My Sweet Enemy Rancher

by Emma Sutton

  Every other week during the spring, summer, and fall months, everyone who lives on-site, and even those staffers who don’t, all get together for a leisurely game of volleyball at the Sand Flats.

  “I’m exhausted. Think I’m just gonna head to the house.”

  “Sure, sure. I guess I’ll have to let ‘em down easy then.”

  I chuckle as we pull up to Hattie’s abandoned ATV past the second overlook. But there planted next to the back wheel sits a bright red gas jug. As I come to a rolling stop, Mason hops out and picks up the jug.

  “It’s full.” Unplugging the spout, he feeds the gas into the ATV’s tank.

  “Strange,” I say with a furrowed brow as I hear the glug of it from still in my truck. Surveying the rest of the trail up in front of us, I feel my gut constrict as there’s no one in sight. Straightening the rearview mirror, I glance behind us and don’t see anyone there either.

  Mason tosses the now-empty container into the bed of the truck and hops on the four-wheeler. Kicking it into gear, it starts with ease as he peels off into a loop headed downhill. “I’ll meet you back on the grounds,” he shouts over the hum.

  I throw my thumb in the air to motion that I’ll follow him. But as soon as he races past me, shooting out like a pinball into the dimming evening, I have a strange feeling that I might find a certain someone at the top of this hill. The urge is fettered by the fact that I need to find her so I can return whatever this is she lost. Regardless of if she’s up there or not, a piece of my curiosity is being pulled in the direction of the lone oak.

  Without a doubt in my mind, I drive the half-mile up the rest of the bumpy hill and crest the mountain to find the single oak tree that Mary Jo and Charles had planted when they first bought the ranch. The tree sits alone in the middle of the grassy knoll, the silhouette of it illuminated by a cranberry-burning sun that peers just over the horizon in the darkening sky that’s as deep blue as any ocean I’ve ever seen. The lone oak stands at least forty strong feet in the air and, some nights, I swear it could almost reach right up to the stars that watch over the ranch.

  I park the truck in a patch of fading sunlight beside the brush, and with a quick glance at the surrounding area, I realize this is where I need to be because Hattie’s here. I’m not sure what I witnessed back in that truck with her beside me, but it broke my heart all the same. At the time, I offered to help. If only she would’ve allowed me to.

  With her back still turned to me, I can tell she’s wearing the same thing she was earlier. Except now her hair is undone and hangs much longer past her shoulders.

  Getting out of the truck, I shut the door behind me, the surrounding woods absorbing the echo. “What’s good, Handful?”

  Turning, she forces a smile and crosses her arms over her chest. “Hey. What are you doing up here?” She’s still wearing the same thing she was earlier, but when I get close enough to see her face, I notice her mascara is smudged under her eyes.

  “I suppose the same thing you are— taking in the view. Mind if I join?”

  She shakes her head and takes a few steps sideways to make room for me in front of the sprawl of rocks that serve as seating for guests when they venture this way.

  “How’d you get up here?” I ask, surveying the stones and nearby ground for snakes or lizards. Finding none, I sit. Hattie does the same only a foot from me.

  “Walked. I brought some gasoline but wanted to hike up for the rest of the view. This place always helps clear the mind.”

  “Sure does,” I agree. “You come here often?”

  She nods. “At least once a week. The world really lets you think up here.”

  Smiling at her sentiment, I flick a thumb toward the truck. “Mason was with me. He took the ATV back to the ranch. If I’d have realized you were up here, I could’ve left it. Didn’t know any better.”

  Staring out at the busy ranch below with a moon shot view of the lake, the Sand Flats, the barns, and even Mary Jo’s house with the sprawling garden out back, I take a deep breath, the scent of something floral toying with me. There could be wildflowers up here.

  Hattie clears her throat with a hint of a smile teasing her lips. “I’m sorry for earlier, my whole…”

  “No,” I shake my head, my voice low with concern. “You don’t have to apologize for anything.”

  She rubs her palms on her kneecaps. “It’s just been a bad day— week, actually.”

  “You don’t have to explain it away, Hattie. You don’t owe me anything.”

  Turning her face to me, she furrows her dark brow. Her blue eyes burn into me causing my heart to feel like it’s itching with hope. Hope for what, I’m not really sure. But staring back at this woman beside me, I can’t help but know deep down inside that it has something to do with her.

  Leaning forward on the rock, I reach into my back pocket. “I found this. It has your name on it,” I suddenly tell her, handing her the envelope.

  Chapter Eight

  Walker

  Snatching the envelope from me with shaky fingers, Hattie’s blue eyes grow big as marbles. Staring back up at me, she tucks her chin to her chest. “Where’d you find this? Did you read it?” she whispers harshly.

  With a single shake of my head, I pick a few blades of long grass from beside me to keep my hands busy when they really want nothing more than to reach out and hold her, to let her know that whatever it is, it’ll be okay. “Saw it waving in the wind in front of MJ’s. It was in the grass. I didn’t read it if that’s what you—”

  “No.” Clutching the letter to her stomach, she leans ahead. When she sighs and closes her eyes, I immediately feel relaxed at her softness. “Walker, earlier you said I could talk to you about something if I wanted to.”

  “Right. That still stands,” I promise.

  She nods. “I think maybe I’d like to tell you something now.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’ve already told MJ but no one else. But haven’t said anything to the girls.”

  “Really?” I try to fight off a look of wonder because when the wranglers and a few of the other girls who bunk in the lodge are together constantly, it seems like they know everything about each other. But in these past few days as I’ve been getting to know Hattie, I’ve learned she’s not quite as open of a book as some of the other women around here. “I’m ready to listen.”

  Pulling the paper from her envelope, she reads over it, folds it back up, and stuffs it under her leg. “It’s a long and complicated story.”

  Not wanting her to clam up on me, I stretch my neck to the side and try to remain casual. “Lucky for us, I’ve got nothing but time tonight.”

  “Are you skipping out on volleyball, too?” she says, grinning.

  I want to tell her that her real smile is intoxicating. That I could watch her smile like that for days on end. Instead, I nod and remove my hat, running a hand through my hot, tangled hair. “I figured we’d give the other team a fair shot tonight.” I wink at her, though I don’t think she notices because she’s staring at my hands.

  I hang the cap from my knee and lean back, aiming my vision for more of the landscape laid out before us. “God is so good, isn’t He?”

  “Yeah, you’re right. His timing seems to be impeccable.”

  Trying to be open for her, I take in a deep breath. “Look, Hattie, I know you and I don’t know each other very well. But I want to be here for you if you’ll let me.”

  It’s a full minute before she speaks again. “Not many people here besides Eliza know that I grew up in the foster system.”

  Rousing from my state of quiet, I furrow my brow, the hit of sadness too hard to ignore. Imagining any child, especially Hattie, being thrust into such a ruthless system is heart-wrenching. “From what age?”

  “Since before I even remember. Two years old, I think. But I don’t remember any part of my life before that.”

  “Geez, that’s terrible,” I say, meaning it from the depths of me. “I’m really sorry you had
to go through that, Hattie.”

  “It’s okay. I just— I’ve always wondered if my birth parents were out there somewhere, roaming the earth, missing their daughter. Like I’ve always been curious as to if— or when— my birth parents would try to find me.”

  Turning my gaze from the faraway view of the ranch to Hattie, I watch her fidget with the rings on her fingers as she continues.

  “I did everything I could think to try and find them. But I didn’t have any luck. Not until a year ago when I found some ad for a service touting adoption detectives.” She pauses and shakes her head. “Which sounds ridiculous, but—”

  “It doesn’t. It’s not ridiculous at all.”

  Letting out a tense breath, Hattie tries to smile. “So as life would have it, my parents— wherever they are— never reached out. I guess I’m not surprised. So I thought, maybe if I was to be the one to reach out to them through a third party— you know, someone neutral like this— there’s a chance they might like to have me back in their lives in some kind of way.” Her lips turn upward into a sarcastic smirk. “Enter this,” she says, holding the letter in her frustrated fingers. “Turns out I was wrong. My dad actually passed years ago, and the detective I hired just let me know that, after every single thing he’s found, my mom—”

  Cutting herself off, the words come slower and more careful now. “My birth mom isn’t interested in having a relationship with me. Requested no contact at all, for that matter.” She pushes out a puff of air, her wavy locks flowing on her breath. “MJ knows. I told her. But other than that, you’re the only person I’ve admitted that to because it’s just— sad.” Her eyes grow wide as she slaps her fingers to her cheek. “Pathetic sad, really.”

  “It’s not pathetic,” I tell her. “And if it’s any consolation, I’m grateful you’re here. That’s really tough news to hear all the way around, but I’m glad you’ve been able to confide in Mary Jo with it.”

  “Yeah,” she says, forcing a smile. “She’s like a mother figure.”

  MJ carries that power. She’s somehow always able to provide that type of maternal admiration to everyone who works or even steps foot on her ranch in a thousand different ways.

  “Sometimes, I just want to feel close to someone. To remember what it’s like to feel needed or wanted in life outside of work. Outside of the ranch,” she says, her face emotionless.

  I nod, knowing the feeling well.

  “Do you have family?”

  “Uh,” I scratch the back of my head and replace my hat.

  “Sorry,” she says, shaking her head. “I didn’t mean to push—”

  “You didn’t. I do have family, but we’re not close. They live in Texas, and I visit when I can. But I’d say that’s something you and I have in common. A tight family is something I’ve always wanted, too. I suppose in my last relationship, I had that. But it didn’t last.”

  “What happened?”

  Tilting my head and pursing my lips, I fight a chuckle. I hadn’t planned on going here with Hattie— or anyone who didn’t already know that part of my life. “Divorce, darlin’.”

  “Oh,” she slowly nods, turning from me. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have pried.”

  “You didn’t,” I assure her again. “Divorce happens. I was married once, yep. Surprise,” I grin.

  “I didn’t know that about you.”

  “We just had differing views on what we wanted our life together to look like. She was tired of living life on the ranch, and I couldn’t see living any other way.”

  Hattie bites her bottom lip, and I’m suddenly conscious that she’s studying my face.

  “What is it?”

  “Nothing,” she says with a shake of her head. “I just—”

  “Tell me.”

  “You were right. Two days ago, I hated you.”

  I scoff as we both sputter into a laugh in the deepening blues of the coming night.

  “Actually, no. Hate is too strong a word, actually. Dislike might be more accurate. And look at me now. Holding hands with the boss man,” she grins, her teeth whiter than I’ve ever noticed.

  “Holding hands? Is that what you call this?” I tease, a little taken aback.

  “It’s just a saying.” Her cheeks turn rosy as her eyes fill with a strong sense of urgency under her thick, dark eyelashes.

  “Is it?” I taunt her, contorting my face. “A saying, huh?”

  She nods. But before she can retreat back into her shell, I reach over and take her hand, sliding my fingers through hers.

  Setting her jaw, Hattie sits up straight and leans closer to me, her brow drawn from some kind of emotion that I’m feeling, too. She doesn’t say anything.

  “What about me threw you two days ago?” I ask, wanting to get down to the bottom of why I’m not at the top of her preferences.

  “Was probably the whole twenty percent thing,” she grins.

  I laugh and squeeze her hand.

  “It’s true. There’s something about a cowboy showing up on your own soil, or Mary Jo’s soil in this case, and demanding twenty percent of anything.”

  I bob my head in agreement. “I could’ve done it nicer, sure. Maybe approached it a little differently.”

  “Not to mention, I wanted your job three years ago,” she says, side eyeing me in a teasing manner.

  “Well. You certainly deserved it,” I nod.

  Her impish grin twists into something more sincere. “But it’s alright. You’d been around a lot longer than me, knew all the lay of the land. I didn’t and still don’t, probably.”

  “You’ll get there,” I tell her.

  “Maybe.” She shrugs. “Anyway, to say you caught my attention all the way around is an understatement. And I can’t say that for any of the other people here on the ranch.”

  Clearing my throat, I exhale into the evening. “Well, I’m flattered. You, on the other hand, just so happened to catch my attention years ago. When you first showed up here and then again during the Ranch Days Festival.”

  Pulling back for a second, her jaw goes slack. “Seriously?”

  “You were the new woman on the grounds, and I’ll never forget the look on your face when MJ introduced you to the lot of us. You had this overwhelming stare mixed with something really charming about you. You never lost that.”

  I start stroking her thumb, the act almost second nature to me.

  She sheepishly tucks her chin to her chest. “Yeah, overwhelmed on the daily. I guess that hasn’t changed.”

  “No, I meant the other thing. How beautiful you are. You handle yourself well here. No overwhelm that I’ve witnessed.”

  “Except for today,” she whispers.

  “Except for today,” I say, matching her volume. Picking her hand up, I almost lose myself in the moment and imagine planting a small, barely-there kiss to the top of her wrist until I realize that’s against my rules. Setting her hand back down on her knee, I free her, my fingers now scalding with embarrassment. “Shall we go?” I suddenly ask, wanting to rid myself of the near-mistake. “I’ll give you a ride.”

  Standing, she brushes off the back of her jeans and, without a fight, she follows me to the truck.

  I open the passenger side door for her and watch her climb in.

  On our way back down to the grounds, the wind hits us much cooler from the dark. With a flip of the volume dial, I turn the radio on though it serves us a static-engulfed song— something by Tim McGraw. It’s not until we hit Dusk Road together for the second time today that I take my time, completely sure to dodge every single one of the pesky potholes in the ground so as to not drum up any other type of hurt.

  As the night breeze continues to swim through our windows, I can’t help but feel a deepening desire flood me as I pull into the lot in front of the lodge.

  “I know this is awfully forward of me, Hattie. But I can’t shake the feeling of needing to ask you something.”

  “What is it?” she asks, staring up at me from under the flutter of her la
shes.

  I look over at her in the dark. “Would it be okay if I took you on a date?”

  Her eyes are lit only by the outdoor lamp posts that are staggered every few hundred feet along the road. Turning from me, she stares out the window. From her profile, I see her press her lips into a line as if I’ve asked the insurmountable.

  “If only to take your mind off of what you’ve got going on,” I add, not sure if she’s ready to bite without the add-on.

  She nods. “Okay, but that’s not why I want to go with you. I just—” her voice dies off into nothing.

  “I understand. How about I pick you up tomorrow evening— say six o’clock?”

  “Alright. But first,” she says, sliding down from the truck seat into the gravel, “I’m really gonna need that rope tomorrow morning.”

  With a grin as wide as the moon, I dip my head down in jest. She got me. “I’ll make sure to deliver that rope ASAP.”

  “Bright and early,” she says, adding fuel to my fire with the bat of her eyelashes in the night.

  “Bright and early,” I promise as she shuts the door. “Goodnight, Handful.”

  Chapter Nine

  Hattie

  Waiting here after dinner, I play with a rock. Rolling it around in my hand, I prick my finger against the sharp edges of it as I sit on the wooden stairs of the porch at the lodge.

  Stephanie and Brooke cross the field from the direction of the cafe and the Flats, obviously having already changed out of their work clothes for the day.

  “Hey,” Brooke says, sidling up to Stephanie and pawing at the air like a kitten. She grins at me and shoots me a surprised grimace. “You look cute, girl. Where you headed?”

  Cute in her book obviously means wearing overall cutoffs and a T-shirt. Or maybe anything other than work clothes, I’m not sure.

  “I like the bandana in your hair, too. Makes a cute headband.”

  “Thanks,” I say, my cheeks growing hot with a sudden wash of embarrassment. I know Walker had asked me on a date, but I don’t even know what we’re doing— much less if he’d approve of me telling any of the other staffers that we’re doing something together. “I’m just hanging out tonight. Nothing big,” I say, trying to suppress a smile.