I’ll be done working cattle in about an hour. Want to come over? I’ll cook.
Jessie
Deal. I’ll bring dessert and wine.
Jessie
He call yet?
Kacey
No. I’m sure he’s just busy.
I’m sitting on the tailgate, holding a bloody towel to my forehead. Carson is digging around in the first aid kit while Chet talks on the phone.
“I’m fine, guys. It’s a minor cut; head wounds just bleed more,” I say to calm them down. Rein jumps up on the tailgate and lays down next to me.
Carson looks up and glares at me. “You were thrown a good eight feet and smacked your head on the panel. You could have a concussion.”
“I do not have a concussion.” I roll my eyes at him. “I wasn’t knocked out, and I feel fine.” Well, mostly fine. I have a slight headache but who wouldn’t with Carson and Chet mother-henning them?
Chet walks over, his spurs clinking, and holds the phone out to me. “He wants to talk to you.”
He called my dad. Tattle tail.
I take the phone. “Hi, Dad.”
“Here, swap the towel for these,” Carson says and hands me some gauze pads.
“Hey, Bug, I’m about to leave the locker. I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Chet said you got thrown, hit your head, and cut it?” I can hear the concern in his voice.
“No, stay; you don’t need to come all the way over here.” We’re clear on the other side of the ranch. “He makes it sound worse than it is. It’s not that bad, it’s not even an inch. It doesn’t even need stitches. We can butterfly strip it,” I reassure him.
“You need to go to the hospital and get checked out—”
“No,” I snap, harsher than I mean to. “I am not going to the hospital.” Ihatehospitals. I’ve only been to the hospital once since the day my mom died. Carson needed stitches and there was no one else to drive him. I ended up waiting in the truck after nearly having a panic attack.
He sighs, knowing my aversion to hospitals. “Chet said you could have a concussion.”
“I’m going to give Chet a concussion in a minute,” I say, annoyed. Carson snorts next to me, and I hear Dad sigh overthe line. “I’m fine. I can finish working these cows. And Jessie is coming over tonight; I promise I’ll let her look at me. Okay?”
I hear Carson say under his breath, “Like hell you’ll finish working these cows.”
I glare at him.
“You’re sure you don’t have a concussion? I’m serious, Kacey.” He’s worried, I don’t blame him. I get a little overbearing when he gets hurt or sick, too. After losing Mom, we’re both protective when it comes to each other’s safety.
I try to keep that in mind and use the most confident but reassuring tone that I can. “I’m good; I promise. I’ll meet you at the ranch when we’re done with these pairs.”
“Alright. Hand the phone to Carson, please.”
Great.I’d bet all the money in my wallet Carson is going to get assigned babysitting duty. This is part of being a woman working in a “man's field." I get babied or not taken seriously often. Carson and my dad are pretty good about understanding that I can handle myself. It’s mostly the cowboys who think women shouldn’t be here or the feed salesmen who refuse to talk to me, only wanting to talk to “the man in charge.” Every woman in agriculture experiences it but that doesn’t make it sting any less.
I hand him the phone and start digging around the first aid kit for butterfly strips.
I try to listen but can’t hear anything Dad is saying. I hear Carson’s replies though.
“Probably twenty-five to thirty is all.”
