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Marron noses Colt’s belly and drops her snout for pets which I offer her before Colt does the same. His are less gentle, but his innocence must be obvious and Marron accepts his little pats. Windrunner nurses for a few moments before walking on gangly limbs to us for the same. Colt giggles as she reaches for his fingers with her lips and gums.
This is a healthy foal from a healthy mare. Eyes bright. Their coats are lustrous and reflect the sun. I’m missing something regarding Lager’s. But I won’t let those horses suffer because of my oversight… or worse, his neglect.
What am I missing?
* * *
Days pass.September stays dry and hot. Eli works nonstop on our behalf. He spends as much time on the conservation easement and avoiding the impending development as he does on Colt’s behalf.
At its foundation, he’s spending hours investing in the Rangers and our ranch.
Our history.
Our present.
Our future.
One that includes him.
Because, Elias is my future. My happily ever after is on the line because someone wants to bend the law for profit.
My future isn’t for sale, so as he works, so do I.
SEVENTEEN
MY TURF MY RULES
BRIGHTON
These October mornings are some of my favorites. The days are beautiful. The sun welcomes me through the haze and light fog. It doesn’t assault me the way it does in the summer. It’s gentler, softer, lulling me into the idea that fall is coming. But it’s still Texas, so by noon, we won’t even know there was any haze to burn off.
The crickets are talking and the grass is covered with dew. Even the horses feel relief from the sweltering Texas heat.
They’ve done well, despite the drought. I’m leaving Strait, Luna staying behind to curl up in the corner of his stall, when my phone dings.
Braxton: Got your pistol?
Me: Is this our new “good morning”? Don’t know that I’m a fan.
Braxton: I wish. Where’s your firearm?
Me: In the glovebox.
Braxton: Not brilliant in this heat.
He can’t see the roll of my eyes. He wasn’t the competitive shooter; I was. But he’ll always be the big brother.
Me: Get that, but I’m not Annie Oakley, so…
Braxton: Beg to differ, but keep it close, please.
Me: You’re scaring me.
Braxton: You’re fearless.
Me: I eat death for breakfast.
This is true. My turf. My rules.
