Page 120 of The Mountain Echoes
I carry her to the couch in the piano room.
“You take your pill?”
“Didn’t make it upstairs,” she croaks out.
The migraine is hitting her hard. It’s the stress.
I go get her pills from her nightstand, grab her a glass of water, and sit with her until she swallows them.
“Lie back,” I tell her, gently tugging off her boots. “You’re done for the day.”
“I need to?—”
“You already have,” I cut in. “I’ll take care of the rest.”
She opens her mouth, but I stop her with a look.
“Do you trust me?”
“I do. But you’ve got your own ranch?—”
“I’ve also got people I care about. Let me take care of you.”
She winces and nods, slumping back against the cushions.
I pull the curtains, dimming the light until the room is soft and quiet. Then I find Vera.
“Keep an eye on her. Don’t let her get up until she’s steady.”
“Want me to run her through a field sobriety test?” Vera asks, half-joking.
“Damn right. Touch-the-nose, walk-the-line, all of it.”
As predicted, by ten, two Kincaid Farms trucks roll into Longhorn.
Zane’s behind the wheel of the first, hauling the 5070M and the rake.
Our two youngest hands, Grady and Luis, jump down from the second truck with the toolkit.
“Feels like we should start flyin’ the Longhorn brand,” Zane teases as we unload the Deere.
“We’ll get you a hat,” I deadpan.
He eyes the house. “She’s the one.” It’s not a question.
I nod. “Yeah.”
“Okay,” he says, and we get to work.
Zane oversees the equipment while Nadine fuels up the tractor and gets moving on the alfalfa field.
I check every line and bolt myself—no one’s catching us twice. Not today.
By noon, we’ve got the alfalfa rows cut and turned, and the orchard halfway cleared.
I glance toward the house.
Aria’s trust in me, her letting me take care of her precious ranch, is momentous, and I feel the responsibility of it. I know I won’t let her down.
