“Send your big brother a message, tell him you hope he’s okay.”
“Why?”
“Because life is too short not to know family that might care about you.”
“Like you and Walter missed out?”
“Yeah.”
I opened the message app and stared at the screen. “I don’t wanna say I miss him,” I blurted. Even if it was true. I thrust the phone at Lucas. “You do it.”
He nodded, then typed a short message.
Jesse: Feel better, Hoyt. Real nice to hear from you.
He showed it to me. “Okay?”
I hid my face in my hands. “Yeah. Send it.”
It left my phone and flew wherever Hoyt was currently healing, and somehow it felt better and worse at the same time.
Chapter 25
Lucas
The next morning, the dining room was already alive when I got there, a good two hours after Jesse had left the bed. He’d gone way too early to fix something that needed fixing, but he was at the table now, hat off, and he glanced up with a smile when he saw me.
“Morning.”
“Morning,” I said, and headed to Ruth, asking for the same thing I always asked for—an egg white omelet—and she always gave me scrambled, but at least it wasn’t as gray anymore.
“Sit down, I’ll bring it over.”
“Thank you,” I said and went to sit facing Jesse. He wasn’t out to the crew, and sitting beside him wasn’t an option—not when all I wanted to do was touch him, which was absurd. His not saying anything was exactly right. Whatever this was between us already felt as if we’d crossed lines that didn’t need naming in front of the ranch hands.
Ruth appeared at my side and put down a plate in front of me. A thick omelet oozing with cheese. She eyed me over the rim of her glasses. “I won’t do that white thing,” she said. “It’s the whole egg or nothing,” she went on, unmoved by me blinking at her. “You need feeding up.”
That was it. No invitation to argue. No space to explain.
“Thank you. It looks… wow.”
She gave me a nod and headed back to the stove, and I caught Jesse’s mouth twitching. I sat and ate because it was the most perfect omelet I’d ever eaten.
Miguel was animated this morning, his hands moving as he talked, and I tuned in as he was telling Jesse something at a mile a minute, “…and if we rotate the south herd earlier next year, let that grass recover, we could push weights up before winter. And year three,” he glanced at Jesse, eyes bright, “we bring in a few more head. Not many. Just enough to make it worth the extra fencing.”
Jesse listened quietly, the way he did when any of the hands spoke to him. He nodded once. “Means more feed through January.”
“Yeah, but better prices if we time the sale right,” Miguel shot back. “And if the calves take well?—”
Jesse lifted his mug. “Slow down. One thing at a time.”
Miguel grinned, undeterred. “I’m just saying. There’s room to grow.”
I lowered my head and concentrated on my omelet, cutting it into smaller and smaller pieces, eating slower than necessary. I was already planning for there not being a year two. Or a year three. No herd expansion. No careful timing. Just an end date that none of them mentioned.
Jake leaned back in his chair and hooked a thumb toward the door. “Gunner, you hear back about that bay yet?”
Gunner shook his head. “Owner’s still pretending he doesn’t know what he’s got.”
