abe-wainwright

[abe-wainwright]

Abe sent Mattie a discreet hand signal to get her out from between Jasper's feet and paused long enough to plant a kiss atop his son's curly mop of hair. "Oh, by all means, let's do pancakes."

With the prospect of food, he reasoned his stomach could handle another cup of coffee, so he set to the task of making it. "How is momster? You talk to her lately?"

Things had been very comfortable between Abe and Naomi for years now. Grown kids meant fewer decisions to collaborate on, which meant fewer reasons to argue. But it also meant fewer reasons to communicate. And whatever else may have happened in their marriage, he'd always miss Naomi's friendship. So what if it was cowardly to get secondhand information from his son instead of picking up the phone like a big boy? Abe never claimed to be perfect.

"Somebody's gotta make sure they're raising you right, pops," Jasper teased. He didn't ask his dad why he took a minute to say anything. For all he knew, his dad had a girlfriend ... or a boyfriend or something ... he wasn't going to judge. His dad should date; it'd been seventeen years since the divorce anyways.

Jasper crouched down to dig through some of the cabinets for a mixing bowl, dodging Mattie's lolling tongue. "Very funny, but I'll have you know," Jasper placed a bowl on the counter and ignored the puff of powder from the pancake mix box. "I make a mean stack of pancakes -- somebody had to keep the boys alive when we were on the road. I am, as the momster says, 'domesticated.' We could do cereal, though, if you'd rather."

[abe-wainwright]

Abe set his cases of water next to the fridge, then opened it up for Gray. "People like to bitch and moan about kids these days not wanting to work or being too wrapped up on their phones and I mean hey, I get it, being young today is a lot different from when we were young. But the kids that work here, at least, they're just fine. Gotta teach 'em a little more upfront, most of 'em aren't raised in it like we were. But they get the hang of it." Complaining about the youths was a grumpy old man rite of passage that Abe had never cared much for.

"Jasper? Yeah, he was in Oregon but he's back now, home for the winter at least. He's good, I think. Good by my estimation. It's always, nice having him around." His boy was into music and art--a sensitive kinda guy. Having never been much good at the feelings thing himself, Abe rarely knew if something was eating at Jasper until some kinda blow-out happened. But for the moment, at any rate, his boy was alright.

"Your kids doing alright? School treating 'em okay?"

"You're damn right about that. I'd sooner fire the rest of them before cutting Geraldo loose," Gray said. He happily grabbed two cases of water bottles, leaving the other two for Abe, and dragged them off the truck's bed. Lifting them on top of his shoulders, Gray nodded.

"Thank you -- I'll need to put two in the fridge. The other two can sit at room temp," Gray said. He happily let Abe lead him towards the main house, smiling at the sight of the place. It reminded him a lot of his own childhood home. Suddenly, Gray felt a twinge of nostalgia for the old place -- it was gone now, replaced with something newer. "Mine did, too. Must be an especially old timer thing since we're apparently the new old timers now," he joked, "How are the kids you've been working with this summer? And your kids. The one was in Oregon the last you said, right?"

[abe-wainwright]

Abe snorted a laugh. "Oh I'm sure they've smelled much worse. 'Sides, the newer ones are still too scared of me to say a cross word." He didn't figure himself for an intimidating guy, but the height alone kept most folks from sassing him too much. At least until they got to know him.

He watched as Mattie scanned along the line of fencing that Julie had secured, assessing it as she did everything new in her little kingdom of a ranch. "Looks like it passes Mattie's inspection, too." Here, on his own land and away from town, he felt freer to talk openly and he thought back on their last conversation. "Obsidian still pressing you? Or did they get the hint?"

"Outside of me forgetting my house key and having to step on them to get in through the window? That's right, those flowers were maintained," Julie beamed. She never took care of a flower garden since. It was probably for the best since she suspected either the kids or animals would have trampled over a garden by now.

At the mention of a skunk, Julie frowned. "Poor fella," she murmured, then took a step closer to see if the weak wind would carry a smell. "You might be alright," she said after a moment, then considered Mattie and Abe's work gloves. "You'll want to soak your gloves, though. And Miss Ma'am if she happened to get a little too close," she said with a shake of her head, "Can't imagine what your ranch hands would say if you wound up working near them with stinking hands. "

[abe-wainwright]

"Anything you need from me, you got it. Any plans for any kind of fundraiser?"

Ranching folks tended to be a proud type, hesitant to accept outright charity. And now in the digital age, Abe saw online campaigns left and right--convenient in a lot of ways, but felt cold sometimes. What he remembered most vividly was the barn-raising spirit of his father's generation.

"Could host a big ol' potluck here." He had the resources on hand for when Blue Rooster hosted weddings and the like, and now that the weather was turning, that business was mostly done for the season. "Somewhere centralized where everyone can direct their help? Might be easier than one-at-a-timing things."

Caid nodded, all he had was a few saved from one of the bulls that tried to kill him and end his career. He wasn’t really breeding rodeo stock at his house. It was more of a handful of horses and a petting zoo. Most of his legacy was tied up in Matacuna — his herds were getting sizable in the back tracts at the very least.

“If you can spare a few you weren’t planning on breeding, might be good. I might see if I can dial up one of the breeding stations and see if they have any embryos they might be able to part with.” Caid leaned back against the fence and gave it a thought for a moment. “Could also do some sort of charity sorting or cutting something. I don’t have enough horned steers to rope with, but I probably can depending on the timing…” He’d put anything together if he could, this was who he was in his purest sense. Trying to just do right by their community.

[abe-wainwright]

One thing Abe would never get used to was the knot of worry that lived permanently, high up in his gut. Since the day Jasper was born, and onward once Maisie came along, that little knot tied itself up any time either of them was out of his sight. Didn't matter how big they got or how capable--if he didn't have eyes on them, something inside him refused to settle. It was a little spot, easy enough to work around. Especially once Naomi left with them. Sometimes it was so subtle, he forgot about it altogether. Then he'd see one of them and feel it ease and realize he'd been carrying worry with him the whole time. It was part and parcel of fatherhood. He was glad to carry it.

And the loosening of it was so relieving, he sometimes forgot himself. Almost answered Jasper truthfully about his whereabouts the night before. But he caught himself in time to filter the truth. "Some greeting you got there, kid, good morning to you too. Let one of the guys borrow my truck, but your concern is appreciated." He slipped his jacket off and hug it neatly on one of the pegs near the door. "I've had coffee but no breakfast. You gonna wow us with some cereal?

Starter for @abe-wainwright

Where: Blue Rooster Ranch

When: Present

Jasper got in late the night before. Most people would have flown from Arizona to Oregon, but he liked the drive. The hours alone there and back always cleared his head. Every year that passed they, the ones left behind, were a little older and more bitter. So, he was a bit distracted when got home. So much so that Jasper thought he dreamed it at first — the driveway without his dad's truck in it.

He woke up early by his dad’s standards. The driveway was still missing the truck, though. A part of Jasper was just about to call, who knew if his dad wasn’t out in one of the pastures trapped under a hunk of metal? Then, the screen door screeched on its track and nails scratched on the dull hardwood. Jasper crouched down to pat Mattie’s wiggling body, eyes locking onto his dad by the front door. “Were you out all night or was I just dead to the world?” Jasper asked. He wrinkled his nose; he felt like his mom in that moment. He shook the gallon of milk to lighten the mood. “Have you had breakfast? I’m feeling domestic.”

[abe-wainwright]

Abe was a pretty realistic guy--he knew what his own charms were. Immediately ingratiating people to himself was not one of them. Not like Joel seemed capable of, anyway. He made nosiness feel like genuine curiosity. Or maybe it was genuine curiosity and Abe was just suspect toward the out-of-towner. Either way, Abe could see how the man in front of him could put folks at ease.

"Current history," he repeated with a good-natured chuckle. "Ain't that a bit of a contradiction?" Before Joel could answer the mostly rhetorical question, he kept on. "Suppose I get what you mean. And I can try answering some questions, but you'll have to keep in mind I come from ranching folk. Might not know much about politics and city business and whatnot."

It wasn't a complete lie--Abe was a bumpkin and well aware of it. But ranching was most of the business of Paxton. Chances were, he'd know everything Joel planned on referencing.

Surprisingly, the nicest local Adrian met thus far was Abe. A rancher and apparently among the masses who disliked just about everything Obsidian sold for. It wasn't that the other locals were unfriendly per se; Adrian could just sense that there was a level of distrust, which given that he didn't try to blend in it made sense. He was a visitor and happy enough; at the end of the day he might have Obsidian depositing money into his accounts, but the same could be said for a handful of locals. Money was money.

"I think you've checked off all the list items -- I found some towels and sheets, which is more than I usually have," Adrian smiled. Usually, he had a sleeping bag. He briefly looked over Abe's shoulder out to the rolling land. "I do have some questions, though, about this place and the town if you have time? I've found some interesting articles about the old hotel and there's some stuff online, but I'm more interested in the current history."

[abe-wainwright]

"No man as important on a team as the old-timer that gives the young punks someone to pick on." He'd been the young punk once upon a time, but now he was nearer to the old-timer. He preferred the latter, all things considered. Liked the hindsight and wisdom of age, even if there was still room for improvement. Maybe this Geraldo fella really was irritated by them. Or maybe he just played along. Either way, Abe knew the value of guys like that.

He followed Grayson to his truck to help carry the water, then led the pair of them into the garage. "Y'all are welcome to the kitchen, too, just more space in the fridge out here. And I'm sure you've got all the tools you need, but if you find you're missing something, just lemme know. My old man kept one of everything in this garage."

"Hey, Geraldo! You want some tea for your insulin?" One of the guys shouted towards the middle-aged man. Geraldo muttered something as the others started to laugh. Gray shot them all a look and they went to their trucks like worker ants to gather their tools. He turned back to Abe with a shake of his head who probably knew exactly what it was like working with young wise asses.

"They appreciate it -- they're just determined to make Geraldo shove one of them through a roof and I'm just going to pretend I'm blind," Gray said with a wry smile, clasping Abe's hand in greeting. His smile faltered at the mention of the heat. "And they say global warming's fake," he murmured, then considered the big house. "I actually have some waters that could do with a fridge if you have any space and it's not too much trouble?"

[abe-wainwright]

Abe reached a hand out to give the fence a good shove and shake--he didn't doubt Julie's skills, it was just reflex after so many years. "Mighty good work, Miss Julie, I appreciate it. Bet your Meema's flowers never suffered an injury, huh?" The Wainwright's had never been especially close to Julie's kinfolk, but "not especially close" in Paxton still meant they knew each other.

"Damn skunk in a trap, had to put the fear of god into Mattie to keep her away. Didn't touch it, but you might smell it on me." Changing seasons put everyone on edge as predators changed their routes and habits to prepare for winter. A skunk was annoying, but at least it wasn't a bobcat. "Nothing to worry over, though."

Starter for @abe-wainwright

Where: Blue Rooster Ranch

When: Present

Julie tilted the bill of her baseball cap away from her eyes. She dropped the section of barbed wire she'd been nipping away at when Abe drew closer. Mattie followed at his heels, tongue lolling, off in the distance a few cows called to one another. Julie lifted her hand in a brief wave. "I told you my Meema made sure I could fix a fence," Julie grinned, pleased with the long line of reinforced fencing. "Granted, she was always making sure I could protect her flowers, but wire's wire."

"You find anything out on the perimeter?" She asked in reference to traps or contaminates. Prickett & Son was on the back of her mind -- lots of things were on her mind lately if she was being honest.

[abe-wainwright]

"I don't know that I did know him," he admitted. "That's what I'm saying, I feel like the man we buried is a man I only thought I knew. He was holding back from me and I didn't even suspect it." Abe hated being made to feel a fool. And he really hated being caught off guard. Randall's death had been a hefty dose of both. He was grateful that Sammy didn't seem like pushing it any further.

"Oh hell no, she didn't buy it. Just renting it. But it's a proper house with a yard and all that. No upstairs neighbors. She's tickled pink. wants to host Christmas Eve." Abe had offered to gift her a down payment if she wanted to buy a place. Maisie was responsible and she'd worked hard, and he had the money. But she wouldn't hear it.

As for the team..."Top Hands are all pretty level-headed. Caid had a temper when he was younger, but he's settled over the years. Julie, his wife, she's the spitfire now, but she's not officially involved." He put a little extra something in his eyes with the word 'officially.' "Some of the Hands are little rowdier, but it takes all types." His mama had taught him not to gossip, but she never did show him the line between it and information. "I'll put it this way: no one's gonna offer any trouble that you can't handle."

One long exhale and Samira only shrugged. "Things were hard after his dad died, everyone knows that. Shoot, my own folks dropped off meals to that family every week like tithing." Even now her mom was probably trying to check in on the other Kasting kids. They have so many more mouths to feed. What have you outgrown lately, Sammy? If we don't look after our community, who will? No real wonder why their big, gentle hearts never took a harder line with Samira's law breaking. "Life'd been riding that man's back a long while before that hotel room, near as I ever saw. But you knew him better than me." If death was peace for Randall, Samira was glad he'd found it. Didn't smell like it to her, though.

It was their turn to rub a hand over their face. "Jesus wept, Abe. Hate hearing our generation has kids old enough to be buying their own homes." How Maisie afforded a house these days was altogether another subject. Best not to get started on the topic of banks. "Been to Oregon here and again. Won't ever get used to air by the ocean, but there are worse places. Good for him, having the luck to see more of the world."

In an attempt at good humor, Samira's delivery was an echo of Abe's. "It ain't out of character for me to be a nosy bastard." Or to start trouble, if they were being honest. "I like knowing who's on the team I joined. Who pulls punches and who ought to." It'd all shake out in due course if he didn't share insights, but Samira preferred not learning the hard way.

[abe-wainwright]

Illness was one thing, but devastation like this as a result of a human error always stung a little more. You try to do your best for the animals in your care, to help them stand strong against the unpredictabilities of nature. And then it's your own damn human intervention that brings it all crumbling down.

It was good and decent that Caid wanted to do more than just sympathize with them. "Count me in for whatever you need. I've got straws, I've got a few connections outside of Paxton, too, might be able to pull resources and get 'em back on their feet. At least well enough to get through winter and plan for spring." It was a shit situation, but it'd be a good occasion to remind everyone that Paxton took care of its own.

"Cattle are pretty hardy," Caid said with a nod. "Horses sure ain't." His eyes ghosted over with a vacant expression. Prickett's place was a cemetery. Caid had gone over to help bring some trailers and help haul some of the bodies away from the sight. It was harrowing work. People loved to tell him that he was inhumane for what he owned and what he did, but Caid couldn't quite remove that lump from his throat at seeing the tarps, the devastation of the people that lost their beloved livestock and their livelihood all in one fail swoop.

"Autopsy revealed that the horses ate contaminated feed — it was milled in with some cattle feed and had Rumensin in it." It was a fatal accident. "They have some insurance, it'll cover some of the immediate costs... but the legacy and lineage..." It was those things that made Caid sentimental. Built a whole legacy of lines, generations of hard work. "We need to do something for them, I just don't know what. I think I might be able to figure out if anyone got some straws frozen from their studs left."

[abe-wainwright]

Once upon a time, nearly everyone that worked at Blue Rooster lived on the ranch itself or just outside it. Those were the days of his grandfather, before the hustle and bustle of east coast venture capitalism had found its way to Paxton. But there were still a few spots on the ranch that made for a serviceable dwelling, and the East Pasture cabin was nicest among them. Still, it'd been listed for years without any real interest, so Abe was surprised to get a call inquiring about it.

Now, though, it made sense. Wandering storyteller with an eye for pretty scenes. It sounded like a downright romantic way of life, and while the restlessness didn't appeal to Abe and his need for roots, he admired the idea of it. "It's no trouble. Can't rightly play host without making sure you got everything you need."

Starter for @abe-wainwright

Where: The Blue Rooster Ranch

When: Present

Could Adrian have purchased a home in Paxton? Yes. Could he have asked anyone within Obsidian to set him up with lodging? Also, yes. Adrian did neither of those things, though. While Obsidian was paying him for the time-being, Adrian was firm on remaining a subcontractor only. Subcontracting gave him the flexibility to leave whenever he wanted and the soles' of Adrian's feet always itched. So, he found a few listings. It was the one smack dab in the middle of a local ranch that piqued his interest; partially for the view and partially for the privacy. Adrian stood on the back porch of the small, rustic cabin, eyes taking in the watercolors of canyon and sunset when the sound of horses' hooves tore him away. Adrian looked over, hand raising at the sight of who he could only assume was the ranch owner. Abraham Wainwright. "You really didn't have to come out here, I don't really ever come with much," Adrian greeted, hand held out. "Your land's some of the most beautiful I've seen in awhile."

[abe-wainwright]

One week later, Grayson arrived with his crew near the crack of dawn to get started on the barn roof. Abe had already been awake for an hour and a half when they rolled up to make their greeting.

"Y'all want some coffee before you get started?"

He knew folks in the field of construction usually had their own routines and habits--preferred thermos, lunchbox packed specifically. But his place was built from the start with the intention to host a lot of bodies at once. And he always kept the coffee cabinet well stocked. "Hell, I've even got tea for any of your poor SOBs trying to get off caffeine."

He approached Gray in particular with an outstretched hand. "KNXV's calling for some heat in the afternoon." So much for picking the right time of year for roof work. "Nothing too bad, but if y'all need to take a break or anything at all, you're welcome up here at the big house."

Gray shook his head at the offer and reached out to pat the cow's side. He typically tried to avoid petting the snouts of livestock that didn't below to him -- too many close calls with wayward stomps and kicks. "No, that's alright. They're not a bother and I'm sure some of the guys miss all this," Gray said with a gesture to the land.

"I do, sometimes," Gray admitted with a forlorn smile. He may have some space now, but never enough in comparison to get back what the Hall family sold. It may have been a collective decision made to give his brother a chance at something better, but the scar tissue ran deep. Only Gray drove past that old farm -- a portion of the land now over by a hotel -- and had to remember what was lost. His father was gone; his mother was remarried and moved; his brother was somewhere else. "Even though I know it's not sunshine and rainbows -- it's nice to be able to see generations of your family in one place."

[abe-wainwright]

"It ain't out of character for me to be surly bastard," he countered, wondering who, specifically, she was worried would suspect him. "But I take your point. It's good looking out." Sammy was new to the Cowboys, it made sense that her hackles would be a little more sensitive. Abe himself? He didn't think anyone would look twice at a middle-aged man stumbling his way through sad and pissed off. He reckoned the truth of it was that Sammy just wanted to be let in a little. See some of his soft underbelly. "You think it'd disturb his peace? Me being so fucking disappointed in him? If he was still around, we'd talk it out, I'd figure out how to forgive him. But he's gone and I'm pissed and that's all I got." That's as far as he'd made it.

The tension fizzled out low enough to ignore altogether. "Family's good. Maisie got herself a little house out near her mom. Jasper's...up in Oregon, I think?" The boy was downright afflicted with wanderlust. He rarely called or texted, but Abe was running out of fridge magnets for the postcards. "And the dog I got from Leroy about a year ago. Best four legs I've got working on the Ranch, no offense to your parents."

The question about the Hands had him snorting. "Always digging, huh? Got no quarrel with any of them, and statistically speaking, that's probably a goddamn miracle. It's nice to have a bit of calm after Charlie." Head tilted down toward the floor, he looked up at them from under heavy eyelids. "Why, you looking to start trouble?"

Watching his body language, Samira shifted their weight; comforted by the warm porcelain weight gripped firmly in both hands. "Growing up, I thought it was just Paxton that had this stoic..." They shifted again, exhaling. "No. Didn't come here to criticize how you grieve, Abe. I just hate people swallowing what burns." For what? Someone else's comfort?

The mug rolled between her hands slowly. "I also think you acting out of character is going to seem suspicious to anyone looking to feel suspicious." Another sip and Samira set the mug down, voice calm . "Abe. You helped my folk, helped Leland. Sorted two bodies with us and branded me your own self. " Prod at grief or branding - which infliction was worse? The burn was permanent, something Sammy would have to hide forever - but they'd agreed to it. Abe'd been blindsided, but his hurt would pass. "I'd think that means trust. I'd hope it means a place we don't have to fucking swallow what burns. That's why I came over. But-"

Another huffed exhale and Samira leaned back against the counter, fingers curling over the edge. "Yeah. Enough for now. How's... family? When did you get the dog?" Whatever small talk was preferable, safer ground for Abe. "What do you make of the other Hands?"

[abe-wainwright]

It was a relief to hear that Abe's procrastination had actually worked to everyone's advantage. And as Gray made his estimate and roughed out a plan, he decided that no matter how else the day went, this right here was productive. "Might do, I'll have to check the shed." Originally his mother's pet gardening project, the little wooden outfit had long ago become storage for extra supplies. If there were any leftover building materials, that's where they'd be.

Abe patted a heavy hand against the cow's snout, sticky with bits of hay as it was. "They got a sense for it, that's for sure. We can move 'em out of here when it comes time to do the repairs, if you need." They certainly wouldn't bother his crew while they worked, but some folks got distracted by animals. "Or you can keep 'em around for conversation, lord knows I've talked to 'em a time or two."

As Abe explained his opinions about winter and summer, Gray couldn't help but smile. Moments like these reminded him of his age. Especially, because he didn't mind the conversation. Younger him might have smiled along politely but mostly tuned this out, present-day Gray nodded in agreement.

"We might be coming on slow season now, but it's near impossible to complete a full roof in the dead of summer. You always get some new kid who takes their gloves off and winds up singed on the shingle -- never-mind trying to do anything with torch," Gray said with a light roll of his eyes. Everyone who took a basic science class knew that heat rises, and Gray knew better than most the truth of that. He looked up at the patch Abe pointed at with a click of his tongue. "You did best with what you had," he acquiesced. "I'll probably pull up about a foot on either side to make sure nothing's rotted over. I have some extra plywood from some other jobs, so it shouldn't cost you more than a hundred to fix -- do you have any bundles of the original shingle?" He asked, all business until one of the cows mooed at them. Gray looked over with a little shake of his head. "Never thought I'd say this, but sometimes I miss having cows around. They always know when to interrupt."

[abe-wainwright]

"I'm always happy for help," he admitted, "but y'all are under no obligation. Come by if you wanna while away a cool day, I'll not have you folks out in the heat. We'll cook up something for a nice big dinner afterwards." He'd had a decade and a half alone now to learn that a home cooked meal after a hard day's work was of great comfort to him. He didn't have a very large culinary repertoire, but he could manage a passable chili and cornbread.

He wasn't at all surprised to hear her decline his offer, but he wouldn't have to repeat it--Julie knew him well enough to understand that it was an offer without expiration. "They don't bother with me anymore." Used to be, he'd find a letter from them in his mailbox at least once a week. But they'd learned quick enough that he wasn't budging. "My old man, though, they catch him on the phone all the time. And you know how he is." Ernest Wainwright wouldn't know a devil if it gored him with its horns. The man was well-named, if nothing else. "I tell him all the time they're just trying to pester him til I get pissed and finally talk to 'em, but he can't see it."

“You read my mind somewhat — I was about to ask if you needed help preparing for winter? Caid might not brag about it, but these hands can fix more than hair,” Julie beamed. Meema spent most of her life being the man and woman of the house and made sure Julie could keep the place upright when she was on the road. In many ways, the women in Julie’s wife always prepared her to be alone.

She couldn’t help but smile as what she said earlier sank in. Similar to a Great Pyrenees watching its flock, Abe bristled in front of her. He didn’t have to say it out loud, but the offer from the Cowboys always loomed close by. “Thank you, but we’re not there yet. I’m going to see what they have to offer. I’m already expecting everything will have a catch, but I think just writing them off completely might catch me more grief,” Julie explained. She considered some of the meat in the case. The distance between them and the register made Julie think of all the people who would welcome a true grocery store for the convenience. It would be at the loss of places like this, though. “Have any of them tried contacting you, yet? You have all that land — I imagine between Obsidian and the winery that you have some vultures circling around, or you will.”

[abe-wainwright]

Abe didn't frequent the rodeo like he did when Jasper was a kid, more eager to see the clowns than the riders themselves. But he liked to check in every so often, especially when summer turned to fall and the nights got cooler. He'd tried his hand at riding precisely once. A dramatic toss off the bull and a broken nose were more than plenty to make for a good story, thank you very much. The feel of it, though--he liked the jangle and the scuffling and animal smell of it, so similar to the Ranch, only lit up and applauded.

Caid's snippet of news sent a shiver through him. "Shit, the whole herd? What the hell are they gonna do?" Some enterprises were tenuous enough when everything was in order that a loss of this magnitude could shut them down altogether. "I take it you've triple checked things at Matacuna?" Caid was more than capable, but livestock illness was the kind thing that wore an ulcer in farm folk.

starter for @abe-wainwright at paxton frontier rodeo arena —

Caid blinked slowly from the back of the chutes. There was a handful of young bull riders that were trying their salt against some of the better stock contract and it was all Caid could do to hold in a sigh. The truth was, these days, roughstock riders were few and far between, you didn't have to even be that good to do well. However, the bulls were meaner, they bucked harder, they'd been bred selectively. As the guys started to wrap up their gear after getting some coaching lessons from Caid, he recognized a familiar face.

"Abe, hey." Caid said he ambled on over — really any excuse to not have to talk to any of the boys for any longer. "You hear what happened over at Prickett & Son Rodeo Company? Lost their whole fuckin' herd of bucking stock due to contaminated feed..." It was a scary thought. "I drove over there last week, it's bad." As one of the top PRCA and NFR stock contractors, this was bad for their industry and the family.

[abe-wainwright]

"Macho?" His eyebrows could've shot clean off his head if they weren't attached. "Jesus fucking christ, what? You just come here to bust my balls for grieving wrong?" His voice was steady and low as he turned away from them to rinse his mug and set it in the sink. It hit the basin with a louder thud than necessary, but he rode that shallow wave of irritation as he faced her once more.

"This what you do when you interview people? Jab at their sore spots til they give you enough to build a story?" They were making a face at him now, not altogether unlike an expression they'd worn during the branding ceremony. Sharp and challenging and petulant in the way that followed experiencing pain and not wanting to let anyone see it that it hurt. The memory halted him from escalating the argument. He swiped one large palm over his face like starting over and made sure not to let his voice get too contemplative. "I can't look at that girl without thinking about the shit Randall pulled. I'm trying to figure out how to hate him and miss him at the same time." He set his jaw, waiting for a response. "That enough for now or you wanna see me cry?"

They sucked their teeth to accompany an eye roll. "Right. ¿Quién es más macho?" Did Randall have a single loved one that wasn't mishandling their grief? Maybe emotional constipation was just in the water - poured in right next to the fluoride.

The right kind of push could agitate someone just enough to get a therapeutic vent out. Get at a truth. The wrong push just pissed people off and shut them down. Nothing gained and potentially everything lost. "If you weren't beholden to someone else," Samira ventured carefully, both hands around the mug, "Is this how you'd react? Just 'keeping an eye out' for Marisol?" While the girl drank alone in that house and worked too much. A danger to herself and others, given the profession.

What else was there to do? Sammy was always quick to action driven by that righteous anger. A deep and secret hope that things could be better fed the indigence when few people were willing to make it better. It was that aspect of their nature that let the extra comment slip out under her breath. "Never thought you were so passive." Then again, he'd let his wife pack up the kids and leave, hadn't he? Maybe it wasn't some toxic masculinity bullshit suppressing actual grief. Maybe Abe was just more docile than he let on.