I don’t pretend to understand it, I’m simply going with it. I’m trusting my instincts and seeing where they lead me.
I pull into the winding drive of the Buchanan farmhouse ten minutes later and climb out of my car as Cash is trotting out to his truck. As soon as he notices me, he jogs my way. Dressed in work boots, ripped jeans, and a faded t-shirt, he looks like he’s headed out to do some field work.
“Morning,” I say.
“Aw, you brought me something?” He eyes the brown paper bag in my hand. “How sweet. You shouldn’t have.”
“You still hate walnuts?”
His brows lift, as if he’s impressed that I remember such a mundane detail. “I do.”
“Then you wouldn’t like this anyway. Where’s your brother?” I glance at Wyatt’s parked truck several yards away.
“If he’s not still inside, then he’s in the horse barn saddling up a couple mares. You’re moving cattle today,” he says. “You coming out again this Friday night?”
“Didn’t plan on it …”
“You should.”
I cluck my tongue. “I don’t know if I can afford it, Cash … those twenty-five-dollar drinks add up pretty quickly.”
He chuffs. “I’ll give you the friends and family discount, how about that?”
“Tempting, but I’ll have to think about it.”
“Wyatt comes every Friday at seven. Stays until about nine.”
Cocking my head, I ask, “And why are you telling me this?”
Shrugging, he jams his hands into the front pockets of his jeans and bears that signature ornery twinkle in his eye.
“No reason,” he says.
“If Wyatt wants my company, he can ask me himself.”
The front screen door slams and Wyatt emerges from the front door.
“Speak of the devil,” Cash says.
“Cash, quit harassing the help,” Wyatt says, making his way down the front walk. “Free labor’s hard to come by.”
“Was just telling her she should come out Friday night,” Cash says. “From about seven to nine PM.”
The two exchange looks, a silent conversation of some kind.
“Hay’s not going to cut itself,” Wyatt tells his brother. “You better get.”
“Good seeing you again, Blaire,” Cash says as he strides to his truck. “Hope to see you Friday night.”
“Cash says we’re moving cattle today?” I ask as we head to the horse barn. “I brought you something by the way.” I hand him the bag with the banana nut muffin. They used to be his favorite. I’m hoping they still are.
“Just a small move,” he says, walking a few feet in front of me the entire way there. “Thanks.” He tears off a chunk of muffin as we walk and pops it into his mouth. When we finally get to the barn, he slides the main door open and tells me to watch my step.
But I almost trip over the concrete threshold anyway—because standing in the pen straight ahead is none other than Ginger.
Sucking in a hard breath, I push past Wyatt and go straight to my girl.
“Do you think she’ll remember me?” I ask.
She dips her head down and grabs a mouthful of hay, none the wiser. While her back sags slightly and her coat isn’t as glossy as it once was, I’d recognize those sparkly brown eyes anywhere.
“Ginger,” I say her name. “Hey, girl.”
Climbing on the metal gate of the pen, I reach through to run my hand along her jaw, then down her long neck. She turns, studying me for a second before taking a couple of steps closer. When she’s facing me, I trace my fingertips over the white star between her eyes and brush the front of her mane to the side.
“You’ll be riding Doll today,” he says. “Ginger’s not a big fan of doing any real work around here anymore.”
“Leave this sweet perfect retired angel alone.” I smooth my palm over her soft nose before sniffing her hay-scented breath. “Why’s she in the barn anyway?”
“I thought maybe you’d like to see her again.”
Turning to Wyatt, I offer a teasing, “Did we just become friends again? I brought you a muffin … you brought me my favorite horse …”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself now.” He grabs a nearby bucket of oats and a halter before heading to the next pen to saddle up one of the other mares.
When he’s finished with the second one, he leads them out of the barn.
“Here.” He crouches down, cupping his hands near the stirrup of one of the horses. “I’ll help you up.”
Just like old times, I slide my boot into his hand before hoisting my other leg over the saddle. He adjusts the stirrups so they fit perfectly, and a minute later, he’s on his horse and we’re heading toward one of the side roads that leads to one of their many pastures.
“You doing alright?” he asks after a few minutes, careening his neck to check on me.
I flash him a smile and a thumb’s up. “Living for this.”
Cattle drives were always my favorite thing to do with him, though it used to be his parents and at least two of his brothers would be along with us. It could be that this is a smaller herd we’re moving.