Page 4 of Rust and Stardust

Pa gave my shoulder a final squeeze before mounting his horse again.

“I’ll see ya up at the house,” he said, turning the mare back in that direction. “Mabel’s cookin’ up chicken-fried steak, and you know how she is about being late to supper.”

With a wave of his hand, he turned and rode off towards the house that was out of sight. I watched him go, a knot forming in my stomach. The thought of facing the whole town at the fair made me queasy, but disappointing Pa wasn't much better. And that thought of running into Amber May again made me shudder. She was the whole reason I avoided town as much as possible these days. I wasn’t sure I could face her after breaking her heart on the midway that day.

I turned back to the fence, running my hand along the rough wood of the new post. The ranch had been in our family for generations. Every inch of this land held memories - of long summer days spent riding horses, of cattle drives under starry skies, of quiet moments shared with Pa as we mended fences just like this one. It was more than just land; it was our legacy.

But lately, it had started to feel like a cage.

I shook my head, trying to clear away the thoughts. There was work to be done, and dwelling on things I couldn't change wouldn't help. I gathered up my tools and put them into Willow’s saddlebags. She was more than ready to get going, too. The moment my foot hit that stirrup, she was already walking.

“Hold on a damn second,” I cursed, swinging the rest of my body up into the saddle. “Impatient cow,” I muttered.

Willow stopped dead in her tracks and swung her head around to stare at me with one large, disapproving eye. Damn horse was too smart for her own good.

“Sorry,” I grumbled. “Now come on. Let’s go home.”

She huffed but followed my lead as I turned her toward home. It was a short ride and as Willow and I crested the ridge, the familiar sight of the Turner homestead came into view. The old two-story farmhouse stood proud against the Texas sky, its white paint gleaming in the late afternoon sun. I’d just repainted it that spring, in fact. The red barn beside it was a stark contrast, its weathered boards telling tales of countless storms weathered and cattle sheltered. That was on my to-do list. Frank kept saying he was going to take care of it for me, but being a man near seventy, I didn’t particularly want him on a ladder thirty feet off the ground.

I guided Willow towards the barn, the smell of hay and leather growing stronger as we approached. As I dismounted and led her inside, I could hear the distant clatter of pots and pans from the house. Mabel, our housekeeper, cook, and Frank’s wife, was likely putting the finishing touches on dinner. As Pa had said, being late was not an option. Mabel didn’t like her hard work getting cold. But being early was just as bad. The dining table was in the kitchen, and she had a rule about being in her space when she was working.

After settling Willow in her stall and giving her a good brush down, I filled her rack with fresh hay and fed her for the night. She made sure to tell me she appreciated it by giving me a nudge in the shoulder with her soft muzzle. That was her way of showing affection, always had been. Once she was settled, I made my way to the house. The screen door creaked as I entered, the sound as familiar as my own heartbeat.

“That you, Beau?” Mabel called from the kitchen. “Supper’s ready.”

“Just let me wash up,” I called back, hanging my hat on the hook by the door.

“Make it quick, darlin’. Don’t want your steak getting cold.”

I trudged up the stairs to my bathroom, eager to wash away the day's grime. The cool water felt heavenly on my sun-baked skin as I scrubbed my hands and face. Grabbing a towel from the rack, I dried myself off, making sure I got every last bit of dirt. I glanced up into the mirror as I put the towel away. I saw the same reflection I always did - tousled blonde hair, blue eyes, and tanned skin peppered with freckles. But tonight, there was something different in those eyes. A restlessness I couldn't quite shake. Why did Pa have to bring up the fair again? I just wanted to leave all that behind me, to forget that it ever happened. But maybe he was right. Maybe I was just running from the truth. One I didn’t want to face.

Sighing, I changed into a clean shirt and headed back downstairs. The smell of Mabel's cooking hit me full force as I entered the kitchen, making my stomach growl. Pa was already seated at the table, Frank beside him, both of them eyeing the steaming plates piled high with gravy that Mabel was setting down.

“There you are,” Mabel said, giving me a warm smile. “Sit yourself down before these two jackals gobble up your dinner for ya.”

“What is this?” Pa said, stabbing his for through something green and holding it aloft. I couldn’t help but smile as I saw the steaming piece of broccoli. Pa hated green food.

“It’s good for ya and you’ll eat it,” she shot back without looking. The woman had eyes in the back of her head.

“I don’t want it.”

Frank and I exchanged a nervous look as Mabel rounded on Pa.

“Jackson Montgomery Turner,” she growled.

Uh-oh. Full name. That was never good. Pa immediately cowered in fear as she put her hands on her hips and gave him a look that could have killed a weaker man.

“Don’t you think for one second I didn’t hear about your results from the doctor last week,” she snapped. “Your cholesterol is through the roof and you’re one good meal away from being on an operating table.” She stepped up to him, pointing a threatening finger at his plate. “You will eat every bite of thatbroccoli, ya hear? I thought I’d wean you off the fried stuff slow. But if you’re gonna be a nuisance, we’ll go straight to kale and grapefruit.”

Pa swallowed hard. “This is fine. I love broccoli.” He took a bite, wincing like a little kid forced to eat his veggies. “It’s… ugh… great.”

“Why do I have broccoli, Mabel?” Frank asked, looking at his own plate.

“Because ain’t nobody in this house going on a diet alone. If one of you’s got a problem, the other two aren’t far behind.” She put hers and my plate on the table, both with a bigger helping of broccoli than the others. I was always better when it came to veggies, anyway. “Now eat up and stop acting like a couple of spoiled cattle dogs.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Pa and Frank said in unison, but they didn’t look happy about it.

Mabel led us in a quick prayer before we started to eat. I wasn’t the religious type, and honestly, neither was Mabel. But she liked her traditions, and she was brought up praying before a meal by her folks. When I asked her about it, she said it gave people a sense of unity and togetherness. As far as she was concerned, the world could use a little more comradery regardless of religion. Sometimes I thought she was right.

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