Page 100 of We Redeemed the Rain

“No, it’s not. I can do it. If there is anything else essential, you can tell me. When I finish, I’ll help you dig.”

“No.”

“Tag—”

“You’renotdigging, Bea. Everything you just mentioned is gonna keep you busy past dinner. Catchin’ horses alone will be hours of your time. And most of ‘em won’t even bother comin’ to you.”

“I’ll get those mint treats. They like those.”

“That’ll help a little…maybe. Cook can get the mares.”

“Okay.”

We stared at the puddle for about ten more seconds until Tag muttered, “Let’s go.”

The sun finally stopped frying us and dipped behind the horizon. I filled the umpteenth bucket of water in the back of the Ranger, my arms shaking with exhaustion and the soft palms of my hands stinging from hard labor.

After we had fed the horses this morning, we tried to fill the troughs. The stream from the faucets was barely a trickle, sending panic through Tag. In the Texas heat, the most important thing for his horses and sheep waswater.The new agenda for the day was to get water to the animals at any cost and get the pipe fixed.

The process of transporting water from the barn hose to the pastures was painstakingly slow. I had found twelve two gallon buckets and nine five gallon buckets in the barn and bungee cords. I bungeed all the buckets in place the best I could, filled them, drove three miles per hour out to the pastures, backed as close as possible to the troughs, dragged each one to the end of the truck bed and poured it in.

Then repeated the process all over again.

I lost count of how many trips I’d made. Dozens. By the time I hadone trough partially filled, the horses would come by and almost drink it empty. It was getting dark, and I’d done little else besides water duty.

Tag hadn’t even tried to stop me. He knew they would suffer heat stroke, and he couldn’t do it alone. Thankfully, Hank stepped in to help. He drove to San Antonio for the parts Tag needed and mucked the stalls and did some other routine care for the horses. Hank was a godsend, honestly.

Since I was alone on the ranch, Tag had me run to the barn and get the walkie talkies. I had one strapped to my hip, and Tag had the other in case there was trouble or an emergency.

Occasionally, I checked on him. With one hand, I held the barn hose over the buckets, letting it blast full speed. With the other, I lifted the walkie to my face. Both arms screamed in pain and my thumb cramped as I held the speak button.

“You alive?”

A few seconds passed, then his staticy response came. “I think so.”

“Need more water yet?”

Pause. “No.”

“The troughs are all about half full. I think that’ll be good through the night.”

“Yeah. Should be.”

“You need to eat, Tag.”

“Not ‘til I’m done.”

“Okay. You getting close then?”

Another long pause. “Hope so.”

“I’m going to make dinner.”

“Good.”

“Want me to bring you some?”

“I’ll just have a plate when I get in.”

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