Page 56 of We Redeemed the Rain

Tag

The drive back to the ranch blurred against the noise in my head. My thoughts spun, spiraled. The past three nights had thrown off the center of gravity in my world. Everything felt off-kilter. My mind, my heartbeat, my ability to breathe. Moment by moment I was pulled toward a panic attack; I could feel the current sweeping around me, dragging me off solid footing. And there was never a more inconvenient time.

I found myself bargaining with the universe.Get me through the next few weeks and then I’m free. You can have at me all you want as soon as she leaves.

Bea and my pride aside, I couldn’t have an episode right now. Without Jesse, everything rested on my shoulders. He was my only employee aside from an old guy, Hank, who only worked Saturday through Monday to help out while I worked the rodeos.

Me versus forty horses, twelve sheep, sixteen chickens, eighty acres, and a fleet of equipment that needed maintenance every other day.

I should've hired someone to help me while Jesse was out of town, but his vacation was paid—as it should be—and my financeshad zero wiggle room. As the ranch downsized, so did my payroll. Meadowbrook barely made ends meet as it was.

More often than not, I didn’t take a paycheck. After bills, payroll, taxes, the vet, maintenance, and all the other overhead expenses…there were pennies left for me. The invisible current picked up in speed and strength. I tried to take a deep breath and change the topic in my head. Thinking about money or what Bea might think of me if she knew how worthless my business was would quicken the inevitable.

The one shred of hope in this good-for-nothing weekend was I had the wherewithal to get American Pie’s ride on video. Got her eight seconds on my phone. It was the best she ever had. I could use it to apply for theProfessional Rodeo Cowboys Association. Pro would change things. And American Pie had a fighting chance.

About ten minutes from home, I downshifted the semi to stop at a four-way. The gear stick felt stiff in my hand. I leaned back, pulling my weight against it. It shifted down to first—barely.

When it was time for me to accelerate, I grunted and pulled the clutch, muttering a string of profanities as it resisted the shift. The stick grew stiffer with every gear change and my anxiety shot sky high. I barked at Siri to call Bea.

“Hey!”

“Bea, stay on my tail and turn your flashers on.”

“Oh no, what’s wrong?”

“The clutch is goin’ out.”

“What?!”

“Yeah. I’m not gonna to stop at any four-ways unless there are other cars.”

I let her go, straining to pull the semi into third.

Ten minutes later, I hopped down to the grass and slammed the door, temper at an all-time high. I bought the thing three months ago.Three.Felt like a slap in the face. I already owned the trailer, thank goodness. But I paid sixtygrandfor the semi. Worked my ass off for it and it had the audacity to lose the clutch within the first three months.

Bea parked the sheep next to me and scurriedaround. “You okay?”

“No.” I lifted my hat and ran a hand through my damp hair. I’d worked up a sweat forcing it to switch gears. “If it’s gotta be replaced, it’s gonna cost me a small fortune.”

“Maybe it’s a small part and not the whole thing needing replacing?” She shoved her hands into the pockets of her cut-off jean shorts. Pretty sure she’d cut the legs off them that very morning when she’d asked if I had scissors or a razor. Her cheeks were still bright red from her burn, but less so than Saturday. “You don’t have a warranty or anything on it?”

I froze. “You know what? I think I actually do.”

“Good!”

“I’ll just have to find the paperwork.” When I magically found a pocket of spare time.

Eighteen hour days loomed ahead of me. And now I needed to find warranty papers in my disorganized files, make phone calls, get my diesel mechanic, Mike, out here to look at the semi, and more.

I realized my chest was heaving. I took a deep, steadying breath to try and calm down. Meadowbrook had seen worse. I’d seenmuchworse.

I could do this.

Still, panic my Prozac could never fully eradicate, crept its way into my chest, wrapping a band of tension around my ribcage—the current now hot and fierce.

A warm hand on my forearm jolted me out of my thoughts.

“Tag?” I turned to find Bea’s brown eyes studying my face. A soft crease pulled between her brows. She lightly squeezed. “What can I do? Can I help in any way? I know it’s kind of you versus the ranch right now.”

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