Grit: A Love Story on 7th and Main

by Elizabeth Hunter

  “That’s not the kind of instruction we’re talking about,” Greg said. “We’d like her to learn English riding. Receive jumping instruction. She’s been talking about it for months, Melissa. I don’t know why you’re choosing to be offended by our generosity. We all know Abby is a gifted rider. She could have a tremendous future, but she needs the right trainers.”

  It stung. Just like they intended. Jumping lessons were expensive. Buying the horse was only the beginning.

  “I know she wants to jump,” Melissa said. “There are stables in Metlin—”

  “There are better stables in Paso Robles.”

  Joan tried to smooth the situation with logic. “If Abby doesn’t see the horse every day, who’s going to clean up after the animal? Who’s going to exercise it?”

  Beverly said, “We have staff for that.”

  Joan looked slightly confused and a little embarrassed. “You’d rather have someone else take care of Abby’s horse? Instead of her learning to do it on her own?”

  It wasn’t the way Joan had raised her kids. Melissa had grown up around horses, but she was only allowed to have her own once she could prove she could take care of it. She woke up every morning for a year to clean stalls and feed her grandfather’s horses. When she was twelve, she got her own, a gorgeous little paint mare named Sky.

  “You shouldn’t have told her you were buying her a horse if she couldn’t keep it here.” Melissa was finished with the excuses Calvin’s parents were trying to give her. “It’s not her horse. It’s yours. She’ll just get to ride it a couple of times a month.”

  Greg’s chin went up. “If you’re going to take that ungrateful attitude, then I think we’re done here. Also, we’ll be getting Abby a mobile phone so we can talk to her directly. She’s mature enough to handle her own communication at this point.”

  “No, she’s not,” Melissa said. “And you’re not. That’s not your decision.”

  “Why are you trying to keep us from our granddaughter?” Beverly’s eyes filled with tears. “It’s like losing Calvin all over again.”

  The accusation hit Melissa like a sucker punch, and she was stunned silent.

  Joan wasn’t. She marched over to Greg and Beverly with fire in her eyes. “Out. Both of you. Shame on you for trying to manipulate your own granddaughter this way. This is still my house, I want you out.”

  Melissa turned and started cleaning the table. She couldn’t look at Greg or Beverly. No way was she going to let them see her cry.

  Why were they so cruel? She’d never kept Abby from them, but she wasn’t their puppet either. She had her own life, her own ranch, and her own way of doing things. She was trying her best. Every single day, she woke up and did everything she could to hold everything together.

  She was it. Her life—and her family—they all depended on Melissa making it work.

  But Calvin’s parents still saw the woman she’d been six years ago.

  She’d been in a fog after her husband died. In the space of two years, she’d lost the grandfather who raised her, her and Calvin’s second baby—who died when Melissa was four months pregnant—and then Calvin in an auto accident. She’d been battered by grief, and there were days she could barely function. One day she heard her mother-in-law describe her as “incapable” and talk about how much better off Abby would be living with them until Melissa “pulled herself together.”

  Melissa wiped her eyes and continued clearing the table, not even looking as Joan ushered Greg and Beverly out the front door.

  She glanced out the window at the girl on horseback who was the center of her life. Abby was trotting Moxie around the corral across from the house, waving at Ox and Cary every time she rode past them and shouting greetings as her friends took turns riding PJ.

  Her daughter was ten and she was brilliant. She was confident and secure and bright and funny. Abby knew who she was and who loved her. One day her daughter was going to soar.

  Who’s the “incapable mother” now, Bev?

  The beef cattle were turning a profit while Melissa had transitioned from traditional to the grass-fed market, and the citrus groves would pay for themselves in the next two years, giving her a comfortable margin on the ranch.

  She needed to find more help on the ranch, but that was always a challenge.

  As for a personal life…

  She watched Cary jump down from the split rail fence and walk over to help one of Abby’s friends mount PJ. His jeans fit snug around slim hips and his button-down shirt was rolled up to the elbows, exposing the new tattoo work on his forearms. His silver-black hair was pulled back in a low ponytail at his neck.

  So tempting. So damn tempting.

  But Melissa didn’t have time for Cary. Maybe in eight years, when Abby was out of the house, she could ask him out.

  Ha! Like that would happen.

  Life wasn’t fair, but then her grandfather had always warned her about that. Life was never going to be fair. Luck rolled around, but it rolled around more often for those working the hardest.

  Greg and Beverly’s shiny black Range Rover kicked up dust as it pulled away from the ranch house and onto the small road leading back into town. Yet another tense visit from Calvin’s family had been survived.

  Only this time there was a giant unresolved Thoroughbred-horse issue just waiting to cause more problems.

  Melissa had rebuilt her life through hard work and stubbornness. She didn’t want to get mean, but if the Rhodes family thought they could guilt her into bending to their wishes, they were in for a rude awakening.

  Chapter Two

  Cary watched Ox kick the corner of the bunkhouse.

  “I mean… it’s adobe brick, so it’s solid,” Ox said. “Her plan’s not bad. It’s just that it’s another thing for her to do, you know?”

  “I know.” Cary kept glancing between the house and the old outbuilding. The sun was going down, and he could see people moving around inside. Abby’s friends had all gone home after the party, the horses had been stabled, and Ox was telling him about Melissa’s plan to rebuild the bunkhouse where the cowboys had slept when the ranch ran more cattle.

  “She really needs to hire someone full time,” Cary said. “She keeps taking on seasonal workers when she needs to hire a manager. Someone who can take some work off her plate.”

  “You try telling her that,” Ox said.

  “I did. She nearly bit my head off.”

  “Did you suggest it or make some irritated snipe about her not knowing what was good for her own ranch?”

  Cary crossed his arms over his chest. “Mind your own business.”

  Ox chuckled. “One of these days, the two of you…”

  He lifted his chin. “The two of us what?”

  “Hmmm.” Ox cleared his throat. “You know what? I’m gonna let you sort it out.”

  Would Melissa have told her brother about kissing Cary at the hospital? He doubted it. She was fiercely private. She also considered it a moment of insanity that would never be repeated. Which she’d told him in no uncertain terms.

  Cary took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Your sister is going to make up her own mind about all this, just like she does about everything. No one can tell her anything to change her mind once it’s made up. Luckily, she isn’t wrong very often.”

  Melissa Oxford Rhodes was one of the most competent women he knew. She was whip-smart and highly intuitive, a combination that made her a very fast learner. She’d come to Cary for advice about her citrus groves a few years ago. Now Cary was frequently tempted to ask her opinion on his own farm.

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right. She’ll figure it out. She always does.” Ox continued talking about the bunkhouse project while Cary watched the house.

  Lights were burning bright. He could see Melissa and Emmie in the front window, Abby bouncing around in the background. Even the earlier disappointment about her horse couldn’t keep that little girl down.

  Abby was a complete nut and he lo
ved her.

  “Hey, Ox?”

  “Yeah?” Ox wandered around the side of the bunkhouse.

  “Have Calvin’s folks been trying to pull shit again?”

  “You mean the thing with the horse?” Ox poked his head around the corner. “Or do you mean the house?”

  Cary blinked. “What house?”

  “You didn’t know about that? They did it years ago. Soon as Calvin told his folks they’d be living over here after they got married. Greg went out and built them a three-thousand-square-foot house on the family ranch, told them it and the land was theirs if they moved back to Paso.”

  “Why?”

  Ox shrugged. “Calvin was pretty forgiving of his parents, but my impression has always been that they’re control freaks and want to dictate everything about their kids’ lives, even as adults. Melissa drives them crazy.”

  “I bet.” She did have that effect on people. “Wait, is that where they were trying to take her after Cal’s funeral?”

  “Yeah. If you hadn’t pissed her off so much, she might have agreed. She was really out of it. So was I.” Ox’s face was grim. “Definitely not one of my finest brother moments. But yeah, they pull sneaky shit like this pretty regularly.”

  “Kinda goes beyond sneaky at this point. Holding a horse hostage is a dick move.” It had taken everything in Cary to not give Greg and Beverly Rhodes a piece of his mind. Abby’s look of utter elation turning to confusion and disappointment was enough to make him see red.

  “Agreed.” Ox put both hands up and tested the trim around the door. “And Abby will see through it all eventually. She’s smart like Melissa.”

  “It’s still a dick move.”

  “I know.” Ox walked the perimeter of the bunkhouse with his hands slung in his pockets. “This is gonna be good. Might make Mom slow down a little too if she has something to keep busy with close to the house like this. Taking care of paying guests is something she’d enjoy, especially since I’ve moved into town.”

  Ox had moved in permanently with his girlfriend Emmie. They lived over their book and tattoo shop in downtown Metlin. It was nice enough, but Cary couldn’t imagine living in town. Too many people. Too many cars. He liked the outdoors, and he liked his privacy.

  Then again, he also lived with his seventy-two-year-old mother and had since his father passed away. Some forty-six-year-old men might have considered that a burden, but for Cary it had seemed like a no-brainer.

  His dad was gone, and Rumi hated being alone. Plus his mom was hilarious and a great cook. She was also more than opinionated about his love life, or current lack thereof.

  Cary looked at the dilapidated old building. “Maybe I should build my mom a guesthouse to keep her out of my hair.”

  Ox’s smile was crooked. “Good luck with that.”

  “No joke.” Cary’s mom Rumiko was a well-known spitfire. She was an artist who’d moved from Naoshima, Japan, in the 1960s and promptly made Cary’s dad, Gordon Nakamura, fall head over heels for her. They’d moved from Gordon’s childhood home on the Central Coast and planted orange groves in Oakville. There was enough open space and affordable land for Gordon and enough eccentric company for Rumi.

  Oakville was a tiny town in the foothills east of Metlin, full of ranchers and farmers, sprinkled with a healthy population of old hippies, artists, musicians, and odd ducks. There was a bluegrass festival in the spring, a car show in the fall, and a guy who spent all his time making wrought iron dinosaur sculptures to decorate the hills around his house.

  Because why not?

  Their Fourth of July parade consisted of mostly 4-H kids on horses, and a livestock auction for those same kids was held at the end of every summer vacation.

  There were conservation groups and organic farmers, transplanted city people, and lots of folks passing through on their way to the national park.

  Oakville residents were passionate about keeping the town rural and original. They didn’t want new restaurants or microbreweries like the people in Metlin. They didn’t build fancy houses or drive expensive cars. Residents took more pride in their gardens or studios—or dinosaur sculptures—than they did in their bank balance.

  Cary couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. It was one of the reasons he was still single.

  He’d been married in his late twenties, to a chef from the East Bay. She’d tried to start a restaurant in Oakville since Cary refused to live anywhere else. They’d poured time, money, and passion into the place, but it never took off the way his ex wanted it to.

  The restaurant had failed. The chef became resentful. She’d moved back to Oakland and the divorce had been amicable—perfunctory, even—leaving Cary to wonder whether they’d been marriage partners or just business associates. They’d never had kids, which Cary was grateful for, and his older sister got to say “I told you so” at all family events in perpetuity.

  Ox came to stand next to Cary again. “You know a contractor she could use?”

  “Brian Montoya. I’ll call him next week and see if he has time. Or he might be able to put one of his younger guys on something like this. The basic structure is solid, just needs shoring up.”

  “You’ll call Brian?” Ox looked at him. “You probably shouldn’t.”

  Cary sighed. “Yeah, but I will. I mean I’ll give Missy his phone number and call him too. Make sure he’s not too busy. He wouldn’t mean to blow her off, but he’s got a lot on his plate.”

  “If she finds out, she’ll be pissed.”

  “What’s new?”

  Cary had dated on and off over the years, as much as a busy independent grower could, but most of the women he knew were already married.

  And then there was Melissa.

  Cary’s attraction didn’t give a shit that Melissa was way too young for him or she’d been married to his friend, not that he’d ever shown Melissa a hint of its existence when Calvin was alive.

  He tried to keep steady through everything. Through Calvin’s death. Through planting her groves. Watching Melissa raise Abby on her own and not being able to help. She didn’t need a boyfriend, she needed a friend, so Cary did his best to ignore his feelings.

  And when he realized he was flat-out, hopelessly, forever in love with the woman, he drove out to his favorite camping spot and drank himself stupid.

  Loving Melissa, like trying to argue with her, was an exercise in futility. She was too stubborn. Too independent. Too convinced she was right. Always.

  A failed marriage had taught him a hard lesson: every relationship needed two people willing to bend. He’d been the inflexible one in his marriage, and he’d paid the price. He could recognize that with age.

  But Melissa? She’d never bend.

  Cary even understood why. She had the weight of the world on her shoulders and a limited number of people she could rely on to help. She probably felt like if she bent, she’d break.

  And where did that leave Cary?

  Fucked. That left him fucked.

  Melissa had stormed out of his photography exhibition when he’d exposed a fraction of his admiration with a portrait he’d taken of her the previous spring. She’d been working in the corral during calf branding. The photograph he’d taken was sexy as fuck, gritty, sensual, and captured her perfectly.

  She hadn’t yelled at him, but she’d clearly been upset. We’re friends, Cary. Don’t let yourself get confused.

  He’d tried falling out of love with Melissa, but he didn’t think it worked that way.

  But then she’d rushed into town when she thought he was hurt, kissed him in broad daylight, and never spoken of it again.

  At this point, Cary didn’t know which way was up.

  “Hey.” Ox nudged his shoulder. “I think you’re being summoned.”

  Cary glanced at the kitchen porch and saw Joan waving at him. His mom had her sweater on and was walking to Cary’s truck. “Yeah. Looks like it’s time for me to go.”

  “I’ll walk back with you.”

  “Y
ou and Emmie staying here tonight?”

  “Nah, we gotta drive back. Tomorrow is farmers’ market and we open early.” Ox frowned. “Aren’t you going?”

  “Shit. I forgot about it.” He was tempted to be a no-show and just forfeit his table fee for the week, but that pissed customers off, and he’d promised Abby she could help him pour the lemonade they sold at a ridiculous markup. “Yeah, I’ll be there.”

  “You and Melissa still neighbors?” Ox grinned.

  “I have a working cooperative agreement with your niece. Your sister tries to pretend I don’t exist.”

  “Uh-huh.” His long legs ate up the ground between the house and the bunkhouse. “How’s that working for you two?”

  “Why do you care, Ox?”

  “Dude. She’s my sister.”

  “And I’m your customer. Which reminds me, can we start on my left shoulder next week?”

  “You have the drawing ready?”

  “My mom already sketched it out, but I’m sure you’ll need to modify it.”

  “No problem. She did an amazing job on that chrysanthemum. I didn’t have to do much.”

  Some mothers, especially Japanese ones, didn’t like tattooing. Cary’s mom was enough of a rebel to be delighted that her husband and son both liked the practice, even if it was taboo in her family.

  Actually, she might have liked it more because of that.

  “Let me know.” He’d finished both his shoulders and wanted to move on to the water motif he’d planned for the middle of his back. It would be a months-long process between his schedule and Ox’s, but the end result was something he’d been dreaming about for years.

  He’d told his mother what he wanted, and she’d drawn it out for him on a large piece of sketch paper, using the traditional style he loved.

  Cary slowed down as he passed by the living room window, raising a hand to wave at Melissa where she looked out into the darkness.

  She waved back, her hand lingering in the air a little longer than he’d expected.

  Then she snatched it away like her fingers had been burned and spun around to walk back to the kitchen.