Besides ranching? Maybe other kids who grew up in rural areas dreamed of something bigger. Escaping to the city. Is that what she meant?
“Why would I want to do anything else?”
She looked around, dust motes floating through the air, coating every surface. “Why indeed.”
I couldn’t tell if her words had been spoken with a wonder of sincerity or sarcasm. “What about you? Was working in the world of finance always your dream?”
Her gaze traced the rafters before she settled almost-sad eyes on me. “No. Security was.”
I waited, sure there was more.
The sides of her lips tightened. “I promised not to get in your way, but here I am prattling on when you’re obviously busy. I’ll go get cleaned up and see if Gran needs any help in the kitchen.”
Jocelyn’s hips swayed as she walked away, and I couldn’t help but wonder what had made the vibrancy within her dim and the conversation slam to a halt.
I shook my head. Just another instance where animals proved easier to understand than women.
9
Jocelyn
The sound of running water—currents tumbling over themselves as they chased each other around boulders in the narrow river beside our glamping site—awoke me on my third day at the ranch.
Again, not what I had been expecting. Annoying roosters crowing like the sun couldn’t rise without their vocal cords, yes. The gentle cadence of nature cajoling me from slumber, no. And why weren’t there any roosters? Didn’t all farms or ranches or whatever have the bothersome creatures? Not that I was complaining…
My palms found a sore spot in my lower back and pressed as I arched in a stretch that would hopefully work some of the kinks out. My inner thighs screamed at me, and I was acutely aware of muscles I hadn’t even known were part of the human body’s physiology. Ishouldhave been jonesing for a Jacuzzi. Something hot, with jets to help with what felt like an entire body bruise. Ishouldn’thave been humming with an undercurrent of anticipation, excited to climb back on Domino’s back and see the world through the lens atop a saddle.
My thoughts drifted to a certain cowboy. Another thing I probably shouldn’t do. But the conversation with him the day before had left my spirits adrift—as if he’d made an origami boat, set me inside, and given the folded paper a little push until the river’s playful flux toyed with me, sending me swirling and twirling without a means to steer myself back to shore.
His great-great grandfather had been a hero—one history books had been written about and documentaries made. The only place any of my ancestors’ names had been written were in court documents and prison records.
He’d spent his childhood knowing his calling and having the space and freedom to grow into it. My adolescent years had been devoted to finding a way out. Out of the neighborhood that barred its residents in with low-budget schools and housing prices that ate up the majority of a hard-working family’s income. A different kind of prison, but one no less real or difficult to escape.
A way out.Thathad been my dream. The means to feel secure. Live in a safe neighborhood. With a full belly. Wearing clothes that fit. That were clean. Money had only been a vehicle to get me to my destination.
But dreams, by most people’s standards, fed a soul-deep need, not just a physical one. Maybe that was why my throat had squeezed when Malachi turned the question around on me. I’d never allowed my dreams to seep beneath the surface. I wasn’t sure I even knew how.
Bang.The loud clank of metal slamming against the ground startled me from my introspection and the peacefulness of the river. Rotating, I squinted against the morning sunshine cresting the horizon and illuminating the sky in golden hues. A large truck with an even larger trailer attached silhouetted along the Thomas’s long drive. A minute later, a man and a cow emerged.
Grabbing a bandana from my back pocket, I wrapped the red paisley swath of material around my head and secured a knot on the side, my curls bouncing out at the bottom. Looked like the day would start even before the sun had a chance to rise fully into the sky.
A line of cows filled a long chute made of moveable metal fence rails, their bellies bumping the sides as their tails switched and ears twitched. Malachi flicked the ridge of his hat up with a crooked finger before extending his hand to shake the other man’s. The man turned and climbed into his truck, the engine roaring to life a minute later.
Malachi turned, a hitch in his step as his eyes swept past me. He looked as if he would continue walking, but then he paused and tipped his hat to me the way I’d only ever seen him do. Cowboys really were a breed of their own. His stride lengthened, eating up the distance to the small barn in the cattle yard.
I practically had to jog to catch up with him. “Good morning.” I injected cheer into my voice even though my every step caused me to wince in pain.
He stopped, feet braced apart, his gaze resting on my forehead instead of dipping down to look into my eyes. “Nate’s working with your group today.”
I blinked. “Oh.”
Another tip of his hat and he strode away.
I dashed after him again. “Who are the new cows?”
“Don’t even think about naming them.” He slanted a brief look down at me, sighed, and pulled to a stop. “Replacement heifers.”
Well, that begged more questions than it answered. “Who are they replacing?”
