Page 73 of Lassoed Love

“Just a guess. I told you, stay away from ‘em boys. They’re nothing but trouble.”

I can understand why he must be thinking that. Xavier and his brother did have a bit of a reputation growing up, causing a ruckus everywhere they went, stirring up problems both at home and out.

“If he ain’t treat you right, I won’t hesitate to bring my shotty out... again.” I freeze, realising he does remember. The memory of that night when my dad wielded his shotgun.

“You remember?” I ask, my eyes widen momentarily in shock.

“Course I remember, I may not be all there, but I remember that now,” my dad responds.

My heart drops, and my expression saddens. So, he is aware he hasn’t been doing too well. Gathering courage, I bring up that night. “Dad, about that night with Xavier—” There’s a moment of heavy silence before he nods, inviting me to continue. The weight of the unspoken hangs in the air, a shared acknowledgment of the challenges we've faced. I take a deep breath, my words carefully chosen.

“I know you were just trying to protect me, but Xavier—he’s proven to not be like who he used to be. He’s... different—older, more mature. I’ve gotten to know him a bit now, and there’s moreto him than what people say.”

My dad listens, his expression a mix of sternness and curiosity. “I ain’t sayin’ he’s a bad kid, just that them Mitchells come with their own kind of trouble. You be careful, Isla,” he warns, his concern evident in his eyes.

“What trouble, Dad? You keep saying to stay away,” I ask with a raised brow.

He clears his throat, running a hand through his grey mane. “Them boys used to run riot when they were youngins. Had their fair share of stoushes…” His voice trails off, and then he mumbles something under his breath about their old man being a stubborn prick. He quickly dismisses it, not keen on laying out the dirty laundry.

I frown as I ask, “Dad, Xavier mentioned something about you and his father? What happened?”

He pauses, running a hand through his hair, before finally sighing. “We were doin’ a job together. Things got messy. Had a fallin’ out with his old man.

“But that’s ol’ news. No need for you to get bogged down’n the details. Just keep ya wits about ya, yeah?” Dad drawls.

His nonchalant response leaves me with more uncertainties and questions. That wasn’t helpful. There are pieces missing, gaps in the story that I’ll need answers to, eventually. I can feel it lingering, a mystery begging to be unravelled.

“I will, Dad. But things have changed, and I think Xavier might be someone worth giving a chance,” I explain, hoping he understands.He grunts in response, a reluctant acceptance of my words.

“He’s got you smilin’, though. I like seein’ you smile,” he says out of nowhere.

Caught off guard, I murmur back, “He’s a friend. A-a good friend… I guess.”

My dad probes further with a furrowed brow, “Just friends?” Uncertain of what to say, I merely shrug, my cheeks tinted with a blush.

“I’m proud of you, Isla. For going out and doing all that..." he waves his hand in the air, "you know, vet stuff,” he says, changing the subject suddenly.

I freeze. I can’t remember the last time my father said those words to me. I can’t even recall the last time he told me he loved me. I remain quiet as he continues.

“I may not always say it. I may not be like I used to, but I still see things, know things.” He taps the side of his temple with his index finger.

“Your mumma would be proud. It’s what she wanted for you, you know.” He nods to himself, as if reminiscing about something. Tears well up in my eyes.

“Yeah, I know, Dad,” my voice clipped from the emotions surfacing. “Thank you.” We linger in a heavy silence, a shared understanding hangs in the air.

In this unspoken moment, the gaps between us seem to narrow, and the weight of our history feels a tab bitlighter.

30

Work Song - Hozier

As a new week begins, I immerse myself back into the grind of work. The late afternoon sun beats down on our farm, a relentless force casting long shadows across the rugged landscape. With Brad back, he’s been a welcome presence, lending a hand whenever the opportunity arises. I find myself knee-deep in farm work, the tasks multiplying with each passing day. Having an extra pair of hands, especially Brad’s, proves to be an invaluable asset. Occasionally, Harrison and Michael join in, offering their assistance when they can. Liv’s been an expert at avoiding it, as always. Country girl through and through, but the farm life never quite grew on her.

We’re in the barn now, the air thick with the scent of aged wood and hay. Bradley and I are knee-deep in the grind, shuffling out old hay into wheelbarrows, creating space for the fresh bales—sweat dripping down our foreheads. Dad’s back from his Sydney trip, leaning against the barn wall with a cigarette dangling from his fingers. Buddy, loyal as ever, rests beside him. The old dog’s getting on in years, slowing down. It’s a sight that tugs at my heart.

Dad’s presence brings a mix of emotions. On one hand, there’s asense of pride working alongside him, picking up the slack he can no longer manage. On the other, I wonder when I’ll get a moment to catch my breath. The farm demands constant attention, and as much as I love it, sometimes it feels like a never-ending cycle.

As we work, I steal a glance at Dad. His eyes, weathered by years of hard work and hardship, watch us. There’s a sense of approval in his gaze, a silent acknowledgment of the responsibilities I’ve shouldered. As Bradley and I rhythmically shuffle out the old hay with well-worn rakes, the coarse fibres catch on the times before tumbling into the nearby wheelbarrows. The dust hangs in the air, caught in the rays of sunlight that filter through the openings in the barn walls.

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