“I rented us a guesthouse on a ranch for a week. It's about time we had a vacation—now if you'd rather go home, I understand. Next concert is in two weeks, so it’s up to y’all.”
“We’re in!” they all announce at once, except for Grady.
We all look at him.
He groans. “Uh, fine, I’m in.”
Johnny grabs him by the shoulders and gives him a pat on the back. “All right, that’s the spirit, buddy!”
We pack up and get everything squared away. One more show and I can finally relax. I long to be on the back of a horse, with the warmth of the sun across my back and, hopefully, a pretty cowgirl to look at.
We have almost a two-hour drive to Billings for tonight’s show. The Saxxon Ranch is just south of Billings in the Pryor Mountains.
I sit up front next to Ray. He drives the bus for us and helps set up and take down the set at every concert. We did everything ourselves before, but we hired him this summer and it’s been a hell of a lot easier. We damn sure appreciate him. I type in theaddress from the website for Saxxon Ranch. About three hours from tonight's venue, it reads. With stops, it will probably be about four, so we’ll get a couple hours of sleep after the show and make it there by morning.
7
SORREL
Imake it back to the ranch just before sunset. As I crest the mountain, the valley opens up below me, and there it is—our gate—standing tall and proud. The wooden beam across the top, that's stood the test of time—Saxxon Ranch. Bold and familiar, just as it has been since I was a kid.
I slow the truck and take it all in. The valley is beautiful this time of year, little pink wildflowers scattered like confetti across the grass, which is so green it almost doesn’t look real.
The setting sun lights the sky on fire, painting everything in shades of orange and red that make the land glow. God, I love it here.
As I pull into the gate, the ranch dogs come tearing down the drive to greet me.
“Hey, boys, we’re home,” I call out through the open window.
Sally Jo, my dad’s feisty little blue heeler, barks like she’s been waiting for this all day. The two Great Pyrenees, Ranger and Rooster, let out low, rolling howls as they prance over, tails wagging. Dash, who’s been whining from the front seat for the last ten miles, loses his mind with excitement. I open the door, and he bolts out, ears flopping, racing to catch up with the othersas they take off toward the main house. I smile, watching them disappear into the distance, my heart already lighter. It’s good to be home.
I drive up the road, waving at a few ranch hands working colts in the arena. Today is Sunday, so most of the crew has the day off if they want, but a handful usually stay back to keep things running. The young ones, though, always head into town to the local honkytonk to throw back a few beers and tie one on.
I pull my truck and trailer in front of the barn so I can unload the horses. Our barn is beautiful and rustic. We fixed the roof this spring and it was painted red. The rest of the barn is natural wood; it’s my favorite building on the ranch. A fixture that has charm, character, and a story to tell.
But now when I look at the barn, I don’t get that same warm feeling that I used to. All I see is him and the night I wish never happened. Most of the time I can’t bring myself to go in. I’ve been asking the ranch hands to put my horses up or take them out for me. They probably think I’m a spoiled, lazy brat. But they can think what they want. I’m just worried Sutton is going to say something about it soon.
The barn itself holds twenty stalls and has a large tack room. Next to the tack room is Dad’s office, always cluttered, papers everywhere. I’d tried to organize it a few times in the past, but every time he caught me, he’d just growl and say that he works better in chaos. So, I let it go.
“Hey, Dad! You in there?” I call into the open barn.
“Yeah, Sorrel! That you?” His voice carries from the breezeway.
“It’s me, your favorite daughter!” I singsong.
I hear his raspy laugh in response.
I unload Duke from the trailer and tie him to the hitching post out front. Peeking my head into the barn, I see Dad is tending to his old horse, Cowboy, cleaning out his feet in thecrossties. He drops his foot and stands while rubbing his lower back.
“How was the rodeo, sweet pea?”
“It was good! I finally won a check,” I yell out to him, trying to sound proud.
“All right, good job, baby! I’ve got some news too. Come on in here, would ya?”
I slowly make my way into the barn, positioning myself so my back is to the haystack.
“Someone booked the guest ranch house. We’re gonna be real busy for the next few weeks. I was hoping you could help out while they’re here.”
