Page 13 of Steadfast

Maeve sat at the kitchen table that evening, sipping her coffee. At that point, it was unclear how much she had consumed that day, yet she still felt a nagging tiredness looming. It had been a busy few days, and with the rains on the way and the Rodeo Nationals looming, there would be no extra time to relax.

The thick binder of interior options lay at arm’s reach, a reminder of her obligations to the church. She pulled on the corner, sliding it towards her across the smooth oak tabletop.

Even the binder waswhite.

“What am I supposed to do with all this?” she muttered to herself, bristling as she paged through the forty-seven options for hardwood flooring.

Tucking the binder under her arm, she pushed her chair back and made her way to the foyer, stowing it safely on the little shelf above the hat racks.

Out of sight, out of mind.

She convinced herself that she would certainly pick it up later when she had a free moment and the patience to give it the attention it deserved.

Maeve pulled on her tan hat and stepped out the front door. It was her custom to check in on the boys and ranch hands at the end of the day to ensure everything on her extensive daily checklist had been accomplished. She was later than usual and expected to saddle up and ride out to the South Pasture, where the men were likely already doing their evening practice.

When she pulled open the heavy barn door, she noticed the lights were on, and Sawyer was still hard at work. He was standing at the mini forge, and drawing out a glowing hot horseshoe from the fire with heavy metal tongs. Placing it on the anvil, he began striking it into shape. The ringing sound of the hammer on hot metal echoed through the barn, causing the horses to shuffle around nervously in the stalls.

Maeve stuffed her hands in her pockets and leaned her shoulder on the wooden post, observing Sawyer work with expert precision. It was a skill he had learned working alongside his father for so many years.

He gave the red hot horseshoe one last glance. Nodding with approval, he dunked it in a barrel of water that sizzled and boiled as it cooled the hot metal.

“Looks good to me,” Maeve commented, with a glimmer of pride at Sawyer’s attention to detail.

If he was surprised by her presence, he certainly didn’t show it as he maintained his quiet confidence. Even as a child, hewas known by the ranch hands asAbel’s little buddy, ready and eager to do whatever was asked of him.

Maeve choked back her emotion at the memory that flashed through her mind, and stifled the quiver in her voice. “I was expecting you to be out at the arena by now?”

“I was planning to head there in a minute. It’s just—” he paused and avoided her gaze. “Dad’s horse threw a shoe today.”

Maeve didn’t speak about Abel often, it was just too difficult. She knew that her silence had not gone unnoticed.

She tilted her head as she stepped towards the graying mare. “This old girl,” she said, with a shallow sigh and slight smile. She gave the horse a soft pat as Sawyer went to work hammering the shoe onto the hoof with a loud, tinny clang. Although the mare had a gentle spirit, Maeve couldn’t help but let her mind wander as she recalled that the animal hadn’t always been peaceful and docile.

In days past, this very horse had a reputation with every farrier in the county as impossible to shoe, leaving deep, purple bruises on anyone with the nerve to take the job. She was one of the reasons they had started doing the job in-house in the first place.

Abel loved that horse.

“Thanks for taking care of her, Sawyer,” she said. Pulling a treat from a nearby bin, she let the horse lap it up from her hand.

“The way you spoil these animals, Mom,” he said with a quick disapproving shake of his head.

“This one deserves it,” she replied with a smile, giving the horse one last gentle pat. “Have you seen Oakleigh?”

Sawyer grimaced, pointing his thumb to the backdoor of the barn. “She was glued to that screen of hers,” he said. “Gettin’ in my way as usual.”

Maeve gave him an understanding nod and squeezed his shoulder. She pushed the barn door open, and sure enough, Oakleigh was standing just outside.

Leaning on a pitchfork in the glow of her phone, the young woman was fielding questions as they flitted across her screen. When Oakleigh noticed her, a playful gleam spread across her face. She knew just what would trigger her comments section, not to mention Maeve’s nerves.

“Hey, it’s the boss lady.” The reactions came firing rapidly. She beckoned to Maeve, “Want to answer some questions?”

Maeve threw her hand up, signaling her firm stance on the issue. She hardly ever stepped foot in front of the camera when she could avoid it.

“Not tonight, guys,” Oakleigh said, giving them an exaggerated sad face as she reacted to their disappointment. “And on that note, I’m going to call it a night, but join me tomorrow. I have a special guest that I think you’ll be pretty excited to see.” She signed off and stuffed her phone into her pocket.

“You know, Maeve,” she raised an eyebrow. “You’re going to have to talk to your fans sometime. I think they might actually love you even more than they loveme.”

“Nonsense,” Maeve shook her head as they headed back to the house. “I’m not going to bother cooking,” she informed her. “The boys are going to be late practicing tonight, and—I’m just tired,” she said, finally relaying the real reason.

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