Ranch Manny - B.A. Tortuga Page 0,77
hundreds. The phrase made him smile.
“I like that,” Brent said.
“Do I need to help?” Curly came to sit at the table, still not looking great but better than the night before.
“Can you keep an ear out for Daisy? She’s been pretty calm, but she’s due to wake up.” That was something Curly could do.
“Yessir.” Curly took the glass of juice Brent handed him with a grateful smile. “How are you, Mr. Jack?”
“I am not bad at all, Curly. There’s brisket out there, and I hear there are people bringing banana pudding and pecan pie.”
“Yessir. The rain chances looks like they’ll end at noon and give us the day to celebrate.”
“Does it?” Pop peered out the window. “That sounds great.”
“Lord yes,” he agreed. He was ready to dry out a little.
“Curly is the weather eye,” Brent said. “He knows his stuff.”
“I’ve been around a while. It’s a gift.”
“You have a lot of stories to share, I bet.” Pop got potatoes out and began peeling.
Curly sat down and grinned. “I have a couple. More than Brent here would like. I remember when he got on his first bronc. I thought we’d have to pick him up out of the top of the live oak tree.”
“Hey! I did pretty crap, though, I have to admit.” Brent laughed hard. “I was all arms and legs.”
“You were what? Eight? Nine? I thought your momma was fixin’ to kill us.”
“She was.” Brent shook his head. “She was already pretty done with cowboys by then.”
“Shit happens, cowboy. And you were meant to be a roughstock rider. I could tell.”
“Yep.”
“So were you good at it?” Pop asked.
“I won a few buckles.” Brent always downplayed how well he’d done. Trace had seen those buckles and the pictures of Brent with the big checks.
“He was amazing, and now he raises gorgeous horses.” He wasn’t letting Brent hide his light under a bushel.
“That’s what I love. Working ranch horses.”
“You should do what you love, if you can. Not everyone does, and lots of people are miserable.” Pop sounded so sure.
Trace wondered sometimes how happy Pop had been at work. He’d never once complained, but he seemed to like being mostly retired better.
“Yes, sir. I’m a lucky man, and I know it.” Brent grinned over the cutting board. “I have a wonderful life, now.”
“Good. It’s good to know.” Pop was beaming, and even Curly was grinning to beat the band.
Trace met his lover’s eyes, his cheeks just burning. Okay, that didn’t suck at all.
“All right. Let me run a root beer out to the pit master. Then I’ll come back and help peel potatoes.” Brent squeezed Curly’s shoulder on the way by.
“Sounds good. I think we’re going to have enough help that we can take it easy.”
“Good deal.”
He got a surprise kiss too. Hello!
Curly and Pop both started applauding. Assholes.
The door shut behind Brent, and Trace looked at his dad. “What?”
“I didn’t say a word, son. Eggs are done.”
“Uh-huh…”
“Working on potatoes.”
“He ain’t never had someone he wanted us to meet or know,” Curly said suddenly. “He’s got it bad for you, son.” They heard Daisy start to fuss, and Curly rose, wandering off to tend to her.
“Is he safe with the baby, son?” Pop whispered.
“God yes. He’s amazing, although Susannah is the one who loves him best.”
“I’ll trust you. He seems…”
“I’m worried he may be having some lung issues, but as long as he doesn’t have to take care of everyone without help, his memory problems are still perfectly manageable.” He wasn’t defending Curly out of loyalty. He knew the stages of Curly’s disease.
“You’re okay with dealing with that?”
He didn’t even have to think about it. “It’s an honor.”
“You’re a good man, son. You really are.”
He stopped cooking a moment to really look at his dad. “You and Mom taught me well. I try every day.”
A knock sounded at the kitchen door. “Banana pudding is here!” A gray head poked in, Jan from the diner.
“Hey, gorgeous. Happy Independence Day!” He waved Jan in. “Where’s Lacey?”
“Out there with the grill master. You know her.” She came over to give him a hug. “Well, now, who is this handsome feller?”
“This is my pop, Jack Redding. Pop, this is Miss Jan. She owns the diner in town.”
“How are you, Jan? I would shake your hand, but I have potato hands.” Pop wiggled his fingers.
“Not a problem. Trace, sit a minute and let me do something. You know I hate to be idle.”
“I’ll sit with Daisy and Curly a minute, then. She’s waking up.”
“Go for it.