Complicated Creatures: Part One

by Alexi Lawless

  *

  November—Saturday afternoon, same time

  The Wyatt Ranch, Texas

  S A M A N T H A

  The Texas sky was turbulent. Clouds hung low and pregnant with what would be a magnificent thunderstorm. The kind of big sky storm that rolled through once every few months, wetting the normally dry plains, making everything lush and verdant for a few days after. But it was hell to get ready for. Grant, Carey’s dad, would be working with all the cattle hands to make sure the steer were wrangled together in the fencing, grazing the same pasture instead of enjoying the freedom of being spread out along the range.

  Sam stepped out of the Jeep, her boots making a satisfying crunch on the gravel drive up to the stables. The stable boys were busy pulling the horses in from the corrals. She wondered briefly if she should go to the main house and announce herself or if she should just get on a horse and ride out. The urge to ride out was fierce. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been on the back of a horse—that was a long time for a girl who’d grown up on one.

  “Well aren’t you a sight for sore old eyes,” a gruff voice called out as she neared the stables. Gus, one her father’s favorite hands, stood behind her, leaning heavily on a cane. She hadn’t seen him in years. Sam tried to reconcile her memory of the black-haired cowboy she’d grown up with to this weathered old man. He had the same bushy eyebrows, the same flashing dark eyes.

  She felt a wide smile stretching her face as she clasped the old cowboy in a tight hug. She felt his arthritic hand patting her back.

  “Gus, you old bastard, how come you aren’t out with the hands?” she asked gently. “Showin’ em how it’s done?” Sam breathed in the familiar faint scent of hay and tobacco.

  “Got old, Sammy,” he replied. “All these young bucks think they know better anyhow,” Gus joked, his voice just as craggy and gruff as she remembered it.

  He’d taught her so much about horses. Just looking at him, she knew he wasn’t able to ride anymore. It hurt her to realize it, knowing how much he loved the animals. It struck her then how much time had passed since she’d come home—how much she’d missed. She patted his arm.

  “Got a good quarter horse for me?”

  “Yeah.” He nodded, eyes amused. “Yours. We just pulled her in the stalls, but we can rig her up for you. She’ll be happy to see you after all this time.”

  “She’s still alive?” Sam asked, surprised.

  “She’s only twenty, darlin’.” He shrugged. “You know those quarter horses can get up to thirty-five or forty, no problem.”

  Sam smiled. “Take me to her?”

  She held his arm while he hobbled over to Valkyrie’s stall. The sleek black mare looked up at her under obscenely-long eyelashes. She was still as beautiful as ever.

  “Val,” she cooed. “Hey, honey girl. You miss me?” she asked, taking a lump of sugar from Gus’s hand to extend it to her mare. The horse nickered gently into her hand, her long tongue accepting the offering. Sam rubbed the horse’s velvet nose as she sidled closer. “Yeah, honey girl. You remember me,” she breathed, running her hand down her horse’s ebony head and mane.

  “The boys are busy getting the other horses in from pasture, but we can get her ready,” Gus offered.

  Sam shook him off, patting his weathered cheek. “I ain’t a princess just ’cause I moved to the city,” she scolded. “I can saddle her myself.”

  She chatted with Gus while she got Val ready to ride. He was a grandfather now, he told her proudly, showing her pictures on his phone. The ranch was good. He was still taking Grant to the cleaners on poker night. The town had a new minister, and his favorite diner had changed hands, so the food was different, but they still had the best ham in the county. Sam smiled at the news, laughing when he told her jokes about the younger hands, telling her about teaching one of them how to fix the old tractor Grant refused to get rid of despite the new John Deeres in the tool house.

  “Which field are they in?” she asked, pulling on deerskin gloves.

  Gus radioed one of the hands, getting their location.

  She mounted Val smoothly while Gus led them out past the gated corral. He looked up at the heavy, darkening sky. “Figure you got about an hour at most ’fore all hell breaks loose, kiddo. Here.” He tossed her an old cowboy hat. “Just in case.”

  Sam grinned as she slid it onto her head, tightening the string under her chin. “See ya, Gus!”

  Sam wheeled Val around and took off in a gallop, the wind whipping past her, Val’s long hair flying in the wind, touching the reins. The feeling of riding like this was unparalleled. She smiled as she raced down the pasture, enjoying the cool air. She felt like a young girl again. Windblown and wild. She realized she hadn’t breathed properly since yesterday with Carey, her heart heavy and her mind a tangle of mess and emotion. A huge weight lifted off her the faster she and Val flew down the gentle slopes of her family’s land.

  When she found Grant and his men rounding the steer, she saw him turn on his horse, his blue eyes narrowing, trying to figure out who was riding Valkyrie into a roundup. She registered the exact moment he figured it out. He broke into a beatific smile. Sam felt immediately warm, followed by the sweet relief of his unspoken welcome home.

  Her heart was pounding with exertion and exhilaration as she pulled up next to him. “Heard y’all needed some help,” she said casually, lifting a brow in question.

  “Heard right,” he answered easily, eyes bright with love and happiness. “New guy on the left flank. Show ’em how it’s done.”

  “Sure thing, jefe,”27 she replied, calling her Uncle Grant what all the hands would call him. She could see the other men exchanging glances, wondering who she was. Sam rode up the flank, herding the steer toward the east range, startling the young hand who was struggling to cut some of the calves from the broader herd.

  They worked together in tandem, getting most of the herd up to higher land, away from the river that cut through the ranch land and had a tendency to flash flood during thunderstorms.

  Before long, Sam felt the fat drops of rain hitting the plain, the darkness of the clouds almost completely blocking the sun as the clap and roll of thunder hit the big Texas sky like an orchestral crescendo. She heard Uncle Grant whistle, a signal to head back. They peeled off from the herd, riding back fast before the storm got too intense and scared the horses. They were all drenched by the time they got back to the stables; the rain coming down in sheets. Gus had the stable boys lined up, ready to take care of the horses.

  Uncle Grant stepped behind her as she dismounted, helping her down. He wrapped her in a bear hug, swinging her around before she was fully off the horse. Sam threw her head back, laughing as he twirled her. The rain washed the sweat from her brow as her hat got knocked off by the deluge.

  “You came home!” he crowed. “Sammy girl’s back!” he hooted and hollered.

  “Hey, Uncle Grant,” she laughed, squeezing his neck. “I missed Aunt Hannah’s cooking.”

  “Bullshit. You missed my ribs better, and you know it,” he joked, setting her down. “Let’s get you inside and dried up.”

  Her Aunt Hannah was on the wide porch of the pristinely painted, sprawling ranch house of her childhood, a warm smile spreading across her face. Carey had his father’s height and broad build, but he had his mother’s kind face. It’d been so long, she’d forgotten the acuity of the likeness. And seeing Aunt Hannah waiting for her like she had when she was young made her so happy, Sam felt her eyes water, grateful the rain hid the tumult of guilt and emotion she was struggling to hide. But as she neared the house with Uncle Grant and met Aunt Hannah’s eyes, she knew she was forgiven for years of absence. Sam knew everything would be fine just as sure as she knew this would always be her home.

  Sam walked into her Aunt Hannah’s open arms, breathing in the scent of powder and apples. She shut her eyes tight as she melted into her embrace. “I’m getting you all wet,” she mumbled into her Aunt’s shoulder, wonderi
ng if she could hear her small voice over the pounding rain.

  “Hush. That’s what the dryer’s for,” Aunt Hannah whispered. “I missed you, Sammy girl,” she said as she brushed a tender hand down Sam’s wet hair and back. She felt her Uncle Grant pat her shoulder too. Sam squeezed tighter for one more moment before letting go to step back, wiping at her face hastily with the back of her hand.

  “It’s raining cats and dogs. Let’s get you inside,” Uncle Grant said, hustling them both into the kitchen.

  Sam took in the space in wonder as she pulled off her wet boots in the wide mud area. Carey had mentioned they’d just remodeled, but this was magnificent. The open plan kitchen was equipped with top-of-the-line stainless steel appliances, a massive fridge, a huge six-burner range, a double oven, and a counter top that any chef would want as a workspace. They’d added a sun room that held a massive, rough-hewn table that could easily seat twelve. The windows and skylights made it all the more airy and spacious-feeling.

  “My God, Aunt Hannah,” she breathed, taking in the terracotta tiles and the stained cabinetry. A large, brick fireplace sent the smell of cedar into the air and warmed her wet, bedraggled body.

  “You like it? My dream kitchen?” Aunt Hannah asked.

  “Like it? Are you kidding? I think you’ll have a hard time getting me out of it,” she joked, warming her hands near the fire.

  “We have the hands over for dinner so often, it just made sense to expand. The minute I heard you were back, I got your favorite spaghetti on the stove.”

  “Gus gave me away?” Sam grinned.

  “Your duffel is in your room,” her aunt replied, patting her shoulder. “Now go get a hot shower and come back down here. Keep me company while I work on dinner and make you a pie.”

  When Sam came down the stairs twenty minutes later, freshly showered and in a warm flannel shirt and clean jeans, she was greeted with the smell of flour, sugar, and cinnamon. She stilled at the bottom of the staircase, overcome with nostalgia.

  Uncle Grant was seated at the counter, drinking a cup of coffee while Aunt Hannah peeled apples. Rockabilly played on the stereo. Aunt Hannah smiled at Sam over her shoulder, her once-long blonde hair was now cut into an attractive, sleek bob.

  “I like your hair, Aunt Hannah,” Sam told her, coming behind her Aunt to hug her middle.

  Aunt Hannah touched her hair self-consciously, a little smile on her mouth. “You do? I still haven’t got used to it. Cut it a few months back, and I feel a half-a-head lighter, I swear.”

  “You’re the prettiest woman in three counties,” Uncle Grant declared, looking up from the paper.

  “And you’re the biggest flirt in five,” Aunt Hannah countered, wagging her finger at him. He laughed it off, his eyes mischievous before taking another sip of coffee.

  Sam poured herself a mug before sliding onto the stool next to him. She sighed, enjoying the coffee, the company, the warmth of the fire, and the soothing, unparalleled feeling of being home.

  “You staying for a while, Sammy girl?” Uncle Grant asked.

  “I got a couple days,” she shrugged. “But I promise not to be a stranger this time,” she said quietly, smiling at him.

  After breaking down yesterday in her office with Carey, she’d yearned for the safety and comfort of something known. The floodgates had opened, and all the hurt and pain that had scalded her insides, leaving her inert and tender. She’d stayed awake all night, wondering if it hurt so badly because it always had or if everything felt magnified because she’d held it down for so long that a powerful release was inevitable. She’d packed a bag first thing this morning, telling Jack she had last minute meetings in Houston, and found her way home.

  “You come back anytime you want,” Aunt Hannah told her. “You just better tell me next time, missy, so I can make you a proper pot roast.”

  “I will, Aunt Hannah,” she promised.

  “So tell us what you and Carey are getting up to in Chicago,” Uncle Grant asked.

  “You just saw him for Thanksgiving!” Sam protested teasingly. “Your boy could talk the ears off a chicken. I know for a fact you’re all caught up.”

  “Well not from your point of view, missy,” Aunt Hannah argued with a small smile as she sliced the apples. “Now go on. What’s the latest and greatest?”

  They talked for a long while, laughing and trading stories about what was going on at the ranch and in Chicago. She shared a couple of her and Carey’s antics and told them about their business while Uncle Grant told her about the recent rodeo in town and the amount of cattle they were thinking of taking to stock in the spring.

  “So Carey tells me you’ve got a beau,” Aunt Hannah said as she slid the pie into the oven.

  Sam nearly choked into her coffee mug. Uncle Grant patted her back gently, a smirk on his face. “You know that boy can’t keep a secret from his mama.”

  “Jesus,” Sam muttered, shaking her head.

  “And an Italian, too? Oooh-wee—that man’s a looker,” Aunt Hannah chuckled while Uncle Grant laughed silently into his coffee.

  “Oh my God, did you look him up?” Sam groaned.

  “Well, hell, what’s the Internet for?” Aunt Hannah laughed. “How else am I gonna find out about you, Sammy girl?”

  Sam felt guilt hit her heart hard. Uncle Grant and Aunt Hannah didn’t deserve the distance she’d been putting between them these last few years. They shouldn’t have to read up on her on the web. They sure as hell shouldn’t be hearing about what she was up to from only Carey.

  “Hey, hey, you know we’re only teasing you,” Uncle Grant told her, squeezing her shoulder affectionately.

  “We’re just happy you’re home,” Aunt Hannah agreed, pouring her more coffee. “Now, seriously. You tell me about your young man.”

  “He’s in his thirties, Aunt Hannah,” Sam answered, sardonic.

  Aunt Hannah’s brow arched. “Well, he’s still half my age, isn’t he?”

  “Fair enough,” Sam chuckled. “Jack’s…good. He’s a surprisingly good man.”

  “Why’s that so surprising? You date a lot of assholes?” Uncle Grant asked before Aunt Hannah smacked him with a spoon. “Ouch!”

  “Language in the house. You’re not with the ranch hands, Grant Nelson!” she scolded.

  Sam snickered while Uncle Grant rubbed his arm. “No, I haven’t dated a bunch of—” She halted while her Aunt eyed her. “Jerks. It’s just that Jack’s got a reputation for being a bit of a lothario. I guess I wasn’t expecting him to be more than some businessman playboy,” she admitted. “I thought it was going to be something light. You know, just a casual thing. But it’s become…” Sam trailed off, unsure.

  “Carey says that man’s head-over-heels for you,” Aunt Hannah said archly, tearing the lettuce for the salad.

  Sam shrugged, hiding her face behind her coffee mug.

  “You been in love since that Wesley character?” Uncle Grant asked, watching her.

  Sam shook her head, looking down.

  “You know there’s nothing wrong with falling in love and getting hurt a little, right, missy?” Aunt Hannah said as she arranged the salad. “Teaches you where the ledges are.”

  Sam took a breath, nodding.

  “You were just a girl then,” Aunt Hannah continued. “Whatever you’ve got now with this Jack fellow’s different. You’re a woman now. Lived a full life thus far, and it won’t be the same like before.”

  Sam rubbed the handle on the mug. “I didn’t say I was worried.”

  Aunt Hannah smiled gently at her. “Sammy, honey, you didn’t need to.”

  “You miss your Aunt’s all-seeing eye?” Uncle Grant joked, standing to help Aunt Hannah set the table.

  Sam helped take down the china. “She should have been in military intelligence,” Sam replied. “Taliban wouldn’t have stood a chance.”

  Uncle Grant chuckled at that. “So how’s Wyatt Petroleum holding up these days?” he asked, giving her a much-needed break from the
personal life questions.

  “Better than ever. You’ll be real happy with your dividend check this quarter,” Sam replied, helping her Aunt get the food ready while Uncle Grant sorted out drinks. The ranch was a profitable operation, but the real Wyatt fortune came from the black gold lining dense shelves of fine-grained shale throughout West and Central Texas and off the coast of the Sabine Pass and Galveston.

  Her granddaddy had been a talented and gutsy wildcatter and her father a savvy businessman, buying up wells and consolidating when many smaller producers were tanking during the oil crisis in the seventies. They’d been early entrants into offshore drilling. Thanks to her granddaddy’s keen nose for crude and her father’s sharp eye for business potential, she was the largest private owner of offshore rigs in the Gulf and one of the richest private oil owners in the United States. Though she didn’t oversee the day-to-day, she chaired the Board of Directors at the company headquarters in Houston.

  “Good!” Aunt Hannah declared. “You can finally take me on that cruise in the Mediterranean.”

  Sam looked at her uncle, noting the sudden scowl. Uncle Grant had been made a millionaire years ago with his portion of the ranch and the shares her father had left him in Wyatt Petroleum. It wasn’t a matter of money. If anything, her uncle just hated being away from the ranch for extended periods of time.

  “How long’s the cruise?” Sam asked.

  “Three weeks,” her aunt replied dreamily.

  Sam glanced at her uncle. “A happy woman is a happy home,” Sam said to him under her breath.

  Uncle Grant rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “Don’t I know it,” he muttered, bringing over the hot plates of spaghetti her aunt had ladled. “Who’ll watch the ranch?”

  “Gus,” she shrugged.

  Uncle Grant shook his head. “How about you and Carey come back for a couple weeks. See if you can handle it? Help ole’ Gus out.”

  “That’s an excellent idea!” Aunt Hannah agreed. “You two back home,” she sighed. “Now that’d be a sight to see.”