She sipped the warm milk out of her oatmeal, staring once again across the field at the ranch hands. The sun had risen just above the mountains and the ranch hands were busy corralling the horses. She supposed she had outgrown Pistol too. Definitely Shirley.
Her father had left a note on her door. He was sad that he had eaten dinner alone, but that he hoped she'd help him out on the ranch today with some business things and whatnot. She didn't know what it all meant, but if it was important to him, she would hear him out. She hoped it wasn't anything too serious.
She couldn't see him outside, so he must already be in the office, she thought. Growing up she had often wondered why he spent so much time in his office. She made up elaborate tales in her head about what he did in there with the door closed. Turned out he wasn't a super secret spy, nor was he planning on overthrowing the President like some of her middle school friend's fathers. He was just sitting there, trying to make the ranch work. It was hard work, and she learned when she moved to Los Angeles, severely under appreciated work.
She shook her hair into some semblance of shape, took out two coffee mugs, filled both up, and walked up the back stairs to find her father.
Her father had removed the carpet from the floors upstairs and refused to deal with the severely scratched, scuffed, and at some points chipped wood floors. Money spent on useless upkeep, he said, was tantamount to death by a thousand paper cuts: from writing checks. Her father was full of rationalizations and quips about why he lived in his life in the sort of way he did.
She knocked on his door and got a gruff grunt in response. She pushed the door open and found her father seated behind his massive mahogany desk, his feet up on the end, reading from a giant binder. He wore his reading glasses, which he took off as he accepted the mug of coffee from Lilith. "Thanks," he said, rubbing his eyes with his other hand.
"What you reading?" she asked, taking a seat in one of the plush guest chairs in front of the desk. The desk had always intimated her as a kid. It was seven feet long, and if used as something besides a makeshift filing cabinet, could seat eight people to dinner.
"Mushrooms. You like mushrooms?"
"Sure. But only the crazy kind," she said.
"Yes, you're very funny aren't you. You get that from me," he said, grimacing. He had never approved of drugs of any kind. But he was wary to ever admit how many things he had tried in his younger days. "I got approached to start planting some organic mushrooms and whatnot. We have some spots on the ranch that could accommodate them. I told Ricky I'd think about it if it was a low time investment."
"You'll proceed without Ricky?"
"Fuck 'em. It's still a good idea. Don't matter if it came from him or someone else. I ain't vindictive like that."
"So you gonna do it?"
"Well, that's the question ain't it," he said. He threw the binder on top of several others. "It's not like we're running out of ideas to further monetize the property."
"Yeah, I suppose you're not wrong about that," she replied. She pulled a random binder off the stack and opened it to the first page. "Large Scale Hop Production," she read off the header.
"Another feasible idea. But it's not enough and it's gonna take higher investment and possibly another hand," he replied. "But that's not why I asked to see you this morning." He sifted through the binders and files.
"Maybe you need a filing cabinet."
"I need all of this at hand's reach."
"All of it?"
"What did I just say?" he mumbled, flipping through a bound report. "Yeah, this one. Read this for me," he said.
She opened it. "Fourth Quarter Accounts and Payables, Total Revenue Year to Date," she said, grimacing. "Uh. K?"
"There's more in there than just numbers, but I thought you could start with that," he said.
"Are you trying to tell me something by not saying anything, Dad?"
"I mean, what do you think I'm saying?" he asked, throwing himself back in his leather desk chair. It rocked back but took his weight.
"I think you're trying to get me involved in the ranch," she replied, nervously.
"It's your birthright, Doc Holliday. And I ain't gonna be around forever," he responded, picking up another packet of files and turning his attention away from Lilith.
"Cover to cover?" she asked, flipping through it and realizing that when he said it wasn't all numbers, he had actually just been lying.
"Yeah," he said absently.
She took her cue and left the room, going back downstairs to find more coffee, and settle in for a read.
#
She laid on her back underneath a maple tree. A maple tree her father swore Grandmother Aggie had planted when she was a teenager. Its massive branches swept in every direction, providing her shade as she stared at the pages her father had given her. She used her phone to calculate the numbers and make sure everything was as it seemed.
And to be honest, she thought, things did not look good. The ranch wasn't losing money, exactly. It just didn't look like there was enough to throw into an emergency fund, or to throw into the ever increasing upkeep cost or improvements that the ranch needed. Did her father give her this to make her anxious? Or to be prepared for what she would have to do to take over the property?
The maple tree was located in the south pasture, near a cliff overlooking a part of the herd that the ranch hands were busy corralling and looking after. Bonnie, one of the hand's border collies, ran playfully around, excited to finally do some work. When Lilith had left for college, Bonnie had been a year old, and now even in her advancing age, she still had more than enough energy for the cows. She kept her distance, barking at them every few moments, although they didn't seem to really care what she said. Perhaps border collies weren't that useful for cows. Maybe it was just Bonnie, who seemed happier to be outside than to be with the herd.
Being home meant being mired in memories of times and places that she didn't necessarily want to dwell on. This tree, for instance, kept her mind flitting back to fucking Keith under its branches, in their want to emulate country and folk songs of old. She had come back over winter break of her freshman year of college and had been happy to be home. So happy that she had called him up to talk to him about her experiences. He was more interested in peeling off her pants and seeing if he had forgotten how to part her lips and find her clit with just his tongue. And she had let him, because she was young and she thought that's what she was supposed to want. That, that was how she was supposed to want it. She stared at the leaves, different and yet the same after all these years, and reminded herself that you can never take back the past, only prepare for a better future. And she didn't regret any of it. It had been a lot of fun, and that's how she knew she wanted to remember her past, at least.
And looking at these numbers were making her eyes swim. She had been trying to make sense of them for hours, but some of the numbers refused to add up correctly. She'd have to talk to her father about an error in the report, or perhaps his accountant, Sammy, was doing things wrong. Or worse, she thought, Sammy was embezzling money from the ranch. She didn't know if her father could honestly take that news. He was a strong man, but after Ricky, it could all go downhill. She would have to bring it up with him later.
She got up and re-situated herself on the tree's roots. She saw Marty waving at her from down in the pasture. She could tell he was in a good mood and she waved back at him, gesturing that he should come up. Her father had always been lenient with Marty and work, knowing how close he was with her. As long as he got his work done, on his own time, her father didn't care if he frittered away his hours talking to her. Some days it meant that Marty would work long into the night after all the other ranch hands had already turned in. He didn't mind to do it, either. He liked working alone, and he liked working at night.
At some point grandmother Aggie had dug a footpath up near the cliff, which Marty quickly ran. He plopped himself down at Lilith's feet, sweating, and shaking dirt clods off his boo
ts.
"How ya doin'?"
"Pistol's father left him a bunker," she replied in answer.
"Yeah, I heard about that. He was gonna put his father down there."
"He showed me," she said, laughing.
"No fucking way," he said. "How was it?"
"Spooky. Nearly as spooky as these numbers," she said, throwing him the papers.
"You know I can't do math," he said, throwing them back at her.
"Fine. But this shit ain't good."
"Am I gonna lose my job?"
"No Marty, you won't lose your damn job."
"Then why do I care?"
"Fine, I see how it is," she replied. She grabbed a fistful of dirt and threw it at him.
"I also heard you saw Keith," he said, brushing off the dirt.
"How did you hear that? It only happened last night!" she said, already embarrassed.
"I know one of his colleagues."
"Sexually?"
"Yes, sexually, ya nosy girl," he replied.
"I knew you liked the bad boys," she said, smirking. "Since when did he have a biker gang to call his very own."
"Ever since they found oil on the Garrett property. His father said he could do whatever he wanted. Didn't have to work the property anymore. So he decided he wanted to ride all over the West. And apparently he found some like minded individuals."
"So he's a self made biker ringleader," she said. "That's reassuring. At least he wasn't corrupted."
"Yeah, but that Screamin' Sally," he replied. "She could corrupt even me."
"That's gross Marty. So so gross." But even as she tried to not think about Keith, she knew it was romantic to consider getting back with the bad boy after all these years. Even though, she reminded herself, he was anything but a bad boy when she knew him. They both had changed, but for some reason it felt safe and comfortable to consider that despite those changes, they could still fall for each other all over again.
They sat in silence for a few moments as they stared out at the pasture and the herd. The other hands were used to Marty walking off and coming to do his work later. They even respected him for it, since they knew he was carrying his weight in one way or another. Letting him do whatever he wanted was a way of finding tasks already completed the next day.
"So you gonna fuck Keith?" he asked.
She threw another fistful of dirt at him.
"So I'll take that as a yes," he said.
"Well, there was this guy at the coffee place a ways away. Totally gorgeous. He had these pale green eyes, perfectly muscular shoulders and this tousled brown hair."
"Sounds like a total hottie."
"Yeah, but it was more than that. When we were together--"
"Wait wait, together?"
"Well, I spilled my coffee on him."
"You dunce."
"Anyway! He held me for a moment and it almost just felt right," she said. Her mind went back to that moment and although she didn't believe in perfect moments, she knew it was nice. Except for after when she realized he saw her bra through a soaked shirt.
"So you gonna see him? Get you some?"
"I don't know his name or number," she said, sighing.
"Well, ain't this a sticky wicket," he replied, chuckling.
"Not yet it ain't," she chuckled.
"Maybe he'll show up again. These things have a way of working out, ya know?"
"Not for me they don't," she said. She threw another fistful of dirt at him. "But thanks for the pep talk."
#
"You read the thing?" Saul asked. He sat at the family dinner table, a rustic piece of furniture that stretched fourteen feet across the dining room. It had enough seating for a much bigger family and a much larger set of friends than he had ever had need for. His brothers and sisters never cared for the ranch and had lived their lives far away. They tried to come home for the obligatory holidays, but time had shifted priorities, families grew larger, and ultimately no one had come around the Holliday Ranch except Lilith. And her life hadn't really let her come home that often either.
Of course, he reminded himself, a lot of it had to do with Mother Holliday. No one really wanted to come and have to relive that. He didn't really understand how he dealt with it, but it was better if people stayed away. Then he wouldn't have to console anyone, let alone himself.
"Yeah, I read the thing," said Lilith.
"And?"
"Doesn't look so great, Dad," she replied. "I dunno what you wanted me to take away from it all."
"Well, maybe it was my subtle way of telling you that perhaps I need you to take an interest in these things. You'll have to make sure not to run the ranch into the ground after I'm dead."
"Can we please not talk about death right now?" she asked, spearing a carrot and shoving it into her mouth.
"Look, you've never wanted to talk about this. And after your mother died--"
"Oh here we fucking go again, Dad! Again and again. Why don't you just dig her up and drag her into this room instead of shoving it in my face every damn time that she's dead and now you can't have the son you wanted to fix the ranch with you," she snapped, pushing her plate away and staring at her father. Then it dawned on her what exactly she just had just said. "I'm sorry," she mumbled, embarrassed.
Her father cut into his steak before putting his knife and fork down. "It's not about whether you can or not. It's about whether you want to."
She sighed. "I know."
Saul's cellphone rang. "Hello?" he said, answering it. He sounded tired, she thought. Did she exacerbate it? "Yeah, just come in and I'll do it now," he said and closed the phone. "Sorry Lilith, Clark just got back from Cheyenne and wanted me to look at the purchase sheet."
"Purchase sheet?"
"Yeah, I bought back the cattle that Ricky sold."
"You bought them back? You spent more money getting our own damn cattle back?" she said, exasperated. The ranch didn't have the money to lose the cattle in the first place, and now they had to spend even more money.
"I just want the damn fucking episode over with. Do you get that? We need to move on and get back to fixing this damn place," he snapped. "Either get it or look at those sheets again, and realize that I don't have time, resources, or patience for any kind of fucking legal or police action." He slammed his knife down and got up from the table and walked to the window. "I just need this damn place to start working properly again."
"Yeah," she whispered.
"Hello?" said Clark, standing in the doorway of the dining room.
Lilith turned around to say hello and froze in her seat. It was him, she thought. The guy from the coffee place. She gulped. And he was a ranch hand. He worked for her father. The facts of the situation washed over her and she waved meekly at him.
He reciprocated and then moved towards her father. He took out a sheet of paper from his breast pocket. "Sorry for the delay Mr. Holliday. I had to take some side roads to help the ladies feel a little more at ease," he said.
"If that's how you wanna think about it," said Saul, looking over the paper. "This the receipt? You got a good price."
"Yeah, when the Carmichaels realized what happened, they took the hit to help us," Clark replied.
"I ain't no charity case Clark. And stop calling me Mr. Holliday, that was my goddamn father, may he rest in peace," said Saul.
"Sorry, sir. I tried to give them a fair price, but they wouldn't accept it."
"Of course they wouldn't. At least these ladies didn't end up at auction. I'm goin' up to my office. Keep my daughter company while I'm gone." Saul stared at the receipt as he found his way to the back staircase.
"Hey, uh Lilith, right?" asked Clark, motioning towards her.
She coughed, suddenly unsure how to make her mouth form words. "Yeah, I think, we uh, met the other day."
"Well, I don't think so."
"No?" Wait, she thought, did those pale greens belong to someone else?
"No, I think your coffee met me, but we were ne
ver introduced. Your father talks about you a lot, and the house is full of your pictures, so I made the connection. My name's Clark," he said, his hand outstretched.
She chuckled and took his hand. His grip was gentle but his hands were rough, the same texture form the coffee shop, like the surface of the mountains that sheltered the ranch. She held on for a moment, and then another, until he gave a soft tug and she released. "Sorry, yeah. That was clumsy. I should watch where I'm going," she said.
"It's not a big deal, I don't mind. I didn't like that shirt anyway," he said. "So you're back from medical school. I guess I should refer to you as Doctor, oh, Doc Holliday, like the uh," he said, laughing.
"Yeah, I've been hearing that joke for a long, long time now."
"Oh, sorry 'bout that."
"Nah, it's fine. I sorta wish I had become a gunslinger instead, or maybe even a Texas Ranger. Seems much more exciting," she replied, shooting finger guns at him. Jeez, she thought, so lame.
"Yeah, I actually went to school for something even sillier than helping people save lives," he said.
"What was that?"
"English lit, minoring in philosophy," he said, chuckling. "I can quote you Kant and summarize Wuthering Heights, but ya know, still workin' with my hands."
"Ah, it can't be that bad. Workin' with your hands. The ole hand work. Jobs with your hands. Hand jobs," she said, immediately feeling mortified. It had just slipped out, and there it was, she thought, hanging in the room.
"Yeah, something like that I suppose. But your father's a good employer. And through that whole mess with Ricky, he's really trusted me. That's not easy to come by, especially for me."
"Oh?"
"Yeah, just some stuff," he said, looking up at the ceiling as he heard Saul's footsteps coming back down.
She could feel the attraction in her, she could feel her sexuality roiling, embarrassing herself. She could remember what she thought about the previous night, his arms around her, his mouth against her neck, and her hands around his manhood before he entered her. Her insides felt awkward looking at him in person and remembering that she had undressed him in her mind. She had tousled his brown hair, running her hands across his scruffy face, slightly unshaven and sharp under her hands.
Finding Him at Home (Holliday Book 1) Page 5
