Page 38 of Whiskey and Wildfire

“I’ve been trying to make sense of all this,” he said, gesturing to the paperwork. “And for some reason, all the numbers aren’t adding up.” He glanced up at the clock decorated with old-fashioned cowboy scenes on the wall. “The bank is already closedtoday, but I’ll need to call them tomorrow to figure some of this out. There’s bills here that need payin’, but I’m not sure how much I can spend yet.”

I couldn’t help but grin a little. His accent had a tendency to come back when he was tired. I’d noticed it when he fell asleep on me the first time. But now, in his exhausted state, it was becoming more pronounced.

“You’ll get it straightened out,” I said, my hand squeezing his shoulder reassuringly. “If your daddy can run this ranch, you should be able to without any issues. You had that big city job after all. That’s gotta be way harder than this.”

Logan let out a dry chuckle. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But this...” He gestured at the papers again. “This is different. It’s not just numbers on a page. It’s people’s livelihoods. It’s my family’s legacy.”

I nodded, understanding the weight of responsibility he was feeling. “I know it’s overwhelming, but you don’t have to figure it all out tonight. Why don’t we take a break? My mom’s bringing over some dinner soon and I know you haven’t eaten all day.”

Logan’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Your mom? You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to,” I said softly. “You need to eat, and I’ve been run off my feet all day with the chores. It seemed like the best solution. Besides, she offered before I could even ask.”

He stood up slowly, stretching his tall frame. “I appreciate it. I haven’t even thought about food today.”

Logan’s stomach growled loudly, as if on cue. He looked down, a sheepish grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I guess I’m hungrier than I realized.”

I couldn’t help but smile back. It was good to see a hint of the old Logan peeking through, even if just for a moment.

“Come on,” I said, gently tugging his arm. “Let’s get you out of this office and into some fresh air. We can wait for my mom on the porch.”

Logan nodded, following me out of the stuffy room. As we stepped onto the porch, the cool evening breeze washed over us. The sun was setting, painting the sky in brilliant shades of orange and pink. The cattle lowed softly in the distance, a comforting sound that seemed to ground us both.

We settled into the old wooden rocking chairs, the familiar creak of the boards beneath us a soothing sound. For a while, we just sat there in comfortable silence, watching the sun sink lower on the horizon. The tension seemed to slowly drain from Logan’s shoulders as he gazed out at the land his family had tended for generations.

“You know,” he said softly, breaking the quiet, “when I was a kid, I used to sit out here with my dad every evening. He’d tell me stories about the ranch, about how my great-great-great-grandpa started it with nothing but a few head of cattle and a dream.” He chuckled softly. “He made his way out west, fighting against the wilds and the…” his voice trailed off suddenly.

“The natives?” I added, glancing his way.

“I… uh… am starting to realize how bad these stories sound now that I’m saying them out loud.”

“Every family around here has a story like that,” I said softly. “It’s not your fault. You weren’t the one forcing my people out of this place.” I looked up at him again, seeing the horror on his face. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“With your eyes all full of pity. I’m a strong Cherokee man. I don’t need it.” I let out a long sigh. “It would be great if the government lived up to their promises, but I think we both know how that’s gone so far.”

Logan was silent for a long moment. “Do… Do you ever hate people for it?”

It took me a few seconds to gather my thoughts. “Sometimes,” I replied, deciding to give him nothing but honesty. “I hate what it’s done to my people. Back on the reservation… there’s a lot of problems. We don’t have enough money, enough room, enough houses, enough jobs… People like my father turn to the bottle as soon as they can because the stress is just too much. White folks think we’re rolling in dough because some tribes have casinos, but the truth is, once it’s split up among everyone, it’s not much. And definitely not enough to live on.”

“I… I didn’t know that.”

“Why would you? It’s not like they teach it in schools.”

“It… It feels wrong though.”

“It is,” I said truthfully. “And that’s why I left. The reservation I grew up on was a mess. Or at least my home was.” I let out a long sigh, shaking my head. “Sorry. I’m being a huger downer right now. You’re already worried about your dad and I’m just making you feel worse.”

“No,” Logan said, placing a hand on my knee. “I want to know you and your story.” He glanced up, his green eyes fixing on mine. “I want to know what makes you, you.”

I felt a warmth spread through my chest at Logan’s words. His sincerity was evident in the intensity of his gaze. For a moment, I was lost in those green eyes, feeling a connection deeper than I’d ever experienced before.

“Well,” I said softly, “there’s a lot to tell. But maybe we can save the heavy stuff for another time. Your plate’s already pretty full right now.”

Logan nodded, his hand still resting on my knee. “I’d like that. To hear more, I mean. When things settle down a bit. And when you’re ready. I don’t want to rush you.”

The sound of tires on gravel broke the moment. We both turned to see my mom’s beat-up Chevy pulling into the driveway, kicking up dust in the fading light.

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