Page 10 of Then You Happened
“Humans. You don’t have any other humans out here who you interact with?”
“Apparently, I don’t need other humans,” she says, but for the briefest of seconds, I see emotions flit through her eyes. Sadness? Loneliness? It’s something, but before she lets me really see it, it’s gone.
“Everyone needs humans.”
“I used to think that too, but I’m finding the animals get me more than the humans ever did.”
The raw honesty in the rasp of her voice tells me she’s been through enough to warrant the chip on her shoulder and the rumors in town.
Her sentiment is one I’ve voiced more times in my life than I care to count—an excuse so I don’t have to explain shit to anyone—and I nod.
I’ve been there too.
Still am there.
But there’s something about the sadness in her eyes that makes me want to clear it away. That makes me want to push buttons to get that fire back because temper I can deal with.
Temper at least gives me something to fight against.
I shut out all other emotions.
“Looks to me like a ranch manager is what you need. I can be him, get this place up to speed and then work on getting the contracts. That way, you could go back to doing”—I flick my hand in indifference—”the things you’re used to doing.”
“What I’m used to doing?” she says, voice escalating in pitch. “Like eating caviar and getting pedicures, right? Had to make sure to put me in my place.”
“What you do on your time is your prerogative.” I lift my hands in surrender, this fight is over. My attempt has been given.
Silence stretches between us with the chirp of birds and whinny of horses the only other sounds.
“Oh, I will.”
“It was a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Knox,” I say and mockingly tip my hat.
“Can’t say the same.”
“Don’t let your pride get in the way of hiring someone who could bring this place back to life.”
“And don’t let your ego get in the way of you getting shot,” she says, and I laugh, not sure if I respect her gumption or find it infuriating. “This place is full of life, thank you.”
I lift a lone eyebrow in question. “So, that’s it? Ask me to come, kick me out when I travel hundreds of miles, and then call my name as if your life depended on it, only to realize you did it and you didn’t want to?” I give a quick shake of my head. “You think I’m trying to pull a power play? I think it’s the other way around.” I lift my hat and scratch my hair beneath it before pulling it back down. “I understand indecision, Knox. I understand fear and confusion and second-guessing whether what you’re doing is right or not . . . but this was bullshit. Complete and utter bullshit. You want help, fine. You don’t want help, fine. But unless you figure it all out—and soon—you’re going to lose this place. Plain and simple.”
“Goodbye, Jack.” Her voice is strained, her expression hard. The sound of a woman who wants help but is too damn afraid to admit it.
Fire. Beauty. Pain.
I think of those three things that prevented me from walking away moments ago.
I promise, Dad.
Those were the last words I spoke to my father before he died. That was the promise my being here is keeping.
With a step in retreat, I offer her a wink and a grin just to piss her off. “I’ll be in town until Friday should you find your sense again and decide to hire me.”
Without another word, I turn on my heel and stride back down the gravel driveway toward my truck, all the while questioning why the fuck I left the offer open like that.
As I back down the ranch’s long driveway, I know she’s still standing on the porch with a hand on her hip, watching me with those smoke-colored eyes.
The question is: why the hell does that give me a small iota of satisfaction?
