to bed and woke me up, explaining he was hungry and had been thinking about his meat.
It doesn’t matter that he’s thirty-seven-years old, the man will always be a teenage boy when it comes to the double entendre.
I explained we didn’t need a nine-pound brisket on Thanksgiving.
He explained he wasn’t talking about brisket and then proceeded to show me how hungry he was.
He ate me until I saw stars, my back bowing off the bed, seeking his mouth to slake the hunger building in my core. When I finally fell over the edge, he drove inside me, looking down at me in what little light the moon offered. “Love you, baby, and love fucking you. What did I do to get so lucky?”
“Well, first you—” I started, but he cut me off with a kiss, laughing right through it.
“Might have to fuck that smart mouth if you keep it up.”
“The problem is I’m not hungry at all and have no taste for meat right now. In fact, I’m considering becoming a vegetarian.”
“Going to take back my lucky comment if you’re not careful.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I said, squeezing my inner muscles as I delivered that last line. He groaned and pumped harder, taking me over the edge with him as my body sucked him in as deep as it could.
He fell on top of me, gasping in my ear, as I squeezed him once more.
He moved languidly inside me, prolonging the pleasure for both of us.
He began to pull out, but I lowered my feet from his back to his ass, caging him inside me.
“Just a second longer,” I whispered, and he obliged, stroking slow and deep.
When I’d had my fill, for four in the morning anyway, he cleaned me up and climbed back in bed naked, turning me to spoon into me. Before I could say a word, he was snoring in my ear.
I lay there for a while before sliding out from his arms, checking on Colt, and heading for an earlier than normal run.
Five months in and I couldn’t say I liked it any more than I did when I first arrived.
It was easier, but I didn’t enjoy it any more than I did in June.
It worked. I’m stronger. I’d still prefer to swim, but running keeps my brain creative and allows me to have the energy to keep up with an almost one-year-old.
Colt only gets more active. By the time he walks, I’ll have to run to keep up with him.
I pounded out a couple of miles, delighting that I know the ranch as well as any Ranger by now.
I waved to Willa and Exton, who were wrapped up in each other on Pop’s porch drinking coffee.
It’s nice to have them here and not because we were concerned for Pop’s well-being.
You can almost watch Kimpton’s chest expand as his family surrounds him.
I’d compare him to a mama hen, but he doesn’t hover.
He just lights up. I can’t imagine how brightly he must’ve shown when Emilia was alive.
Brighton was at the barn already, Luna in tow.
Thanksgiving or no, the horses needed to be checked on.
I’m sure she won’t argue when Colt is old enough to help out.
Although, I don’t doubt that Colt will argue at that point.
Oh well, he’s a Ranger. He’ll be in the business, at least to some degree, until he makes a business of whatever sparks passion in him. If that’s ranching, all the better.
An hour before lunch, Braxton is champing at the bit to get to his family. You can tell that having Layton and Exton around is like old times. We pack up Colt and enough food that we have to take the truck and drive to Pop’s, welcomed in by more people than I’ve ever seen here.
The usual suspects are here, moving about the kitchen and living room.
Elias arrives after we do, an older woman with him. It’s obvious it’s his mom and it’s also obvious that she has not had an easy life. Her name is Deborah, and Pop kisses her cheek and welcomes the two with boisterous flair.
Eli’s typical relaxed nature, the one infused with humor and ease, is gone.
He seems more anxious, more worried. There’s a story there, and if Braxton fails to recognize it, I’ll make sure he and Eli have some time this weekend to see if there’s anything we can do.
It might sound meddlesome, but we’re missing something.
He’s been so good to us, in the thick of it, through some of the worst things imaginable.
He won’t go through anything without us at his side, so long as I have anything to say about it.
Willa and Exton move around each other in the kitchen the way moons do around their planets.
It’s obvious to anyone how aware they are of each other, how tightly bonded they are.
It’s also obvious the love she has for him and the devotion he has for her.
If I didn’t have Braxton, I think I’d hurt looking at their love. It’s enough to make anyone jealous.
A knock on the door grabs my attention. Everyone around here just walks right in.
There are no formalities, no boundaries.
Family is family, and they live that way.
So, when Brighton moves to the door, I’m floored to see my father on its threshold, a bottle of whiskey in one hand and a pie in the other.
I look to Braxton. I see hesitation in his eyes before he shrugs and leans down to kiss my forehead. “He’s family,” he says simply and walks to the door to shake my father’s hand. I follow behind, not understanding how I could want to kiss him and throttle him at the same time.
My same hesitation is visible in my dad’s eyes, but I hug him and kiss his cheek. Thanksgiving alone sucks. His first Thanksgiving after the losses he’s borne didn’t have to be alone, and I’m reluctantly glad Braxton thought to include him.
Taking the pie from his hands, I pass it to Willa who places it on the dessert table.
Then, I begin introductions around the room, starting with Deborah.
He knows Eli. I reintroduce him to Brighton, as if she hadn’t met him at his lowest. We make our way through the unusually quiet room until I get to Pop, who I see for the first time—the man, not the father, not the grandfather, not the wise sage.
The man, the brawler, the one brave enough to work on breaking a wild horse, the one who was shot protecting their grandson.
The pause between the men is practically them sizing each other up. Neither tall, both fit, but neither in the way that they’d survive a fistfight. Braxton clears his throat. “Wainwright, you’ve met my father, Kimpton. Pop, this is Colt’s maternal grandfather.”
Pop lifts his chin, but extends a hand. “Wainwright. Happy Thanksgiving. What can I get you to drink?”
“Heard you were a whiskey man.” He lifts the bottle. “Happy to have a glass with you later. For now, though, tea sounds great.
“Coming right up,” Exton calls and begins filling glasses.
Braxton
Well, that went down like a shit sandwich.
It’s tense as fuck, but after the geriatric square off, the rumble of conversation returns and scurrying continues.
Pop pulls the turkey off the smoker and is letting it rest as disposable metal trays of sides go in and out of his double oven.
Crock-Pots line the counter, as does my brisket and the rest of what we brought.
The smells that fill this house could make a grown man weep.
I look around the house and catch Emberleigh’s profile.
She’s chatting with Willa and Deb. Before the banana incident, I knew she was the one for me.
When she rushed into the face of death for my boy, I knew I had to make her mine.
Seeing her now, I know I need to make it official soon.
I already have the ring. It’s just the timing.
This room is filled with everyone I love, except for my mom.
Not to sound like a chick, and get overly sentimental, but my past is in this home.
Pop, my siblings. My present and my future are here, too, wrapped up in the lady who ties me in knots and my son who currently sits on his grandad’s lap.
He slaps his open palms everywhere he can reach, gums anything he can find to put in his mouth, and wiggles like he’s fed a steady diet of sugar and caffeine.
“What’s got you so distracted?” Eli asks, following my gaze. “Ah.”
“Yeah.”
“Happy for you, man. All we can want in life is the love of a good woman. And maybe chips and queso.”
“Truer words, brother, truer words.” I look to him, the man who has been my best friend through thick and thin. “Haven’t asked her yet—and I know it’s out of order—but when I do, will you be my best man?”
The slap that hits my back comes at the same time he barks a laugh. “Abso-fucking-lutely.”
“Mouth, Finchely,” Pop cuts in as he walks by. “My grandson will have enough trouble with this crazy band of uncles, you included. He doesn’t need to learn fuck before his first birthday.”
“But you just said—”
“I know what I said. I’m his Pop-Pop. Rules don’t apply to me.” He winks and heads to carve the bird.