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A wave of relief splashes over me. I failed to put this calculation into the cost, and when I searched online how much two new harnesses would be, I wasn’t sure I’d get much change from five grand. Who knew?
Georgie asks her brother, “Are these harnesses big enough for Belgians? They look a little small.”
My stomach drops. Fuck.
He stands with one in his arms. “Nah. These are fine. Grab the other one,” he tells his sister.
I run to take it off her. “Let me.”
After bringing two of the Belgians in, out of the wind and into the barn, Grant and Georgie reminisce on old times while I ask all the questions in the world about horse pulling. Grant lights up remembering his childhood. He said it was when horses were fun and not there just to make money.
They move through their instruction very quickly, guess it’s like riding a bike, and IthinkI wrote down all the instructions for getting the horse dressed up with such a complicated piece of tack.
Once the horses are back in their pasture, I shake my head. “There are straps and buckles everywhere. I hope I can remember this.”
Grant slings the tack over his suede-covered arm, and I have to admit, he wasn’t at all worried about getting mud on his snakeskin boots and his fresh-from-the-shop-looking coat. It’s now dirty as hell, but he doesn’t seem to care and hasn’t spared his fancy clothes a second glance. Guess he’s a real cowboy after all.
“Molly if you need a hand at all this winter, let me know. I usually get bored by December. I’m used to working round the clock with my thoroughbreds. It would be nice to have something else going on.”
“That’s an amazing offer. I might need you to train all of us on this equipment. I’m not sure my other ranch hands know how to do this either.” Actually, they probably do. It’s likely common sense for them since most ofthemdidn’t grow up in the inner city and probably knew how bridles worked before they could read.
He leads me by the back toward the parking lot like a true Southern gentleman. “We’ll exchange numbers. And maybe the three of us can go out for a drink sometime? With Georgie’s man gone, I think she gets bored, too.”
She nods quickly. “Boredom isn’t the right word. Lonely more like it, so yes, I’d be up for a drink.”
We reach the Hummer, and I hug Georgie goodbye.
When I go to shake Grant’s hand, he says, “What, I don’t get one of those?”
I didn’t think he’d want one but I’d never refuse. I’m a hugger, too, so I take his massive mound of man and suede in my arms, friendly, of course.
They get in the car, but before Georgie closes the door, she says, “I’m surprised Dash wasn’t here for this. I would have thought he’d love to be a part of this whole thing. He used to watch all the pulling competitions, and Jolie told me he always wanted one of our draft horses, a big black Clydesdale we had named Zeus. Where is the boss this morning?”
So itwasweird he took off in such a hurry. Or at all. I wasn’t the only one who thought he’d want to be here. Was he giving me independence? Or did he have something more important to tend to? Maybe get back to whatever it is he does all night long?
“Something bigger going on I guess. But when it snows, we’ll do a practice ride and I’ll make sure to invite you.”
“Amazing,” she says.
Before she closes the door, Grant tips his head down and says, “Don’t forget that drink.”
I give him the old finger pistol then I wave them off and head back into the office returning to my now-cold cup of coffee. I check the weather forecast. No snow just yet. I resume my search for a sleigh driver on some of the local social media ranch and equestrian groups, also noting we need two more ranch hands for the winter. We need more help now that we have more horses.
But I simply stare right through my screen, because all I can think about is how everything seemed to be so friendly and comfortable this morning, and then Dash just up and left in a hurry like he did. And even more than my wondering why he left was me wishing he didn’t. There’s no one I wanted to harness up the horses with more than him.
* * *
That night, when I reach the top of the staircase leading to the apartment door, I’m surprised to see Dash’s boots outside in the hallway.
He didn’t want to hang around with me this morning but he moved back in? I laugh to myself. I’ll never figure this man out. He’s already in his room when I enter, and after listening closely,veryclosely, he’s not strumming his guitar either. Sleep. He needs it.
I need it.
But that night I spend hours tossing and turning like a Mexican jumping bean. At three, his alarm blares, and unlike the few other times I’ve heard it, he turns it off on the first bleep. Maybe I’m not the only one who can’t sleep.
I listen to him go about his business, and when the door to the outside clicks shut, my eyes do, too, but the sleep still isn’t coming.
What’s with this guy? I throw the covers off me in a huff, and the cool air wafts over my body, only making me feel more alert.Fuck it.
