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“You should be,” she says. “Are we being stupid? Maybe I should just let the farm go. I could find a house in downtown Willowbrook with Mom. I’m sure I can find more graphic design jobs instead of?—”
“Sadie, just stop. We’re going to be fine.”
The word we seems odd coming out of me, but that’s how it’s going to be now. We’re a we. My signature on those loan papers means we have to succeed together. Otherwise, we both lose it all.
We venture off Plain Daisy Ranch property and onto hers, and I wonder if this was her plan all along because usually, we stay on our land.
She directs Brownie into a trot through the trees along the small creek that runs through part of their property. When you think about everyone’s land around this area, the Wilkinses got screwed in the luck department. They’re operating a very small farm. And my dad is right, the soybeans Mr. Wilkins planted weren’t the best option, but what’s done is done.
She slows on the other side, and when Brownie stops, Sadie slides her leg over and climbs down. She ties Brownie to the tree, allowing her to get some water and graze. I do the same with Titan, and as always, he finds a way to be as close as he can get to Brownie.
“The best of friends.” Sadie smiles and lifts the saddle bag off Brownie. She carries it over to the edge of the drop-off.
“What’s in there?” I ask, following her to the lookout that gives a clear view of most of their acreage. Their house sits closest to our property line, along with most of their barns and farm equipment, but this area is empty.
“You’ll see.” She holds the saddle bag close to her chest and shoots me a flirty smirk.
“You trying to pay me back for last night?”
I sit on the grass and spread out my legs, taking off my hat and placing it next to us. I’m sweaty and dirty and in desperate need of a shower, but I’d never say no to a ride with Sadie and our horses.
She sits next to me, crossing her legs, and takes some papers out from one side of the saddle bag, placing them on the far side of her. She opens the other side and takes out a carton of ice cream from The Creamery Shoppe. Handing me a spoon, she lifts the lid, revealing their butter brickle ice cream that’s my favorite.
“What are you buttering me up for?” I ask, moving my spoon to the ice cream.
She moves the carton away, closer to her chest, teasing me as she moves it back and forth between the two of us. “How bad do you want it?”
“Not that bad.” I shrug, playing off as if it means nothing to me.
“I know you better than that. It’s been a long, hard day on the ranch herding cattle, and you don’t want any ice cream?” She dips her spoon in and slides it into her mouth, exaggerating her moan.
Now it’s not the ice cream that I want.
“It’s so good, Jude.”
She holds it out to me, but I know better than to play her game. It’s just like when we’d play the slap hands game. She’s always taunted me in more ways than one.
“Nice try.” I put my spoon in my mouth and lean back on my hands, tilting my head toward the sun.
She scoffs. “You’re no fun.” She puts the carton in my lap and lies on the ground, acting upset that I didn’t play her game.
I pick up the ice cream and dig my spoon into the vanilla goodness with small pieces of toffee that crunch when I chew them. She knows me way too well. Butter brickle ice cream is my go-to treat after every long day at the ranch.
“Thanks. Hits the spot.” She fists blades of grass and tosses them at me, but I twist my torso so it doesn’t get in the ice cream. “Hey, now. You carried it all this way, kept it frozen for me, and you’re going to ruin it because you’re sour?”
She turns to me, shielding her eyes from the sun. “You’re lucky I like you so much.”
“Ditto.”
She turns to the sky again, and I admire her beauty for a second as she’s lost in thought.
She sighs. “Are you sure about all this?”
My head rocks back, and I close my eyes for a second. “Jesus, Sadie, stop asking me that. Since when do you know me to do something I don’t want to do?”
She sits up and grabs her spoon. I scoot closer to her, and she scoops up a spoonful. “It’s still not as good as a tin roof sundae.”
She brings her spoon over to take another helping, and I move the carton away. “You can’t talk shit about butter brickle and then try to have more.”
