Page 3 of Saddles
Lori nods. “He’s in his crib in Sophia’s room. She offered to keep an eye on him since I was busy being sick last night.” Her forehead pinches. “It’s so nice to have extra helpers around.”
Mason kisses her temple with a smile he tries to hide from her.
I can see the pride in his stance and the love in his gaze when he looks at her.
Lucky bastard.
I’m happy for him, I really am.
But it still feels like a dagger is twisting in my chest. I could have had this too.
If I hadn’t fucked it all up.
“Well, time to go hide in the woods for a while. Let me know if you find those assholes who poisoned that pond.” I follow Sawyer out onto the porch, but Mason falls into step behind me.
“Ford, you watch your back up there. They know we’re keeping cattle in that pasture, and whoever in the fuck it is that’s messing with us, they’re stepping up their game.”
“And to think I was hoping all that bullshit was over once Cash and Trevor were gone.” Their names burn enough I have to spit into the dirt.
“Well, you and I both know you wouldn’t even need to go up there if the threat wasn’t there.” Mason takes a deep breath and leans against the post along the railing. “I wish like hell you didn’t have to go, either of you.” He juts his chin towards Sawyer.
“I’ll be fine, Dad.” Sawyer hangs the bag of goodies over the saddlehorn and threads his long arms into his coat. “I’ll be back in a couple of days. I gotta practice with Scotty before our next Call of Duty tournament anyways.”
I untie Pepper from where she stands idly and swing up into the saddle.
Roscoe pops his head up and trots over, the stump of his tail wagging.
I bet he knows we’re going back up to stay again. He’s my only source of sanity at the cabin.
A man, a dog, and a horse.
Sounds like the start to a really boring joke.
It’s a two day trek through some of the most beautiful country in Montana. High rugged peaks flank us as we push through the frosty fields of dying grass.
By the second evening, we make it to the small log cabin nestled next to a rough barn and a creek that manages to trickle most of the winter.
I’m just glad there’s a hand pump so I don’t have to worry about water for me or the animals.
There’s barely room for Sawyer to crash in his sleeping bag on the floor, but it’s still more comfortable with the little pot bellied stove than camping outside again.
“Welp. I guess I’ll mosey.” Sawyer rolls up his bedding and slings it over his shoulder. “I don’t know how you do it.” His dark hair shags over his forehead when he shakes his head. “I’d go stir crazy without the internet.”
“When you get older, you’ll come to appreciate the alone time.” I set my empty coffee cup down next to the tiny sink.
“Do you like being up here by yourself?” Sawyer’s nose wrinkles as he straps his things to his horse.
“Nope.” I pull my hat brim low enough to cut the glare of the sun reflecting off the morning freeze.
Or maybe it’s to keep him from seeing the remorse in my expression.
I hate being up here, left alone with nothing but the memories of all the mistakes I’ve made.
But I won’t tell him that.
“Be careful on the way back. See ya in the spring.” The chill cuts through me, and I’m shit enough at goodbyes, that I turn around and shut the door.
Roscoe watches from his blanket in the corner, ears raised, yet he keeps his head on his paws.
