Not much of a reason anymore, but I didn’t tell him that. If Austen was going to start coming, there wasn’t much point. Except for the kids. I sighed. I really did like working with the kids.
Luke didn’t say any more, leaving me to finish my sandwich and scroll my emails in peace. I dragged my thumb down the screen, looking for anything that wasn’t spam. Most of it was junk coupons or something, but then one caught my eye. It was from the editor ofStockman’s Journal.
Dear Mr. Chandler,
I am reaching out in response to your poem, The Cowboy’s Call, which was published in our December issue. We have received tremendous reader feedback on the piece, and have decided to dedicate a section every month to similar works.
Our January issue goes to press next week, but I have reserved a space if you would like to contribute another piece. It should be no more than 200 words for the space allotted. I understand the short notice might make it impossible, but if you have something you would like to send in, and if you could email it by Friday evening, I’ll make sure it gets printed.
Thank you for your interest in our publication.
The email closed with the editor’s signature and contact information. My mouth was hanging open—I’d forgotten to chew. They wanted more? By gum, I’d send them something! I didn’t even have to think about it. I knew just the poem I’d send. I even had it saved in the notes on my phone because I’d written it in the cab of my truck on Tuesday. Right after driving Jess home.
I opened the poem and read through it again. Usually, I change a word or two every time I review my writing, but this one seemed just right as it was. It was the work of a few seconds to copy it and send it back to the editor.
What a turn of luck! My writing was where I went to stave off discouragement or to pour out the hope that seemed to build up and try to burst free. I couldn’t think of a better way to lift my mood tonight than someone asking for more of it. Maybe I’d managed to touch someone, and that felt pretty good.
I put my dishes away, glanced at the editor’s email one more time with a smile, and slipped my phone into my pocket. Then I went to say hi to Dad and Evan before turning in for the night. They both stopped talking and looked up when I opened the door to the den.
“Look what the cat drug in,” Dad said.
I flopped into the nearest chair. “Hi, Dad. Evan. Busy day?”
Evan nodded and steepled his fingers. Then he slid a questioning glance to Dad. And suddenly, I had an idea that they weren’t just gabbing. They’d been talking about me.
“Yeah,” Dad said, fumbling with hisFarmer’s Almanac. He rolled it up and twisted it a couple of times, and my stomach sank like a rock. This didn’t look good.
It couldn’t be the ranch finances because I knew exactly where we were. Not rolling in profit, but secure for now. Stock disease? I’d admit, I hadn’t seen the yearlings since Monday, and…oh.
“Look, Dusty,” Evan began, glancing at Dad. “This just isn’t working.”
I blinked. I knew what he was talking about, but I was too stubborn to just heave over. “What isn’t working?”
Dad huffed a sigh. “I’m sorry, son, but we just can’t have you gone two afternoons a week. I know you’re doing good work, but with Marshall busted up, and all of us trying to keep on top of things, we can’t spare you right now.”
I felt like I’d swallowed hot coals. My face was on fire, and my insides were all twisted up. “But I got my stuff done this evening,” I protested. “I’m gone for maybe three, four hours, and that’s not something I can’t make up.”
“I know, I know. It’s just that we have a lot more to do right now. We’re in survival mode at the moment when we ought to be staying ahead of things. We’re barely keeping our noses above the water line, and that’s not where we need to be. You know that.”
Luke chose that moment to stick his head through the door. By the look in his eye, I knew he’d been listening in. “I’ll pick up Dusty’s stuff,” he offered.
Evan uncrossed his boots, lifted an eyebrow at Dad, and waited for the nod to go ahead. “It’s just not enough, Luke. Today, we had a couple of cows miscarry. Doc Burns came out to inspect the fetuses, and I had to dig through all the files to find proof that we’d vaccinated those cows for brucellosis. That’s typically Dusty’s department.”
My shoulders drooped. “Yeah, it is.”
“Oh, come on. What are the odds that’d happen when he was away?” Luke cried. “It’s just a fluke. We said we’d support White Pines however we could, didn’t we? I don’t see what’s wrong with Dusty—”
“There’s nothing wrong with it,” Dad cut in. “I’m all for it, but it’s too much right now. Maybe in a month, when Marshall’s back to work.”
“Then we hire someone else like we did when Brandon broke his arm,” Luke suggested.
All eyes turned to me, and I lowered my head. I knew the answer to that better than anyone. “We kept Brandon on the payroll when he was hurt, and hiring someone to cover for him dropped our savings. Market prices were down last fall, but county taxes were up. And the biggest thing is that we, uh…” I gulped. “We made some pretty huge donations to White Pines. We can’t justify hiring someone else right now just so I can go volunteer.”
“Whaddaya mean? Are you saying we can’t afford it? We have money to campaign the show horses, don’t we? We have hay sitting in that barn to sell, don’t we? We’re not exactly eating rice and beans. I don’t see why y’all can’t let Dusty have a few hours a week.”
“I don’t want us surviving on rice and beans,” Dad said, finality in his tone. “We get through the hard times because we tighten our belts before we’re starving, not after. And right now, we need everyone. It’s only for a little while, Dusty. A month—six weeks at the most.”
I was staring at the floor, my teeth grinding. I knew what that meant, even if Dad wouldn’t say it. Tax season was upon us, and that was my job. We’d be hot in the middle of calving season by the time Marshall got back to full strength, and that meant every man on deck around the clock. Then it would be branding season, when we ran our fool heads off helping everyone get their calves vaccinated and tagged before turning them out on summer pastures. Realistically, it would be May before I’d be able to take a breath. And by then, Luke and I would be trying to win some money at the ropings, and I couldn’t let Luke down.