She nods. “That’s responsible of you.”
“That’s me. Mr. Responsible.”
She smiles. It’s a faint twitch of her lips.
“Jasper is showing me the reports,” she says, gesturing to the kid. “We’re checking vitals. Just a standard wellness check.”
“Can I help?”
She looks at me. She hesitates for a second, then nods.
“Sure. We’re checking for discharge. Eyes, nose. And checking the gums for capillary refill time. If they’re pale, it could mean anemia.”
“Got it.”
I move down the line. We work in silence for a few minutes. The cattle are calm, used to us. They chew their cud, swishing their tails at flies.
I glance at Sedona every few seconds. I watch the way she handles the animals. Firm but gentle. Her hands are steady. She doesn’t flinch when a cow jerks its head.
She’s good. She’s really good.
“So,” I say. I try to keep my voice casual. “Where’s Clara?”
Sedona doesn’t look up from the heifer she’s examining. “She went to town. Daisy Mae promised her a huckleberry pie for the road. She’ll be back any minute.”
“The road,” I repeat.
“Yeah. I swear my girl is obsessed with those pies. She’s sad to leave them, but after surviving quarantine, I’m sure she’s happy to be getting back on the road.”
Yesterday, at the house, Sedona dropped the bomb that she’s leaving. Going back to New York. They both are. They have lives there, careers.
I spent the night staring at the ceiling of my room, listening to Billy pace in his room, thinking about it.
Sedona’s leaving. Again.
And the worst part? Billy and Seth are just letting her. They’re sitting on the porch, drinking coffee, acting like it is just another Tuesday.
Like the woman who owns their souls isn’t packing her bags.
I can’t do that. I can’t just sit here and watch her drive away.
“Clara’s flight,” I say. “When is it?”
“Tomorrow morning,” Sedona says. “Around eight.”
“I can drive her to the airport,” I say.
She stops. She pulls her hand out of the heifer’s mouth. She wipes it on her jeans and turns to look at me.
“You don’t have to do that, Tex. It’s an hour away. I’ve got the rental car.”
“I insist,” I say. “It’s on the way to… nowhere. I don’t have anywhere to be.”
She looks at me. She sees through the bravado. She sees the stubborn set of my jaw.
“What about practice?”
“What about it?”
