by HJ Bellus
“Good book, babe?” I lean down and kiss the top of her hand.
“Considering I’m pissed you interrupted me, yes, it’s a damn good book.”
“Navy York?” I guess.
“Yes, her new release. Went live at midnight.” Her eyes light up.
I glance on the silver Rolex on my wrist to see it’s nearing two in the morning. We should both be exhausted.
“I need to go check the cows. Want to come?”
She grunts, thinks about it for a few, then closes the cover on her Kindle. “I guess.”
I chuckle. “I mean, don’t make me force you or anything.”
“You should know by now I’d go anywhere with you.” Mack stands up.
“How was he?” I jerk my chin to the diminishing man in the bed. I shouldn’t be pissed off at him. I’m trying hard to remain positive. But after the shit I’ve seen that my mom has been dealing with, I’m losing that battle.
“Didn’t stir once. How’s your mom?”
“Hairline wrist fracture. She’ll be in a cast for four to six weeks. Doctors had to damn near hold her down to get it on her.” I snag a flannel shirt hanging on a coat rack and wrap it around Mack.
I keep her back plastered to my front as we walk under the moonlight, dodging all the obstacles. The smell of fresh straw hits me hard this time when I enter the barn instead of manure and piss. Like I suspected, the same cow from before needs help birthing. The other two have calved on their own when they weren’t showing any signs of afterbirth when I left. That’s the thing about ranching; you have to be married to it because there’s never a script to follow.
“Ready to see a calf come into the world, Mack-A-Bee?” I ask over my shoulder.
“Are you serious?” Mack steps up, peering into the pen.
The momma cow is pissed and in pain. This may turn into a rodeo. I guide Mack over to the stack of hay and grab her by the hips and hoist her up.
“You sit your sweet ass here and enjoy the show.”
“Where are you going?” She crosses her legs, settling in.
“Going to have to pull the calf.” I grab all the calf pullers, a pair of gloves, and enter the pen.
“What in the hell is that?” She points to the metal pullers.
If you didn’t know what they were, I guess they’d look pretty damn intrusive.
“Watch, baby.”
Mack remains silent from her perch. I run the cow into a chute because the last thing I need is a broken arm myself. She’s pissed off. Probably a cow that should’ve been culled years ago for her temperament alone. I get the pullers on the cow’s hips then reach in and hook the chains to the calf’s feet. I let out a whoosh of air when the calf isn’t breech.
“Is that hurting her?” Mack asks.
“Pretty sure it doesn’t feel good. It’s going to be all over in about thirty seconds.” I look over my shoulder to see her completely immersed in what’s happening. “Can you hop down?”
“Yeah.”
“Get down here, so you can see everything.”
Mack doesn’t hesitate leaping down and scrambling toward me. I nod to a green panel.
“Climb up that. It’ll be the best seat in the house.” Her bright yellow Cons step up the fence until she’s at the top peering down. Her thick black braid hangs over her shoulder.
I go back to the task, beginning to ratchet the pullers. The cow bears down as the calf slides out. The stale smell of afterbirth smacks me in the face. It’s been years, yet it’s just like riding a bike.
“Jesus, it’s huge,” I mutter, using all my strength to keep pumping the pullers.
Three more pulls happen, then a slippery, sloppy black mess lands in a bed of straw behind the chute. The tongue of the calf dangles out the side of its mouth. I barely hear Mack holler my name. I don’t look at her or acknowledge her; instead, I drop to my knees and clear the calf’s mouth and airways. When that doesn’t work, I pick him up by the back flank and hang him upside down on the fence while rubbing my hands up and down his ribcage.
It’s silent for long moments. Fuck, not what I wanted to happen, especially with Mack here. I can already hear Dad’s disapproval.
“C’mon, buddy.” I shake the lifeless calf.
“Trick, is it dead?” Mack asks.
I swear to God the calf answers her with a wiggle of his ears and then spluttering sounds. Its whole body comes to life. I pull him from the fence and place him in the pen where his momma was. I get the cow ushered into the pen. The miracle of life begins. The momma licks her calf.
I’m thankful she’s taking to him. I toss the gloves in an old rusty barrel and wash up at the sink. I pull off my t-shirt then grab Mack from the fence.
“What are you doing?” she gasps.
I pull her up to my chest. She locks her ankles right above my ass and clings to my neck. I walk quietly into the pen, taking up residence in a corner. Mack watches with intrigue at the duo.
“It’s magical,” she whispers. “I can’t believe you just pulled that calf out.”
I study her profile as she has her attention pitched to the calf. I kiss her cheek. “It’s kinda cool, eh?”
“Very,” she whispers again.
A hearty chuckle escapes me. “You don’t have to whisper.”
“Okay,” she whispers again.
I shake my head. “You know, I still remember the first calf I pulled. It was a rite of passage with my dad. It was a heifer calf. We kept her in the herd.”
“Is she still here?”
“No, died her first year calving.”
Mack’s braid slaps me in the face. “Really?”
“Yep, the first rule of ranching is not to get attached to anything. Hard life lesson to swallow.”
“I’m sorry.” She trails a hand down my bare chest. “Why did you take your shirt off?”
“It was dirty, and I wanted to hold you.”
“Oh, thank God.” She wrinkles her nose. “Thought you were planning to take me right here in the pen.”
“That’s wrong on so many levels.” I walk us out of the pen and up to the loft. “This is where I plan to take you.”
And I do.
Chapter 25
Mack
Something is poking my ass crack. I wiggle around, not ready to wake up. Wrong idea. Whatever is trying to attack lodges in my skin. I bolt straight up with a yelp. Trick’s arm flings off my torso.
“Baby,” he mumbles.
It takes me a few beats to realize where in the hell I am. The loft. Trick made love to me, and as we lay there catching our breath, we tumbled into slumber.
“Something is biting me,” I say in a high-pitched voice, brushing at my ass.
Trick pries one eye open, then the next one. “Your ass is fine. I’m staring at it.”
“There’s blood!” I pull my hand away and show him.
Trick reaches up and tugs me down to him. “You got pierced by a piece of hay. Far from your heart, darling.”
“Asshole. It hurt.” I lay my cheek on his chest.
“It’s still dark outside. Go back to sleep.” He wraps his arms low around my back then sneaks his hands down to my naked ass, soothing away the pain.
“Cold?” he asks through a sleepy haze.
“My backside is.”
He snags an extra blanket stacked to our side and wraps it around us. “Sleep now.”
The beat of his heart lulls me back to dreamland. The next time I pry open my eyes, an orange and pink glow illuminate the inside of the barn.
“You drooled on me.” Trick grips my ass cheeks.
I grumble. Stiff and still tired as hell. Yesterday was one hell of a day. My heart shattered and cracked for Trick. He wasn’t exaggerating about his dad. The man was downright cruel to him. His mom, on the other hand, is another story. I see so much of Trick’s kind heart and patience in her ways.
“Time to get up, baby.”
“I don’t want to move.” I nuzzle deeper into his chest
. “Why are you awake?”
“My alarm clock.”
On cue, a rooster lets out a startling sound. I flinch and growl even louder. Trick finally manages to get me up and dressed. It took us several seconds to shake out our clothing. Trick goes right to doing chores, checking on everything and mucking out stalls. I head back to the house, in desperate need of a bathroom.
Alice hums and sways in the kitchen as she fries bacon. The smell makes me want to cry. My stomach growls on cue. Didn’t realize how damn hungry I am.
“Hey, sweetie,” Alice chirps over her shoulder.
“Hi,” I squeak out.
“See you and Trenton broke in the loft.”
My eyes go wide.
“Don’t shy up on me now. It’s tradition around here with these farm boys.” She goes back to cooking like this conversation is no biggie.
“I’m going to clean up and then I’ll help you cook.” I race out of the kitchen.
***
Trick
I’m exhausted. Last night’s late rendezvous is taking its toll on me. But Jesus, it was a sweet moment I’ll never forget. Mack straddling me and riding my cock in the loft will be seared into my brain for all the years to come.
I ended up stopping in for a quick breakfast then went back outside. Mack was more than happy to spend the day in the sun on the porch with her Kindle plastered to her face. I’d catch glimpses of her as I fixed fences.
I don’t feel one morsel of guilt about the food I’m about to put away. No training session in the gym could tire me out like a day filled with ranch work. It’s ironic as prideful as my father is and how far gone his ranch is. Mom doesn’t know it yet, but I’ll be hiring two ranch hands before I leave.
“I cooked.” Mack wiggles her hips when I enter the kitchen freshly showered. “And I didn’t even mess up that bad.”
She stretches out those few last words.
“Get over here.” I crook a finger.
I lay one hell of a kiss on her, not bothered my mom is feet away. Takes all my self-control not to drag her ass upstairs. Sadly, don’t think I have the energy for that.
“It was just a sugar and salt mishap. Wasn’t that bad,” Mom excuses Mack’s mistake.
“Damn, girls, this looks like a meal fit for a king.”
I take in the spread on the table. Fried potatoes, pot roast, steamed vegetables, homemade rolls, and a garden salad decorate the top of the embroidered tablecloth.
“Sit down and say grace, son.” Mom places a piping hot bowl of sweet corn in the center.
“Dad’s not joining us?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “He’s refusing.”
“Got it. I’ll be right back.” I stomp down the hall to his bedroom.
When I enter, he’s perched up against the headboard reading a Cattleman’s magazine. He glances over the top, grunts, and goes back to reading.
“Time for dinner.” I walk to his side.
“Not going. Don’t care for the company. Get out of here.”
“The way I see it, old man, you don’t have any fucking say.” I bend down and scoop him up in my arms like I’d cradle a baby.
To him, it’s the most degrading gesture that could happen.
“Hate me for the rest of your days. Continue to disown me. I don’t give a shit. You owe this to Mom. If you love her, you’ll keep your mouth shut and sit at the fucking table.”
He doesn’t respond as I make my way back to the kitchen. Mom gasps when she sees us enter. I set Dad in his chair at the head of the table. It’s the spot he’s always occupied. No one dares ever sit in it.
“Hi, Mr. Jameson.” Mack takes the seat to his left, and Mom takes the one to his right.
Dad keeps his gaze down at his plate, not acknowledging Mack. It pisses me off more than anything else he’s done. Fucking prick.
I grab Mom’s hand then Mack’s. I’m shocked when Mack places her hand on top of my dad’s frail one. Mom doesn’t make a move to grab Dad’s. Hurt and devastation brim in her eyes. I’ve only seen my mom cry two times. The day her beloved border collie had to be put down and the day I left. Won’t be able to handle seeing her cry for the third time.
Dad clears his throat and reaches for her hand then bows his head. I open my mouth to say grace, but he beats me to it.
“Our dear Heavenly Father, thank you for this food before us. May it nourish our souls and bodies. You’ve blessed me with this beautiful woman at my side for over twenty years. She’s my everything. Thank you for bringing Trenton home. In Jesus’ name. Amen.”
A lead brick drops in the bottom of my stomach. The clatter of serving plates ensues, and we eat in silence. It’s not until dessert someone speaks up.
“Did the purple tag 223 calf yet?” Dad looks up at all of us. He nibbled on some potatoes but didn’t eat anything else. The wheezing of his lungs nearly made my appetite vanish.
“Yeah, she had a nice bull calf. Had to pull it last night. Weighed him this afternoon. He’s doing good.”
He nods. When the women begin cleaning up the table, I pick up my dad and pack him back to his room. I stop at the bathroom off to the side of his room. I shut the door and give him his privacy. He doesn’t say a word as I lay him in his bed.
“I love you, Dad. Owe a lot to you for the man I am today.” I take a step back from the bed.
He doesn’t respond, and it doesn’t shock me. He’s never spoken the words to me. Told me it was the way he was raised. I flick off the light and close the door. I don’t go to the kitchen to chat with the women. I take the stairs two at a time up to my room and collapse on my bed and cry like a broken little boy.
Chapter 26
Trick
I end the call with Boss. He rattled on about the gym and Jag. I guess he had some daddy meltdown and Sunni made him leave the apartment for a day. It put a shit-eating grin on my face. God, as much as I truly do love this place, I miss my family.
A shrill, ear-splitting cry causes me to sprint inside the house.
“Mom, Mack!” I holler, tearing through the house. Nobody responds. I careen into the doorframe of Mom and Dad’s room. The sight before drops me to my knees. My mom hunched over my dad, wailing, Mack holding her shuddering body. Hot tears flow down her face.
“Mom,” I whisper. She can’t hear me over her cries.
“Mom!” I shout louder.
She turns to see me on my knees. She stands and races to me, wrapping her arms around my neck.
“He’s gone,” she stutters out.
I rock her back and forth until her cries die out. She falls limp in my arms. I have Mack call our neighbor, who happens to be a doctor. Dirk Turner arrives minutes later and manages to get Mom to take a pill. I find myself walking back to Dad’s bedroom. I stand at the door for a solid ten minutes before walking in.
Flashbacks of me racing and jumping between my parents on winter Sunday mornings assault me. I’d snuggle with them while Dad would tell stories of the Wild West. I promised him each time I’d grow up to be a cowboy just like him.
I walk to his bedside and sit on the edge studying his lifeless body. His eyes are closed in peace, and his hands clutch a notebook on his chest. The title on the front catches my attention—Trenton William Jameson (The Country Boy Brawler).
A sob escapes me as I pull the notebook from his hold. Each page is filled with notes on every single one of my televised matches. My current record rests at the top of each page. A note in the middle of the journal catches my attention and holds it.
Trick, what a shit name. You’d think he was a damn circus mutt. Damn, proud of that kid chasing his dreams. He’s the best fighter out there. Won’t be able to tell him and that pisses me off. He’ll never know how much I love him. It’s the way I tick, and no matter how many times I’ve shuffled the cards, it’s better this way.
“Trick.” I look up through tears to see Mack standing at the door.
She rushes to me, standing between my spread legs, and pulls my head to
her chest. Her sweet voice sings “Amazing Grace” while she rocks me back and forth. Once it’s over, she begins “You Are My Sunshine.” I focus on the glow of the sun and everything good in my life. It’s the only way I know how to move forward.
***
Dad wanted to be cremated and spread in the oak tree grove. Didn’t want a service or anyone talking about how great a guy he was. He acknowledged he was an asshole. Mack, Mom, and I stand in silence holding each other’s hands as the ashes float into the wind, closing a chapter of our life. A lone dove circles us the entire time, making me believe in signs.
Chapter 27
Trick
We venture to the local rodeo and festivities three days after Dad passed. Mom always sells her rhubarb pies there. They’re a local hit. Mack and I were her right hands while she prepped and cooked fifty of them. We did much of the work since Mom was tied up in a cast, but it didn’t stop her from giving it her all. I plan to stand by her side all night long and am prepared to knock anyone on their ass that says something dumb to her.
Had planned on taking Mack out to see the sights, but it never happened. Mom doesn’t say a word. I know she doesn’t approve of my clothes. It's something I’d wear out to dinner back in Washington. Khaki cargo shorts, a tight black V-neck, and flip-flops—this shit is comfortable.
“Babe, forgot your hat.” Mack places it backward on my head.
She smiles up at me. I know it’s her kryptonite. She as much told me so and cemented the fact the night she insisted I wear it while driving into her.
“Mack, you’re not wearing that.” Mom slaps down a tin of cookies on the counter.
Mack and I both scan her outfit. It’s sexy as hell in my opinion, but then again, she could wear a burlap sack, and I’d devour her.
“Oh, okay,” she sputters out.
“The dress is fine. The shoes are not.”
We both peer down. Mack pivots her feet, studying them.
