My bedroom was the only place on this ranch that didn't feel like a battlefield. Because it faced east, I could play a game of hide-and-seek with the Texas sun; gold and blinding in the morning, cool and shaded by the time the afternoon heat started to bake the siding.
I sat in the window seat, the glow of my Kindle the only light in the room, watching the horizon. My brother, Axel, was supposed to be taking a break from the rodeo circuit to help Grandpa with the branding. In Axel-speak, "helping out" meant bringing a small army of "recruits"—five to ten cowboys looking for a paycheck and a place to raise hell.
When that infamous truck and four-horse trailer finally kicked up a dust cloud at the cattle guard, I didn't wait to be greeted. I pulled the heavy drapes shut, plunging my room into a protective gloom.
I made a tactical retreat to the kitchen, swiping a drink and enough food to last the night before I disappeared back upstairs. My room was a fortress. When my grandparents had modified the house, they'd given me an ensuite bathroom and a walk-in closet, carving the space out of Axel's room. He claimed he didn't care—he was on the road eight months of the year—but he never missed a chance to remind me whose floorboards I was walking on.
I'd just hidden my plate in the closet when the heavy thud of boots hit the stairs.
Three.
I sat on the edge of the bed.
Two.
I adjusted my hat on the bedpost.
One.
The door swung open without a knock. "Hey, little sis. Miss me?"
Axel didn't wait for an answer. He flopped onto my duvet, propping his dust-caked boots right on my clean pillows. I glared at him, the kind of look that usually sent ranch hands scurrying, but Axel just grinned.
"What do you want, Axel?"
"Same as always. To use your shower while the guys are over."
"No," I said, my voice flat. "Use yours."
"It's cramped, and technically, this used to be my floor space." He gestured vaguely at the bathroom door. "So it's partly mine."
"Good luck getting in," I countered, leaning back. "I put a key lock on that door. There's only one key, and it stays with me."
He rolled his eyes and stood up, the springs of my bed groaning in relief. "Whatever. There are seven of them down there anyway; they aren't going to fit in your prissy little bathroom."
"Your guests, your problem," I said, following him to the door and locking it the second he stepped into the hallway.
I spent the evening in my window seat, listening to the house transform. The front door banged open and shut like a heartbeat. Loud, gravelly male voices flooded the vents, punctuated by bursts of rowdy laughter. I peered through the slit in the curtains, spotting three faces from last year's crew and four new ones. Two of them were identical twins. Great. Just what this ranch needed: double the trouble.
By ten, Grandpa called lights out. I went to bed early, setting my alarm for ninety minutes before the rest of the world was scheduled to wake up.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
The alarm was a cruel vibration in the dark. I moved with practised silence, dressing in the shadows and snagging the lunch Grandma had packed for me the night before. I slipped out the back door, pulling my boots on only once I hit the porch.
My appendix quarter horse was waiting in the barn. He was a tall, deep dapple grey gelding, his coat shimmering like charcoal and smoke in the dim light of the rafters. I'd spent hours keeping that coat clean; on a ranch this dusty, a grey was a full-time job, but he was worth every minute.
I skipped the bit, opting for my hackamore instead. After seeing how a bit could alter a horse's natural headset and performance, I'd sworn them off. He worked better this way, way faster, more responsive, as if he could feel my thoughts through the leather.
I tacked him up with my tan saddle, the turquoise accents of his gear popping against his dark grey coat. I slung my lariat over the horn and headed out. By the time I reached the herd, the sun was just a bruised purple line on the horizon. I started gathering alone.
The work was steady until the reinforcements arrived. Two ranch hands took the flanks, and for a while, we had a rhythm. But cows are fickle creatures. Something—a snake in the grass or a shift in the wind—sent the left side into a frenzy.
I spurred the grey, letting his Thoroughbred-cross stride eat up the distance. We drew alongside the bolting heifer in a blur of dapple and dust. I built a loop in my lariat and let it fly, the rope settling true over her head. I dallied fast to the horn, the gelding sitting deep into his hocks, his powerful chest bracing as she hit the end of the line. She fought like a demon, yanking against the saddle.
"Dang, no-good cow," I muttered, trying to manoeuvre her back toward the chutes.
Suddenly, a second shadow swept in. Another rider moved with surgical precision, his horse sitting deep into the dirt as he threw a perfect heel loop. The heifer's back legs were snatched out from under her, and she hit the dirt with a heavy thud.
I hopped off, pulling a pigging string from my pocket to tie her fast. Only when the dust began to settle did I look up at the cowboy who had assisted me.
"Nice throw," I said, wiping sweat from my forehead with my sleeve.
The cowboy tipped his hat, a familiar, crooked grin spreading across his face. It wasn't one of the ranch hands. It was one of the newcomers from the truck—one of the twins.