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Sunny makes me feel like I fit in this world where I often feel like a hex screwdriver and everyone else is a standard slotted.
“Come on, it’s getting dark.” Sunny motions for the trail and starts again. As we walk, she asks me about my day. No one ever asks me about my work, likely because most of the people I know are here at the ranch doing the same work. But even when I’ve had girlfriends or talked with friends, no one wants to know why I do what I do. Sunny appears genuinely interested, and it feels good to talk about something I love as much as this ranch.
“What are these for?” Sunny points to the cabins as we make the final turn for home.
“Those were the original cabins Dad’s parents used when they were building the ranch.”
“No one lives there?”
“They’re too run down. Plus, no heat or cooling. They’re as basic as anyone can get.”
I dare a quick glance at her, noting the way her mouth twists as she thinks hard. She doesn’t share it, just keeps walking for the bunkhouse. “Your family has always lived here, then?”
I appreciate that she doesn’t say ‘adoptive’ family like so many other people have. While it’s true, I don’t like remembering that I don’t belong.
“Yeah, three generations, I guess.”
“It’s not typical cattle ranching ground though, is it? Along the ocean you get mostly dairies, right?”
Once more, she surprises me with her knowledge.
“Yeah, that’s a battle we’ve fought for a long time, especially every time Dad has to sell another block of land to make ends meet.” Maybe I shouldn’t share our family hardships with a complete stranger, but if she has some professional insight on what would help, I’d be crazy to let it go. “I’ve told Dad before that our limited land and grazing areas are driving costs up because we either have to feed by bales, or we have to send the cows out to other pastures and pay those landowners. This may have worked in the past, but I feel like he’s pushing us under.”
“I take it that he doesn’t agree?”
“He doesn’t care. It’s the way he’s always done it, no need to change.”
“But aren’t you the ranch manager? He’s supposed to listen to you, right?”
I stop on the trail, not ready to go back inside while we’re talking this way. “Yes, he’s supposed to, but he’s the owner. Until I find something to take the place of ranching or bring in more money, I just sound like a gnat buzzing around and making noise.”
Her shoulders bounce once. “Then we’ll have to find a way to make that happen.” Sunny winks and starts on for the bunkhouse without me. I stay still, watching her go, still unsure if saving her on the beach was the best thing I ever did, or if I set us all up for ruin. But, if she can help me save the ranch, there will be no denying that she was supposed to be here all along.
Chapter 11
Sunny
S
Silas lets me do ilas lets me do everything on my own the next morning. I’m glad he got me up early. It takes a whole lot longer to get it all done without him helping, but by the time Cookie shouts from the bunkhouse that breakfast is hot, I’ve got everyone ready to go.
It’s the start of many mornings on my own. I have a few hitches right off the bat, switching Houston’s tack, saddling the wrong horse for Buck, but nothing that would get me kicked out. It starts to become easier with time too. The routine settles in. Wake up, dress and ready myself before the others wake up, get the horses ready, eat breakfast, get everyone out on their day before I set to work cleaning stalls and waters, not to mention straightening the tack shed. Cookie and I eat lunch together most days. He’s all too happy to have some company, though I’m surprised he doesn’t press me for more information on my past and identity.
Everyone starts to trickle in around twilight, some before, some after. I catch the horses, remove the tack, check for injuries and soreness because I can’t help it, and turn the horses loose once they’re cleared. We feed the herd as a group, and I finally pour my tired body back into a chair around the dinner table around seven.
I learn a few new things too. For instance, only Buddy’s horse, Chief, and five other horses sleep in the stalls. The rest stay in the corral. It doesn’t take long to figure out that other than Cricket and Chief, the rest of the privileged horses don’t do much work either. I turn them out to the corral all day, but at night they come in to sleep. Once Ransom, Buck’s horse, is healed, Cricket returns to her life of leisure. Finally, unable to hold back my curiosity, I ask Austin while we’re feeding.
“The horses that sleep in the barn, why don’t they get ridden?”
Austin grins and shrugs, “They’re Ms. Clara’s horses.”
He tosses a flake of hay in a feeder and moves on like that answer should satisfy me.
It doesn’t.
“She doesn’t ride?”
He frowns and shakes his head, shoving a bucket of grain my way. “I’ve never seen it, and I’ve been here five years.”
