Page 8 of Back in the Saddle

Megan was quiet for a minute, deep in her own thoughts. Finally, her lip quivered, and she said in a shaky undertone, ‘He’s going to die, isn’t he?’

Hunter instinctively put his hands on her shoulders. ‘Meg, look at me. Please.’

She raised her glistening eyes.

‘Dad has a chance. The oncology team has a plan for him, and we just need to be patient. I think it might work,’ he added, seeing that she was still on the verge of tears.

No matter how bleak their father’s prognosis was, Hunter was going to do what he could to keep her tears at bay. She was still so young, and she loved their father so much. Losing him would break her into a million pieces. Alan Jackson loved all his children, but Megan was the apple of his eye. He’d give her the world if he could. She reciprocated this love in every fibre of her being. Daddy was her hero, her favourite person. He’d got sick when she was just starting high school, and it had distorted her world.

The diagnosis of metastatic melanoma, a type of skin cancer that had now spread to his brain, had pulled the ground from underneath the Jackson family’s feet.

Over the past four years, Megan and Hunter had become even closer than before. Shared pain tends to do that to people.

‘Do you really believe that?’ she asked.

Hunter nodded. ‘I do.’

He didn’t, not the way he wished he did. But this was his burden to carry. Megan didn’t need to know that. If he could put on a brave face for her, protect her somehow, he was going to do just that. Even if it only brought her comfort for a short while.

‘There you both are! I was going to walk down to the barn myself if you didn’t turn up in the next ten minutes!’ Mary hurriedly shooed them inside and closed the door.

Hunter gave his mom a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek. ‘Hi, Mom.’

She swatted him away with a white fluffy towel. ‘Hi, honey.’

Mary Jackson was a petite woman with short, dark hair. As he hugged her, Hunter noticed her grey roots were more pronounced than the last time he saw her last week. He hadn’t remembered ever seeing a single grey hair on his mother’s head. Mary took pride in her appearance and visited the hair salon regularly.

Hunter supposed it hadn’t been on top of her mind lately. Not that it mattered to him, but the realisation that his mother must be so worried she hadn’t done something that he knew brought her joy lodged another stone in his throat.

‘I told you I was going to bring him, and I did.’ Meg walked up to the stove. ‘Mmm, mac’n’cheese. I love when you serve steak with it on the side.’ Her wide smile made Hunter chuckle.

‘I also made some fries for your daddy. He said they’ve been on his mind for the past few days. And there’s also some salad.’

‘Even better, I can eat both!’ Megan exclaimed happily, sitting at the table, which was already set for dinner.

Mary shook her head in disapproval, but Hunter saw a small smile on her lips. She put on checkered oven mitts and took out the tray of golden, crispy fries.

‘Do you need any help?’ Hunter asked, looking around the kitchen.

Mary shook her head. ‘No, it’s all right, honey. Everything’s ready. Sit down and relax. You had a long day.’

He did as she said, taking the seat opposite Megan.

‘Al! Dinner’s ready!’ Mary shouted in the living room’s direction.

The distant sound of TV stopped, and a moment later, Alanwalked into the dining area. If someone who knew him before he got ill saw him now, they would never recognise him. He used to be called ‘Big Al’ by everybody in town due to his height and muscular build. In the past four years, Alan had lost close to forty-five pounds. He rarely had an appetite, and when he did, he often wasn’t able to eat much. But stopping chemotherapy had helped a lot with that, and he was enjoying his food again.

Hunter made a mental note to take his father shopping for some new, better-fitting clothes when they were next in Oklahoma City.

‘Ooh, steak and fries, that’s a Friday night treat.’ Alan smiled happily as his wife passed him the first plate laden with food. Then, he turned towards Hunter. ‘How’s Dallas doing? That horse cost us a fortune. I hope he has as much potential as the old Raffery sang about.’

‘He’s coming on great. There’s definitely potential. I’m thinking he might be ready to go to the Deepwater Springs rodeo.’

‘That’s what, less than three months from now? You’re sure?’

‘If we keep making progress, absolutely. It’d be a good occasion to see how he performs in a smaller event. Then maybe next year, we can take him further.’

Alan seemed to be satisfied with this as he responded merely with a curt nod and concentrated on cutting his steak.

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