Chapter Seven
Since she had busted her alarm clock the previous morning, Heather had nothing to throw at the door when Mabel came around knocking at 4:00 AM. But she sat up and scowled at the door, gave it the finger, and then wrapped herself back into her quilt as she turned over to burrow into her pillow. Yet she hadn’t gotten more than a half hour extra sleep when her door burst open, scaring the daylights out of her. Heather screeched as Tristan stomped into the room, she howled when he stripped her of the quilt, and she cursed as he picked her up and threw her over his shoulder.
“What the fuck are you doing?” she screamed, kicking her feet and banging her fists against his back as he carried her, fireman-style, down the stairs and into the kitchen. He plopped her down in a chair at the table.
She scrambled to push her hair out of her eyes, ready to spit fire at him, but stopped when she saw she was far from alone at the table. Besides Tristan and Duke, two other men stared at her with wide eyes. One man reminded her of Brad Pitt, with golden hair and sky-blue eyes. The other man reminded her of Willie Nelson, complete with long, gray hair and beard stubble. Mabel stood at the stove, her back turned from them as she finished cooking breakfast.
Smells of bacon, eggs, and sausage assaulted her. Heather wrinkled her nose, shot evil glares at each man, daring them to make one comment, and then rolled her shoulders back as she crossed her arms.
“Mornin’, Heather,” said Duke. He gave a nod toward the Brad Pitt look-alike. “This chap sitting to my right is Tony Billings, vet extraordinaire. I can’t figure out why the girls call him Handsome Tony. And this older gent is Jim Breedlove, our resident farrier.”
Heather blinked and cocked her head in confusion. “Ferret?”
Jim laughed. “A farrier. I take care of the horses’ hooves. Hoof care, trimming, balancing, putting the shoes on. All that.”
“Oh.” She bit her lip. “I would think a veterinarian would do that.”
Handsome Tony shook his head. “I’m usually too busy with the cattle. I maintain the correct procedures for the beef to be labeled as organic.”
“Free-range cattle?”
“Yes, but also maintaining that the medical services, medicines, and vaccinations fall under the USDA organic guidelines.”
“Lincoln decided to go organic about ten years ago,” Tristan told her. “It’s a demanding market right now so he made the right decision. And since we’re a medium-size operation, our profits have escalated.”
“Go Grandpa.”
Mabel placed a full plate in front of her.
“No, thank you,” Heather said and pushed the plate away.
“Eat your breakfast. You have a busy day,” Tristan ordered.
They eyed each other, staring without blinking. In that moment, it became a contest to see which one would back down first.
“I don’t eat meat,” she replied.
“Then eat the eggs.”
“I don’t like eggs.”
“Then eat the toast.”
“It’s burnt.”
“Hide it with jam.”
“I have a figure to maintain.”
“You just gotta argue, don’t you?”
“I’m not the barbarian who dragged an innocent woman out of bed in the middle of the night to shove animal by-products down her throat.”
“Again, it’s morning.”
“Again, there’s no earthly reason to be up at 4:00 AM.”
“You’ve got stalls to muck out.”
Heather placed her palms on the table and scooted her chair back. There was a collective indrawn breath from the observers around the table.
“I suppose it’s too much to hope you might have stevia for some coffee? No? Of course not,” she muttered to herself. “That’s only in civilized places, I suppose.”
She turned to leave the kitchen.
“Where are you going?” Tristan demanded.
“I refuse to destroy any more of my clothing, so I’ll be back when I’ve located suitable replacements.”
She strode away with a wave of her hand.
At the top of the stairs she glanced toward her grandfather’s room where a “Do Not Disturb” sign hung on the door.
“Figures,” she muttered to herself. “The one person who gets to sleep in is the one dying.”
“Hey,” Tristan called from the bottom of the stairs. “Heather.”
“What?”
“Come here.”
“Giving orders now?”
“Come here please.”
Heather sighed and marched back down the steps, halting when she saw him holding something out to her.
“What’s this?”
“Some clothes.”
She hesitated taking them until he prompted her.
“There’s a shirt, some thick socks, and a pair of old jeans. I know they’re probably too big, but I figured they would suffice for now.”
She cocked an eyebrow at him questioningly.
Tristan shrugged. “I didn’t want you ruining any more of your clothes either.”
Heather’s heart started to thump, and she didn’t quite know what to say. The gift was nothing, worthless really, only it brought a tingle over her fingertips as they gripped his clothing.
“Thank you,” she mumbled.
He cleared his throat and backed up. “Yeah, so, I’ll see you at the stable.”
She nodded and hugged the clothes to her chest, watching until he turned and walked quickly away.