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I continued, “And I’m sorry, Harper, but you too. You know what my grandmother, God rest her soul, always said? If dumb was dirt, you’d be covered in it, and you two are like dirt mountains now. And tonight, at dinner, you two need to go and thank Ben for having the sense to check on you two so it hadn’t ended worse than it had. Do you understand me?”
Harper nodded, and I looked at Sam; she had a mulish clench to her jaw that, I hated to say, I was getting too familiar with these days. I didn’t know what to do about it. She had not said anything that was bothering her—if anything was bothering her.
There were no reports of bullying from school, no talk about a boy she might like—God help me on that one—or anything about difficult classes that she was failing. There was no indication of that in her last report card, so I was at a loss for what was going through her head.
Is it puberty? Are these hormones going off in her head?
“Sam?” I looked at her expectantly.
“Fine,” she huffed.
I eyed her. “Check that attitude with me, young lady, or you won’t have any TV either.”
Her shoulders slumped, and the Dutch strength she had evaporated, and she leaned into my side. “I’m sorry, Daddy.”
I let up a little. “I accept that, but you need to think these things through, Sam. You’re getting older now, and soon enough, you’ll be Harper’s role model. You need to make better decisions.”
After kissing both of their foreheads, I rubbed their backs. “Okay. I’m going to nap, okay? I’ve been on the plane for a long while, and Jet-lag is a bi-bother,” I barely caught myself, and thankfully, neither one noticed. “Okay, finish your homework, and I’ll come down at supper in an hour.”
Sam went to her bed, and soon after, Harper clambered beside her; after a soft look, I left for my rooms, knowing I was going to sleep like the dead.
* * *
Sunday suppers at the Rolling Ranch were always special. The day was beginning to hover into twilight, and the air was a dusty rose mixed with fired oranges and reds from the Texas sun. In the distance, the herd was already moving, drifting west toward the mountains.
Seven years ago, this land in the back half of Hill Country, which they said was uninhabitable because of all the rocky land, the cedar, mesquite, and cactus plants had made it scrubland. Even the realtor had told me that it was madness to buy it, but I’d see more to it than what they had.
My ranch wasn’t for beef production; we specialized in bull sperm. Of the five thousand acres I had—relatively short for a beef ranch but average for a stud one— half of it was for the bulls, the rest were divided for turkey hunting, the lakes were stocked with fish every spring and autumn for fishermen, and we had a petting zoo on the other side so the hunters would not accidentally rifle a baby goat.
“Are you people going to gawk at my food or eat it?” my housekeeper Ella asked while resting a salad platter on the table.
The old, scrubbed table groaned with platters of barbecue chicken and roast beef, side dishes of mashed and sweet potatoes, roasted vegetables, macaroni and cheese, and fragrant apple pies.
I hugged her with one arm and kissed her cheek. “Don’t worry, Pattie. We’re all grateful.”
Ben came lumbering up the short stack of stairs and doffed his old, weathered Stetson. It was clear he had cleaned up from a long day on the ranch, as his clothes were spic-n’-span. Worn jeans over clean boots and a faded flannel. His gray hair was still thick in his sixties, and his trimmed beard was salt-n’-pepper.
I’ve heard around town they call him Daddy material.
“Evenin’ folks,” his old lazy drawl rushed over us. “Mighty fine spread you’ve got here, Miss Ella. My stomach will love it, but I doubt my doctors will.”
I snorted. “Stop foolin’ anyone. You’re as healthy as one of those bunking broncos on the ridge.”
The other fifteen ranch hands came unto the long wraparound porch and said their hellos and good evenings, poured some ice tea and began settling down when Sam and Harper came down in cleaner clothes, hair brushed into ponytails, and warm smiles on their face.
Sam went to hug Ben first. “Thank you, Uncle Ben, for the other day. I’m sorry about making you worry.”
Wrapping an arm around her, Ben hugged her tight, then pulled Harper in, ruffling her hair while squeezing Sam. While Harper mumbled her apology, he said, “It’s all right, princess. You’ll figure it out soon enough. Both of you. And no harm done, right?”
I smiled as the two took their seats, and supper began. Micah and Jack, two herdsmen, were cracking jokes about their time trying to get this stubborn old bull into the mounting of the dummy cow.
“And even after fifteen tries, a cloth with cow hormones waved in his face, stroking his back leg until my hand went numb, and dodging three almost fatal hooves to the head,” Jake gestured widely, “The big guns had to come out.”
“Ugh,” Dusty groaned. “Notthoseguns.”
“Oh please, it’s a long rubber glove and some lubricant,” Sam snorted derisively while stabbing at her peas. “Don’t be such a baby.”
While she was not wrong, it was not her place to be so blunt or rude. “Samantha,” I warned.
