Page 12 of Baker
“I don’t know texts good other than that one from before. I slid a note under all the doors. You get told in person.”
“Ah okay. Old-fashioned paper texts.”
She smiled, then returned to the kitchen. I headed out, eager to possibly get a chance to talk with Hanley again. Talk meaning flirt. Maybe. If I could work up the nerve. The sun was still hiding, so I made my way to the stable with dwindling moonlight. Which was fine. I knew this ranch like I knew my own body. I could probably make my way to each outbuilding blindfolded without incident.
As I neared the stable, I began whistling an old Porter Wagoner song and then gave a sharp rap on the door. When only the horses replied, I yanked open the door and stepped inside. Cool air rushed in with me, sweeping away the smell of barn and horse. I reached back to close the door and flick on the lights. The little space that Hanley had set up camp in was empty of all his gear.
“Anyone here?” I shouted, thinking that perhaps he had gone up into the hayloft.
Prissy replied with a whinny as did the other several horses in here. A few pigeons in the rafters cooed softly. No sound of a human, though. Damn. Guess he was an early riser as well. With nothing to be done for my plans of making doe eyes at the man, I grabbed a pitchfork, turned on the beat-up radio sitting by my ATV, and got to work. The hour went quickly, as it always does. I had just turned and replaced the wheelbarrow to its spot when the first shot rang out. Peeking through a fly-speckled window, I saw that the sun was coloring the sky bright pink. Over by the old oak stood Granny, a rifle in her hand, taking aim at the second of ten empty soda cans lined up on an old wooden fence.
I walked outside, leaned on the barn, and chuckled softly as light after light on the second floor flared to life. Granny fired off another shot. Then another. Then another. Then she cussed. Then she took aim again.
Arms crossed, foot resting on the metal siding, I rather enjoyed seeing my siblings rushing out onto the porch in their jammies and bare tootsies.
“What is it?!” Dodge shouted over the sound of target practice and early morning robins coming awake. “Is it a bear?”
“Nah,” I yelled from my observation spot. “Just Calamity Jane over there trying to hit a pop can. She has hopes of joining a wild west show.”
They all gaped at me. Bella drew a fancy pink robe tighter around her lean frame, eyes as wide as dinner plates.
“Don’t go telling them that. I know there ain’t no wild west shows. I just want to shoot good in case that damn fox shows up to steal another chicken.” With that, Granny fired off another round. It went wide, hitting an empty wooden barrel that would never hold water again due to all the bullet holes in it. “I swear this damn sight is off! Baker, sight that in for me, will you?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I shouted in reply. The gun was sighted in more than any gun in the county.
She turned to the four rumpled people on the front porch. “Since you all are up, I’ll start breakfast. Pancakes, eggs, and sausage. Baker, check the coop for eggs. The girls are known to get up with the chickens.” Granny tittered at her joke, then clomped back to the house, her oversized rubber boots slopping around on her feet. She made quite the fashion statement in her pajamas, a blue chore coat, and green rubber boots. Poor Bella was probably too shaken to even speak as fancy as she was.
I made a quick trip to the chicken coop to fill their waterer and check for eggs. Most of the hens were still on the roost but leaped down as soon as I opened the door to their pen. The rooster that Granny called Brewster crowed in my face. He was a nice rooster, gentle with Granny and the hens, and had once fought off a red-tailed hawk that had tried to grab one of his gals. Ever since that heroism, he was given lots of praise and extra shell corn and had grown a little chubby. But then again, who hadn’t?
Ambling to the house, I could hear the sound of male voices through the cracks around the old window. Pausing, I peeked inside to see everyone gathered at the table, talking pleasantly while Bella filled glasses with orange juice as Granny made flapjacks. They all seemed so at home. Why the hell was I having such trouble with them being here? Maybe it was just the newness of it all for them. Like when you go on vacation andeverything is hot off the fire and exciting. Then, after a week, the novelty has worn off, and it’s just another hotel room with an overused pool and crummy breakfast buffet. I would bet cash money that within a week, they all would be seriously rethinking this crazy idea to become cowboys. Then I could shoo them back to New York, Illinois, and California and get on with ranching.
Hands in my coat pockets, I entered my house, toed off my boots, hung up my coat and hat, and took a second to wash my hands in the big double sink beside the washing machine. Back when I was a toddler, Granny had a wringer washer, and it drained into the sink. Man, I used to love helping her on laundry day. Even if my fingers got pinched weekly, there was nothing more fun than feeding wet clothes into those wringers. Granny had loved that old machine. I’d had to argue and plead with her to get an automatic when her beloved Maytag had finally given up the ghost. To this day, she complains that the new washers don’t get clothes as clean as her old wringer washer had, and perhaps that was true. I didn’t spend time examining my drawers for degrees of cleanliness. I just stepped into them and pulled them over my ass.
My brothers—half-brothers—all turned to look at me when I entered the room. The aroma of maple syrup was thick on the air.
“Morning,” I grunted and grabbed a mug from the cupboard. Bella made her way over with the pot, smiled up at me, and filled my cup.
“I’m playing the role of Carla Tortelli this morning,” she said with soft humor.
“You look nothing like Rhea Perlman,” Linc tossed out and turned a soft shade of pink. A look that warred with his big, bad bear appearance. “Not that Rhea was ugly or anything. I think she was my fave onCheers, but…yeah.”
“Thank you, Lincoln,” Bella replied as we all watched this little awkward exchange take place. When Bella sashayed back to the coffeemaker, Linc stared at his coffee mug as if it held the secrets of the ancients. Even his ears were red.
I took my seat, sipped, and placed my arms on the table, mug resting in my hands. “Okay, so I’m assuming we’ve all gotten some rest and are ready to rehash Cash’s final request.”
Dodge sighed wearily. “You know, on the one hand, I would love to tell that fucker—shit, sorry, Mrs. Bastian.”
Granny waved her spatula in the air. “Don’t think twice about it. I used worse when a weasel killed my ducks.” Everyone laughed softly. “You all just talk it out in whatever words feel best.”
“Well, I guess I’m just feeling torn. On this hand, I would like to tell Cash to go fiddle himself because why should I do a damn thing he asks when he left me and my mother to struggle.” We all hummed in agreement, save for Ford, who was sipping coffee and watching us warily. “But then I do wish to get my boy away from the dirt and grime and crime. I think he’d do well here on the ranch. I’ve checked into the local schools, and while they seem to be less than what I’d like to see in terms of educational rankings, I feel that Dahn is intelligent enough to be able to help boost those low test scores.”
“I always maintained that there was no better life for a child than one that includes farming and ranching,” Granny said as she deposited a platter of pancakes onto the center of the table. “Dig in, there’s eggs coming right up.”
We all forked some flapjacks onto our plates, then passed around the butter dish and syrup dispenser.
“There’s a school on the Cherokee reservation as well. Ollie went there for his high school years. I’m not sure if non-Indigenous students can attend or not, but from what I read, it ranks well above the public schools in lots of areas. I know theyhave a great baseball and debate team. You could talk to Ollie about it as his father is somehow connected with the Bureau of Indian Education in some capacity,” Granny offered as the sizzle of eggs hitting a hot skillet filled the room.
“Thank you, I’ll certainly look into it,” Dodge replied while I cut my pancakes into bites just small enough to fit into my mouth. All this talk about schools was putting the horsewayin front of the cart, if you asked me. “I’m really hoping we can make this work. I have a rather substantial amount of cash to invest in Bastian Acres to help return it to its former glory. My partner bought out my half of the practice for a little over five million so I’m willing to help out with whatever needs to be done.”
