Seventeen
SEVENTEEN
Tag
T he drive back to the ranch blurred against the noise in my head. My thoughts spun, spiraled. The past three nights had thrown off the center of gravity in my world. Everything felt off-kilter. My mind, my heartbeat, my ability to breathe. Moment by moment I was pulled toward a panic attack; I could feel the current sweeping around me, dragging me off solid footing. And there was never a more inconvenient time.
I found myself bargaining with the universe. Get me through the next few weeks and then I’m free. You can have at me all you want as soon as she leaves.
Bea and my pride aside, I couldn’t have an episode right now. Without Jesse, everything rested on my shoulders. He was my only employee aside from an old guy, Hank, who only worked Saturday through Monday to help out while I worked the rodeos.
Me versus forty horses, twelve sheep, sixteen chickens, eighty acres, and a fleet of equipment that needed maintenance every other day.
I should've hired someone to help me while Jesse was out of town, but his vacation was paid—as it should be—and my finances had zero wiggle room. As the ranch downsized, so did my payroll. Meadowbrook barely made ends meet as it was.
More often than not, I didn’t take a paycheck. After bills, payroll, taxes, the vet, maintenance, and all the other overhead expenses…there were pennies left for me. The invisible current picked up in speed and strength. I tried to take a deep breath and change the topic in my head. Thinking about money or what Bea might think of me if she knew how worthless my business was would quicken the inevitable.
The one shred of hope in this good-for-nothing weekend was I had the wherewithal to get American Pie’s ride on video. Got her eight seconds on my phone. It was the best she ever had. I could use it to apply for the Professional Rodeo Cowboys Association . Pro would change things. And American Pie had a fighting chance.
About ten minutes from home, I downshifted the semi to stop at a four-way. The gear stick felt stiff in my hand. I leaned back, pulling my weight against it. It shifted down to first—barely.
When it was time for me to accelerate, I grunted and pulled the clutch, muttering a string of profanities as it resisted the shift. The stick grew stiffer with every gear change and my anxiety shot sky high. I barked at Siri to call Bea.
“Hey!”
“Bea, stay on my tail and turn your flashers on.”
“Oh no, what’s wrong?”
“The clutch is goin’ out.”
“What?!”
“Yeah. I’m not gonna to stop at any four-ways unless there are other cars.”
I let her go, straining to pull the semi into third.
Ten minutes later, I hopped down to the grass and slammed the door, temper at an all-time high. I bought the thing three months ago. Three. Felt like a slap in the face. I already owned the trailer, thank goodness. But I paid sixty grand for the semi. Worked my ass off for it and it had the audacity to lose the clutch within the first three months.
Bea parked the sheep next to me and scurried around. “You okay?”
“No.” I lifted my hat and ran a hand through my damp hair. I’d worked up a sweat forcing it to switch gears. “If it’s gotta be replaced, it’s gonna cost me a small fortune.”
“Maybe it’s a small part and not the whole thing needing replacing?” She shoved her hands into the pockets of her cut-off jean shorts. Pretty sure she’d cut the legs off them that very morning when she’d asked if I had scissors or a razor. Her cheeks were still bright red from her burn, but less so than Saturday. “You don’t have a warranty or anything on it?”
I froze. “You know what? I think I actually do.”
“Good!”
“I’ll just have to find the paperwork.” When I magically found a pocket of spare time.
Eighteen hour days loomed ahead of me. And now I needed to find warranty papers in my disorganized files, make phone calls, get my diesel mechanic, Mike, out here to look at the semi, and more.
I realized my chest was heaving. I took a deep, steadying breath to try and calm down. Meadowbrook had seen worse. I’d seen much worse.
I could do this.
Still, panic my Prozac could never fully eradicate, crept its way into my chest, wrapping a band of tension around my ribcage—the current now hot and fierce.
A warm hand on my forearm jolted me out of my thoughts.
“Tag?” I turned to find Bea’s brown eyes studying my face. A soft crease pulled between her brows. She lightly squeezed. “What can I do? Can I help in any way? I know it’s kind of you versus the ranch right now.”
Overwhelm choked out my immediate response.
She didn’t move her hand so I stepped out of her touch, finding my tongue. “No. You are, uh, here to rest. You should rest.”
“I could hardly rest knowing you’re running yourself ragged. There’s so many animals. I don’t know how three people could do it. Let alone one.”
“I’ve done it before.” But I hadn’t. Not to this extent.
“Please tell me what I can do. ”
“Nothing I can think of.”
“Could I at least call about the warranty? I’m sure you’ll need the semi by the weekend, right?”
“Yeah, next rodeo is a three hour drive.”
I met her gaze again. She was so sincere and too kind. Why? Despite spending two nights at the rodeo and being in each other’s company for hours, I hadn’t asked her a single question about her life or given her a few minutes of undivided attention.
“Let me help.”
I opened my mouth to tell her ‘no,’ right when we heard a twangy, hoot of a greeting. “Mornin’!”
Bea’s gaze darted to Hank, who strolled over like he had all day. The seventy-somethings man waddled more than walked due to stiff joints. Yet it’d never stopped him from showing up to get out from under Sally’s yammerin’ at 8 a.m. every Saturday, Sunday and Monday. He was as faithful as a dog.
I didn’t want to slow down for pleasantries, but figured my manners had enough strikes against them as it was. “Hank. Good morning. This is Bea.” I waved toward her then motioned my hand back toward Hank. “Bea meet Hank.”
“Nice to meet you, Hank.” She gave him a genuine, unrushed smile.
He dramatically pulled the cowboy hat off his bald head and pressed it against his rounded gut. “The pleasure is all mine.” He didn’t release her hand after their shake and glared at me. “Where’d you find her? I daresay she’s outta your league, Mr. Taggart.”
I rolled my eyes as she giggled behind her hand and wiggled her other out of his.
“She’s a guest. Use your manners, Hank.”
He winked at her. “Sally tells me I’ve never had much manners.” Then he turned to me, putting chubby fists on his wide hips. “Glad you finally decided to get back here. Got good news and bad news. Whatcha want first?”
My body slacked at the prospect of something bad.
He pressed on. “Guess I’ll start with the good. Good news is not’a one of them horses got sick after shot day. I watched ‘em all like a hawk. Bad news is the Ranger wouldn’t start up this morning.”
Air rushed out of my chest. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Sorry, boss. I ain’t. I checked the plugs and the battery.” He shrugged, clueless.
“Alright.”
Bea’s eyes were on me. I didn’t look, but I could feel them. I quickly gave Hank the rundown on how we were going to get the horses to their pastures without moving the trailer while Bea awkwardly hovered nearby until we were done making a plan.
When Hank sauntered off with the Chevy keys, she approached, her suitcase dragging behind her. “Tag?”
“Yeah.”
She tucked a wisp of hair behind her ears. “I’m helping.”
I shook my head.
“I want to. Just tell me where to find the warranty phone number.”
“Bea.”
“Is it in your office?”
I watched her, undecided. I did need someone to take that off my plate. But thirty seconds in my files would show her how badly I’d handled the paperwork side of my business. Something I’d like to hide from everyone. Especially her.
The task list awaiting me was impossible—insurmountable. Would it be so bad for her to help? Maybe I could avoid a panic attack if I went straight from here to the pastures. Going into the office and rifling through filing cabinets was a terrible idea. Paperwork got the best of me every time.
I shrugged my shoulders, probably looking more defeated than I meant to. “Somewhere. I have a file, but I’ve got no clue where it is.”
“I'll find it.” She started backwards, slowly, waiting for me to react. “If you don’t want me in your office, you better grab me before I go.”
Something deep within me stirred. A hard knot formed in my throat as emotions hit me from left field.
“Okay, I’m going.” She picked up her pace, still walking backward. “Is it unlocked?”
“Yeah. It’s—a humiliating mess.”
“My closet back home is a humiliating mess.” She lifted a shoulder, mirroring me. “We all have messes somewhere.”
“Bea.” I shook my head, unable to name the feeling unfurling deep in my throat. “Thank you.”
“I got this.” She smiled then turned toward the house.