Chapter Nine
Laci
For the most part, my first week at the ranch was pretty uneventful. I spent a lot of spare time chatting with Grandma and watching Jackson show me all the new things he was learning from Noah. When I wasn’t doing that, Sara and I were out with the horses, now that I was able to face being around them. It wasn’t until Thursday that things were anything but uneventful. We were in the stables, her with a brush in her hand to groom the horses when she tried to get me to ride again.
“Y’know, Lace, you’ve been here almost a week and you still haven’t gotten on the back of a horse.”
“Yeah, I know,” I said, still petting Greg (named after my grandpa) and avoiding her stare.
“Why is that? Your mom used to always gush that you’re a natural with horses.”
“I am,” I admitted. “I love them.”
“Then why are you avoiding getting on one?”
I guessed it was time to come clean. “I’ve only ever been riding with Mom. It feels wrong without her.”
“Oh, honey,” she said sympathetically. “I didn’t know that was your reasoning. Here I was, thinking you just had something against my babies.” She patted Greg affectionately.
“No, not at all. I actually think they’re beautiful.” Just then, Rose (named after my grandma’s sister), let out a loud snort. Taking it to mean she wanted attention, too, I walked over and opened the door to her stall and walked in. Much to my dismay, however, she appeared to be peeing all over the place. “You’re such a charmer, Rose,” I told her. She snorted again, and Sara came over.
“What’s she snorting about?” The color blanched from her face when she saw the wet ground. “Wait a minute, Laci, did that look like pee?”
“Yeah, that’s why I said she was a charmer. Why are you so pale?”
“Lace, she’s about to give birth! Here, take my phone and call Owen,” she said, pulling her phone out of her pocket and tossing it to me.
“Who’s Owen?”
“He’s the ranch hand Gram hired last week to help us train the horses. He’ll know what to do better than either of us! Call him!” she commanded.
I scrolled through her contacts and pressed his name. He picked up after two rings.
“Hey there, Sara, I was-”
“Owen, this is Sara’s niece, Laci. Rose is about to give birth, and Sara told me to call you.”
“Shit, really? I’m on my way!” he hung up and I slid the phone in my pocket.
“He’s on his way,” I assured Sara. “What can we do to help her?”
“There isn’t much we can do at this stage, I don’t think. Owen will know better.”
“Well, we can’t just wait and do nothing until he gets here! Can we?”
“Lace, it’s fine. He lives on the other side of the Tucker ranch. He’ll be here soon.”
Rose started breathing heavily and lay down on her side. Sara knelt beside her and rubbed her back while I stood there, completely at a loss as to what I should do. A couple of minutes later, Owen came running up, thoroughly out of breath.
“Shit, she sure is in labor!” he called.
“No, really?” I said, rolling my eyes. “We couldn’t tell.”
He gave me a dirty look and knelt down.
“Lace, go get Jack. I’m sure he’ll want to see this, too,” Sara instructed me. I nodded and then took off at a run toward the Tucker ranch. I found Noah and Jackson in front of the house, doing pushups together as they counted aloud.
“Hey,” I puffed. “Rose is about to have the foal. Your mom told me to come get you.”
“What?” Jackson said. “Why would I want to see that?”
“I don’t know! She said to come get you,” I panted. “And, I didn’t run over here for nothing. You’re coming with me.”
He stood up and Noah jumped up after him. “I can come help. I’ve helped horses give birth a few times.”
“It’s okay,” I waved my hand dismissively, “Gram hired a guy named Owen to help. He’s there now.”
“Owen?” Noah asked, pointing his thumb over his shoulder. “The Owen that lives over there? He’s a real numbskull.”
“Well, that’s not for me to judge. Now, come on, Jack!”
Grumbling, Jackson about having to watch and Noah about Owen being there, the boys both followed me back. When we got there, the foal was already lying beside its mother, the goop being licked off its head.
“It’s a girl!” cooed Sara. “Isn’t she gorgeous?”
“Oh my God!” I exclaimed. “Look at her!”
“Jack, can you go get Grandma? She’ll never forgive us if we don’t tell her right away.”
“But I just got here!” complained Jackson.
“Funny,” I noted. “You were pretty reluctant to come over here a minute ago.”
“That was when I thought I had to watch,” he said, sticking his tongue out. “But now that the baby’s here, I don’t wanna leave. Look how cute she is!”
“It’s okay,” Owen piped in. “I can go get her.” He stood and walked toward the house while Noah, once again, added his two cents’ worth.
“I wanna take a closer look,” he said, kneeling down next to the horses. He straightened and bent the filly’s legs and looked at her teeth, then seeming satisfied, he sat back on his feet and declared her “healthy as a horse” before laughing his ass off. Jackson thought it was hysterical, too, but God, I hate puns. Moments later, Owen returned, Grandma waddling along beside him with her arm hooked through his.
“Nothing like the miracle of a new life to bring people together,” she said, winking at me then glancing at Noah with a smile. A little part of me wanted to tell her all the reasons why that was never going to happen right then and there, but deciding not to spoil the moment, I laughed and leaned down next to Rose.
“You did a great job, I bet,” I whispered in her ear. “I wish I could’ve been here for you.” Call me crazy, but talking to horses is one of my favorite things to do. It’s cathartic to pour out your deepest, darkest secrets and have someone listen without judging you. Mom and I used to do it all the time.
In fact, one of my earliest memories is from one time when, on their ten-year anniversary, Mom and Dad took me horseback riding with them. They were high school sweethearts, but I didn’t come along until six years after they married, so I was only four. I remember Dad insisting that his mom could watch me, but Mom wouldn’t hear a word of it because she wanted to spend their anniversary celebrating the family they’d built together. Mom won, and when we got to the stables, she spent more time talking to the horses than to him. Apparently, I sat there and babbled away to the horses, too, like Mom. Dad swore that I was certain they were responding to me the whole time. Ah, young minds. Sometimes I wonder what happens to our childlike whimsy as we get older.
As I sat on my knees next to Rose, telling her she would be a great mother and that I couldn’t wait to see her baby grow, it dawned on me that this was all the family I had left. Then and there, I planned to come back every summer and certainly at Christmas, if not more frequently. My gaze passed from one family member to the next until I my eyes met with Noah’s. The weirdest look came over his face, and I suddenly felt my stomach flip-flop. You’d think growing up on a ranch, he would be used to seeing people talk to horses, but he stood there, staring at me like he’d never known humans had mouths and could speak, so I defensively crossed my arms over my chest. I gave him my best “say-something-I-dare-you” look, and he promptly turned to Owen and asked how Rose did with pushing.
They started talking about the mechanics of a horse giving birth, which wasn’t something you’d want to witness—the conversation, I mean; giving birth was natural and probably a cool thing to see—they made it seem offensive by the hand movements they made as they spoke animatedly.
In the meantime, trying to distract myself from the awkwardness next to me, I turned to Jackson and asked what he thought we should name the foal. After mulling it over for a solid minute, tapping his foot and scratching his head all the while, he looked me dead in the eyes and said, “Lisa.”
It was all I could do to hold the tears back. I started to sniffle and blinked several times, then put a hand on Jackson’s shoulder. “That sounds perfect,” I told him as a few tears escaped.
Feeling stupid for crying with both Owen and Noah nearby—not really prepared to let anyone see my vulnerable side— I wiped my eyes, offered to walk Gram back to the house, and promised to bring everyone something to drink. She gratefully accepted my arm.
After I made sure she was seated happily in her recliner with a tall glass of sweet tea and her favorite TV show on (some weird game show where the contestants could win bizarre things like a cockatoo), I went to the kitchen and made five Arnold Palmers a la Laci—my own special recipe which not only included sweet tea and lemonade, but also a dash of pomegranate juice. I arranged them in a pyramid shape on a tray, the way bowling pins are set up, and started off toward the stable. Much to my surprise, they weren’t there as I’d expected.
Instead, I found them at a tree, arguing. Owen saying he didn’t understand why it was such a big deal and Noah insisting, “I’m telling you, it has to be tied at three points for the best tire swing!”
I couldn’t believe my ears. Two grown ass men were actually arguing about the best way to attach a tractor tire to a tree branch. Sara kept trying to get them to cool it down, but when she couldn’t get a word in, she threw her hands up in exasperation and walked toward me. “They’re worse than Jack, honestly,” she said. I took a look at Jackson standing there, bouncing with excitement, his eyes ping-ponging back and forth as the men argued.
“Here,” I said, handing the tray to Sara. “I’ve had to deal with stupid arguments like this more than you know—theater can be a heated arena, after all.” She took it and watched with wide eyes as I stalked over to the verbal altercation and stopped it dead in its tracks.
I took the rope, threw one end over the tree, looped the other end and tied it, then wrapped the loose end around the tree to keep it in place. As the men stared at me, dumbfounded, I put one foot in the loop and pushed off, demonstrating the very effective swing I’d created.
Jackson started bouncing once again. “My turn, my turn!”
I dismounted and did my sweetest curtsey while Jackson applauded and stuck his foot in the swing and began to giggle with glee. Without a single word, I turned and walked back to Sara, cheerfully accepting the Arnold Palmer she held out to me. “Brava,” she laughed. “That was genius. I think the best part was the look on Noah’s face when you started to swing. Priceless!”
“Oh, really?” I asked, genuinely interested. I took a sip of my drink, which was very refreshing, and said, “Do tell.”
“He looked like he either wanted to wring your neck, jump your bones, or both. Something like this,” she said before trying to demonstrate. She bit her bottom lip and looked me up and down through narrowed eyes, then she started laughing again. My stomach did a little flip-flop. I couldn’t tell if I liked that he had looked at me like that or hated it.
Trying to distract myself from thinking too deeply into it, I warned her, “Careful, or you’ll end up wearing those.”
“Oh, Lace, I waitressed for fifteen years, I can handle a few drinks on a tray.”
The men walked over to us to take their drinks. Noah cocked his head a little and said, “Well, that was unexpected.”
I winked at him as sarcastically as I could manage and turned to Jackson. “So? What do you think?”
“Much better than a dumb old tire swing!” he burst out.
After he’d gulped down about half of it, Owen lowered his cup and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Damn, that’s good!” he declared. Sara gave him an “eat-shit-and-die” look, and he apologized sheepishly. “Sorry, Jack, excuse my language.”
“I’ve heard worse,” he replied, shrugging his shoulders to indicate his indifference.
Me, too, I thought.