The house needed a lot of work, and Mom had just given birth to her first set of twins. Bodhi still remembered living with Gigi Fern, but I’d been two when we moved out here and it was all I’d ever known. Somehow, with four kids five and under, they’d fixed things up and started their breeding program. These cabins and the bunkhouse nearby had already been on the property but they’d needed repairs too.
We lost Gigi Fern a year later, suddenly and unexpectedly, to a heart attack. The grief had caused Mom to go into early labor, and my sister was born at thirty-six weeks. I remember being scared, because my parents were, and I sort of resented the little squalling infant when they brought her home a week later. Four-year-old me didn’t understand why she had Gigi Fern’s name either. Fern was as kind and as selfless as her namesake though, so maybe my parents had been on to something.
Gigi Fern had no living relatives, at least not anyone that she spoke to, and her entire inheritance went to the two people who she supported and took her last name when they married. Mom and Dad changed Bodhi’s last name at the same time. It had enraged both sets of biological grandparents, but it didn’t matteranymore. With Gigi Fern’s fortune, they were able to make necessary repairs and use the funds to grow the business.
“What’s got you ruminating?” Dad asked, wiping his hands clean with a rag.
I waved it away, not wanting to bring it up. We talked about Gigi Fern all the time, but grief was a strange thing and I didn’t want to throw my dad off when he was meeting someone new. Dad could put on his game face in any circumstance, but there was no reason to make it harder.
Russ chose that minute to exit his cabin, on the other side of where we were standing. Mine was to the east, his to the west, closer to the bunkhouse. He moved a lot slower these days, but his mind was still sharp. We all joked Russ had come with the property, and he had indeed been working here when my parents bought it. Most of the other hands had quit, thinking working for twenty-one-year-olds was ridiculous. But not Russ. He’d been foreman up until he mostly retired two years ago and I took over.
“You need any help, Mike?”
My dad shook his head. “All done. But if you wanna hang out, you can meet the new guy.”
Russ nodded just once and lowered his bones into the somewhat rickety rocking chair on what passed for his porch. He still put in a few hours’ work each day, mostly in the barn where we kept the weanlings and yearlings when they weren’t out on pasture. He was the one who decided when yearlings were ready to be turned out with older horses to learn some manners.
Which reminded me.
“How’s Vivien?”
Russ snorted. “As headstrong as her mama. But she’s settling fine.”
Viven was a big blue roan filly who we’d had to wean a little earlier than we usually liked. We’d separated them yesterday.She was dragging her dam, Vanessa Redgrave, down and the vet had recommended it. We’d been planning on breeding Vanessa Redgrave again this season, but she didn’t take. Usually she was an easy keeper, but her previous foals hadn’t been as big and beefy as Vivien. After one unsuccessful try, we decided to give her a year off so she could put weight back on.
“Good. Maybe we can turn her out with—”
The sound of a truck had us all turning. A second later, Mal’s truck, pulling a small U-Haul trailer came into view. Mom was riding shotgun and she pointed animatedly, presumably instructing Mal where he should park.
The moment Mal stopped the truck, Mom hopped down holding a large basket. I didn’t even need to look to know what was in it. She always made a welcome basket for new employees. The ones who lived on property—we had six hands in the ten room bunkhouse—got more than employees who commuted. I wouldn’t be surprised if in addition to the usual branded merchandise there were snacks and other food as well as household items in that basket.
I strode forward, hand outstretched. “Mal, welcome to Blue Creek.”
He shook my hand and though he smiled, it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Thanks.”
The little boy clung to his daddy’s legs, and I didn’t know if I should acknowledge him or not. He was clearly shy and I didn’t want him to be uncomfortable. But I also didn’t want to ignore him. I stayed where I was but decided to say hi.
“Hey, Tony. How you doin?”
He turned his head so just one eye could see me. His little fingers turned white as he clutched his raven. “Where’s your horse?”
“He’s hanging out with his friends in his pasture today. He needed a day off to eat grass and poop all over.”
My statement had the intended effect in that Tony giggled but he also scrunched up his nose. “That’s gross.”
I shrugged. “Yeah, but it’s what animals do, you know? Can I tell you a secret?” I crouched down to his level, but still kept the distance between us. Tony seemed to think about that for a second, and then he nodded. I made my voice conspiratorial. “I hate cleaning it up because you’re right, poop is gross. But I’m also glad to see it, because that means my animals are eating and healthy.”
He laughed louder at that, but his expression showed horror too. “I don’t like poop!”
I was sure his voice was louder than he meant, or maybe he didn’t care, but it got everyone’s attention. Mom had to turn her head so she didn’t burst out into laughter, but my dad didn’t hide it. He walked right over.
“Malachi, hello and welcome. I’m Mike.” They shook hands.
“Good to meet you, sir. This is my son, Payton. Er, Tony. He doesn’t like poop.” His eyes sparked, and for just a second, my breath caught in my lungs. The weariness faded from his face and he looked a few years younger. I wondered what it would do for him if he could set that weariness aside completely.
Tony looked up at his father, nose once again wrinkled. “It’s gross, Daddy.”
“So you said,” Mal responded, affection clear in his tone. “That’s why poop is Daddy’s job and not yours.”
