She smiles at me. “I know, boo. Just have fun, then. I know Henry could use some. Make him smile for me, yeah?”
I nod. Damn, I love this woman. They broke the mold when they made her.
“Can we play the game where you pretend it’s not your brother and I can tell you what really made him moan the other night? I feel like Jack would be into it.”
She just starts laughing, “Dammit, G, this is really a whole level of compartmentalizing that I wasn’t prepared for tonight. I’m going to need more drinks.”
48
Henry
“Skyhawk Six Niner,three miles southwest, inbound to land.”
“Roger that, Skyhawk. Permission to land,” air traffic control says over the radio. A quick but frequent stop just thirty minutes north from Strutt’s Peak and into Wyoming. Just over the border in another small town where one of Agent Harper’s assignments has been placed undercover. Next door to Diamond Peak is a massive ranch that deals in cattle and bison, where I can land my small plane easily. Aside from a good landing spot, one that I’m welcome to use, I can check in with the old man who runs the place.
“Good to see you, sir.” I shake the old timer’s hand. It’s been a few months since I’ve seen him, and he looks more weathered than my last visit. I’d imagine eighteen-hour days working on a ranch at seventy-nine will do that. The thing he doesn’t know, or maybe chooses to ignore, is the fact that we share a last name.
Buck Riggs is my grandfather, who doesn’t speak to my father, and chooses to ignore the fact that Asher Riggs has a big bold life just a state away. Far enough from the rancher life that he was supposed to inherit. It’s not a secret in our family. Our father and grandfather are estranged. The details are murky, but when my father refused to take over the family ranch in Montana, my grandfather sold the ranch and then relocated to Wyoming. My guess is the rancher in him couldn’t retire, and stay away from what he did for his entire life. This ranch, in Wyoming, has been functioning for close to twenty years now, but it’s nowhere near what the Riggs Ranch in Montana once was. Or so I’ve been told.
I couldn’t tell you if my dad even knows that his father is in Wyoming now, but he chose to leave the expectations and judgement from his old man a long time ago. Both of them never made an effort to be in one another’s lives, so I have to assume they both would rather let it lie. It all makes me appreciate the relationship I have with my father even more.
I stumbled upon this place shortly after I started flying again. I needed an emergency landing. Air traffic control directed me to the open fields of the ranch. The old man approached me with an attitude and a shotgun, but once he introduced himself, it was too hard to not look a little deeper. I kept coming back for odd jobs. He asked that I’d keep an ear out for ranch hands or when he needed extra brawn for bringing in new cattle. He was always looking for folks who wouldn’t mind some hard work. A few from witness protection have taken jobs here, and it works out for everyone. Buck doesn't ask questions. Agent Harper knows the connection, and she couldn’t care less as long as her people are tucked away.
“What brings you here, son?”
“I wanted to see about some bison, actually. I’m opening a farm-to-table pop-up restaurant, and I want to source everything local from Colorado and Wyoming. Thought you’d be my guy for meat.”
“I don’t know what the fuck a pop-up restaurant is, but you’re welcome to buy from the best.”
After we settle up the details and delivery, I give him a good, firm handshake. I always try looking for any similarities between him and my father. Him and me. But, aside from the jawline and maybe an appreciation for dealing good business, there isn’t much. Over the years, I think I’ve learned I don’t want to find too much. Just enough to know he’s okay. I respect my father and know that he left for a reason and didn’t look back. But I also couldn’t look away once fate dropped me right into my grandfather’s field.
By the time I make it back in the air and land on my airfield, it’s just after 9 p.m. Not too bad considering I put in a full workday today, flew to another state, secured a decent agreement for farm-fresh meat, and already have a roster of additional farmers I’m meeting with over the next few days. Sourcing locally, a well curated menu and a pop-up spot could be just the right amount of commitment I’m willing to make right now. I can’t help but smile. My ideas are finally coming to light, and it feels good.
My phone buzzes.
G
I told your sister about us.
And what did she say?
Your loudmouth brother had already told her. Apparently, my private show at your house was what gave it away.
Does that mean I get to see you tonight? I miss you.
Now how am I supposed to say no when you say shit like that to me?
I’m smiling down at my phone, distracted by how much I’ve wanted this with her, when a familiar voice interrupts, “I figured I’d meet you in person for a status update, Riggs. It’s been a minute since the fiasco on New Year’s.”
“Agent Harper.” I nod and move to shake her hand.
“So it’s true, then?” she says, lighting up a clove cigarette.
I keep quiet. I hadn’t planned on addressing this with her before I spoke with G about it. Up until that text, I thought I was going to have to convince her that we can make this work. That I’m making changes so that it can work.
“I leave you two alone for two days and you do the exact thing I warned you both not to do,” she says.
“Harper—” But before I can say anything else, I register what she just said. “You told her to stay away from me?”