He was very clear about that distinction when he explained it to me afterward, standing in approximately four inches of muddy water with his second pair of ruined khakis plastered to his legs and an expression of controlled devastation on his face that almost made me feel bad for him.
Almost.
I'm in the equipment shed when Remy finds me, and I know it's bad before he even opens his mouth because he's doing the thing where he's trying not to smile and failing completely and overcompensating by looking at the ceiling.
"So," he says.
"How bad?"
"The east field is currently a swamp."
I set down what I'm holding. "Define swamp."
"I would say approximately forty yards of unplanned water feature." He pauses. "Rowdy is in it. He appears to be having the time of his life."
I walk out of the equipment shed and across the yard and stop at the edge of the east field where the irrigation line has, by the look of it, separated cleanly from the main coupling and is currently pumping water enthusiastically into the dirt at a ratethat has turned the entire low end of the field into something that resembles a Louisiana bayou.
Rowdy is indeed in it. He is absolutely filthy and completely ecstatic and when he sees me he barks once and spins in a circle, splashing mud in a six foot radius.
Beckett is standing at the edge of the water looking at the coupling in his hand with the expression of a man whose spreadsheet did not account for this outcome.
"I just looked at it," he says.
"Uh huh."
"The coupling was already loose. I barely touched it."
"Uh huh."
"In my defense, the online tutorial I watched made this look extremely straightforward."
"YouTube claims another victim," Remy mutters under his breath.
I have to bite the inside of my cheek not to laugh.
I turn to look at him slowly. "You watched a tutorial."
"Several, actually. There was a very comprehensive YouTube channel—"
"Beckett."
"Yes."
"Stop talking."
He stops talking.
Remy appears at my shoulder making a noise that is technically a cough but is not even slightly a cough.
Silas materializes from somewhere behind us, surveys the situation in silence for a long moment, and then says with complete calm, "I'll get the pump."
"I'll pay for the repairs," Beckett says immediately. "Whatever it costs, I'll cover it."
"You own the ranch," I say. "You're already paying for it."
He opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. "That's a fair point."
"Get some boots from the equipment shed. The ones by the door, second shelf." I'm already rolling up my sleeves. "You broke it, you're helping fix it."
