Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 112903 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112903 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Reaching inside my shirt, I run my thumb along the delicate gold ring that hangs from a chain around my neck. It’s Mom’s wedding band, which I dug out of the ziplock bag filled with her things that we got from the hospital. I don’t know why I took it. I think—maybe I like having a piece of her with me, however small.
Cash is the smart one, and he got into college, no problem, when he graduated high school two years ago. Me, on the other hand? I didn’t even apply to college. I graduated last May, and I’ve been cowboying full time here on Rivers Ranch ever since. Really, I’ve been cowboying since before I could walk. Rivers Ranch has been in my family for over a hundred years, and I’m not sure I ever want to leave.
I just don’t know what my role here should be. Cash is a natural-born leader, and he’s getting his degree, so I never doubted he’d take over as foreman and owner when Dad was ready to hand over the reins. But where does that leave me? How do I put my stamp on my family’s legacy?
What happens now that my parents are gone?
Mom and Dad were smart, hardworking people who grew into incredible mentors for me. They were my guiding lights my whole life, and now I miss Mom so much that I could scream. Everyone said I take after her in looks and in personality, both of us extroverts. We shared a love of food and books about the Wild West. When she brought home Little House in the Big Woods by Laura Ingalls Wilder from the library, I climbed in her lap, and together we read my first chapter book. We have so much in common.
Had so much in common.
I look up at the sound of an engine, my hand dropping from the ring. Glancing across the front pasture, I see a truck kicking up a cloud of dust on the dirt road that connects our house to Highway 21.
My heart skips a beat when I see that the truck is a tan Ford F-150. What would John B, our veterinarian, be doing here at this hour? Far as I know, the herd doesn’t need medical attention. Was there some kind of emergency? He already came to offer his condolences earlier this week. Maybe he’s checking in on us?
Rising, I lift my arm and wipe my eyes on my shirt. That’s when I hear it—a vaguely familiar song playing on full blast. It’s coming from the truck.
My heart skips another beat when I recognize the opening notes of “Yellow” by Coldplay.
I’m down the front steps and on the driveway before I know what’s happening. Holding my hand against my forehead, I squint against the light of the fiery sunset and nearly choke on my heart when it leaps into my throat.
Sally. My Sally.
Holy shit, she came.
I watch, pulse drumming, as the truck rounds a curve and heads my way.
Oh, it’s Sally all right. My best friend’s got both hands on the wheel, her long, dark hair flying around her face.
I smile, my chest cracking open. I’ve never been so happy to see someone in my entire life.
She pulls to a stop in front of me, the heat of the engine hitting the front of my legs. She turns down the music and smiles, the dimple in her left cheek popping.
I’m momentarily struck speechless.
She’s here.
When did she get so fucking pretty?
Sally was always a cute girl. But while she’s been away at college, she’s grown into a beautiful woman with big brown eyes and a full, soft-looking mouth. Her cheeks are pink, probably from the heat, and her hair’s gotten longer since she left. Wavy tendrils frame her round face in a halo of brown that burns to gold in the sun.
Or maybe I just didn’t appreciate how pretty she was until she left. I haven’t seen her since mid-August, when her parents moved her into her freshman dorm in Waco.
“Hey.” She holds up a six-pack of Coca-Cola. “I got the Coke. You got the Jack?”
The Cokes are the old-fashioned kind, the ones that come in glass bottles. I see a bottle opener tucked into the red-and-white cardboard holder. We agreed when we were eleven that glass-bottle Cokes tasted better than the ones that came in plastic or aluminum.
A sudden, searing pressure builds behind my eyes and inside my chest.
I clear my throat. “What are you doing here? Don’t you have exams?”
Being the smarty-pants she is, Sally got a full ride to Baylor University, a prestigious college that’s a long drive from Hartsville. She’s got big dreams of becoming a veterinarian like her daddy, and getting good grades is really important to her.
When she called me after hearing the news about my parents, Sally said she was buried in preparing for some midterms she had coming up. It didn’t sound like she’d be able to make it to the funeral.