A Silver Lining (6 page)

Of course, there was something else in her eyes, something dark and twisted. Damned if he knew what, though. Tristan frowned as he marched into his trailer and into the kitchen to grab a beer from the refrigerator. As he chugged back a long, cold drink he absently wondered what had happened that had put such sadness and hurt into eyes as beautiful as hers.

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Heather glanced at her new clock one more time, noting that only five minutes had passed since the last time she checked. Two fifteen in the morning, and she couldn't sleep.

Damn cowboy.

The kiss haunted her, but she couldn't fathom why. Maybe because she and Tristan had a semipast together, albeit a very short one. Perhaps he didn't remember her, though, at least not in the way she remembered him. He had been her first crush, at a point in her life when hormones ruled her every waking daydream. And she'd had plenty starring him. But the schoolgirl infatuation she had harbored did not even compare to the hot sting of desire he now resurrected.

Damn cowboy.

And now she was locked in a tug-of-war with him over a ranch she really didn't want except for the resale value. She was tired of living paycheck to paycheck, never having quite enough to get ahead. She was sick of having to rob Peter to pay Paul, only to turn around the next month and reverse it. She'd done every trick in the book, including sending checks with wrong names on them. But she got herself into the mess, and she'd get herself out of it, even if it meant cleaning horseshit

Three days down on her month long safety net. One task almost complete. Finish all those stalls in one day? She snorted in disbelief. No way. It took her at least thirty minutes to enter a damn stall once she stood in front of it, staring at the mess that lay before her. Good thing she didn't drink.

Twenty stalls left. Ugh.

Damn cowboy.

With a deep sigh of resignation, Heather rose and dressed quickly. First, as quietly as she could, she went to the kitchen and grabbed the box full of sugar cubes she had spotted the other day and then exited out the side door. She paused for a moment as she stared around the dark shrouded grounds of the ranch, illuminated by the large moon overhead. The cool air ruffled her hair and brought a sheen of goose bumps to her arms. She hadn't expected the land to be so still, so peaceful. The moment made her feel as if she were all alone in the universe.

Slowly, she made her way to the horse barn, almost enjoying the solitude the night offered her. She had never been up at this hour of night, except occasionally in L.A. when she had been out with friends. Louisiana was a completely foreign land to her, beautiful and strange at the same time.

Starting where she left off, Heather gathered her tools and equipment and led the first horse out of his stall. Some things she did remember from her one time visiting. Contrary to what she said, she had enjoyed walking the horses back then, helping to bathe them and cool them down after a day's work. She patted the horse on his neck and crooned soft words to him, giving him a bit of sugar to sweeten the deal.

Over and over she repeated the routine until the sun touched the horizon, and the dawn of a new day began. She continued, even as ranch hands came to collect horses, harness the animals up, and ride off for a day's work. The men were pleasant to her, though she did get many odd looks. Heather guessed that they were remembering her aerobics session the first day, and had to cringe a little bit. Thinking about it now, she wondered how she had the gall to be so outrageous. Her pride had gotten in her way. The old man had hit a nerve, and she just had to act out, a folly she'd been doing ever since the incident in her past. She had learned early on that the only person she could rely on in life was herself, and so she tended to take her self-sufficiency to extremes.

She worked through the morning, not even stopping when Tristan came looking for her. She knew he watched her, because her skin tingled every time he came near her. But she ignored him and stayed focused.

Somewhere along the way, she had decided she wanted to prove she was more than just a pretty face and more than Old Man Hart's granddaughter. This ranch and this competition provided a platform unlike anything else in her life, though she still struggled to understand how to balance on it. Every day seemed to be getting a tad easier, and when she clicked the last stall's latch, she knew she had just accomplished something tremendously huge.

Heather had no idea of the time as she deposited the last of the manure into the recycling compound, but her stomach rumbled loudly. She made her way back to the house, taking her time to really look around the spread of the land. The recycling compost lay at the far end of everything, probably because of the smell. A dirt path led back to the immediate happenings of the ranch, several outbuildings, and fenced-off areas. The main horse barn lay farther away, nearer to the main house, with the arena some distance away to the right of everything. Beyond that were pastures, green grass as far as the eye could see, with the landscape dotted with cows. She had never thought of it before, but where did all the cows go at night? Were they rounded up and brought into a large holding area, or did they just stay out to graze all the time? She had vague ideas from seeing movies and from books she'd read, but they were questions she honestly never thought she'd ask her whole life.

People were everywhere, performing tasks she couldn't even begin to fathom. She heard laughter, yelling, talking, animals baying, and hammering, a cacophony of sounds all merging together that made her feel left out. This was a world she hadn't grown up in, could never fully understand, and yet something inside her wiggled to be understood and to understand, even if she didn't really know exactly what.

As she walked slowly back to the house, she saw a crowd gathering over by a fenced-off area of yard and hollers rising from the spectators. Curious, she went over to see the goings-on. Tristan sat on the back of a chestnut-colored horse, one end of a rope around his saddle horn and the other end pulled tight on the bridle of a wildly bucking horse. The unbroken horse neighed in protest, rearing on hind legs and pawing the air. Tristan kept the rope taut, but allowed his own horse to move with the bucking horse enough as to not cause it damage or allow it to hurt itself. Men stood around watching the duel between man and beast, as magnificent to watch as it was sad, because Heather saw the freedom in the horse who didn't want to be broken.

She turned away, left the men cheering behind, and continued toward the house. She walked through the kitchen, not saying a word to Mabel, who sat at the table cutting vegetables, and went up the stairs. She entered her grandfather's bedroom, ignoring the DO NOT DISTURB sign, and sat next to his bed. He lay sleeping, his face still a mask of pain, even in rest. His labored breathing hurt her ears. He looked sunken and sallow as his body slowly imploded upon itself.

If things had been different, if her father had stayed at this ranch and let her grow up here, then she wouldn't have run from watching the horse being broke, and it wouldn't have taken her three days to clean forty stalls. If she had grown up a part of this land, would she have been stronger? A better judge of character?

Would she still have an unbearable sin eating at her soul?

She didn't know how long she stayed by her grandfather's side, but she didn't leave until night had fallen completely and Mabel had come to check on the old man and shooed her out.

Perhaps it said something morbid about her that the only man she felt truly comfortable around happened to be at death's door.

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"I'm impressed."

"Shut up, Duke,” Tristan absently said, his words devoid of any passion. He was quite used to telling his friend to shut up.

"She got up early to finish all the stalls. Not bad for a city girl."

"It took her three days.” Tristan threw some gear into the back of the truck and then walked around to the driver side.

"And it takes me three days to change my underwear. Time is all relative, my friend."

"You're a really gross man."

Duke grinned and opened the passenger side.

"Uh-uh,” Tristan replied with a shake of his head. “Take the day off."

"Why? Those stumps need to be pulled."

"I got it covered."

"You can't do it alone."

"Of course not.” Tristan raised an eyebrow full of meaning.

"Oh,” Duke replied, shaking his head. “That's not very nice. That lake is filthy."

"Yes. Yes it is."

Duke closed the door and grinned at him through the open window. “I expect details."

Tristan rolled his eyes and started the truck, driving over the dirt road that led up to the main house.

If she thought she'd get rest on Sunday, she had been very mistaken.

Tristan maneuvered the truck over the hilly terrain with ease as the morning sun broke through the trees. Heather yawned as she leaned her head back and closed her eyes, wishing she either had a cigarette or her bed. Cigarette first and then her bed. Her nice warm, comfy bed with the covers pulled up over her head and her pillows piled around her.

"Are you okay?"

Heather bolted up, blinking at her disorientation. “Huh?"

"You groaned,” Tristan said without looking at her. “I thought maybe you were in pain."

She eyed his mouth, positive she just saw it twitch.

"Do you work seven days a week?"

He shrugged. “I will if need be. Spring and fall are labor intensive."

"What happens in the spring and fall?"

"Calving in the spring, and weaning in the fall."

"So, what does a foreman actually do?"

"Care for the ranch and livestock, maintain vehicles, equipment, work on fencing and roadwork. Ranch security.” He shrugged. “A little bit of everything."

"Have you ever thought of a desk job?” She snapped her fingers. “Right. You'd have to take off that hat on your head. By the way, do you ever wash your hair? Do you even have hair?"

"Do you stay up at night thinking of completely ridiculous questions to ask me?"

"Sometimes. So do you? Have hair?"

"Yes, I have hair, and yes, I wash it. You've seen me without the hat."

"Oh yeah,” she said, pointing at him. “Middle of the night breakfast. I remember now."

He shook his head and muttered something too low for her to understand. Heather turned her head to hide the wide grin that popped on her face.

They came to a halt next to the rather large lake that lay in the field east of the house. Several large weeping willow trees graced the banks, providing a charming picture.

"What are we doing here?” she asked.

Tristan brought the truck to a stop before pointing. “See that area over there, where several large trees are growing out of the water? We're going to remove them."

"Why? They look like perfectly good weeping willows to me."

"The seeds form this spongy encasement that hogs the water supply. It prevents draining through the levees for the herd."

"And how do we remove them? Do we pull them up?"

"We tie a chain around the spongy trunk and then yank it out. Then we'll go back and repack the dirt at the levee from the bottom up, making sure to blow back through the pipe to clear it."

"I know you're speaking English, but it's just blah blah blah to me."

"This lake provides water to the cows over at the other pasture through underground pipes, but the trees have formed a stoppage with the root ball."

"Oh. That I understand. And are there snakes in the water?"

"Focus, Heather."

She stuck her tongue out.

He reached behind him and pulled a folded piece of vinyl off the backseat. With a deceptively innocent face, he handed her the garment.

"What's this?” she asked.

"Waders."

"Waders? As in wading?” Comprehension was immediate. “Oh man, why do I always have to get dirty?"

"Because you're learning."

"I hate you."

He only smiled widely.

She sighed and grabbed the waders out of his hand, opening the truck door with a little growl. As she stepped into the large waterproof pants, Tristan turned the truck around, backing up to the edge of the pond. He jumped out of the cab and unhooked the steel cable from the winch on the tail bumper.

"You'll have to loop the cable around the spongy trunk twice and then use the hook to secure it."

"Wait, you never answered my question."

"What question?"

"Are there snakes in there?"

"Probably."

"What! Oh no fucking way, Tristan Rogers!"

He laughed. “Just water snakes, nothing poisonous. They're more scared of you than you are of them."

"That's so not true."

"Get a movin', Heather,” he said, still chuckling.

She grabbed the chain from him and marched to the edge of the pond, biting the inside of her lip as she stared over the murky water. Her hands were encased in rubber gloves, but they were pretty useless in keeping them dry, because she had to submerge her arms into the water to wrap the chain around the spongy trunk. The muddy bank sucked at her feet, her weight pulling her down into the ooze.

"Wrap it around twice so it doesn't slip off!” Tristan called out from the dry, clean truck cab.

Heather really wanted to punch him.

Instead she huffed and took a baby step forward. Luckily, the trunk wasn't too far into the water so she only was in up to her knees. She felt something brush past her, and she jumped, dropping the cable.

"What was that?” she cried, spinning around and looking, trying to see through the muddy water.

"A fish, Heather,” he answered in a humorous tone.

She gave him a poisonous look and shot him the bird, which only made him laugh more.

The morning was long and tedious, and Heather learned more about water and run-offs than she ever wanted to know. Even though he had teased her, Tristan worked next to her, dressed in rubber pants and boots just like she. Side by side they waded in and out of the lake, scraping mud and piling it away as they traced the pipelines and cleaned the end caps. They repacked the levee from the bottom up. By the end of the day, Heather wondered if more dirt and mud caked her than what lay in the water. She was absolutely filthy and tired, and her stomach rumbled.