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"Stop scaring away my customers, old man!" West shouted with a cheerful laugh from the supply room. "Go home to Mable!"
"She's the one who sent me down here. Said I was disturbing her peace," Gus grouched, aggressively shouldering Seth aside to mop where he'd been standing. Age had withered his once stocky frame, so he couldn't move much of anything unless it wanted to be moved. Seth didn't, but he obligingly stepped aside to give the old man a thrill.
"Then sit down by the pellet stove and have some decaf," West called as he emerged from the stock room with a box in his arms and dust in his hair. "Make an appointment with Doc Stevens while you're at it. Your arthritis is making you cranky."
"Wastrels make me cranky," Gus muttered, giving Seth the evil eye before tottering off toward the cushioned chair beside the stove.
West finally caught sight of Seth and grinned. "Perfect timing, my guy! I just finished your saddle."
With Gus watching like a hawk, Seth checked his boots one more time before approaching the counter. Sunlight streamed through the front windows, catching dust motes in the air and painting the weathered floor with golden patches. It felt good to be allowed in the shop again. He loved this place. Especially its smell: the tang of leather oil mixed with bitter coffee and sweet oats. It was a comforting childhood smell that filled him with warmth.
West disappeared into the back room and returned a moment later with a saddle slung over one shoulder. He set it on the counter between them, and Seth ran a loving hand over the leather.
West hadn't just repaired the broken tree; he'd cleaned and oiled it with professional attention to detail. The leather, soft from years of hard use, had been restored to a rich, lustrous patina. Intricate hand-tooling adorned the cantle and fenders, patterns of swirling vines that were hand-stamped into the leather when his father was just a boy. Sturdy brass conchos were placed strategically along the sides to serve as attachment points. Pretty, but nothing fancy like the silver or turquoise beads of show saddles. This was a saddle designed for hard work.
Seth inherited everything when his father died: house, land, equipment, and debt. But it was this saddle he treasured most. Touching it felt like touching a piece of his father again.
"All this for only five hundred?" Seth asked in disbelief.
"Uh, yeah." West rubbed the back of his neck, sounding awkward. "It needed a lot of work, but you took good care of it. I gave you a break on labor cost."
One corner of Seth's mouth lifted in a half-smile. "You do good work, West. I appreciate it."
"Yeah, well…Gus helped." West's expression lightened when he laughed. "I'm good, but I haven't been doing it for sixty years. This saddle is nearly as old as he is."
"You didn't need to do that," Seth said, glancing over his shoulder and giving the old man a stiff nod of thanks.
Gus leaned on his mop and waved a hand dismissively. "That saddle is practically your daddy's legacy. It's seen hard riding, stampedes, wildfires, and freezing nights. It deserved a loving hand."
Seth's stomach tightened at the mention of his father. The legacy of David McCall was a heavy burden. Every mention of his name felt like a rebuke. Look at the son, folks whispered, trying to fill a great man's shadow. Soft. Too soft to rebuild everything he'd destroyed with one careless mistake. He forced a smile that didn't reach his eyes and said, "Thanks, old man."
"He's stubborn," West said through the side of his mouth, keeping his tone low. "If I'd known he was the reason you never came in anymore, I'd have had it out with him ages ago."
Seth shook his head, refusing the kindness. "He's only ever said what everybody else thinks."
West's expression twisted into one of distaste. "People talk a lot of shit," he said ironically. "The only thing that turns common sentiment around is showing them how wrong they are. Suddenly, they're all convinced they never really thought the worst of you from the start. They knew better all along. The problem was everyone else."
"It doesn't matter what people think," Seth said with a shrug. "So long as it doesn't interfere with the Double Jay."
West clapped him on the shoulder. "You're a good man, Seth. You've always been one of the smartest cowboys out there. A lot of folks still remember that."
Seth acknowledged West's kindness with a nod, but he didn't like the turn of conversation. He was grateful for the distraction when West's cell phone rang. West pulled the phone from his back pocket and frowned at the display. He shot Seth an apologetic glance and held up one finger to signal him to wait. "What's up, Celia? He…what? Where?"
Seth had focused on the saddle to give West some privacy, but something in the tone caught his attention. He cut a quick look toward West, noting his raised eyebrows and the creeping frown.
West was nodding as he listened to the other end of the call. "I'll need to close shop for a bit, but I can pick him up. Unless—" He caught Seth's eye and pulled the phone away from his ear. "Hey, you want to do me a favor? It's about Aiden."
Seth's heart skipped a beat, like it always did whenever he heard Aiden's name brought up in that tone. Aiden, finding trouble even when he wasn't looking for it. Aiden, falling through the ice. Aiden, diving off suicide rock into a lake too shallow from low rainfall. Aiden, blackout drunk, still trying to do the right thing by getting up to feed the animals in the dark?—
"What about Aiden?" he asked, blood pressure instantly spiking.
West discreetly lowered his phone, brow furrowed, and said, "Celia says he's out on Lone Hollow Road. Something about his truck being out of commission. He has a shift today at the Triple M, so someone needs to pick him up and bring him to the ranch. I can do it, but?—"
"I've got it."
West's expression was a perplexed mix of worry and relief. "You sure? It sounded like he was in a foul mood when Celia talked to him. You know what he's like when he gets spun up."
"Yeah. Some things never change," Seth said wryly. He yanked his wallet out of his back pocket and flipped his debit card onto the sales counter, so distracted that he barely felt the pinch of regret at the expense. "Run the saddle for me, and I'll take care of it."
