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“Saw that strike out on your last game,” Cane says, elbowing me in the side.
I can't hide my surprise. “You caught the game?”
“We watch them here and there, you know when we're not working,” Jase says with a shit-eating grin.
I stall as my father walks out of the house. “Of course, we watch it, but with it only being the minors, it doesn't always broadcast here,” he adds.
I tip my hat to him. “Daddy.” The tension rises. Even my brothers feel it enough to quiet down.
“Ryder,” he says, staring right back at me.
My mom rushes out, drying her hands on her apron, interrupting the stare-off. “Is that my baby?” she asks.
“Hey, momma,” I respond, pulling her into a hug.
Her chestnut brown hair has grayed near her temples. My mother was never one to hide from her aging nor one to cover up with makeup. She never needed it. She is naturally beautiful and has been from the time she met my dad. I’ve seen all her pictures through the years. I think she only gets prettier with age. The small lines by her eyes and lips only add to her beauty.
She holds me at arm's length. “Let me look at you. I barely recognize you,” she teases.
“I haven't changed,” I deny, shaking my head.
“I don’t know. I think you might have gotten uglier,” Dakota jokes, getting a round of laughter from the others.
“Maybe if you came back to visit more often, your mother and I could remember what you look like,” my father mutters.
“Charles, hush,” Mom chastises.
"Clara, I was just helping you make your point," my father says, shaking his head.
“Are you hungry?” Mom asks, after giving him a look of warning.
“For your cooking? Yes, ma'am,” I laugh.
“We were just getting ready to sit down and eat,” she says, looping her arm in mine as she drags me inside.
"Looks like I got here just in time."
I pull my arm away, opening the door for my mom. As happy as I am to see her and everyone, I already find myself wishing I was in my truck, headed toward Dallas.
Tillie
I look around my father’s store with a sense of pride. I’ve worked hard today restocking shelves and cleaning. Now, I'm at the cash register. It might only be a local store, but we stay busy. We cater to ranchers and sell everything they might need. Tractors? We’ve got them. Fencing? Feed? Check and check. We also stock anything you might find in a hardware store. Water lines, fittings, nuts, bolts, and the list goes on. You can find anything you need here.
Online shopping has become huge, but we work hard to keep our prices down and luckily the people that live in Pine Ridge would rather deal with faces than order from people they don’t know. I’ve taken over a lot of the paperwork for the store. I handle the books for taxes and manage the inventory and have complete stock control. We do well year round, but our business really picks up in the winter because ranchers need food, alternative heating, and generators become a big seller.
I take regular allergy meds with all the feed stock in the store. I never did outgrow my allergies. You can catch me sniffling anytime I need to drag some out to someone's truck. Thankfully, in our small town, chivalry is not dead, and most men won't even let me grab it off the shelf before throwing it over their shoulder like it's nothing. I’m thankful because I struggle with it—not to mention the fact that most of the time I end up sneezing my head off.
We have one other employee, but Jack only works after school and on the weekends. That leaves me and my father. More and more, it’s just me. I think my father is considering retiring more and more. He’s asked me what I think about the store, and I know he’s asking if I’d like to take it over. If I don’t, I figure he will eventually sell out. I really don’t know how I feel about either choice. I love my job and I really like talking with the people who live here. The small town has grown on me over the years.
I scan Henry Simpson’s weekly items for his dog Rufus with a smile. Rufus is likely the most pampered pup around. Henry comes in for specialty canned food and treats he can only get here. They are homemade baked cookies, especially for dogs. I’ve been trying my hand at it for a while now. I love baking and making cakes and things for my friends’ birthdays. A lot of people also hire me to make them. It seemed natural to venture into pets. I may enjoy it more simply because there’s no pressure to make them look perfect.
“How's Rufus doing this week?” I ask, as I bag up his items and place them on the counter for him.
“Getting old and slow, just like me,” Mr. Simpson says as he hands me his cash.
“Mr. Simpson, you aren't old,” I tell him, clicking the buttons on the register and grabbing his change.
I like when Henry comes in. He's always smiling and up for a chat. He's lived here his whole life and has always done business with my father. He essentially watched as my father taught me, slowly letting me take over the day-to-day operation.
