29. Bishop

"Hey,Mom and Dad, there's something I want to ta—what's this?"

Sitting at the dinner table along with my parents and Pixie is Randy, of all people. Suppose when my dad said he'll square things away, this is what he meant.

"Join us," Dad says. There's an edge to his voice that tells me he's all business. But Mom tempers that by talking about the weather, as if they've got a good-cop, bad-cop routine going. Guess it's always been that way with them, and maybe why they've made this ranch a success. That pit in my stomach returns, about how I'll fare when it's time and whether I'll run this place into the ground all on my own.

I may have modern ideas, like the more efficient feeders for the cattle, but those things also cost money. I'm not good at budgeting like Mom, so I'm going to have to figure that out. I don't let myself wonder about Porter's bookkeeping skills—or lack thereof—and what he can bring to the table. Not yet. Christ, we're not even public yet, and everything else feels too precarious.

I slide into a seat, feeling on edge. I'd planned to talk to my parents about something very different, but now it'll have to wait. All because of an employee we all walk around on eggshells.

Though for his part, Randy seems a bit overwhelmed to have been invited, his shoulders curling in, so he appears small and humble sitting across from me now. Good, maybe it'll help knock him down a peg. Not only did he ruin our night, but no doubt also got the rumor mill running in town about the employees of Sullivan Ranch having a go at each other.

"Daddy, these are the best mashed potatoes," Pixie says, lifting the bowl. "Have some."

"Will do, sweetie," he replies, taking her offering. Hearing how Randy's voice softened toward his daughter makes me sad that they've had such a hard time of it. It also makes me wish there was an easier way to fix it all.

If you want something, you need to work for it, Dad would say.

But there's no magic wand. Life is never that easy to navigate.

"We thought we'd invite Randy to share a meal with us since things have been a bit busy and topsy-turvy lately." Dad throws me a knowing look. Topsy-turvy might be an understatement. "And maybe afterward, we can come to a better understanding."

Well, there you have it. Dad is extending an olive branch by offering Randy an opportunity to explain himself. That's Dad's style, sort of a stern consideration, but it still makes things uncomfortable. We eat through tense conversation about Pixie's schoolwork and the upcoming holidays.

I blow out a breath of relief when the dishes are being stacked and cleared, and then Mom is enticing Pixie out of the room for a needlepoint lesson.

The air thickens, the room growing silent as the three of us are left alone.

I shift uncomfortably until Dad clears his throat and looks at Randy. "I don't want to mince words. What will it take to help get you on the straight and narrow?"

Dad may be more hands-off with the employees but definitely comes to the point when it matters. I could probably learn another thing or two from him.

"What do you mean, sir?" Randy's voice is meek, and I notice the small tremor in his hands either from fear or alcohol withdrawal. It makes me wonder just how bad it's gotten or how much he's hiding.

Dad squares his jaw. "I think you know exactly what I mean. If you've got a drinking problem, we'll support you through?—"

"I ain't got no problem." I can hear the edge to his voice. Randy wants to shout and defend himself, but he knows better in this situation.

"No? I hear plenty that tells me you do." Dad softens his tone. "Better that you deal with it now before you hit rock bottom. You've already lost your home, but you still got a job and people behind you."

"Yeah? Then why ain't I never promoted?"

"Promoted?" Dad shoots me a look, and I temper my reaction. "What do you mean?"

"Like Porter Dixon." He practically spits out the words. "You let him work with a stock horse of his choice, which I consider a step up."

"Porter's got natural talent," I blurt. "Has been building a reputation for himself long before he returned to the ranch."

"There you go, taking up for him again."

"Watch your tone," Dad says to Randy, and the man is smart enough to avert his eyes. "Yes, Porter is an old friend of the family. As kids, Bishop and Porter were always together. Sounds like you're envious of that."

"No, sir. I just don't like special treatment."

"If you're referring to the horses, Bishop is right. That man's got an innate ability working with 'em, and has really done well with Storm, who we were worried about. Why wouldn't we let him do what he's good at?" Dad narrows his eyes. "And as far as a step up, as you call it, we don't think there's any sort of hierarchy with our ranch hands. You're all vital to us. It's all hands in to run this place, and you know it."

"Why do you think I've put you in the crop fields in autumn and spring?" I say because it's true. "You're good with the tractors. You've even fixed a couple for us."

I won't bring up how he almost overheated the ball bearings not too long ago. That would be like rubbing salt into a wound, especially since I'd suspected he was hungover all day.

"You're right. I am good at it." I can see the pride in his expression, more confidence than arrogance this time. "But Patricia loves those horses, and it's a tradition in my family. My father was in the rodeo and could rope a horse like nobody's business. Patricia already hears so much about my dad… If I could just get the same opportunity for a horse of my own to train, I could?—"

"You have plenty of opportunity with the horses," Dad replies.

So there it is. This is about more than a promotion; it's about wish fulfillment and leftover ghosts from Randy's past. And maybe Porter being better at it than him, and also emulated by Pixie, eats away at him.

"I give you credit for trying so hard." I look at Dad before I ask, "Do you want to train with one of the grooms? Like an apprenticeship?"

Dad nods like it's a fair question. It might be a way for Randy to develop more of one skill or another if he wants it that badly. I'd hate for him to get more frustrated on his own or, God forbid, hurt in the process.

"Apprenticeship?" Randy acts like it's a bad word. "Oh, I dunno about that. I thought I could just spend more of my time in the stables like?—"

"That's after Porter's chores are done or on his own free time," I say. "You could do the same in the evenings instead of—" I stop myself in time. It would be counterproductive not to bite my tongue. Dad shifts in his chair, seeming relieved that I kept my head.

"Before we consider any of that, you need to get something else taken care of first," Dad insists. "You need to get yourself healthy again."

A flash of frustration crosses Randy's features. "You put me in the stables, and I will. I…I'm perfectly capable of?—"

"It's time to stop making excuses." Dad gently taps his wrist. "If you want to make Pixie proud, that would be the first step."

I lean forward to add, "Your job will be here if and when?—"

"What is this?" Randy stands abruptly, nearly toppling the chair. "Some sort of intervention?"

"We care about your and your daughter's well-being. We just want you to get some help. Mrs. Sullivan has been looking into resources around Laurel Springs."

Guess my parents really have been working behind the scenes on this.

"I don't have that kind of money," Randy bites out.

"Well, AA is free, and they hold meetings in one of the churches in town. If you decide you need something else, we can help defray the cost."

Randy squeezes his eyes shut, looking defeated. Like the chicken has finally come home to roost, as they say.

Dad stands from the table, and I follow suit.

Dad and Randy shake hands. "Just asking you to consider your options before you decide."

"Yes, sir." Randy's jaw is clenched, and I have a feeling he's just yanking our chain. Or maybe I'm wrong and he'll take a first step toward sobriety.

"Let's check in on Pixie, and once you get her to bed," Dad says, "Mrs. Sullivan will be sure to walk you through what she's found."

I hold my breath as Dad leads him to the living room. I don't follow because I don't want to make it more awkward. My parents have a strategy, let me in on part of it, and we'll have to see how it all pans out.

I head out the door and down to the stable, hoping my instincts are correct.

As I step inside, the first thing I see is Porter's hat hanging on a hook outside Storm's stall. Like it belongs there. It makes my heart skip a beat as I approach.

Porter doesn't startle upon seeing me, and I can see his eyes crinkling in a smile.

"You all right?" Porter asks, smoothing the brush down Storm's coat.

The stallion let Porter mount him again today, so what Dad said to Randy is true. Porter was born for this.

"I am now." I breathe out as relief courses through me.

Porter straightens. "Something happen?"

I trail a hand down my face. "Randy happened."

His eyes turn dark. "What do you mean?"

"Nothing like that." I lift a thumb over my shoulder. "My parents had him over for dinner, and Dad gave him a good talking-to."

"Yeah?" His eyes find mine. "Think it'll do any good?"

I kick at a stone. "Suppose we'll have to see."

"Well, for all our sakes, I hope so."

"Uh-huh. It sure took me by surprise, though." My gaze snags on Midnight nudging his nose in my direction over his stall door. "I planned on telling my parents something different… Hey, you willing to go for a ride with me?"

"Where to?"

"Our stream," I lob back as I head toward my horse. "Where else?"