“That’s enough, Dad,” I snapped. I loathed the way he used that name—the same one he threw at any man he thought was different. Girly. Sissy. Words aimed to cut Miguel down and remind us of what man my dad thought belonged here and who never would. God, he’d nearly killed my brother over that, and hell, if he knew half the things in my head, I’d be at the wrong end of a rifle.
“That soft-handed girly is gonna get calves killed,” Dad yelled loud enough for Miguel to hear.
Miguel went still, and I shook my head at him, trying to reassure him, but Dad wasn’t done, and he slipped past me and clapped a hand on Jake’s shoulder, causing the quiet ranch hand to wince.
“You wanna get a real man like Jake here to do this. Someone with balls that have dropped and an actual brain in his head.”
Jake stiffened and tried to extricate himself. I needed to tell Dad to leave and for him tounderstandhe needed to go. But more than that, I wanted to grab him by the collar and shove him back toward his truck, show him how little authority he had left here, but I couldn’t. However much I hated him, the TBI had made me his fucking hands-off caregiver. I hadn’t respected him for years. Hate sat easier in my chest than anything else where he was concerned.
What stopped me wasn’t fear.
It was history, and the brain injury all rolled into one evil thing. It was the way any move I made would land on Miguel and Jake before it ever touched him. It was knowing that if I put my hands on him now, it would get in my head, and I’d end up thinking I wasn’t fit to run this place and was nothing more than a hotheaded kid playing rancher. He didn’t need to win the fight because the fight didn’t matter. He’d make me lose control, and then I’d end up questioning myself.
So, I swallowed it. Let the anger and resentment burn where only I could feel it.
“They’re nursing,” I said, reverting to the language he’d recall from his old life. “Temps are good, and if not, we’ll bring ‘em closer and use heat lamps.”
He limped past me as if I wasn’t there, crouched with a grunt, and shoved two fingers into one calf’s mouth before letting it go. The animal bleated, startled.
“Slow reflexes,” he said. “You should’ve just got rid of the cow, rather than coddling an animal who needs attention. Waste of electricity for lamps.”
“They didn’t need it,” I said. “Weather held. They’re strong.”
He straightened and stared at me. The way he used to when I was a kid, and he’d already decided I was wrong. In the skin and bones was a glimpse of the hard-ass man who’d once ridden roughshod over this ranch, a man who’d let bitterness curdle into entitlement, then rot into something ugly and cruel.
“Strong because you got lucky,” he said, louder now. “Luck isn’t management. You’ll never take over from me if you keep pulling this shit.”
Heat crawled up my neck. “I’ve been doing this a long time.”
“And you’re still missing things,” he shot back, waving at the pasture. “Look at the footing. Sloppy. You want a cow to go down and crush one of these?”
Miguel cleared his throat. “Ground’ll firm once the sun?—”
“Did I ask you, girly?” my dad snapped.
Silence.
“We’re watching, and we’ll move them closer to the barn,” I said. Better to get him gone by agreeing, and easier than fighting. Fighting never won when hishead was scrambled.
“You should’ve already thought of that,” he said. “That’s the problem, Jesse. You don’t think ahead. Your momma…” He stopped then, his gaze unfocused, and something in my chest went hollow. This was the moment he told me I killed her when his hate spewed and left me dead inside.
“It’s getting late, Dad, time to go home,” I said.
He leaned in, close enough I could smell stale coffee and tobacco, skin stretched over his bones. I needed to bide my time. We all did. “Don’t tell me what to do.”
Behind him, one of the calves stumbled, caught itself, then stood firm. Strong. Alive. Doing just fine.
My dad straightened and turned away, as if the moment were over. “Fix this shit, girly,” he snapped at Miguel.
“That’s not my name,” Miguel said, with as much confidence as he could muster.
“Fucking fruit,” Dad snapped, then turned to me. “Don’t make me come out here again and…” Then he faltered, blinked at me, and I saw the confusion in his expression.
“You want me to drive you back, boss?” Jake asked, coming to stand next to Dad and talking to him as if he stillwerethe boss.
Dad blinked at him, then at me, and then, he slumped. “Don’t bother.”
He climbed into his truck and slammed the door. The engine turned over hard, tires chewing into the frozen dirt as he pulled away, leaving ruts and a dreadful silence behind.
