Page 45 of Ace of Spades
Weston puts his food down, setting his arms on the table as he turns to face me fully.
“Have you ever been camping? Not the glamping or whatever y’all call it, but actual open-air camping, with bugs and snakes and all?”
“No, but—”
“Have you ever worked cattle? Spent two full days in the saddle without a break? Shit, have you ever even gone that long without showering?”
The group around us continues their meals in silence, letting Weston take the lead on this one.
“I want to go,” I narrow my eyes at him, my chin tilting up in defiance. “I’m a good rider, and I would make a damn good ranch hand. What was it that you told me the other day about my drive? I can promise you I’d be more useful out there than in the kitchen, and you know it.”
“Hey, she can take my place,” Chance butts in, throwing his hands up in surrender. “I could sure use the day off after all of that driving.”
Weston looks back to me, studying me curiously.
“Fine. But you’re staying with me the whole time, I want to keep an eye on you.”
“Fine,” I agree, getting back to my meal.
“Better be up and ready bright and early, we’re heading out right after breakfast tomorrow.”
I nod my head, excitement rolling through me at the win. I was going on a cattle drive. And I knew I should probably be a bit nervous at the prospect of it, but all I could feel was pure joy. Maybe this is what I needed: Open air, and some peace and quiet to help me relax. I might not be a ranch hand yet, but I had grit, and I couldn’t wait to rub Weston’s face in my success after I proved him wrong about me.
By the end of the first day’s journey, my ass was basically numb. Not that I would let Weston hear me complain, I would never hear the end of it. So I kept my discomfort to myself, and I even insisted on sleeping on a cot in the open air and leaving the only tent to the two other female ranch hands.
Had I swallowed a few bugs in my sleep? Most likely. Was I going to let Weston hear me complain? Nope, not happening. I was rather proud of myself, not that cattle wrangling took much work. It was definitely easier than I had thought, andmostly just consisted of each of our pairs flanking the perimeter of the herd, and occasionally chasing a loose calf down if they strayed too far from the group. Nothing I couldn’t handle.
If I’d taken the time to look back yesterday, I might have noticed the views. Now, heading back towards the ranch, we had the perfect birdseye of the entire property, the buildings far off in the distance as we made our way down the mountain, the clearing stretching ahead of us as the scent of pines and cedar trees wafted from the woods around us.
I watched one of the smaller calves slip from the group, getting a bit too curious as he strayed towards the treeline, and I nudged Blackjack after it.
“I got this one,” I tell Weston, feeling confident after having seen the others do this a countless number of times throughout the hike downhill.
“Let me do it,” Weston argues, the sound of Lark’s hooves beating behind me as he rides past me.
“Weston, I said I got this,” I tell him, pushing to move Blackjack past him and his mare.
“Hailey, I said stay back.”
“Will you just trust me for once? I can do this,” I exclaim, taking the lead once more as the two of us pick up pace. The calf sees us approaching, spooking at our rapid arrival and running off into the woods.
“You see what you just did?” Weston groans. “Go back to the group, let me handle this.”
“WhatIdid? If you had just let me get it we wouldn’t be having this issue right now!”
“When you’re out here, you listen to me, Sorrels. This shit can get dangerous, and if I can’t trust you to listen, you won’t be coming out here again,” he throws back, riding into the woods with me hot in his heels.
“I’m just trying to help,” I argue.
“Well stop trying,” he barks.
Oh, I’ll show him.
We find it down by the riverbank, the young calf calling for help from his mother as he struggles to get back up the rocky incline, the rapids rushing behind him. The spot he stands on is small, not wide enough for our horses to get down there.
“Shit,” I breathe, Weston pulling his horse up beside me as I swing my leg over the saddle, untying the rope from my saddlehorn as I slowly approach the youngling, my feet scooting to the edge of the rocks as I look for a way to climb down there.
“Hailey,” Weston calls, dismounting Lark as he comes to stand behind me. “We’ll have to find another way down, it’s too dangerous right here.”
