by Emma Sutton
Immediately feeling like part of the chokehold that could be drowning her in this grave mood she’s found herself in, I nod and try to lighten the situation yet again. “That’s right, Handful. And with your help, I’m sure we’ll get there.”
“You don’t have to call me that, you know.”
Caught by her persistence of denying me the liberty to use her new pet name, I fight a smile. “Why not? It’s your nickname, after all. It’s already stuck.” I turn and head for my four-wheeler, making note of needing to grab the truck for my next trip here with all the rope.
“Where you going?”
Pivoting back toward her as I take a lasting mental snapshot of the suddenly puzzled look on her heart-shaped face, I throw my head to the west end of the ranch. “To get you some rope,” I call back at her with a grin.
Chapter Five
Hattie
The thrum of power pushes me faster as I race my four-wheeler toward the Lone Oak trailhead on the eastern part of the ranch behind the lodges. Tikki, one of the hounds that roams the grounds, chases me until she wears herself out and veers off, spotting a deer or a gopher moving in the brush.
Craving more speed, I roll on the throttle of the ATV which propels me forward at what feels like the pace of a galloping horse, the hot breath of the afternoon sun shining down on me until I reach the first lookout. Slowing, I make sure the post is vacant of any guests before I come to a stop in the shade and stare out overlooking the lake and woods.
Usually when I take my afternoon breaks from work, I head to the lodge or cafe for a cold drink and air conditioning, maybe even a quick shower during the high days of summer. But today, I don’t have time for a pick-me-up of any sort. Right now, I’m on a mission to read the detective’s words again. Alone this time so I can let myself fully sink into the reality of the results.
Reaching into my back pocket, I grab for the envelope that I’d brought with me today. I hadn’t chanced reading it again after telling Mary Jo the news yesterday evening. But today, I brought it along so I could take my time searching for hints of regret, pieces of the unsolved, maybe even some kind of a hidden message in Detective Lansing’s words. Because my birth mother? There’s no way she would want to live the rest of her life without knowing her daughter. Right?
When I don’t feel anything in my right pocket, a lump forms in my throat. I reach back for my left— nothing.
My heart rate immediately spikes with dread. Did I leave the letter at home? Could I have dropped it somewhere along the way?
My walkie talkie goes static. Picking it up, I stare at it with a furrowed brow like someone might be about to remind me where I’ve left Lansing’s letter. Instead, the airwaves go silent again.
I hear shouting down at the lake, the jolt of it pulling me from my internal crisis. My attention solely focused on the shenanigans at the watering hole now, I figure it must be guests this late in the afternoon on a Friday. Closing my eyes, I breathe deep and try to visualize where I’d last left the envelope.
On my dresser, I’m sure of it.
Starting up the four-wheeler again, I realize I don’t have time to go all the way back to the lodge and get the letter before my last lesson this evening. Instead, I decide to climb the far stretch of Lone Oak Hill. The ATV roars in response beneath me as I pull off of the outlook and head further up the mountain. Clutching the throttle, harder now because of my inability to do even one thing right today, I suddenly crave the feeling of being on top of the world. Looking down on everything from way up high. All alone.
The word alone forces my heart to thump quicker as I think about seeing Walker this morning at the stable, how casual he looked just waiting there for me. The fact that he came up with a solution that I was too oblivious to think of myself puts a bad taste in my already-sour mouth. I should’ve thought harder about it. Though whether his newfound technique will actually work or not, we have no clue yet. He never did return with the rope.
Squinting my eyes hard against the June wind, the image I have of him in his faded work jeans and his worn hat that he always pulls down so you can’t really see his full expression makes me want to rebel. The way his shirts are always just snug enough in the sleeves to notice the build of his muscles. Seeing him first thing this morning— and every morning— would, in an alternate reality, be a great start to my day if I hadn’t just been served the most disappointing news of my life. But I guess that’s what not having a family does to you— it makes you hard on the inside. It makes you not want to feel things at all.
Clutching the gas once more to rid myself of the lingering thoughts and feelings of Walker I’ve concocted, I expect the ATV to tear off faster up the mountain. Instead, it slows to a crawl. I wrench the throttle harder which causes the entire vehicle to stall out underneath me. Coming to a whirring halt in the grass just before reaching the second lookout, I turn the ignition and silently curse myself.
Am I freaking out of gas?
Hopping off the carrier, I flip open the gas tank and peer inside. Not able to see in the shadows of the brush, I hold my ear as close to the open tank as I can without being dangerous and knock the ATV to the side to see if I hear gasoline in there.
Nothing. She’s dry as a bone.
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” I huff. Turning to look down the mountain, there’s not a single soul in sight.
Debating with myself on whether or not I’ll make the long trek back down the hill to the stable, I realize it’ll probably take me until nightfall which means I’ll miss my 5:30 p.m. lesson entirely. Pulling the walkie talkie from my belt loop, I begrudgingly press the PTT button. “Hattie to Mason.”
Sitting sideways on the four-wheeler, I pull the legs of my jeans up, exposing my calves in the afternoon heat. I’d worn my short Roper boots in place of my Ariat Western boots today, so at least I’m stranded in the Wyoming heat wearing something a little cooler than full-on cowboy boots. That’s about as big of a plus as I can come up with right now.
“Hattie to Mason,” I try again.
“Go,” he says.
“Can you please bring me some gasoline?”
“Uh, yeah. What’s your twenty?”
“Lone Oak Hill. Most of the way up the trailhead,” I say, rolling my eyes at myself.
“Ten-four. On my way.”
I don’t have to wait long. It’s only about seven minutes before I hear the distant rumbling of an engine through the dirt pathway up the mountain. But when the noise finally rounds the corner of the thick, green overgrowth, I see a work truck when I’d imagined he’d bring the gas can on another ATV.
When the driver door swings wide, I’m completely startled to find Walker hop out, followed only by his eager sidekick, Sophie.
The dog races toward me, her tail fully wagging as she turns a quick, low-to-the-ground circle in the grass. She pauses at my boots before barking.
“Hi, Sophie,” I say, squatting to pet her but annoyed that her dad is now standing in front of me instead of Mason. “Why are you here?”
“You’re welcome,” he grins. “Got your call on the radio.”
“I thought that was Mason who—” I trail off, just before realizing whomever I’d been speaking to hadn’t actually identified himself. Rolling my eyes, I cross my arms over my chest.
Walker clicks his tongue and eyes me with a shake of his head. “What have you gotten yourself into, Handful?”
“Well, it’s out of gas.” I try not to scowl. “Did you bring any?”
Walker takes the ATV by its handles and, with his brute strength, forces it to the side of the trail by a row of blooming blackberry bushes. “You forget to fill her up before you left?” he grunts through his man-handling of the vehicle.
“I thought it was already full, but apparently not.” Realizing my pant legs are still hiked up, I shove them down as quick as I can, hoping he hadn’t noticed. “I just filled it yesterday.”
“Always good to double-check these things.”
> “Right,” I say, shoving my arms across my chest tighter now, suddenly annoyed that anyone at all had come to fill me up at all. Lest it be Walker that appeared. “Why are you here?” I ask, repeating my earlier question.
“You radioed.”
“For Mason. Yeah, I did. So do you have the gas or not?”
Turning to me, Walker sweeps his hands together and smiles. “Nope. You’re gonna have to ride with me.”
Furrowing my brow and feeling tricked into these circumstances, I shake my head. “What about the four-wheeler?”
“I’ll come back for it later.”
Though I want to be mad at Walker and tell him I’d rather jog all the way back to the grounds than ride with him, I can’t bring myself to fully give him my anger as it’s securely tied up with my other issue right now. Gritting my teeth, I close my eyes.
“Come on, Handful.”
“Fine. But one, don’t call me that. And two, I don’t need you to save me all the time.”
Walker throws his hands up in defense. “I’m not saving anybody. Just doing my job. You called, I answered. Simple as that.”
Tossing open the passenger side door with a frown, I hop in the truck and swiftly pull the door shut behind me, loud enough so he knows I’m not thrilled.
Chapter Six
Hattie
“Get in, Soph,” Walker calls with a sharp whistle as she comes racing out from where she was rooting around in the brush.
In a swift leap, she appears like a gazelle and attentively sits between Walker and me as he slams his door, the metal against his door frame sounding like a tin can.
“You never brought the ropes,” I say over the hum of his truck as he turns the ignition.
Making a shallow loop to turn around, he heads us down the steep, rocky hill. Suddenly hitting a hole in the ground, he apologizes. “Sorry. Yeah, time got away from me today. I’ll have ‘em ready for you in the morning. You need help executing the plan?”
“No.”
What I want to say is a resounding yes. Do I need your help? No. But do I for some unbelievable and marvelously silly reason want to spend more time with you? Yes.
Walker, Sophie, and I ride in silence down the trail and across the grass until we reach Dusk Road, the gravel drive that leads around each part of the ranch. Passing Mary Jo’s house at the central part of the grounds, I get a frog stuck in my throat as I see her sweeping off the front porch. She’d been so kind in talking to me yesterday when I told her about my birth mom. With a grin so wide we can see it from the road, she waves at us as we swing a sharp left to head toward the stable.
I hang my arm out the window, the molten metal from the truck scorching but also feeling good against my elbow, numbing me and my feelings. All of my feelings. Not only at how dumb I am for having forgotten my letter somewhere between getting dressed this morning and my afternoon break, but also at how stupid I am to think there was a slim chance my birth mother would’ve ever wanted to meet me. In all twenty-eight of my years here on this planet, she’d not once tried to get in contact with me. Why would I honestly think that would change if I reached out to her through a third party?
As we continue past MJ’s house, I keep my eyes peeled to the exact same route I took on the way up to Lone Oak Hill, but I see nothing. No letter, no envelope, no notes to be found.
The last drop of hope I’d held onto for so many years, the thought of finally having a family to call my own, is now permanently trashed. Erased. Vanished at the hands of Detective Lansing. But I can’t complain, because at least he tried. And if he couldn’t convince my mom that there was a relationship worth having with me, I know I couldn’t have done any better myself.
As we continue the trip to the stable, my fiercely growing aggravation is multiplied by Walker’s intent on hitting every single pothole in the gravel road, each direct hit causing me to bounce harder and harder against the truck bench.
Cutting my eyes over at him, I want to spit caution at him, but I know it’s no use. He does what he wants anyway. And from what I can tell, that’s really why he tends to appeal to the masses here at Lone Oak.
I sigh loudly when he hits another pothole. But when I feel actual tears starting to escape my eyes, I jerk my head to the window just to feel the hot afternoon wind on my cheeks. All I wanted during my break was some time alone. Peace and quiet among nature. A place I could grieve and not be seen if I just so happened to need the emotional space. Which apparently, I do.
Wiping my face again, I feel my tears on my knuckles now as I try to hold myself together until I’m, at the very least, out of Walker’s truck and as far away from him as I can get.
We hit another deep pothole, the lack of suspension in the truck sending me off my seat again, my head nearly bumping the roof. Taking in a deep breath, I blow. “Do you have to hit every single hole in the actual earth?” I hiss, my voice sounding harsh and infantile.
Walker chuckles. “You mean like this?”
Just to spite me, he hits another hole right in front of the nearest stock pond.
Sophie yelps, nearly sliding from the seat between us, but when Walker and I both grasp onto her, he ends up accidentally taking hold of my arm causing my aching eyes to grow round as rocks.
The calloused width of his palm is warm against the inside of my forearm as he holds tight. And his blatant disregard for the situation makes it seem like he doesn’t even realize he’s holding onto me right now. But when I peer over and catch his gaze, he smirks from underneath his scruff, immediately causing me to fall into an intoxicating pit of laughter.
“I guess I should get out here and fix all these, you think?”
Once I start giggling in the heat of the truck cab, I cannot stop. Even when Walker slows the truck to a crawl to finally take the potholes in stride, he still can’t help hitting them with a force that sends me soaring into giddiness.
I keep on laughing, my ego escaping me and feeling free and unconstrained as a Western Meadowlark soaring the expansive sky.
Walker clears his throat. “Are you crying?”
“What?” I say, wiping at my face, tears still leaking down my cheeks. “No.”
Suddenly turning away from him, I bite my bottom lip to keep from breaking into a full-on sob in front of this man. Even now, it’s wild to me that ever since I read Detective Lansing’s letter, I hadn’t been able to process it fully until this very moment in the heart of Walker’s truck. Even when I told MJ, I didn’t cry.
“Hattie? You okay?” he asks, still slowing, steering us along Dusk Road. Reaching over in front of his dog, Walker lays his fingertips on my knee, but I ignore the gesture.
Sophie pushes her soft snout to my ear, her whiskers tickling my jaw. She sniffs as if she’s trying to comfort me, but I can’t bear to show my face to either of them like this.
“I’m fine,” I murmur.
It takes me another full minute to collect myself, and by the time I’ve dried my face completely, Walker pulls us up to the path right in front of the stable. Leaning forward, he attempts to get me to connect with him.
Pushing open the door without an ounce of hesitation, I leave the warm comfort of Walker’s touch. I hold the door open for Sophie who hops out right behind me as if she wants to stay. Turning back to Walker, I force as genuine of a smile as I can muster as I blink away the wetness from my eyelashes. “Sorry about the four-wheeler. Thank you for picking me up.”
Walker’s lips upturn, and he nods. “You’re welcome. Wasn’t a big deal. Sophie,” he says with another fair whistle as he pats his thigh.
“Go on, girl,” I tell her, still holding the door wide so she can hop back up into her seat, but she looks back at Walker and then saunters further toward me. “She can stay if she wants.”
“You sure?”
I nod and swipe at my face again to make sure nothing else is coming out of my eyes. “I have another lesson, but that’s all. She won’t be a bother.”
“Well, if she is—�
� he scrubs a hand over his jaw. “If she becomes a nuisance, you let me know.”
I nod again, not sure what else to say.
“And Hattie,” Walker says through the open window as soon as I slam the truck door. “If you ever, you know, want to talk— about anything— you just let me know, okay?”
Exhaling a wide swath of burden into the dusty air, I tuck my flyaway hair behind my ear. “Okay,” I promise him, unsure of whether or not I actually mean that.
Chapter Seven
Walker
Mason sits next to me in the truck where, just hours earlier, Hattie had been going through something rough on our way down from the trail. The biting summer sun has mostly set for the day though a few traces of light still hang on the horizon. But where we drive, in the shade of the brush heading up Lone Oak Hill to fetch the abandoned ATV, the air feels a lot cooler.
“Are you playing volleyball tonight?” Mason asks.
“Nah,” I say, wiping my brow, knowing good and well I have something much more pressing to do.
My short spurt of time with Hattie had worn me out earlier. I don’t know why, but I have a looming feeling like I did something wrong when I came to pick her up from being stranded. Was I the reason she’d been crying? Whatever she was going through, I can’t help but think I added to her burden.
Then again, the dirt-stained envelope I’d found addressed to her from some county three states over tells me she’s got something more significant on her mind. I’d found the thing blowing loose in the grass as I was heading back by Mary Jo’s house after dropping her off. As soon as I picked it up and saw it addressed to her, I put it in my pocket for safekeeping.
Though Mason is one of my greatest friends on the ranch, I don’t tell him any of that.
“Oh, come on. Team Wilson needs your powerhouse punch-packing serve,” he says with a laugh.