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I’ve been riding Chance ’ve been riding Chance since I was ten. We work together like any good partnership. It’s come to the point that I barely use my reins. He knows what I want through a shift in weight or movement in my legs. In truth, he’s my oldest friend.
“Everett, get out of there and leave that to the rest of them!”
I ignore my dad. He likes to supervise, but I don’t feel right leave the rest of the wranglers getting cattle while I sit back and glare. I’ll leave that to him.
“Buck, get ahead of that one breaking off the pack.” I point to the steer that’s running for open land instead of following through where we want him to go. Buck takes off, effectively carrying out my instructions. Getty nods from the gate, ready to close it behind the herd when we get the last of them through. I search the crowd looking for other stragglers, but with the one Buck is bringing back, we’ve got them all. A final push from the back and the cattle move into the new space. Getty swings the gate closed, latching it in place.
I grin, knowing we moved the herd in record time. “I believe that’s lunch, boys.”
We break for lunch in a cypress grove overlooking the beach. Cookie packed sandwiches and chips, but it’s not long before Weston has his hat over his eyes and a snore buzzing from his chest. Buck throws his wrapper at him, but Wes doesn’t move.
We laugh good naturedly at a few of Getty’s Dad jokes, happy to enjoy the constant roar of the ocean waves. But all the while, I feel Dad’s disapproval at the way I handle my team. Since I don’t do it the way he would, it must be wrong.
I stare at the stretch of sea below us. Miles and miles of waves roll in, repeating the same act without hardly a variation. But every now and then, a rock crops up from below and the waves seem to trip over it, causing spray to fly and disrupt the perfect rhythm of the wave. Talking with Sunny last night about where things began for me, it’s left me unsettled. Sometimes I roll along, not thinking about everything that’s bothered me for years because I’ve accepted it as normal, and then someone comes a long, someone like Sunny, and while she didn’t try to do it, she’s interrupted the flow. She’s a catalyst whether she meant to be one or not.
“How was it in the bunkhouse, Rhett?” Dad nudges me with his elbow. “You clamoring to move back in yet?”
I grit my teeth, knowing better than to take his bait. “It wasn’t bad. At least I didn’t have to listen to Carl play his guitar all night.” I nod to Weston still snoozing under the tree. “Granted, I traded it for some snoring, I guess.”
I mean to keep it light, but Dad wants his victory. He turns to Buck. “What about you fellas? You upset there’s a woman infiltrating the ranks?”
I stare hard at Buck, willing him to answer the way I want, but it’s not necessary. Without skipping a beat, he shrugs. “She seems nice, and Silas has been itching to get back out here again.”
Dad grumbles to himself as he leans back against the tree. “That boy ain’t worth the jeans he’s wearing.”
I don’t even know what that’s supposed to mean. He’s like that, spewing off these little words of wisdom that make no sense at all, but he treats it like we should respect it like gospel.
“Silas is young.” I feel the need to defend my hire. “For having zero experience, he’s learning fast.”
“Green behind the ears and squirrely as a lizard, that’s all I’m saying.”
Once more I have to resist the urge to tell him he’s not making any sense. You can’t just string a few words together with a gravelly voice and call it cowboy wisdom.
But Dad isn’t done yet. “We both know you saw a pretty face, Everett, and wanted to play the hero.” He turns his target on the oldest member of our crew. “Getty, you’re not a modern thinking man like the rest of these guys. You’re a traditionalist like me.” He crosses his arms and leans forward. “What do you think about Everett’s new hire?”
Getty mulls on his question for a moment. The breeze cools my warm cheeks, dampening some of the fire I feel for this whole line of conversation. “Well, Buddy,” Getty is just about the only hired hand allow to call Dad by his name, “I might have agreed with you, but lately I’ve been talking with my girls and they’ve been opening my eyes to some of the ways the world has changed. Sure, back in the day, having a girl in the bunkhouse might be wrong, but these days, I find most young women have the ability to make that decision for themselves.”
“What about the men? You expect me to believe they can be perfect gentlemen with a lady around all the time?”
“Time will tell, I guess. But these guys I ride with every day, they’re top notch. Rhett built up a good team.” Getty shrugs. “Besides, you’re talking like it’s the young lady’s responsibility to keep the men in line. Shouldn’t they be responsible for their own actions?”
Getty earns some respect in my eyes. He’s absolutely right, and I’m quick to back him up.
“Sunny can hold her own, and the guys have been nothing but welcoming so far, Dad. Give it a little time.”
He doesn’t agree, merely pulls his hat over his eyes and leaves the conversation without another word. Getty and Buck exchange a look but it’s Weston who speaks from beneath his hat. “If having Sunny around means I shovel a little less manure, I’ll gladly bunk with a dame.”
Buck laughs and steals his hat, tossing it behind us. Wes doesn’t hardly flinch, waving him off and drifting back to sleep.
I’m left to my thoughts while they goof around. To a point, Dad is right. I saw Sunny on that beach, and I couldn’t help but try to rescue her. But if I found a good groom in the process, what does it matter?
“I’m going to check the south fences.” I shuffle to my feet. “Take about another half hour more, then double check the herd and ride home.”
Getty watches me start to leave, obviously concerned. “You need any help, boss?”
I shrug. “If you’re offering.”
Dusting off his hat, Getty stands to follow. “Lead the way.”
