25. Red

Nearly everything we do around the ranch, we do on horseback. In part because it helps protect the soil, the sensitive native grasses, and the numerous streams we cross daily. But mostly because Grandpa Wells would kick our asses six ways to Sunday if he found out his cowboys weren't being real cowboys.

The one exception is calving season. When it's thirty below zero, I'm thankful for the shitty ranch pickup—with torn leather seats, a staticky radio, and a chunk of cardboard zip-tied in front of the radiator to help the truck build heat. Sitting in the passenger seat, Denny's struggling to keep his coffee from spilling as the old jalopy rumbles down the dirt road.

"Nobody teach you how to drive?" He holds his coffee mug out in front of him, trying to guess where the next pothole might be in the dim glow of our crappy headlights.

"You're the one who wanted to ride bitch. I'll trade you so I can fucking sleep for an extra five minutes. I've been lucky to get three hours a night lately."

The truck careens over a large rock, splashing hot coffee down Denny's arm. Maybe it was somewhat on purpose. He slams the cup into the cupholder, shooting me a death glare that's impossible to take seriously with the way his lip curls upward.

"I still don't get why you're spending all this time on a Christmas present—almost a full month after Christmas, I'd like to point out. I thought you two haven't talked since you punched Landon Wiebe?"

"We haven't. But I still want to do this for her. She's so sure she'll have to give everything up because of the baby, and I don't want that. She deserves to have the things that make her happy. Even if she never wants to talk to me again, I want to do nice things for her. Sure it's a lot of fucking work to build this thing from scratch, but she's worth it, man."

Even in the dark, the bunching of his eyebrows is obvious. "Careful. You might break your back trying to kiss your own ass like that. You can say you're making her this extravagant gift to win her back. I won't rat you out."

"Sure. Let's just say that's why I'm doing it."

A few kilometres up from the main ranch entrance, Denny nearly loses his coffee again when the truck rattles across a cattle guard approaching the calving barn.

"So you want to be with her? Be a couple? Make it official? Not see other people?"

Stepping into the brutal cold, I slam the truck door behind me with a shiver. A deep inhale makes my nostrils freeze shut for a second. "Jesus, how many ways can you ask the same question?"

"Oh, I can keep going." He throws open the heavy barn door and, while the air isn't much warmer inside the old building, it cuts the nasty wind. "I didn't see this shit coming. You and her. You and anybody. Now I'm stuck chasing buckle bunnies with Colt as my wingman."

"That's the real reason you're invested in my love life."

"Love life? You got it that bad for her?" He side eyes me as we pass calving pens filled with cows and their brand-new calves.

I nod. I'm a total goner. "She's everything."

Colt yells our names from the end of the aisle, cutting the conversation and grabbing our attention. "Mornin'. Think you guys might want to help this one. When I was out at midnight she was just getting started, but she still hasn't calved so I brought her in."

Typically we let nature work. When things are going well, it's better for everyone involved not to intervene with birth—mamas do it on their own, and we try not to jump in to assist unless absolutely necessary.

"Great. Red needs his practice delivering babies, just in case." Denny ducks before I've had the chance to process what he said. Turns out my brain struggles to function at five a.m. when I didn't get to sleep until well-after midnight.

"You're a dipshit." I lazily swing my arm in his direction. "Go grab the chains, Colt. She likes to throw big calves—likely needs a good tug on the calf from our end."

"Hope you don't talk about Cass that way when the time comes," Denny says, quickly hopping out of arm's reach.

Colt shrugs. "Hopefully she's an easy calver."

"Colt." I raise my voice. "Grab the fucking chains like I told you to. You're both idiots, and I'm gonna go back to bed if you want to be pains in my ass all morning."

Settling in on the bunkhouse couch shortly after five p.m., I can already feel my eyelids growing heavy. I'm close to finishing Cassidy's present and, with her still not wanting to speak to me, I can afford to take a night off. Get a decent sleep, for once. Well… decent-ish. I haven't had a restful night since the last time I slept with my arms around her.

Rob, the obnoxious old son-of-a-bitch, sits in the recliner and leans back, chugging from an amber bottle. Seconds later, Colt flops next to me and holds an open beer in front of my face.

"Nah, I'm not drinking," I nudge his hand away. "Told you, I quit that shit."

"Sorry, bro. Forgot." He grins. "More for me."

Rob snorts. "Not drinking. As if that's gonna last long."

I could drink it. Not like it fucking matters. It's been a week since my last drink at The Horseshoe, and nothing has changed. I haven't suddenly become a new person. Cass hasn't reached out. At least a few drinks would take my mind off how miserable I am for a few hours.

I shouldn't drink it. Because, on the off chance Cass wants to talk to me ever again, I want to tell her I'm trying. And mean it.

Retreating to my room like a child hiding from my alcoholic dad again, I grab my phone out of habit. I expect her to ignore me, since that's the way each of my other attempts at contacting her over the past few days have gone.

Red: You had a doctor's appointment today, right? How did it go?

Cass: Baby's good. I'm good.

Red: I should've been there

Cass: Yeah

Red: I'm sorry. Really fucking sorry.

Cass: I know. I just don't know what to do with that right now

Red: Talk to me?

Cass: Sunday? I have the day off

Red: Sunday. I'll bring dinner.

Sunday. Today is Friday, and somehow I need to make it to Sunday. Then I can try to fix this. Not a fucking clue how to fix it, but I need to. There's no other option.

I toss the phone onto my bed and pace, my mind reeling with ideas of what I could possibly say to make things better. I pace across the room. Pace the hall to the shared bathroom. Pace downstairs in the kitchen. Back upstairs. In circles around my bedroom.

"You good?" Denny asks from the couch when I'm on my third tour around the bunkhouse.

"Maybe. No. I don't fucking know. I need air." I strain to get the words out around the lump in my throat and an agonizing inability to get a lung-filling breath. It feels as if a boulder is crushing my sternum; the fear of blowing my one shot at getting Cassidy back suffocates me.

Suddenly, I'm throwing on a coat and trudging down the moonlit road to the stables. Compact snow crunches under my boots—the only noise on an otherwise silent ranch. Pulling open the barn door, there's a soft red glow of heat lamps. With the flip of a switch, the ceiling lights begin to hum, gradually warming up until the entire place is lit with a midday glare. A few horses blink wearily at me from their stalls, and I head straight for Heathen, my favourite mare.

She's misunderstood, with her hot temper and rash decisions. Quick to throw me if I push her buttons. Even quicker to apologize after the moment has passed. We butt heads, and I threaten to send her to slaughter on a daily basis. But when I need to get my head on straight, she's the horse I come to, not any of the nine other mounts I rotate through for work.

"Hey girl." I pull a mint from my jacket pocket—a peace offering for being the asshole who woke her up. She happily accepts, then thoroughly sniffs my pockets for more. "I don't know if I'm cut out for this shit. Being a dad. A boyfriend. The two things I want to be more than anything else in this fucking world, but I know I'm going to screw it up. I already have. And now I might have an opportunity to fix it, and no idea where to start. They deserve so much better than me."

Heathen stares, unblinking and still working on the hard mint, like she understands when nobody else cares to.