Trey pounded a u-nail into the wooden fence post and eyed his handiwork. He liked this section of old fence line. No telling how far back in time it went, since the posts were made of bois d’arc. That was the French name, but the trees were also known as iron wood or Osage orange because Osage hunters, like Comanche hunters, often made their bows out the extremely hard wood. He figured the fence would probably outlast him. Up through the Midwest, the trees were called hedge apple. Farmers had planted hedgerows of bois d’arc back during the bad old Dust Bowl days as barriers to stop the vicious winds from lifting the topsoil and carrying it to the Gulf of Mexico. They’d also put the green hedge apples that grew on the trees in cabinets to keep out bugs.
He eased his hammer into his back pocket. Not much breeze today, so not much to keep him from baking in the sun. But it felt good, cleansing even, after the AC in the house. He took off his hat, pulled a blue bandanna out of his pocket, and wiped the sweat out of his eyes. He took a deep breath of the warm, dusty air that smelled like dry grass as he glanced around the pasture. Samson stomped a hoof under the shade of a live oak tree, patiently waiting to get back to the barn. Trey had already set out hay and made sure the stock tanks were full of water for the cattle. Ranch hands were taking care of work in other pastures.
All was as it should be. He could see it plain as day. But he still felt like a horse with a burr under his saddle. Fire, heat, and drought could be the irritating culprits, but most likely his feelings were due to his Christmas angel. He’d tossed and turned all night. One kiss. A few smiles. A bit of banter. And he was getting in deep. With a city gal, no less.
A little hard, sweaty work fixing fence was just what the doctor ordered to get his mind off Misty. He’d ridden Samson out at dawn with supplies and water. He could’ve taken one of the ATVs, but he’d wanted the ride to get the kinks out of his body. Besides, Samson was an old friend, and he needed that kind of easy company right now.
But nothing put his mind to rest. Samson would turn thirty pretty soon. And so would Trey. Made a guy think about his life and where he was going with it. Samson wouldn’t always be around. That was the way of life. Trey was still living in his folks’ guesthouse. He liked the simple and easy comfort. He also liked being near his parents, but they were slowly getting up there, even if he didn’t want to think about that fact, and change was in the wind.
He stuck his hat back on his head, tied his bandanna around his neck, and eyeballed the post. Not strong enough. He plopped another u-nail into position over a strand of barbwire, held it with forefinger and thumb, and struck down hard with his hammer to pound the nail into place. At least barbwire and u-nails didn’t change.
Truth be told, he wanted more in life. After Cuz Sydney had brought Storm into the world on a wild and stormy night, he’d enjoyed the hell out of the sassy little girl. Made him want one of his own to teach how to ride a horse, rope a steer, barrel race, give big hugs, and take to rodeos. But he couldn’t do it on his own. He needed a gal to help, but not just anyone would do. He wanted the kind of long-term love his parents had managed to hang on to through thick and thin.
So far he hadn’t met the special woman who’d turn his life upside down in the best way possible. Well, he hadn’t until—Katie, bar the door—yesterday. An image of blond hair, green eyes, and a knockout body came to mind. Smart as a trick pony, too. But that fine gal was on one side of the fence and he was on the other. Not what you’d call an ideal situation, but he’d yet to quit a rodeo before he was out of the chute.
He looked down the line of fence and was satisfied with what he’d done. He’d already fixed the fence on Wildcat Road. Lucky break for them all, Misty coming along at just the right time the day before. Then again, it was about time the county got a break. And a Christmas angel to put it into play.
He’d done enough work out here for the day. He’d take Samson back to the barn and see what needed to be done there. He walked over to the shade of the live oak, rubbed Samson down his long nose, and put his hammer and u-nails in the saddlebag. He pulled out his cell. Sometimes he could get coverage out here. No new messages. He’d check again at the barn.
He put his left foot in the stirrup and swung his right leg up and over the saddle. He heard leather creak as he settled comfortably into the saddle. He picked up the reins, clicked to Samson, and headed for the barn at a leisurely pace. As he rode, he looked around to make sure all was in order. Place was a tinderbox. What he wouldn’t give for snow, so it’d slowly seep into the ground, but he’d take a rainstorm even if the water mostly ran down into the streams.
By the time he reached the barn, he was feeling relaxed about life. He’d see Misty later. Any time spent with her couldn’t be anything but good. He dismounted and led Samson into the cool shade of the barn. Other horses nickered to him from their stalls. He checked on them. A ranch hand had already mucked stalls and filled water tubs.