The land was covered with mostly tall grass and trees. Older live oaks, red oaks, mesquite, and pecan trees mixed in with patches of scrub brush once you got past the pond. A smaller creek fed from the river and meandered though the land.
She drove past the small stable toward the larger, older ones, which were in a terrible state of disrepair. Okay, they needed to be knocked down and rebuilt. The two outer walls had fallen into each other, resembling two drunks walking side-by-side, propping each other up.
There were two round pens built close to the stables that her grandfather had used for training. One sat 10 yards before you reached the old stable, and the second one sat 20 feet beyond. The old tarp roof covering them had deteriorated long ago.
To the left of the round pens lay Rafael’s property, fenced in of course, all neat and tidy. The grass was trimmed, too. Two people were bent over working in the fields.
On the other side of his property lay another field which was recently cut. Several round hay bales lay scattered over it—the source of his gift to Grey. How had he become so prosperous so quickly?
She stopped and parked next to the stables. Out walked Rafael, looking all manly in jeans, t-shirt pulled tightly over his arms, holding on to his upper body, a baseball cap pulled over his eyes. Work gloves covered his hands. He was walking back toward the front of his house. He looked over in her direction and waved.
She waved back and hoped he wouldn’t think he had to come over; more taking care of Carter, the crazy woman next door. She didn’t need his help. Not quite the truth—okay, she could use it—but she sensed that he was monitoring her, searching for cracks along her fault lines. Nope, he’d changed direction and was now walking toward her.
“Hey, you’re still around?” he said, smiling as he reached the fence separating their two properties.
“I am,” she said.
“What are you up to now?”
“I’m riding the property, or at least I’d hoped to. Checking out the land, the fencing. Hard to see just by looking, the grass everywhere is so tall.”
“Yes it is. Back to that not-taken-care-of thing,” he said, smiling.
What she wouldn’t give to push that smile off that handsome face.
“I have an hour. Want me to ride with you?”
“No. I’m sure you’re busy,” she said.
“I am, but I can make time. Wouldn’t want you to get lost and have the buzzards eating you for dinner.”
“If I were lucky, they’d eat you instead.”
He smiled and chuckled. Lord, the things he could do with that mouth and those teeth.
“Pick me up at the gate, at the end of his road.” He said.
“I guess you can come,” she said.
“You guess, huh?” he said, smiled and started walking away from her.
She turned around, drove the 50 yards or so to the gate. She had to wait for him to catch up, admiring the smoothness of his stride, the ease of his movements. He hopped the fence and walked over to her cart, with his I-am-in-charge presence. She tried not to look at him too much. She didn’t want to appear stranger than he probably already thought she was.
“I’m going to work on the fencing next. I’ve gotten all of the pastures cut for Grey. I can finally get him out of the barn and into some sun,” she said, turning away to avoid seeing his expression at that comment.
“I’m proud of you. You cut that all by yourself? See, now isn’t this a better use of your time than breaking up weddings?” he said, doing a quick scan of her body again. What was up with him? She’d caught him checking her out a time or two when he’d stopped by, unapologetic at having been caught. She guessed that cockiness came from knowing he was all that. Most women probably didn’t mind his attention, welcomed it even.
“You’ve got a nice farm,” she said, looking over it as they drove by, ignoring him and that last comment.
“I’m proud of it.”
“You bought it from the Sandlers? I didn’t think old man Sandler would ever sell, and to a Latino. You are Latino, aren’t you?”
“Guatemalan. My parents were from Guatemala. I was born here. And he didn’t sell it to me. His great grandson did. Wanted the money for college or something. Lucky me, huh?” He said, smiling.
“I guess.”
It was quiet between them for a while.
“You’ve got your work cut out for you,” Rafael said, as they came upon a third opening in the fence. It wasn’t very large; just a post or two were missing, but a large tree had fallen into the fence, knocking it down.
“You’re going to have to move that tree before you make any repairs to the fence,” he said. They were both standing outside of the golf cart now, inspecting the damage the tree had done.
“I could use our tractor, if it still works,” she said.
“Grab that end,” he said, as if he hadn’t heard her, and walked around to the end furthest away from the tree’s trunk.
“Give me a second,” she said, pulling her work gloves on. She walked over to the end of the tree stump and lifted. He did more lifting than she, but they were able to clear it free from the fence line. He was really strong, that one, she thought.
“Your folks have a Bobcat or a tractor to pull that away from here?” he asked.
“Yes, although I’m not sure it works. It’s probably wishful thinking,” she said, settling back into the golf cart. She picked up her clipboard and wrote something down. He was back to watching her again.
“What’s this?” he asked, pointing to the clipboard.
“It’s a to-do list.”
“For who?”
“Me.”
“Oh,” he said, then went silent. Not exactly a vote of confidence, if she’d been looking for one.
“I don’t think we have the money. That’s the reason for the sale. And I unfortunately do have the time, so it’s me. How long do you think it will take to repair all of the fencing?”
“It would take me a day or two. You? Who knows! Couple of weeks maybe. Uh-oh, this isn’t good,” he said, as they pulled up to the area at the back of the property, the portion furthest away from the house. It had become a mini junkyard. That was the best way to describe what they saw—small and large appliances, scrap lumber, a bumper from a car, even an old car shell stood sentinel over the land.
“This is apparently the place to dump for the county,” Rafael said, walking toward the tire tracks that led away from the junk to the fence, where the gate had been completely removed and the fence was missing. He could see a smaller side road from here, one that was off the main one.
“The country is a trash dump to some people—a place for them to dump their excess whatever. Tired of that alligator? Don’t want that dog? All that junk in your back yard means a trip to the country for you. At least that’s what I remember.”
“True,” he said, chuckling. “This is what I’d tackle first if I were you,” he said, walking around, looking at the things that had been discarded. “Call me and I’ll give you the name of someone who will haul this away for you. He won’t charge you much.”
“It’s a lot to do,” she said, looking around.
“I know. Sure you’re up for it?”
“I am. What else do I have to do,” she said. He stayed quiet to that.
They made their way back to his house, spotting a few other areas of missing fencing that would require repairing. He watched as she stopped and added them to her list, holding back his laughter at her seriousness. She dropped him off where she had picked him up earlier.
“Call me, and I’ll give you the name of my friend,” he said.
“I will, and thanks for coming with me. Thanks for the hay and for not charging me for it,” she said.
He smiled and walked away. She drove back home.
#
Six
Wednesday
“Crap. Fuck. Shoot,” Carter said. At this pace, repairing the fence would take her a month if it took a day. She hadn’
t done any of this type of work in ages and she’d forgotten how much labor went into maintaining a ranch. She’d spent the first hours trying to remember the steps to fence repair, and had gone on YouTube for her refresher course. Thank God for YouTube.
She’d spent another hour searching for old t-posts, which she’d found several, way in the back of the hay shed. She’d driven into town yesterday and picked up a roll of wire from the hardware store. Whatever possessed her to think she could do this so quickly and by herself? Rafael’s smug smile popped into her head. Right, she remembered. She’d wanted to show him.
“Of course I’ve repaired fencing. Sure I’ve cut down trees, and I’ve even shot a water buffalo once. No, I don’t need any of your help. What the hell was I thinking?” she said out loud.
She’d left the house this morning, determined and proud of herself for getting on with the business that needed doing, of pushing her wedding screw-up and subsequent firing to the back of her mind. She’d done some cleaning and fed the horse. Of course she could do this. That determination was leaving her quicker than abstinence leaving a virgin.
The one bright spot in all of this was that she was outdoors. Oh, how she’d missed being here, out in the open. And she had it all to herself, too. She stopped and took a minute to take in the beauty that surrounded her, all that made this part of the country so special; the gently rolling hills, sometimes green, sometimes the color of straw, depending on their yearly allotment of rain.
She looked off toward the horizon, taking in the blue and white sky, transforming the blue of the sky into a lake, the white puffy clouds, the mountains surrounding it. The more vaporous clouds became the steam rising off the blue lake. Her imagination at work.
She’d taught her great-grandfather to see her cloud pictures and he’d stop his work, sit down next to her and make up stories to fit with her pictures, usually about lost horses trying to find their way home. She missed him. Life was so simple then. She wondered what he’d think of his little Carter now.
Back to work, she told herself and looked down at the beginning of hole number three, a t-post driver in her hand, pounding away. Her shoulders, arms, and triceps were burning, and starting to tire. What happened to being in shape?
She heard the sound of a truck and turned to look. It was Rafael. Anybody but him, Lord, anybody but him, she thought, taking another quick glance over her shoulder. He was parked close to her. She turned her back to him and kept right on working.
“Need some help?” he shouted, during a break in her pounding. She stopped, turning around to face him. He was leaning against his truck, not even trying to help.
“No,” she said.
He laughed like he knew differently.
“Saw you working from the road. Thought I’d see if you wanted help,” he said.
“I wouldn’t want to keep you from your work. I can do this. Plus you’re a busy man,” she said.
“Not that busy. And it’s bothersome watching you over here killing yourself,” he said, from his propped-up position on the hood of his truck. Mr. Casual himself, leaning back, arms crossed at his chest, watching her.
“I’m not killing myself. I’m almost done. I have three more to go, and then I can string the wire between them.”
“What are you going to do about putting that gate up?” he asked, pointing to it as it lay on the ground.
“I don’t know just yet. I’ve been considering several different options,” she said.
“Uh-huh,” he said, like he didn’t believe her.
“Just for curiosity sake, what would you do with it?” she asked, with one final pound. She was done with post number three.
He sidled up to her, and smoothly grabbed the fourth post, and the t-post driver from her hands. “I’ll let you figure it out,” he said, walking away from her. “Where do you want this one? About here?” he asked, standing about six feet from the post she had just completed.
“Sure, but I can do it,” she said.
He ignored her and started driving. Did she say he was fine? And talk about driving. If he could drive other things the way he was driving that t-post… She took a deep breath, stopped working altogether and watched as his shirt pulled tightly over his strong shoulders while he hammered. There was a rhythm to this; she just hadn’t built up the strength for rhythm.
“You’re fast,” she said, walking over after he was done. She watched as he walked to post hole number five.
“How about I finish these last two and you start stringing the wire?”
“Sure, if you don’t mind,” she said, a little too easily. He had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing outright. She looked funny with sweat dripping from the bandana tied around her head. Those jeans that did wonders for her ass, but it was obviously hard to move around in them. She had on a good pair of boots at least. She appeared to know what she was doing with the wire, he thought, although his view from the corner of his eye was somewhat limited.
It took him about an hour to finish with both t-posts and to her credit, she had finished stringing wire between the first post, and was working on her second when he approached her.
“So you do know what you’re doing,” he said, standing beside her, assessing her work like a old high school shop teacher.
“This is a nice sign,” he said, pointing to her handmade sign that lay on the ground. “No trespassing. Security camera in operation,” he read aloud. “Where are you going to hang it?”
“On the gate,” she said.
“You bought a security camera?” he asked. He was quiet, studying it.
“No, it’s just a scare tactic to make whoever dumps here think I do. Maybe they’ll think twice before they try to leave a bunch of junk out here again,” she said.
“And you’re clever, too,” he said, walking over and leaning on the hood of his truck again. He pulled out his cell.
“Did you call the number I gave you for Wayne to pick up your junk?” he asked, pointing to her mini junkyard a few yards away.
“I did. He said he was busy, and didn’t know when he could get by. Maybe next week,” she said.
He didn’t say anything, but looked down at his phone, dialed some numbers, and walked away from her. She ignored him, working on stringing wire from post two to three.
He talked to someone for a while. She snuck in a few covert peeps, and during the last one caught him as he put the phone away. He walked back over to her.
“Call him again. Sometimes you have to harass people. Gotta go. Are you okay out here?” he asked.
“I am. I’m not as fast as you, but I’ll get it done,” she said.
“See you around,” he said. He walked back to his truck and left.
#
Thursday morning
Oh, if she could stay in this spot in her bed for a week or two. Her shoulders hurt, her arms hurt, her butt hurt, her thighs hurt, everything hurt. She moaned and gingerly moved each body part until she was seated in an upright position. It was early, way early morning. Night had yet to give way to dawn. She was exhausted. She’d finished attaching the wire to all of the t-posts yesterday, but she’d run out of daylight before she’d been able to hang the gate.
That was today’s job, after feeding Grey and putting him out in pasture number one, of course. At the rate she was moving, it would take her until nightfall again before she’d finish hanging that one gate.
She was bushed, that was true, but mixed in with her sore muscles and tired behind was a little bit of pride at what she’d accomplished so far. Rafael and his smug smile again flitted through her mind. Was that good? It wasn’t bad. Her guilt over Bentley hadn’t abated but it was less sharp this week. Maybe her brain, like the rest of her body, was too tired to think.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, an idea flickered, like a light on one of those creepy motels you find in a scary movie. The idea that she could take over the ranch, make it hers, not go back to the city at all—stay here forever, a hideout
for those that thought that—but for her it would be falling in love again, with something she thought was gone for good.
Just a week here and her head had felt clearer. She could hang out here and morph into that eccentric old horsewoman, doing whatever she wanted. There were worse things. It beat the hell out of crazy Carter the break up artist, desperate for a man, sucky at accounting, at least.
Oh, to not have to sell. Right Carter, she said to herself. “That ain’t happening,” she said out loud.
Up. Grey needed feeding and she was starving. She’d stopped by the grocery store and picked up more food, so no more peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.
#
Thursday afternoon
Rafael stood outside next to his truck. His cell was ringing. It was Danielle, calling him again. He’d broken it off with her, and of course, she hadn’t taken no for an answer, not yet anyway. Some took his breakups harder than others. He hit the decline button and put his phone back in his pocket.
He was home to grab a quick bite to eat, and then it was on to ordering some more chicks from this one hatchery he used; necessary to keep up with the growing demand for his birds.
He was lucky. His birds were catching on with a handful of small, organic foodies in and around Austin. He sold his chickens at the farmer’s market, but selling to restaurants—the high-end kind—was his ultimate goal. They were more willing to pay his asking price.
He couldn’t profit from the large economies of scale offered by the larger poultry producers. His chickens didn’t come cheap—not as cheap as the grocery stores at any rate—but then, his chickens weren’t choked full of antibiotics; just farm-raised, and some free-range for those that wanted that, too.
A big Waste To Go truck was parked near the front of the drive leading to Carter’s home. She was getting her very own dumpster. Surprisingly enough, she was keeping herself busy. Every time he saw her she was on the move, doing something. She probably didn’t have much time to think about her life that way, or maybe she had more time to figure herself out. It could go either way.
When You Fall... Page 8
