Page 86 of Say the Words
“Yes, I do,” I grumbled.
“What about savings?” Dad said.
“It’s covered.”
“Ask him—”
“I’m not asking him another thing. You talk to him yourself.”
There was a muffled sound of the phone changing hands before my father’s voice boomed into my ear. “How are you holding up?”
“I’m doing fine.” I kept saying it, but no one took me at my word.
“A horse finally got you good, huh?”
Where my mother had sounded frantic with worry, my father’s voice held amusement. Another reason I wouldn’t call Bret. He shared our father’s scorn for the ranch, and thought the whole thing some experiment in living out a childish dream of being a cowboy. Bret would find my injury funny, and that would just piss me off.
“That’s about the size of it.”
“I keep trying to tell you it’s not a safe career, son. Physically or financially. There’s too many risks in what you do.” He paused, and I could have predicted his next question word for word. “Have you thought any more about putting the business side of your degree to use?”
I ground my teeth together until my jaw hurt. “I run a business already.”
Dad’s laugh came out almost a sigh, as if he found my ignorance tiring. “I mean arealbusiness.”
That qualifier turned my stomach to lead. My father wanted me to start arealbusiness, just like Delia had gone back to herreallife. Like nothing I had was legitimate or worthwhile. Just a temporary pit stop before moving on to something better.
“You could do well for yourself if you’d just apply yourself a bit more. Sell that land, split the profits with Bret, and go into the management side of things.”
I gripped the pen railing so hard my knuckles turned white. “My answer’s the same as it always is.”
“I thought this would have shaken a little sense into you, son.”
“Give me that back,” Mom said, followed by more muffled sounds. “Don’t pay him any mind. We won’t keep you any longer, honey. We’ll see you next week. Tell Beverly we’re sorry we can’t make the wedding. Call your brother!”
We said our goodbyes and hung up. For all of Mom’s attempts to keep Dad’s contempt for the ranch in check, I was plenty familiar with it. His warnings about the realities of ranch life had never made a bit of difference to me.
I stared out at the pastures I loved more than anything, the horses I tended and trained wandering aimlessly as the sky turned orange in the west. Dad’s solution to any problem on the ranch was always to sell the land. That’s why Gram had left the ranch to me, and not my father. I would never sell it. Just like Gram, this ranch was in my blood. It was my whole life.
I wasn’t an Austin lawyer, or even a Magnolia Ridge ranch manager. I started young colts; I worked every day in the dust and muck. My life was smelly and dirty, with hard days and short nights.
I had to let go of these dreams about June I’d been spinning. As soon as Booker and Eden’s wedding was over, June would go back to Austin. To herreallife.
I didn’t want to be the one to hold her back. And what could I possibly say to change her mind? She had a good job and her own hopes and dreams out there. Sooner or later, she would realize exactly what I was—a simple rancher with modest prospects—and these glorious days of her looking at me like I was everything to her would come to an end.
TWENTY-NINE
june
I finished washingup for the evening and found Ty sitting in the twilight on the bench in front of the barn. He watched as the horses wandered around in the pastures, tearing at the short grass with each lumbering step. I sat down next to him, leaving the barest sliver of space between us.
The sun sank low, casting red and purple streaks through the deepening sky. It led to a peaceful kind of quiet, with crickets chirping in hidden corners, and the occasional neigh rolling in to us from the grounds.
“You’re right,” I said. “It is pretty romantic out here. You need a porch swing, though.”
Ty sighed, looking out at the horses. His gloomy mood had returned, and I had a feeling I wouldn’t like whatever he was getting ready to say.
“I appreciate all you’ve done out here, June.”
