Page 12 of Sweet Beloved

“What do you want for yourself?” I ask.

Slate hands me the wire and a set of gloves. “I don’t know, but I’ve been thinking about it a lot. I get good grades. I think I could get into college if I wanted. But I like it out here.”

I wind the wire around and around, securing the top section. It takes longer than normal because I need a second. Never in my life before Freya did I think my children would have the opportunity to go to college. I barely have more than an eighth grade education. Everything I have is because I taught myself the ins and outs of business, buckled down, and worked for it.

“There are colleges out here,” I say. “And if I parcel up the land, you’d have your portion when you got back.”

He nods, jaw working.

“I get it,” I say quietly. “It’s a big decision.”

He jerks his head in a nod. “What would you have done?”

I rise, my leg aching where I got stabbed twice the year I met Freya. The moon is a pale disk in the sky. Everything is quiet, save for the frogs chirruping in the pond in the lower cow pasture.

Truthfully, I never considered leaving. Back then, I had no prospects, no concept I could reach beyond the little I had and ask for more. I could argue that the day I laid eyes on Freya was when I got brave enough to dream of a real future.

I clear my throat. “I didn’t have a vision,” I say.

That crease in his forehead appears again. “Nothing?”

“My dream was to put food in my stomach,” I say. “And get out from under the thumb of people who hurt me. That was about it.”

The corner of his mouth turns up. “That ups the ante for me, huh?”

I shake my head. “Nobody will fault you if you want a simple life. Both Freya and I ended up picking that for ourselves when we did have a choice. If you want a wife, a quarter of this ranch, that’s a good choice too.”

His face is sober as he watches me get more wire and finish wrapping up, pulling the opening in the fencing shut. I gather everything while he ties it off. Then, we mount up and head back at a slow pace. It’s pretty dark now, even with the lantern. The horses take it easy as they move over the rocky path.

“I guess I have a lot of thinking to do,” Slate finally says.

“Yeah, I guess you do,” I agree. “Ryder Ranch is rural, even compared to Sovereign Mountain and Carter Farms. It took me a while to find somebody to start a family with. That’s something to consider.”

He nods, eyes narrowed.

“But you’re young,” I assure him. “And waiting isn’t a bad thing.”

He nods again, and I can tell he’s lost in his thoughts. We ride down the hill in silence and put the horses away in the dark barn. In the dark, the windows glow gold. Through them, I see Red and Remington in the living room. Gage must have gone to bed already. Red is laying upside down on the couch, reading a book. Remington has the TV going, his controller out, playing one of his games. There’s a single light on upstairs, the one in our bedroom. My wife is likely sitting at her vanity, braiding her curls for the night.

It won’t always be this way. I breathe in, holding it.

But for tonight, it is. And that’s enough.

We go inside and Slate says goodnight. I turn out all the lights and give the younger boys a warning to shut the TV and fireplace down before bed. Then, I head up the stairs that creak now from constant use.

Freya is right where I knew she would be: sitting at her vanity, hair braided, her dressing gown slipping to reveal her bare shoulder. I come up behind her, putting my palm on her neck to bend her head back. Her mouth is soft. I kiss it thoroughly and let her go, going to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Did you get the fence all done?” she asks.

“For now. We’ll need to replace a short section,” I say, pulling my boots off.

She gets up and goes to stand between my knees. Her energy is off, distracted. I put my hands on her waist, just holding her.

“I worry running a business will change everything,” she confesses. “I love things the way they are. I don’t want to mess that up.”

My mind goes back to my conversation with Slate. I felt the same way on the ride back, but I also have the perspective to know there’s no fighting change and winning. Time is a swift river, and there’s no point in resistance.

“Hey, sweetheart, look at me,” I say gently.

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