Rustic Hearts

Sophie

 

I wake to a booming knock at my door.

I open an eye, and the light peeking in beneath the dingy brown-and-orange curtains that barely cover the dirty windows of the motel blinds me.

“Coming,” I croak out as I roll over and set my feet on the floor.

My neck and back are stiff as a board from sleeping on the threadbare mattress. I was poked by springs all night long.

I stand and stretch, and my back cracks all the way down. That helps.

I undo the sliding lock and open the door.

“Why did you open the door?” Braxton asks as he walks into the room, carrying a tray.

“Because you knocked on it.”

“You didn’t know it was me on the other side. You need to ask before you unlock the door to strangers.”

He sets the tray with two coffee cups on the small, round Formica table in the corner. Then, he spins and pins me with his stern look of disapproval.

“It’s too early, and I’m too tired to fight with you, Braxton,” I groan.

I ignore his a

“Jefferson and Emmett are getting their showers, and we’ll be ready to go in about thirty minutes,” he informs me.

“Okay,” I say as I swallow. I dust the sugar from my hands and stand. “I’ll hop in the shower quickly and be ready to go.”

“Are you going with us?”

“Of course I am.”

He looks confused. “I assumed you would want to call whatever that car company is of yours and get a driver to tote you around Denver today.”

“No way. I want to go to the show.”

“It’s a lot of boring industry crap today. Nothing exciting. You could go shopping or to the spa or something like that. Cherry Creek Mall is just a few miles away.”

I stop and turn on him. “You know, back in New York, I don’t sit around, sipping champagne, eating bonbons, and getting massages all day. I run a company, and I’m pretty good at it. I want to see what you guys learn. I’m interested in how things run on the ranch. Especially after going through the records this past week. You never know; I might be able to help find ways to cut cost and promote efficiency that you guys miss when you’re distracted by the big, shiny, new toys.”

He gives me a half grin. “Well, all right then, get in the shower. I’m going to wait here.” He snatches the remote and stacks pillows up against the headboard.

I dig my jeans and long-sleeved tee from my duffel bag and head into the bathroom. It’s crusty, and the sink is covered with dark spots where cigarettes have been set. Ew, I might not drink champagne all day, but I am just prissy enough to wish I had a pair of flip-flops to wear in this shower. I turn the water on as hot as I can and let it run for several minutes, hoping it kills anything that could be living on the shower floor.

When I emerge from my scalding hot shower, Daddy and Emmett have joined Braxton in my room. They’re all eating doughnuts and watching television.

“Hey, Sophie. How’d you sleep last night?” Emmett asks as I take my wet hair and gather it into a knot on top of my head.

I decide to skip makeup and just add a little bit of moisturizer to my face and swipe on a thin layer of lip balm.

“Great,” I lie.

The last thing I want is to make them feel bad for my restless night’s sleep. I was the one who invited myself along on their trip, so I have no right to complain about the accommodations.

“See, Braxton? She’s fine.”

I look in the mirror at Braxton, who has his eyes on the TV.

“She’s lying,” he calls out.

“He was worried about you all night. That’s why he got up so early and drove into town to get coffee and doughnuts. He didn’t want you drinking what they have here,” Daddy informs me, and a warm feeling overcomes me as I realize his concern for my comfort.

“It’s not that bad,” Emmett says, looking into the cup in his hand. “Of course, it’s not that good either.”

“Thank you, Brax,” I say as I shove the lip gloss in the front pocket of my jeans.

His eyes move from the television to meet mine in the mirror. “You’re welcome, Princess.”

Then, he focuses back on the news.

I place my stack of belongings back on top of my bag and sit to pull on my socks and boots.

Daddy moves closer, and I catch him looking over my pile. Braxton’s T-shirt, the one I stole and now sleep in at night, is sitting on top.

Crap.

He looks at the shirt and then to Braxton, who is still watching the television.

I hold my breath, waiting to see if he recognizes the shirt. I have no idea how we would explain it. My mind starts reeling for an explanation when he looks back to me.

“We’d best get moving. We don’t want all the best bulls spoken for before we arrive.”

I relax as I finish putting on my boots and coat.

Fifteen minutes later, we are in the truck and heading for National Western Center.

I’m excited as we enter the complex. It’s a massive two-hundred-fifty-acre facility, and it is filled to the max with attendees, vendors, animals, and equipment. There is so much to see and so much to learn.

Daddy and Emmett head to the livestock building to check out the quality of the bulls that are for sale while Braxton and I sit in on a demonstration of a new cattle feedlot. Then, we move on to a presentation on more straightforward insemination techniques.

I learn a lot. There is so much more to ru

“We don’t need it.” Braxton sets me straight.

“But it would save so much time, and time is money,” I regurgitate the spiel.

“True, but we don’t overpopulate our land. We have enough acreage per head that eighty percent of our cattle’s diet is grass off the land. We don’t have to supplement with grain enough to justify the cost of a new lot. We’re in most need of a new tractor and a new hauling trailer at the moment. We’ve been patching and repairing the ones we have for the last couple of years, and it’s not cost-effective to keep throwing money at them every time they break down. Plus, it takes man-hours to do the repairs.”

He guides us to the equipment sales area, and we start pricing new tractors.

“I never realized how expensive tractors are,” I muse as we stroll down the line of mid-size tractors with price tags in the mid- to high-five figures.

“Now, you see why we’ve patched Ole Big Bird as long as we have. They are definitely an investment but a necessary one.”

“Do you have a preference?” I ask as I run my hand over one of the massive machines.

“I’m a John Deere fan; you should know that,” he answers.

I laugh. “Of course you are.”

“They’re a tad too pricey though, so we’ll probably go for one of the middle-tier brands.”

“Doesn’t it make more sense to get the best brand for your money?”

“Sometimes, you have to make the best with what you can afford. We’d rather get second best and pay cash for it than have to mortgage anything. Pop and Jefferson aren’t fans of debt. debt is why some of the other ranches in the county had to sell. We stay afloat because we are smart about what we spend.”