Chapter Four #2
She laughed. “Daddy has more stamina.”
“I noticed.”
We reached the first interior gate. I stopped the truck and glanced at Shay.
She already had her seat belt off.
“My moment has arrived,” she said.
“Lift the chain from the post, pull the gate toward you, and stay clear of the swing.”
“I’ve opened gates before.”
“You demanded the full experience.”
“I didn’t request narration.”
She climbed out without waiting for an answer.
Shay handled the chain, swung the gate wide, and waited while I drove through. After closing it behind us, she returned to the truck with dust across one boot and satisfaction in her smile.
“How was it?” I asked.
“Transformative.”
“You want another?”
“I don’t want to get spoiled.”
The first trough was full, and the ground at its base remained dry. I checked the valve while Shay stood in the shade of the truck and drank water.
At the second pasture, the gate dragged over the ground as I opened it.
I put my shoulder to it and lifted.
“That hinge is loose,” Shay said.
“It is.”
“You were going to force it anyway.”
“I was testing the problem.”
“With your back?”
“It’s available.”
She walked to the hinge post and crouched. “The top bolt has backed out. Tightening it while the gate’s hanging crooked will pull it out again.”
I looked down at her. “What do you suggest?”
“You’ve got scrap wood in the truck.”
“I do.”
“We lift the outside corner onto a block, level the gate, and tighten it without the gate’s weight pulling at the bolt.”
I’d planned to use the small jack under the frame. Her way would take less time.
“You’ve fixed a lot of gates?” I asked.
“I’ve fixed doors. A gate is a door with more dust.”
I brought two blocks from the truck. Shay held the gate steady while I worked one under the lower rail.
“Higher,” she said.
I lifted.
“Another inch.”
“You enjoying this?”
“Immensely.”
She pushed the second block under the corner. The gate rested level.
I tightened the bolt and checked the lower hinge. When we removed the blocks, the gate swung cleanly.
Shay opened it, then closed it again.
“Trust but verify?” I asked.
“You’re learning.”
She brushed dirt from her palms onto her jeans. A faint line of sweat darkened the yellow cotton between her shoulder blades.
“You saw the problem first,” I said.
“I saw a sagging door.”
“You were right.”
She pushed her sunglasses higher. “That might be the nicest thing a Calhoun has ever said to a Luttrell beside a cattle trough.”
“You should have it framed.”
“I’ll add it to the bungalow.”
We checked two more troughs and drove along the western fence. The truck rocked through dry ruts while grasshoppers scattered from the track.
“Do the water lines reach every pasture?” she asked as we drove.
“Most of them. The west field still depends on a tank.”
“And when the heat gets worse?”
“We move the cattle north and check the troughs twice a day.”
She looked out the window as the truck rolled through another rut. “What happens when the bar needs you at the same time?”
“Duane covers the bar until there’s something only I can handle.”
At the last trough, she climbed onto the fence rail while I cleared leaves from the intake screen.
“Do you ever get a day when neither business needs you?” she asked.
“No.”
“That can’t be true.”
“Both businesses always need something. I decide what can wait.”
“And today?”
“The ranch needed water checked. The bar needed someone trustworthy.”
“Duane.”
“Yes.”
Her boot swung above the dry grass. “You trust him.”
“He’s earned it.”
“I’m trying to learn that skill.”
“Trusting people?”
“Letting them help without preparing for them to take over.”
I replaced the screen and turned toward her. “How am I doing?”
“You followed my measurements, listened when I told you what I wanted, and let me help without turning it into a job.”
“That’s a strong record.”
“It is.”
I stepped between her knees where she sat on the rail.
Shay removed her sunglasses. Her eyes moved over my face.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Waiting to see if you want me closer.”
She slid one arm around my neck. “I do.”
I kissed her under the live oak while cicadas vibrated in the branches. Her thighs tightened around my hips. She tasted of iced tea and watermelon, and the soft sound she made against my lips threatened the rest of the water checks.
Shay drew back first.
“You’re hard,” she said.
“You noticed.”
“I’m very observant.”
“I remember.”
Her fingers traced the edge of my collar. “Is there a list item involving fences?”
“No.”
“Shame.”
I kissed her again, then lifted her from the rail.
“We’ve got one more line to check.”
“You’re committed to responsibility.”
“It’s a problem.”
She smiled and climbed back into the truck.
By the time we returned to the house, the sun had dropped behind the western ridge. Long light stretched across the pasture, turning the dry grass gold at the tips. Dust coated my boots and the lower legs of Shay’s jeans.
We drank water on the porch, then went inside. Shay took the pale-green shirt from her overnight bag to the bathroom and returned with her face washed and her braid retied, wearing the clean shirt instead of the yellow one.
I changed my shirt and started supper.
The meal wasn’t complicated. I seasoned two steaks, cut corn from the cob for a skillet with peppers, and sliced the last tomatoes from the bowl by the window.
Shay rested a hip on the counter and watched.
“You can cook,” she said.
“I can feed myself.”
“That isn’t the same thing.”
“It’s close.”
“Daddy believes cooking means standing near a grill while someone else brings him ingredients.”
“He delegates.”
“He calls it leadership.”
“Of course he does.”
She carried the tomatoes to the table.
We ate on the back porch while evening settled over the ranch. A breeze moved through the live oaks, bringing the smell of dry grass and distant water. Cattle called from the far pasture. Somewhere near the barn, a loose length of chain struck metal in an uneven rhythm.
Shay cut into her steak. “This is better than feeding yourself.”
“I’ve practiced.”
“For anyone in particular?”
The question came lightly, but she looked at her plate.
I took a drink of tea. “I’ve had women here.”
“I assumed you hadn’t maintained perfect purity until a Luttrell arrived.”
“I’m glad we cleared that up.”
Her smile returned.
“One relationship got close to serious,” I said. “We wanted different lives. She didn’t want to tie hers to the ranch and the bar, and I didn’t want to give them up.”
“Was it ugly?”
“No. It ended cleanly.”
“How long ago?”
“Several years.”
Shay nodded. “That’s healthier than anything Brandi would enjoy hearing about.”
“Does she prefer property damage?”
“She prefers drama that doesn’t happen to either of us.”
“What about you?”
“My last serious relationship ended about a year ago. He was nice, successful, approved by every member of my family, and already had the next twenty years arranged.”
“Where did you fit?”
“Wherever he put me.”
Her fork went still on the plate.
“He wasn’t cruel,” she continued. “He just assumed I’d move when his career required it, host the right people, and support whatever he chose. I kept waiting for him to ask what I wanted.”
“He never did.”
“No.”
“You left.”
“I did.”
I set my plate aside. “Your father approved of him.”
“Enthusiastically.”
“And me?”
“Daddy would prefer I date a swarm of wasps.”
“That seems uncomfortable.”
“He’d offer them positions in the family company.”
I laughed, and Shay smiled into her tea.
“Dad won’t be pleased either,” I said.
“Does he hate all Luttrells personally, or does he assign us numbers?”
“He’d make an exception if one of you sold him hay below cost.”
“So there’s hope.”
“He still wouldn’t invite you to supper.”
“Good thing his son did.”
I reached across the table and covered her fingers with mine.
“My father isn’t making this decision,” I said.
“Neither is mine.”
The breeze lifted a loose strand of hair near her temple. She turned her hand in mine and linked our fingers.
I’d spent years keeping my relationships separate from the ranch, the bar, and the town’s interest. It was easier when nothing lasted long enough to require space in all three.
I wanted to wake up with her.
After supper, we stacked the dishes in the sink.
She glanced at the clock above the stove. “It’s barely eight thirty.”
“You sound disappointed.”
“I was promised something after midnight.”
“You’ve got time to reconsider.”
“I’m not reconsidering.”
“I didn’t think you would.”
We carried fresh glasses of water to the front porch. The temperature had eased, though the boards still held the day’s warmth. Shay sat beside me on the porch swing and tucked one leg under her.
Her phone remained off in her bag.
“You haven’t checked it,” I said.
“I know what will happen when I turn it on.”
“What?”
“Daddy will have called. Garrett will need a dinner moved. Bobby will send me a photograph of something he could’ve decided without me.”
“You could leave it off.”
“Until morning.”
“Leaving it off until morning would be reckless.”
She rested her head on my shoulder. “I’m getting better at it.”
We stayed outside while darkness covered the pasture. The stars sharpened above the limestone ridge. When the clock inside passed eleven thirty, I added a flashlight to the towels and water behind the seat.
Shay stood beside the passenger door. “Are you sure no one can wander into this spring?”
“It’s inside the ranch boundary. A locked chain gate blocks the spring road, and there’s no public access.”
“No neighbors?”
“Not close enough to see anything.”
“What about cattle?”
“They’ve seen worse.”
She climbed into the truck.
***
At eleven fifty-four, I unlocked the chain gate, drove through, and locked it behind us. Then I took the final stretch of two-track under a canopy of live oaks and sycamores.
The private spring lay in a limestone hollow where clear water gathered under an overhang and spilled into a narrow creek. Moonlight silvered the surface. Trees screened the hollow from the pasture, and the only sound came from insects, moving water, and tires over the last stretch of gravel.