Chapter 6 #2
“You’re not okay!” I’m sobbing, hiccupping and snotty, probably making everything worse. “There’s so much blood—”
“Hey.” His hand comes up to cover mine, warm and steady. “Look at me.”
I look. His green eyes are clear, not panicked at all. He takes a slow breath, like he’s showing me how it’s done.
“Scars mean you survived.” His voice is gruff. “Nothin’ wrong with that.”
He ruffles my hair with his free hand, leaving a smear of blood on my forehead.
I don’t wipe it off. Not for hours.
It makes me feel brave.
* * *
“Daisy?”
June’s voice jolts me back to the present. I blink, disoriented, and realize everyone’s looking at me.
“Sorry.” I reach for my water glass, hoping no one notices the flush creeping up my neck. “What did you say?”
“I asked if you wanted more carrots.” June is holding up the dish with a bemused expression.
“Oh. No, thanks. I’m good.” I set down my glass, scrambling to steer the conversation somewhere useful. “Actually, I’d love to interview all of you at some point. Get different perspectives on the ranch, the family history, how things have changed over the years.”
“Ooh, interviews.” Colt sits up straighter, pressing a hand to his chest. “Should I prepare a statement? I have thoughts on several topics. Controversial ones.”
Maggie rolls her eyes. “Nobody wants your controversial thoughts.”
“The people deserve to know where I stand on pineapple on pizza, Magnolia.”
“Call me that again, motherfucker, and I’ll put hay in your bed for a week.”
“She’s done it before,” West confirms quietly.
I burst out laughing. “I’ll add that to my list of hard-hitting questions.
But seriously—not just the family. The whole operation.
The ranch hands, the seasonal workers…” I pause, trying to remember the names June mentioned in her emails.
“Who’s the woman who handles the bookings for the guest cabins? ”
“Sarah,” June supplies. “She’s part-time, but she’d absolutely talk to you.”
“Perfect. Anyone else I should consider?”
“Miguel handles most of the cattle operations day-to-day,” Wyatt adds, and I try not to react to the fact that he’s actually participating in the conversation. “Been with us about six years. And there’s Pete, our farrier. He comes out twice a month.”
“Old Dave still does seasonal work during calving and roundup.” Maggie smiles knowingly. “He worked for our dads back in the day, actually. Might have some good stories.”
“Good stories?” I nearly choke on my wine. “Dave once talked to me for three hours about a mule he knew in 1974. The man is a walking oral history. I’d love to talk to him.”
Colt points his fork at me. “Three hours? He gave you the short version.”
“He really did,” June confirms as she takes a sip of wine. “The rest of us have heard the extended director’s cut. Twice.”
“And Marcus Donnelly,” West drops in. “He’s been the ranch accountant for twenty years. Knows the financial history better than anyone.”
Marcus. I haven’t seen him since that last Christmas, but I can still picture him at the kitchen table with Dad and Bill, peppermints in his briefcase and a laugh that filled the room.
“He’ll be in town later this week,” Wyatt adds. “Meeting with me about quarterly projections. I can ask if he has time.”
“West’s horse rehabilitation program is worth including, too,” Maggie chimes in, gesturing across the table with her fork. “He speaks a language most trainers never learn. It’s become one of the ranch’s best income streams.”
Across the table, West says nothing. Just reaches for his water glass.
“That would be great. Thank you.” I reach for my wine, mentally cataloging the week ahead.
An accountant with twenty years of institutional knowledge.
A horse whisperer who communicates better with animals than people.
Ranch hands, a farrier, and a part-time booking manager. Enough voices to build something real.
And enough corners to look into while I’m at it.
“What about Tuesday for interviews?” I ask, keeping my tone light. “I could start with—”
“Not Tuesday,” Wyatt grumbles. “We’re moving cattle to the summer pasture. Everyone’s needed.”
“Wednesday, then. I’m not going anywhere.”
His expression locks down before he mutters a low “Fine.”
And just like that, the wall’s back up.
For a few minutes there, he’d almost seemed… present. Volunteering names, offering to talk to Marcus. Now he’s gone rigid again, like he’s used up his word quota for the evening.
I’m definitely going to make him smile before I leave. Even if it kills me.
The conversation flows around us, easy and warm. Colt launches into a story about the time Wyatt tried to fix the barn roof by himself and ended up stuck up there for six hours.
“In his defense”—Colt grins broadly—“the ladder did break.”
“The ladder broke because you borrowed it the week before and didn’t tell anyone it was cracked,” Wyatt mutters.
“Allegedly.”
“I have the hospital bill.”
“So there’s our fearless leader,” Colt continues, ignoring him, “stranded on the roof in the middle of July, no phone, no water, pride too big to yell for help—”