5. Emery

5

EMERY

My shoulder ended up taking longer to heal than I’d’ve liked, but this morning I was up on the ladder again, power washing the upper section of the barn siding. It was awkward and dangerous, and I had no excuse for being up here other than my own stubbornness.

I’d barely begun when I spotted Lockwood riding Shadow out from the stand of trees that hid his home. Oh, yeah. Maybe that was why I was up here. I smiled as I faced the wood siding, knowing he’d be pissed I was up here by myself again.

It’s possible I hoped he’d come by to chastise me.

Over the last month and a half, I’d become more and more intrigued by the often-solitary figure who always seemed to be in my periphery. While I was perpetually overwhelmed by the growing list of improvements I needed to make on my small patch of earth, he seemed to manage his property—which surrounded mine on two sides and was far more difficult to navigate—with relative ease.

Where my land conveniently dipped low toward the highway, his property’s highway-facing border rose into a ragged limestone drop-off, and, like mine, most of his hilly acreage had been left untouched.

Lockwood was sitting on a cash cow with the gorgeous Hill Country views at the top of his property. Instead of selling it to the high-dollar development going in to the north of us, Rowdy told me that his cousin had planted about half an acre’s worth of hemp—fully licensed, complete with its distinctive-looking plants and smell—right up to the wrought iron fence that reigned in the million-dollar cottages on garden lots.

A country fuck you if ever there was one. Lockwood was a prickly motherfucker, but his petty sense of the visual was chef’s kiss .

In contrast, the few elements he’d added close to our property line were thoughtful. The way his automatic gate was set back from the road, for example. I’d been thinking this whole time that we shared the easement where our dramatically different properties met, but that entrance was fully his. That meant he’d purposefully set the gate back to share the safer driveway.

I wasn’t totally sure what to make of it.

Past the gate, his own well-kept drive cut up through the dramatic rise, following the fence for a bit before it turned off toward a stand of oaks at the high point of his property. A small bungalow and larger corrugated metal building peaked out from the tree cover.

My curiosity got the better of me one day, so I’d hiked up on my side to see how he lived. Two could play that game, right?

Well, whatever I’d assumed about the man, I hadn’t been expecting a scene from fucking Snow White. His bungalow and surrounding native vegetation seemed to call to all creatures, native and exotic, and the dappled sunlight was surely a paid actor. I nearly called bullshit when the three-legged Bandit limped up to him for scritches.

The warm expression on his face as he’d run his talented hands along that dog’s back made my lower belly grow warm. I’d give almost anything to have someone look at me like that, and yet there was a melancholy that colored his peaceful solitude. Like maybe he wasn’t antisocial as much as he’d withdrawn into himself.

It bothered me, even as I pictured it now.

Which was probably why I didn’t see the baby zebra until it was right under my ladder.

Not gonna lie, I felt like I had seen everything that the Central Texas Hill Country could throw at me over the last several weeks, but this was a new one.

A zebra, for fuck’s sake.

Well, a zebra hybrid, maybe? The tiny thing was fuzzy with a disproportionately big head, and its hindquarters, legs, and face were striped black and white. Its flank and back, however, were more of a striped taupe, and it was in rough shape, with some bald spots and half an ear missing.

Stevie came running out onto the front porch, hopping up and down as she clapped her hands in delight.

“A zebra ? I didn’t know they have zebras out here!”

As cute as this little thing was, I didn’t trust it for a second. Frustrated and scared, I was about to yell for her to stay back when Lockwood came galloping up.

“Stevie! Get inside!” he shouted, his voice so sharp she jumped, then did as he said.

Lockwood raced toward the awkward animal, who’d legged around the ladder like it was running for its life. Rowdy came up a few seconds later on another horse I’d seen him ride here and there, and they quickly corralled the poor thing over by the firepit.

After getting a guide rope on it, Rowdy tipped his cap at me. “Sorry. We had a runaway.”

I set my jaw and started down the ladder, high pissed that Stevie had been endangered.

“ Hey ,” I shouted, glaring at Lockwood. “Don’t you ever fucking yell at my child ever again. You hear me?”

“I didn’t have time for niceties,” he said, pulling the poor thing along, the whites of its eyes visible as it strained against the rope. “I was just trying to make sure she was safe.”

“You know how you keep my daughter safe? By properly containing your wild animals.”

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, winding up the rope. “You’ve seen what the Dalls do to my fencing, and this zonkey was an emergency placement after a zoo in St. Louis fell through. He escaped before we had a chance to check the fences.”

Zonkey? I swear, half the things out here sounded made up, and I still didn’t know if jackalopes were real or not.

Blanche, who was in her paddock, neighed, and the foal—pretty sure that was the right word for it—kicked out, slipping from its rope to gallop over to the fence. I held my breath, not sure what I was about to witness.

Rowdy was about to take off, but Lockwood placed his hand on his cousin’s chest, watching as Blanche pushed her nose to the fence, as if by instinct. Approaching like a kid on a dare, the scrappy little foal touched noses with her, then bounded away.

Blanche remained in place, letting him circle back to her, skinny legs splayed as he reached up and touched her nose again, his wild-eyed look softening into something less fearful. Rowdy and Lockwood nudged their horses forward, but the little thing nearly blew a tire skittering away with a frightened bark.

I tried to stay pissed at the situation unfolding before me, but watching the guys read the scene and react was fascinating. They could have easily physically overcome the poor creature, but I sensed they wanted to avoid traumatizing him. Instead, Lockwood and Rowdy clicked their tongues, pulling back on their reins. Their horses backed up and, after a beat, Blanche nickered, drawing the zonkey near. Moving slowly, she nuzzled him as best she could through the fence. Eventually, he calmed down, though he kept a wary eye on us.

Stevie opened her bedroom window on the second floor. “They’re friends, Dad! Look! Blanche has a friend!”

The foal’s eyes widened at the loud noise and he pressed his little body up against the fence.

I pressed my lips together, beyond frustrated but also trying very hard not to laugh. Over the last several weeks, Stevie had gotten it into her head that Blanche was lonely, even though she spent every free moment with her, whether it was riding, braiding her tail, or just hanging out in her stall. She’d been begging for another horse, which I really didn’t want to get until I hired someone to help us out with the property.

As the guys tried another approach, the tiny thing bucked and began backing up.

I know how you feel, my striped friend. This place still freaks me out sometimes.

Seeing how quickly Blanche had soothed the frightened animal, I held up a hand. “Will the zonkey and our pony get along?”

Woody wiped his mouth. “He was held with his mom—the donkey half—and other horses, so...probably. She passed away because of neglect, and the vets think he wasn’t too far behind.”

“Would he be able to get out of the paddock?”

Rowdy shook his head. “That’s not a very high fence, but it should do the trick.”

I watched as Blanche worked her magic on him, then slipped over to the paddock gate and opened it. The striped foal raced in, skidding in its haste as it ducked under Blanche. I quietly closed the gate behind him, then sent a shrug-grimace to the cousins as Blanche sniffed at her new friend.

Rowdy hopped off his horse, grinning from ear to ear while Lockwood’s jaw looked strained as he gracefully dismounted. They looped both of their reins over... Huh . I just realized that was a hitching post near the barn.

I thought it was just a quaint farmyard thing. Like a decoration or something.

I’m gonna keep that to myself.

Lockwood spit, then said, “You should never let an unknown animal near your livestock.”

Rowdy rolled his eyes. “It’s our fault he even got out. Plus, he was inoculated and quarantined. He’s fine.”

“ Still .”

Knowing I’d once again annoyed and disappointed my neighbor with my lack of any kind of expertise, I asked, “So it’s safe to keep him in there while you figure out how to get him back to your side?”

Going by the flat line of Lockwood’s lips, he was not a fan of the suggestion. I wasn’t a fan of it either, but I didn’t want that thing loose. If the closest thing to containment was my paddock, we could figure it out.

He sighed. “Look, the Dalls are going to a zoo next week and Bandit’s still got a couple of follow-ups with the vet. I would”—he made a face, clearly uncomfortable—“appreciate the help in the interim.”

I couldn’t help the laugh. “Bet that hurt to say.”

“Like a fucking kidney stone.”

“You’re welcome,” I snarked, raising my brow at Lockwood. “And how is Bandit doing? He putting on weight?” I asked, as if I hadn’t just spied on them.

“Thank you. And yes. He eats like it’s going out of style and acts like he’s always had three legs.”

“He’s lucky you came along when you did,” I said, enjoying the way he squirmed in the saddle. “You’re a regular Dr. Doolittle, aren’t you?”

Lockwood pulled a sour look, and Rowdy laughed. Before they could get into it, the front door opened and Stevie poked her head out.

“Can I come out now?”

“Let’s ask Mr. Lockwood,” I said, enjoying his discomfort as he gave her a sharp nod.

“Why don’t we call him Woody like Rowdy does?” she asked, running down the steps.

“Only his friends call him Woody,” I answered, guessing that Rowdy was the extent of his friend group.

“We’re his friends,” she said, walking up to Shadow. With a sweep of her hand up Shadow’s neck, she looked over at Lockwood. “Aren’t we?”

His hat was low, so I could only see the lower half of his suntanned face, but the tension in his jaw was visible from the highway. I enjoyed watching my girl put him on the spot. His Adam’s apple went up and down, and he cleared his throat.

“Well, yes. I guess you are, considering your dad’s willing to house the foal for a few days.”

“Good, because Mr. Lockwood sounds like a really old man—like my dad when he gets after me for not making my bed. And you’re just regular old.”

“Hey,” I protested. “A made bed?—”

“—is how we start the day off right,” she said, her imitation spot-on.

Rowdy snorted into his fist, then gave her a high five.

Ignoring the sass, I returned to the subject at hand. “So, Woody , can I assume that zonkeys and horses have similar diets?”

His breath caught momentarily, and he avoided my eyes as he answered. “Pretty much. They said at the rescue that he’s good with hay and alfalfa, likes carrots, but isn’t sure about apples just yet. “

“Why did he have to be rescued?” Stevie asked, peering around me to look at Blanche and the nervy foal as they took a turn about the paddock. “What happened to his ear?”

“He and his mother had been purchased on the black market, then put in a gas station on the Texas-Louisiana border. They’d allowed people to feed them a bunch of nasty stuff. We don’t know how he lost part of the ear, but it won’t take long for good food and some sunshine to square him away. Also, all equines are herd animals, so it’s nice that he has a friend.”

“Can Shadow be his friend?”

“Probably not. Shadow’s much bigger than he is, and he’s afraid of her.”

“But Blanche is just a pony, so she’s not as scary.”

“Exactly.” Woody took a deep breath, then let it out along with some of the tension in his shoulders. “Gotta say, been watching how well you treat her. You take her out every day, you ride her every day, and your dad made sure she’s got a real good setup.”

Stevie smiled broadly. “He said it was an advance on the swear jar, whatever that means.”

Rowdy laughed, and Woody, despite himself, didn’t quite have it in him to fight off a smile.

“I’m pretty sure I’ve given your dad a couple of occasions to use that swear jar.”

Stevie lifted a shoulder. “It’s okay. Grandma says you’re prickly because someone probably hurt your feelings.”

He looked my way, and I avoided his eyes. “Prickly, huh?”

“Like a porcupine,” she said, nodding to herself as she ran her hand up and down Shadow’s nose.

I bit the inside of my lip to hold back the laughter, but Rowdy about fell down from her unintended hilarity.

“Well maybe I’m prickly because once again, your dad was up on a ladder all by himself, with no one here to spot him.”

This again? Fuck off.

A line appeared between Stevie’s eyebrows, and she put her fists on her hips. “I’m here. I keep Dad safe.”

“Actually,” I said, interrupting their adorable dialogue, “Woody had a great point about hiring someone to take care of the property.”

“I make a lot of great points, and it’s nice to see you’ve decided to listen for a change.”

I winked at him, enjoying the way he shifted on his feet, then I turned to Rowdy.

“Are you working anywhere at the moment?”

Rowdy shoved his hands into his pockets. “Just odd jobs, really. This one lets me help him every once in a while, like when we fixed the fence or moved the bees to the other side of his property, but that’s about it.”

I shot Woody a look as I put together what Rowdy was saying. “Wait, y’all moved the hives?”

Woody wiped his forehead, knocking off his hat. His flop of dark hair was a mess, and he shifted his shoulders before stooping to pick it up. Dusting it off, he muttered, “Stevie’s allergic.”

Stevie scrunched her nose. “Ugh. I hate bees. A huge honey bee stung me and made my arm blow up like that inflatable costume Dad wore for Halloween. It gave me the itchiest rash, ever.”

Woody shot me an accusatory look, and I held up my hands. “I said she was allergic. I never said how allergic.”

“But you knew I’d assume the worst.”

I did, but the fact that he’d moved his hives to the other end of his property was another one of those tells he tried so hard to hide. He cared, and that made me like him more than I should.

Before he could get too mad, I explained, “Doc said her reaction might worsen over time. Which means we avoid bees and wasps, and I keep EpiPens in the house just in case. So...thank you for moving them. It means a lot.”

He harrumphed, then strolled over to the paddock, Stevie trailing behind him. They stepped up to the railing, adopting the same leaning posture as they watched Blanche and her new friend gallop around the fenced-in space. Stevie started firing off questions about zebras. And donkeys. And whether or not he thinks Blanche is lonely.

He tilted his head toward her, answering her in that low, patient voice of his.

“He’s a good guy,” Rowdy said, sidling next to me as we watched our charges.

“I know,” I replied as Woody placed a cautious hand on Stevie’s shoulder when she tried to climb higher.

“I know it doesn’t look like it, but it really embarrasses him when the animals get out.”

“Is this a usual occurrence?”

Rowdy shook his head. “No, actually. But, ever since—” He stopped himself and held up a hand. “Let’s just say that the last few months have been a challenge,” he said, voice lowered.

“No shit,” I half-whispered back. “He’s out here doing everything by himself while he gives me a hard time for simple chores.”

Rowdy shot me a look. “Don’t lie—you enjoy taking your life into your hands on that ladder.”

I rubbed my recently rehabbed shoulder. “I might be a little stubborn in that regard, yes.”

“Mmhmm.” Rowdy glanced at his cousin again, his eyes sad. “He...Doing this all by himself is new.”

“Oh.” I thought for a moment, remembering something Rowdy’d said a while back. “He had a person?”

Rowdy sent me an unhappy smile. “I guess, if you call his jackass ex a person.”

If the thought of Woody alone didn’t agree with me, the thought of someone hurting his heart sat about as well as gas station chili.

“You know, this job...I won’t need you full-time. I mean, I’ll pay you a full-time wage,” I amended quickly under my breath. “But you’re welcome to help him out whenever you think he needs it.”

I pulled out my phone and showed him the saved tab with the salary range of a property manager in Texas, then pointed to a number in the upper range. He shook his head and mouthed way too much .

I raised my brows. I may be a noob out here in cowboy land, but money was something I knew a thing or two about. Rowdy sucked in his lips and appeared to think over my offer.

“I’ve been running out of excuses to just show up and force him to take my help, so...” He took a deep breath, then gave me the most serious look I’d ever seen from him. “He’ll hate it, but I accept your offer because I need something steady and I’d like to afford somewhere with actual A/C.”

I thumbed a gesture at my house. “I’ve got, like, two guest rooms downstairs. You’ll hafta take your casual encounters elsewhere. Otherwise, don’t steal my ice cream and you’re golden.”

“Emery . . .”

“Why don’t you move in over the weekend?” I asked, raising my voice. “Start on Monday.”

Before Rowdy could respond, Woody whipped his head around. “Wait, what?”

“You were right. I need a property manager and Rowdy agreed. He’s moving in this weekend.”

“ No .” Woody approached his cousin. “You can’t work for him. And you definitely can’t live here.”

“Excuse me?” Rowdy said, putting his hands on his hips. “I can do whatever the fuck I want to.”

Stevie, who’d followed Woody over, dropped her mouth open. “Dad, he swore. And that’s a two -dollar word.”

Rowdy raised his hands. “Where’s the loyalty, Stevie? And how will I be able to afford to live here if I get charged two bucks for every fuck that comes out of my mouth?”

“That’s four dollars,” she said, holding out her palm as she sent me a proud look.

Reaching into his back pocket, Rowdy sent me a wink before shaking his head with a woeful pout. “Well, guess I’ll hafta watch my mouth then.”

“Guess so,” she said, lifting her palm a little higher.

He pulled out a ten and placed it in her waiting hand. “That’s an advance on things I may or may not say in the future.”

“So, you’ll bring your stuff here on Saturday?” I asked.

“No, he will not,” Woody spat out, his eyes like razor blades.

Rowdy went toe to toe with his cousin. “Yes. He will.”

Pulling Rowdy to the side, Woody started speaking fast and low, too soft to hear more than a few words here and there. Rowdy’s reply was equally indecipherable, but his attitude was visible from space.

“. . . you can’t . . .”

“. . . erased it off my phone...”

“. . . inappropriate . . .”

Rowdy’s expression went from pissed to understanding, and he leaned in, whispering something in Woody’s ear. Woody stiffened and stepped away, shaking his head. “. . . that’s not why...”

The last words I caught were from Rowdy: “I promise...”

Woody glared between the foal and Rowdy, and... Right there . I spotted the vulnerability, hidden so carefully, right below the surface. Something about me hiring Rowdy unordered his world, and I was desperate to know why.

Shaking his head, Woody fixed me with a look. “You better fucking listen to him,” he said, reaching for his back pocket. Slipping out his wallet, he handed Stevie two crisp dollar bills. “He sleeps in late, and is a pain in the ass, but he knows what he’s doing.”

Stevie held out her hand. “ Ass is a dollar.”

Woody narrowed his eyes but fished out another bill. “Technically, it refers to a donkey.”

“But that’s not how you used it, and Dad says intention matters.”

Something complicated crossed Woody’s face, like agitation and admiration.

“Thank you for your contributions to the swear jar, Woody ,” I said, enjoying the minor hitch in his chest as I bit into his name once again. “And for bringing us the world’s weirdest hybrid.”

“Woody is our friend who cusses, and he brings us zonkeys,” Stevie sing-songed, clapping her hands. Her eyes widened again, and she looked up at Woody with a pleading expression. “I have the perfect name for him!”

“I’m afraid to ask.”

“Spunk!” she squealed, spinning in her swirly skirt and stompy boots.

Rowdy could barely breathe for laughing so hard. The inside of my lip was going to be bloody if I kept after it like this.

“Do you mean Spunky, like what Grandma calls you?” I asked, hoping to provide context.

“Yes, but that’s too long. He’s small, so he needs a short name.” She grinned, proud of herself. “Spunk!”

“How about Punk?” Woody drawled, more of that amused annoyance curling his lips. “That’s shorter than Spunk.”

Stevie frowned in serious thought, tapping her chin. “Punk, punk, punk, punk.” She sighed, shaking her head. “No, I don’t like it. Maybe...” Her eyes widened with even more delight. “Tim!”

I laughed. “Tim? Why Tim?”

“’Cause it’s shorter than Spunk, Dad. Duh .”

Rowdy elbowed me. “Yeah, Emery. Duh .”

He then held out his fist and Stevie bumped it, then did a bootie shake, then let Rowdy twirl her around.

Woody shot me another one of his crinkle-eyed glares—which I did not take seriously for one second—and snarled, “I can already tell I’m gonna regret this.”

“The arrangement with Tim, or me hiring your cousin?” I asked, gripping his shoulder.

Fuck. I gave myself goose bumps, touching him like that.

He wiped his hand over his mouth before peering into my fucking soul.

“Both.”