“Well, look at the two most handsome men in Sugarland Creek gracing my presence this mornin’,” Vicky gushes as soon as she hands us menus.
Jase takes one before sliding the other toward me. “You say that to everyone.”
“But I only mean it about half the time.” She winks, then pours coffee into our mugs. “Y’all ready to order?”
“Yes, please.” I close my menu, then motion for Jase to go first.
Once he’s done, I tell her mine, and then she’s gone.
“So anythin’ new happenin’?” I ask after a moment of silence.
I rest my arms on the table, leaning forward to engage in a conversation, but Jase occupies himself on his phone. Moving back to Sugarland Creek to reconnect with my son is something I should’ve done years ago. When I told him I was interested in buying a house, he was excited to be my real estate agent, and I was eager to spend time with him.
“Not really,” he mutters, focusing on the screen.
“When’s your next open house?”
“Sunday. Why?” His head pops up. “You lookin’ to buy another place?”
I give him a tight-lipped smile, sitting back in the booth. “Nah. One is plenty for me.”
His fingers go back to typing something, and I blow out a frustrated breath. Jase doesn’t owe me anything, but it’d be nice to get his attention for a few minutes when we’re having breakfast together. Milly’s Diner is a staple in town, and one we used to frequent as a family when he and Lyla were kids. Memories flood in as I look around at the old leather tan booths and inhale the familiar smells of coffee and grits. The wall behind the cashier covered in kids’ artwork from the children’s menus brings me back to when they’d color as we waited for our food. Lyla would purposely steal the best colors and leave Jase with brown and black.
“How’s your mom doin’? And Braxton?” She remarried when Jase was fifteen, and as far as I’m aware, they have a decent relationship. Braxton raised Jase like his own, which is something I’ll always be grateful for, but the thought of them being close leaves me with even more regret.
One shoulder lifts as his attention stays glued to his texting conversation. “Fine. They’re takin’ a trip to Hawaii soon.”
“Good for them. I hear it’s beautiful this time of year.”
“Yeah,” he replies.
Sipping my drink, I wait for him to make conversation or bring up something we can both engage in. It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask questions about the Sugarland Creek ranch, but I know I’ll just get more one-word responses. When they opened the equine retreat twenty years ago, I was in the prime of my bull-riding career and didn’t bother meeting them even after I retired and became a farrier.
There’s nothing I can do that’ll fix the damage I caused my son by leaving him, but I can try like hell to be the father I should’ve been. Even if he won’t make it easy.
By the time I was out of recovery, my marriage was over, and Jase hardly recognized the man I’d turned into. I wanted to be the parent he deserved, but he resented me—for his sister’s death and for not being strong enough to stay.
No matter how hard I tried, he refused to see me. It didn’t help that by the time I was ready to go back to work, all my clients moved on, and the only way to find work was outside of Sugarland Creek.
I traveled across Tennessee, Georgia, and Alabama but never stayed anywhere long enough to lay roots. Taking over for Mr. Ryan was my ticket to moving home, and damn, it feels good being back.
Since Jase is a licensed real estate agent and I was looking to buy a new house, I was able to use that as a wedge and find something to connect over, but how much he lets me in is up to him.
“You missed a good rodeo last week.” As soon as I say the words, my heart gallops at the reminder of Noah and finding my camper empty the morning after we shared the greatest night of my life. Since my texts went unanswered and my calls were sent to voicemail, I got the hint.
He curls his lip, finally looking at me. His deadpan expression makes me bark out a laugh.
“That’s more up your alley, ain’t it?”
Even before our family broke apart and I was traveling for bull-riding competitions, Jase was never interested. I brought him to practices and competitions, tried to get him involved, but he hated every minute of it. When I retired and got certified to be a farrier, he still had no interest in being around horses or ranches. Lyla loved tagging along and talking to the horses when I worked on them. Spending time together is what made us grow so close and why her death hit me as hard as it did.
“You might like it if you actually came and saw for yourself,” I say harsher than I meant to.
“A bunch of grown men actin’ like idiots on dangerous animals sounds foolish and lame to me.”
“They had Wisconsin cheese curds, your favorites,” I taunt as a way to lighten the mood, but he ignores me. Guess that won’t be our bonding subject. He used to beg for greasy food when we’d go to the state fair. That and the go-cart rides are the only reasons he’d want to go. He’d ride with his mom, and then Lyla and I would team up and race against them for hours.
“Sorry to keep y’all waitin’. Bobby Ray lost your ticket, and I made him put a rush on it. Damn kid.” She sets down our plates, then steps away to grab the pot of coffee.
“Thanks, Vicky,” I say once she’s warmed up our mugs.
“Anythin’ else I can getcha?”
Shaking my head, I grab a piece of crispy bacon and take a bite. Jase cuts into his sausage before slathering it in gravy.
“You wanna come over tonight after work? We can drink a few beers while you help me unpack,” I offer with amusement. My house came with five acres of land, just enough to have a large shed for all my work supplies and no nosy neighbors.
“I’ll be workin’ late. Meetin’ a client for dinner and then doin’ some paperwork. Maybe in a few days.”
I nod, focusing on my plate. “Sure, sounds good.”
The rest of our meal goes much the same. I bring up topics to talk about, and he gives me short responses. But I won’t push him. No matter what, I’m here for the long haul.
The anticipation of running into Noah has me driving extra slow down the ranch’s entrance so I can look out my window at the people wandering around.
I park near the barn where Garrett told me to meet him and hop out of my truck. As I approach the door, a man stops and asks if I’m lost.
“I’m lookin’ for Mr. Hollis. I have a meetin’ with him at ten.”
“And you are?”
I cross my arms and exhale. “Fisher Underwood. The new farrier.”
He looks me up and down and then nods. “I’m Ayden Carson. The boardin’ operations manager.”
“Nice to meet ya.”
“Follow me. He should be in the office.”
As we walk down the center aisle, I notice how clean and organized it is, unlike most of the ranches I’ve worked on. At least two dozen custom Tuscany stalls occupy the space, and by the looks of it, all of them are filled with boarders. This barn is twice the size of what I was expecting.
Horses peek their heads over their doors as I go by, and one jerks his nose up, trying to nibble on my sleeve.
“That’s Nibbler. Got that name for a reason.” Ayden chuckles when I stop to pet him, and the horse tries to eat my shirt again. He’s going to be a fun one to work on. Most experienced horses don’t mind their hooves being cleaned, but some get anxious and feisty, biting at my clothes and making it harder to focus when they attempt to undress me.
Brushing a hand down my arm to wipe off his slobber, Nibbler releases a loud sigh when I step out of his reach.
When Ayden and I approach the office, the door swings open, and out walks a woman. My heart pounds in anticipation of seeing Noah, but it’s not her.
“Hey.” She lowers her gaze down my body and then meets my eyes with a flirty smirk.
“Ruby, this is the new farrier, Mr. Underwood,” Ayden says.
Her clothes are worn and dirty like most ranch hands, so it’s obvious she works here. “About time. You got your work cut out for ya.” She playfully pats my bicep as she walks past me.
Glancing at Ayden, he barks out a laugh. “She’s harmless but doesn’t sugarcoat it. Mr. Ryan was supposed to be here six weeks ago, and that was a delay from his usual appointment three weeks before that.”
“Sorry I couldn’t get here sooner.” I was still contracted for jobs on the other side of the state when Mr. Ryan reached out, and he must’ve left sooner than he told me. That means it’s been at least nine weeks since their last hoof clean.
Ayden motions for me to enter the office, and when I do, a tall and barrel-chested man stands from behind a desk.
“You must be Fisher.” He reaches for my hand, and then we shake.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Sit, sit. Lots to go over before my team puts you to work.”
Between Ruby’s warning and Ayden’s comment, I have a feeling this ranch is about to become my second home.
