11. Fable

Chapter 11

Fable

T he next morning, I'm on my porch at seven exactly, already dressed in one of the few pairs of clothing I'd purchased for this trip. I hadn't had the heart to make anything, but I couldn't very well show up without at least some clothing. So today, I'm wearing a pair of Wrangler jeans and a button-down plaid shirt. The boots I'm wearing are better suited to a renaissance fair than to a ranch, but they're my most comfortable and suitable pair, so I pull those on. I top off the whole look with a cheap, beige cowboy hat I'd purchased online. It's a terrible option, but it was the only one I could manage before coming out here. I figure there will be places in town where I can get a decent hat if I need one.

When I walk into breakfast, Gunnar looks up and whistles.

"Look at you lookin' every inch a cowgirl," he says with a grin. "I approve."

I flush and take a seat. "Thank you. I did the best with what I had available. I know the hat sucks."

"Nonsense. A hat's a hat," Rhett says as he sits down, but then he wrinkles his nose. "I take that back. It's not even holding its shape."

"I know," I flush. "It's the quickest I was able to get to me before I flew out here."

"We'll remedy that at some point," Gunnar reassures me. "No worries."

Breakfast consists of heaps of scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, and what looks like hundreds of pancakes piled high. Again, it's family style where everyone gets their own share and eats. Most seem to rush through breakfast and hurry in and out. Even Gunnar quickly eats before hopping up.

"I gotta take Callie to the bus stop, but I'll be back for you, Fable," he says before disappearing out the door with his daughter.

"You should eat more than that," Mel exclaims when I finish up a pancake. "A long day needs some good sustenance."

Flushing, I take another pancake. "Of course."

I end up stuffing myself with three of them before he nods his head in satisfaction. About that time, Gunnar pops back in with a smile.

"Ready to go, cowgirl?"

"Yep," I say, standing to put my plate away.

"I've got that, Fable," Mel instructs. "You just go have fun. Don't let Gunnar work you too hard."

"Nonsense," Gunnar grins. "We're just going to meet all the animals. Nothing crazy."

Mel shares a look with Gunnar that I don't understand before Gunnar holds the door open for me and instructs me to follow. The moment we're on the porch, Gunnar reaches down and picks up a chicken I didn't even see until he has it in his arms. Which is strange, considering how weird the chicken looks.

"What on earth happened to him?" I ask, wide eyed. "Is he hurt?"

Gunnar laughs. "Oh, no. Mr. Frizzle just looks like this."

"But his feathers?—"

"He's a Frizzle chicken," Gunnar explains. "A particular breed characterized by their feathers turning up at the ends. It makes it look like he's in a permanent hurricane, don't it?" He settles the chicken on his shoulder, and to my surprise, the chicken is happy to perch there. "The ladies were being mean to him, and we don't exactly want a bunch of Frizzle babies anyways, so he's my partner in crime now. He prefers people company to other chickens." He holds up a piece of bacon to the rooster and he takes it happily.

"He just. . . hangs out with you all day?" I ask.

Gunnar nods. "He does. He's a great truck chicken. Rides on the center console and everything."

"Can I pet him?" I stare at the chicken. His feathers do look like he's been windswept. He gently clucks as Gunnar feeds him pieces of pancake and bacon.

"Go on ahead. He won't peck ya."

I reach up and touch Mr. Frizzle along his back. He makes a noise, but otherwise doesn't move, just looks at me. His feathers are weird and stiff, but he seems to enjoy being petted.

"He likes you," Gunnar declares. "He don't even let Rhett pet him."

"He doesn't?"

"Nah, but that's not unusual. Most of the chickens don't like Rhett. I think it has something to do with the way he smells like honey all the time. They think he has food, and when he doesn't show up with it, they get mad. Chickens are kind of just slaves to their hunger." He holds up another piece of pancake which Mr. Frizzle happily takes. "They'll eat anything. Hamburger, eggs, candy, fruit, even each other if one looks weak. They're kind of brutal creatures."

I blink. "Good to know. I never even realized."

"Come on. I'll take you to meet the horses."

I follow Gunnar out to the horse stables eagerly. I was able to pet three horses that were in the pastures yesterday, but I quickly learn that's not even a portion of the horses here. We go stall to stall as Gunnar introduces me to each and every one.

"This here is Wynona," he says, patting a large brown snout as she sticks her head out. "And this asshole on the end is Houdini."

"Oh, the escape artist," I say, coming over to pat them both on the noses. "I've heard so much about you, Houdini."

"See this metal lock here? He knows how to open it. Just pops it right open. This chain? Jerks it until it comes loose. They just don't make quality chains for the likes of Houdini."

"No lock works?" I ask.

"Nothing. Padlocks get busted open. Chains are broken. Locks are just unlocked. I swear this horse is smarter than any animal I've ever had. It would be amazing if it wasn't such a pain in my ass."

Houdini nickers for Gunnar's attention until he pets him, too. He makes soft blowing noises as we pet him, content.

"Yeah, yeah. No hard feelings," Gunnar tells him. "But I'm gonna find something that keeps you in. Just you wait."

Houdini nickers again and presses against our hands tighter.

"Maybe he just wants attention," I say, smiling. "He seems pretty affectionate."

"He loves hugs, so it wouldn't surprise me," Gunnar shrugs. "Still, we can't always have him just running around. I'd just let him make his own way into the stables if it wasn't dangerous for him to do so."

Houdini chuffs in disagreement, but happily accepts all the pets.

Throughout the day, Gunnar takes me through the entire ranch. I meet all the horses. Turns out Circle Bee has about twenty of them. I meet some of the dogs in the yard, but Colt is away on business, so I don't get to meet them all. I go in with Gunnar to meet all the dozens of chickens. Mr. Frizzle stays outside the chicken coops while we go in and fill up baskets full of eggs. I don't know how many we end up getting, but it feels like hundreds of them.

"You get this many every single day?" I ask as I help him carry them back to the house.

"Almost every day. Some of the ladies don't lay but every two days or three depending on the breed," Gunnar explains. "But we have to get them every day or else they'll try and hatch ‘em. And we clearly have enough chickens."

I laugh. "How many are there?"

"I've lost count, but probably damn near eighty of them. Gotta feed the ranch, and they give us enough eggs for everyone."

We meet more of the pigs, including a big potbelly named Bacon who seems to genuinely enjoy being scratched behind the ears. And finally, we meet a few of the goats.

"The cows won't be back for a few months still, but normally we'd have a small herd of those, too," Gunnar explains.

"What do you mean they'll be back? Where do they go?" I ask.

"So we do a cattle drive every year around here. The longest running one in the US, actually. Eleven of the thirteen ranches all join together where we drive our cattle up to the cattle allotment and then in the fall, after the first frost, they start making their way back. It's about eight miles. By the time winter hits, they're already home."

"A real cattle drive?" I blink in surprise. "That's so cool. I wish I could see it."

"Well, then, you just need to come back next year around the end of spring, and I'll take you on one," he promises. "I think ranch life fits you."

I smile up at him. Spending time with Gunnar is easy and comfortable. He never pushes. He never rushes. We spend the entire day just talking and enjoying ourselves. When he leaves to pick up his daughter, I find myself thinking more about him. I can't help but think Jinx would have liked him.

" I do ," she says, as she trails along beside me. " Jump on that cowboy. Make sure you wear the hat when you do. That sounds sexy as fuck ."

I smile and laugh, knowing that's exactly how she'd have responded.

Sighing, I trail back to the cabin. My eyes flicker over to the sewing machine, but I walk right past it. I can't. Not yet.

Not yet.