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Chapter 5: Tangled Up
Ella Jean cut into a homemade turkey pot pie at dusk, a little worried that dinnertime had brought no sign of Hank. She knew what could happen to a man alone on a horse, even just crossing the few miles between ranches. Then she got his text. “I’ll be here for a while Ma. See you in the morning. ;-).”
At three a.m, she heard Cuervo’s footfalls cross the southeast pasture, then the answering nicker from horses in the barn. Pulling the curtain of her bedroom window back, she watched the shadow of her son’s broad shoulders as he dismounted. Loosening the cinch on his saddle, he turned Cuervo into the corral. Her lips twisted into a gentle smile; the picnic must have been a success. The hour suggested things had gone even better than he’d hoped. Daphne didn’t finish work until the wee hours, Ella knew. Hank have left just before she got home.
Next morning, Ella Jean sipped tea in the sunny breakfast alcove, watching the titmice and chickadees duke it out at the feeders she’d refilled, pecking and screeching in the esperanza and false indigo planted just outside. She took toast from her plate and picked up her mother’s grapefruit spoon, grateful for the balm of a few days’ solitude and her son’s company.
It was promising, Hank courting Daisy. She’d genuinely liked Janie, but Daisy’d had a special place in her heart all along, back from when she and Hank were barely more than babies. In kindergarten, the alphabet had tangled in Hank’s brain so badly, his letters and words all twisted backwards.
It had pained Ella, but Daisy loved looking at books. When she spelled out words, Hank would follow along, so Ella had often asked Buck to bring Daisy by.
He understood why Ella set the scrabble board up on the kitchen table: the girl was so patient, arranging the letters Hank could recognize into words and later into sentences; he’d try when Daisy was around.
One day Red walked in while the children were playing, angry to discover Hank’s spelling mistakes. Ella had soothed him, hiding her concerns, assuring him that the boy was fine.
Hank continued to struggle with reading, but he’d aced math so that by the middle of the year, he’d been taken to the third grade for multiplication tables. Later, Ella read his science and history texts aloud each night so he understood them, arranging for his teachers to test him orally the night before the others. Next day, he’d fill out the paper and hand it in, just like the other kids. Red always nodded at the report card, and Ella kept peace at home.
It wasn’t until fifth grade that the county sent a specialist in, and Hank was diagnosed with dyslexia. Red had taken it like a personal affront until she’d reminded him how good Hank was at math and how little reading ranching required. “Hank learns on his feet, Red, you know that. He picks up the Stockman’s Guide already, makes his way through it alright.”
That year, the teachers gave Ella sixth grade reading materials for September in June. She went over them with her boy all summer, so he knew the stories and questions before school started. With less to worry about, Hank did better with tests and writing, and his grades improved.
Ella remembered how taken Hank had been with Daisy, that summer after the fifth grade. She’d seen the stars in his eyes, watching her finish an ice cream one summer night. “Daisy’s really special to you, isn’t she son?” she’d asked later, closing the cover to book she’d been reading him.
“There aren’t any other girls like her, Mom. I think I’ll marry her one day,” he’d said solemnly.
Ella still remembered the moment. She’d nodded, tucking a bit of hair that had grown long from his eyes tenderly. “She knows ranch life, that’s for sure, son. And she’s so pretty, with that fair skin and golden hair. You’d have real sweet babies together.”
He’d smiled as she’d caressed his chin, a hopeful look in his eyes. He’d been guarded, too, concerned for her, because Ella had lost her share of babies, and she’d always wanted at least one more.
After more miscarriages than she wanted to count, Ella had managed to carry Hank to term. She tried again and again, and finally, when Hank was in fourth grade, she made it to five months with baby Ryan.
But then contractions started, and her placenta detached; she couldn’t get to the hospital in time. They’d lost Ryan right before Christmas.
The shock and disappointment she’d felt holding that little bit of a boy in her arms had dulled her for years afterward, but Red took it different. His anger intensified—turned to rage, even.
Red was always looking for someone to blame, someplace to direct his anger. Looking for trouble, Red must have made the decision to hoard Buck’s water.
She hadn’t paid the attention she should have, hadn’t questioned Red when he and Buck Antelerone parted ways. She’d learned Red had snapped up the tract of land that had been in the Antelerone family for generations from the church ladies. When she’d brought it up with him, he’d gotten so belligerent that she’d backed off.
Red was a mighty force to oppose. She’d learned early on to choose her battles, but none of it had ever sat quite right with her. Two years later, when Daisy was in the eighth grade and Buck had taken to drinking hard, Dawn Antelerone, the girls’ mother, had run off.
It still made Ella Jean wonder. She should have done more digging, for everyone’s sake.... because after Dawn had ran off, Buck had started drinking, bad, then last January those poor girls had lost him, too.
*******
Daisy and Hank exchanged frequent texts at rodeo to keep tabs on the horses, but when she saw his call Monday morning at ten, she froze. How can I make small talk with him after what we’ve done together? Letting the call go to voicemail, she answered with a text.
She was tacking up the little three year old mare she’d just broken for Ty McGreer that afternoon when he strolled into the horse barn.
Ty was tall, with an angular face and dark curly hair, a stunning profile that had caught Daisy off-guard more than once. Her crush ended quickly, though, once she started working for him.
“How’s Alias been for you?” he asked.
“She’s a sweetie and nimble, a quick learner, eager to please. What are you going to do with her?” Daisy asked, slapping Velcro boots on the mare’s forelegs.
“Not sure yet. She’s on the small side—maybe she’ll be a work pony here, or I’ll ship her up to Colorado for my cousin Jake’s daughter,” Ty said, grinning wide. “Hey, what’s this I hear about you and Hank Gallagher?”
“Huh?” Daisy feigned, tightening the cinch on her breaking saddle. “What are you talking about?”
