I didn’t know exactly what that looked like, and maybe I still don’t. But I did know it wasn’t cows, fences, and endless chores. That realization hit me hard because I also knew it would upset my parents, Dad especially. I could see it in his eyes that he expected me to follow the path that had been laid out for me. And me not doing that was letting him down.
I’ve seen Dad a couple times since I got back, mostly during the early morning chores or when I swing by the main house before heading out to check on the fields with Henry. There is a routine to it. He is usually in his old work boots, leaning against the fence, coffee in hand, watching the cows move through the pasture, deep in thought. I nod, he nods back. Sometimes we exchange a word or two about the weather, the fences, or the animals.
“Looks like rain later this week,” he’d say, looking up at the sky.
“Yeah, looks like it,” I’d say back.
Simple, but there is a weight in the air, something unspoken that neither of us is ready to hash out yet.
There are also the quiet moments, those ones feel the heaviest. Like when he passes me a bale of hay and doesn’t look at me, or when he mumbles something, I can’t understand and then walks away.
I am not used to this careful, measured version of him. It’s cold, but more so like he is holding back, judging whether I’ll stick to the work or if I am going to take off again like he thinks I might.
I keep my tone light when I respond, but it is also impossible to shake the tension beneath. I can do the ranch work; I am not a stranger to hard manual labor, long hours, and dirt under my nails. But I feel like he is watching me, not just my effort, but going over the choices I have made, the path I am on, and maybe if I will ever measure up to the Callahan men before me.
I don’t need to win his approval right away, but I hope one day I will. Maybe once he sees me creating something that is mine, something that I am excited and passionate about. Until that day comes, I will continue making decisions that make me happy and focusing on creating a future for myself that I am proud of.
I’m in the stables, running through the motions of saddling up my horse, it’s something you never forget how to do. I am hoping a little head start will impress Dad. Ten minutes later, my horse is ready, and I hear footsteps behind me.
“Got a head start on us, I see. Trying to impress me, son?” Dad says, eyes barely leaving the stall door.
I shrug my shoulders and try to sound casual. “Well, I was up, I figured I might as well swing by, see the horses, and take my time.”
He mumbles something under his breath. Part of me wants to say something, but I know better, so I leave it.
“Morning, Henry,” I say, turning to my brother.
“Hey, bro, thanks for helping us today. I know you’ve got the theater to deal with, so I really appreciate it.”
“Hey, someone has to make sure you don’t set the barn on fire,” I say, laughing.
Henry laughs. “Yeah, okay. I’ve seen you ride. The last time you were on a horse, you almost ended up in the pond.”
“You’re missing the details, dipshit, you and your horse almost pushed me into the water,” I say, also laughing.
He shakes his head and laughs again. Henry has always been my anchor. He called me about the theater going up for sale, and he knew it would be the perfect reason for me to come back. He has always been able to read me better than anyone.
I glance at Dad, who is pretending to inspect the horses but keeps an eye on us. He is still distant, still measuring everything I do against some standard he has. I can feel the tension, the weight of unspoken conversations. Today, though, I don’t want to think about it. Today I just want to focus on getting the work done at the ranch, so maybe I have time to swing by the café before closing to sneak in a conversation with the one person I can’t stop thinking about.
We lead our horses out of the stables and into the morning air. The gravel crunches under the hooves, birds chirping in the distance, and I can’t help but notice how different Lavender Creek feels when you’ve been away for so long.
Henry nudges his horse ahead of me, grinning. “Race you to the creek?”
“Are you serious? You’re on, loser buys lunch.”
I urge my horse forward. The wind hits my face, and for the first time in a while, I feel completely alive. Henry’s competitive side hasn’t changed a bit. We weave through the trails, laughing like we did when we were kids sneaking around the ranch.
“You always thought you were faster than me, but remember that time you tried to jump the fence and landed in the mud?” Henry shouts, looking back.
“I was uh, practicing my dismount. Perfect technique, really,” I yell back.
Henry laughs, shouting back, “yeah, okay, whatever you need to tell yourself.”
We reach the creek, and Henry slams on the reins, stopping quickly. “Ha! Beat you fair and square!”
I slide off my horse, laughing. “Okay, you win. But don’t get too cocky, next round is mine.”
We tie our horses to a nearby tree and sit on the bank for a few minutes, skipping stones into the water. Henry pulls out some homemade jerky and hands me a piece.
