Rustic Hearts

Braxton

We load the calf into the restraint stall, and Walker and I apply the elastrator band.

“Release,” Jefferson shouts the command.

Emmett opens the door, and the calf staggers out of the stall.

“That’s the last one for today, fellas. Anyone ready for lunch?” Emmett asks.

“Can’t. Got to get out to the back pasture and get the breach in the fence patched before dark,” I tell him as I snap off my gloves.

He removes his hat and scratches his head before looking up into the sky. “Looks like a storm might be blowing in. Think we have time to get it up before it hits?”

The wind started to kick up about half an hour ago. I glance off into the horizon and see the telltale signs of dark clouds over the mountains.

This is what I was afraid of—a storm catching us before we could finish. I shouldn’t have been such an ass to Sophie this morning, but I didn’t have the time to dick around, answering her questions, with the forecast calling for thunderstorms this evening.

“Hopefully. It looks like it’s moving fast. I dropped a trailer with the lumber off at the site this morning,” I reply.

“We’d best get going then. I’ll let Doreen know we’re headed straight out and get her to pack some sandwiches and water. I’ll meet you guys there,” Emmett says as he walks off in the direction of the house.

Jefferson, Walker, and I quickly put away all the banding supplies and load the back of the truck with a post-hole digger, a couple of bags of cement, and a mixer.

“You guys go on, and I’ll fill the water tank and wait for Emmett. We’ll be right behind you.”

“You okay to load that tank, old man?” I rib Jefferson as I hop into the driver’s seat.

“I can still work circles around you, son,” he shouts back.

It’s true. He might be getting up there in age, but the man is still solid and powerful.

Thirty minutes later, we are scarfing down ham and cheese sandwiches with one hand and unloading the trucks with the other. It’s already been a long day, and we have hours of work ahead of us.

“Guess who’s back in town?” Walker asks as he hands the digger off to me.

I raise an eyebrow in question.

“Morgan. I ran into her at the grocery store last night.”

“I know. She’s texted and called me a few times.”

“Seems she’s back for good. She said her dad’s health is getting worse, and she moved back to be close to her mom and help out.”

“I don’t know about that. I heard from Jerry that the company she works for filed for bankruptcy last month. The deal they had to buy the old Stockman ranch fell through because of it. Apparently, the CEO was caught embezzling or some shit. My bet is, that has way more to do with her moving back to Poplar Falls than her dad’s health does.”

“I thought it sounded sketchy. Her dad has been on that oxygen tank for years. I saw him tying one on at Butch’s last week, and he seemed just fine.” He grabs a split rail log off the end of the tractor and wrenches it in the hole I just finished digging. “If she stays, you plan on starting that back up?”

“Nope,” I answer instantly.

Morgan Cullman was my high school girlfriend. We dated for three years, and then she went off to college while I stayed and worked on the ranch. When she returned four years later with her degree in agricultural engineering, we resumed our relationship and were engaged within a year.

That was before she decided to take a job with a company that buys up local ranches and brands them under one corporate umbrella, and she made it her mission in life to convince struggling ranchers to sell for far less than their ranches were worth.

She tried to sell it to me as her doing them a huge favor and helping the local economy grow and expand, but all it did was cheat families out of the land they had owned for generations and line the pockets of a greedy company with no ties to Poplar Falls.

Once they set their sights on Rustic Peak and she started trying to feed their corporate bullshit to Jefferson and tried to manipulate me, I was done. The breakup was painful. I did love her, but ambition had changed her, and our dreams and ideals no longer lined up with one another.

After I broke off the engagement, which she didn’t take well, she took off to work at the company’s headquarters in Fort Worth, Texas. That was six years ago. The last thing I want is to get involved with her again.

Six weeks. Six weeks was all it took for Dad to know Mom was the one and get her to the altar. I figure, if Morgan and I couldn’t get our act together after more than four years, she simply is not the one.

We work as fast as we can, but the downpour starts about an hour into our work. We jump into the trucks to take cover and let the worst of it pass. Then, we slip and slide through the mud and get a temporary patch in place until the land dries up in a couple of days, so we can come back and reinforce the fence.

Jefferson and Emmett head back to the house, and I drop Walker at home before I head back to wash up and eat.

“You sure you don’t want to go back to the house for supper? Ria made a pot roast,” I ask as I pull up to his door.

“Nah, man, I’m fucking beat. I’m just going to hose off this mud and pop a frozen pizza in the oven.”

My back is aching from being bent over the fence for five straight hours and carrying split logs from the trailer to the line. I’m sweat-soaked and covered in dried mud, and my energy is zapped from barely eating lunch. Climbing the steps that lead to my room will take all I have left in me, so I grab my bag with a spare pair of jeans and thermal and opt for a quick hose off at the shower beside the last stall in the barn instead.

I start the spray and let it warm as I strip out of my boots and caked coveralls. Then, I step in and let the water wash the shitty day from my shoulders.