Page 55 of The Mountain Echoes
Physically, there’s no contest between the two—Celine would win every pageant.
The only thing Celine could be jealous of is Aria’s poise, her elegance, her strength. There’s a calm about her. A ‘you have no power over me’attitude.
When I get home a couple of hours later, Joy isn’t there. She texted me while I was battling with the pump to let me know she’s at the Barrel & Bridle.
Not wanting to be alone with my conflicting thoughts about the woman who’s taking up way too much real estate in my head, I take a shower and decide to join my sister for a greasy dinner.
The noise hits me like a gust of prairie wind as soon as I push through the door of Barrel & Bridle. Boots stomping, laughter sharp, and Willie Nelson on the jukebox playing through half-working speakers.
The bar smells like beer-soaked wood, deep fryer oil, and old leather—all layered with a faint haze of cigarette smoke that clings to the ceiling beams like ghosts too stubborn to leave. No one uses theirinside voices. Folks are here to be loud, to blow off steam, and to drink hard after working harder.
“Look what the cat dragged in,” Joy remarks when I walk up to her and Elena.
They are at a table tucked between the pool table and a line of barstools where three ranch hands in Carharttjackets are arguing about bull semen quality like it’s gospel.
I give Elena a quick hug before I sit next to my sister.
One of the ranch hands in a blue Carhartt jacket all but screams, “Straws from that high-dollar Angus bull out of Nebraska ain’t easy to come by, so knock it off, asshole.”
Joy grimaces. “You know, in New York, people talked about bitcoin. Here? They talk about....”
Elena smirks and tips her beer toward the men. “Around here, bull semen’s more valuable than bitcoin.Andthis investment can walk.”
A ranch hand, this one in a gray Carhartt jacket, turns and calls out, “What do you say, Mav? If you were buyin’, what would you go for?”
I lean back in my chair, think about it for a second. “Right now? I’d go with the Pine Ridge Blackcap line. Solid maternal traits, steady gains, and good on-feed efficiency. If you’re breeding for growth and longevity, that’s the direction I’d lean.”
“I told you.” The ranch hand tells his companion and gets back to his conversation and beer.
Joy rolls her eyes. “Solid maternal traits? What? He has his mother’s hips?”
“Squirt, cattle genetics is sexy as fuck when you’re a rancher.” I jostle her shoulder with mine.
“Only in ranch country can you overhear a debate on bull semen and know they’re dead serious,” Elena remarks, sipping her Wild Turkey. “Fertility rates are practically dinner conversation around a ranch table.”
“So, brother dearest, what are you doing here?” Joy asks.
“Yeah, Mav, you slummin’ it?” Elena teases.
“She’s the bitcoin snob.” I lift my chin toward Joy. “You know me, I’d rather have greasy wings and a cold beer over microgreens and chardonnay.”
“Good, because the aioli here is called ranch and comes in a crusty squeeze bottle.” Joy picks up a French fry and dips it into ketchup. “You know…I don’t need microgreens, but I wouldn’t mind a nice French chardonnay.”
“We know,” Elena groans. “She asks at the Barrel & Bridle if they have wine.”
“They said they have red or white.” Joy shudders. “It comes from a cardboard box.”
“The horror.” I mock and pick up her drink and sniff. “What the fuck is this?”
“It’s a gin and tonic.”
I frown. “They make cocktails here?”
“No.” Joy makes a face. “I had to order gin and tonic water separately and make it myself.”
I wave to get the attention of a server who strolls up to us and asks me in a bored tone what I’d like.
“You ladies want more to eat?”
