Ranch Manny - B.A. Tortuga Page 0,76
all about cancer and loss.
“Oh, you know what I mean. I just never liked that boy.”
“Ah.” He rolled his eyes. Yeah. He did know that. His folks had liked Taneshia.
“What? He was a dick. He never cared about you like he should have.”
“No. That much is true. So you think Brent is doing better?” Trace knew what he thought, but he wanted to hear it from Dad.
“I like him. I like his kids. I like how he treats the men that work for him.”
“Wow. That’s high praise.” He grinned at his dad. “Me too. I’m so glad. I worried you guys might be all, a ranch cowboy?”
“I was a little shocked at that, but you’re a grown-up. You’re not like a mail-order bride in the Old West.” Dad waggling his eyebrows at Trace.
“Oh, I don’t know. I had the hair.” He pretended that he still had all that hair, camping it up. “I did tell y’all that Nate and his boyfriend are coming to the cookout, right?”
“Yeah, I heard you. Crazy kid.” Pop sighed dramatically.
Trace started chopping things for salads, feeling lighter.
“Dad-O! Dad-O, help!” Caro came running in, tears flying. “I cutted my finger!”
“Oh no! Let me see.” He wiped off his hands and knelt down.
She thrust her finger at him, and he was way more worried about glitter glue poisoning if she picked her nose than he was about the teeny cut he found there.
“Poor baby. Let me get you a bandage.” He stood up and took her hand, just as Brent came hurrying in.
“I’ll help.”
Caro stared at Brent with a frown. “No! Dad-O does it. Not you.”
Brent raised his eyebrows. “Is that so?” He was fighting a grin.
“Yes. I want Dad-O.”
Trace arched an eyebrow at Brent over her head, mouthing, “So there.”
Brent rocked his head side to side, nose wrinkling. He got it. Yeah, yeah, yeah.
“Well, can I kiss it after?” Brent asked.
“You have to, Daddy. After the Band-Aid.”
“Oh, okay. I’m glad I’m still good for something.” Brent winked at Pop. “Harold told me to go away. His brisket is sacred.”
Trace chuckled. “Well, people will start to come soon, but until then, you can chop.”
“You got it. Celery ho!”
He headed toward the bathroom, listening to Pop say, “Who you callin’ a ho?”
The fact that Brent hooted told him all he needed to know about who would be watching football together at Thanksgiving and who would be playing poker with Mom.
They got her peroxided and bandaged, and then Caro went straight to her daddy, finger held up. “Dad-O blows better than you, Daddy, but you give the magic kisses.”
“Oh, I’m always willing to make magic.” Brent picked her up, then kissed her finger all over.
Pop stared at him, just about fixin’ to swallow his own tongue to hold in the laughter.
Trace gave Pop the waggle of eyebrows all that deserved, and Brent mouthed, “Pervert” at him.
He gave back the universal “no shit” face, complete with one raised eyebrow.
Caro leaned on her daddy, oblivious. “Love you, Daddy.”
Trace noticed the Daddy Brent part had just gone to Daddy. They progressed, though Brent talked to the kids about their folks whenever they asked.
“I love you, angel. Go out and play with your granny. She’s waiting.”
“Yes, sir. Love you, Poppy! Love you, Dad-O!” And like a flash, she was gone.
“She’s a doll baby,” Pop said.
“She is.” Brent grabbed a knife, pushing in next to Trace at the counter. “She needed Susannah in her life, though. Jakob has the cowboys, but she needed another little girl.”
“And then Daisy is going to be the belle of the ball. I can tell. She won’t remember anything but love and the ranch and her family.”
Brent nodded easily. “She’s a sunny girl, our Daisy.”
“So, where are your parents, Mr. Brent?” Pop asked. “You said the children were your cousin’s?”
“Yessir. My family is kind of an odd one.” Brent didn’t get tense or anything, but his easy smile did fade some. “This land was my grandparents’, and I grew up here. My momma left us by her own hand when I was a young man, and my father was a drunk. He was gone by the time I was sixteen, and Curly took care of me in those years. My grandfather left everything to me, since I’d been working it.” Brent smiled, the look a little bittersweet. “When I wasn’t rodeoing, of course.”
“All families are odd. Some just look more normal than others on the outside.” How many times had he heard those words from his father? Dozens. Maybe