Windfall
“Emily Charlotte Alder.”
Everyone has their own particular way of saying a name, and the moment I heard all seven syllables of mine said soft and low with a lot of moxie and a pinch of wonder, I knew I was in big trouble. The kind of trouble that makes Mamas grab their Bibles and Papas load their shotguns.
I liked to think I took after both my folks, so before I stood up from the chicken wire I had been cuttin', I closed my eyes and said a quick prayer for help: Lord Almighty, I am too damn old to deal with this fool. Please let him turn around before I embarrass you and my mama both by shootin' him in the nuts.
When I finally stood up and looked behind me, it was like a kick to the chest. Yeah, I knew this special brand of trouble real well. His name was Owen, and time had been kind to him. He was shorter than I remembered, but just as fit as when we were teenagers. He'd added a couple layers of solid muscle, and it looked good on him. Way, way too good.
“I can't believe it,” he said, grinning at me like a kid. “I didn't think you'd really be here.”
I took my work gloves off and put them in the back pocket of my jeans before answering, because I just didn't trust my voice before then. “Well, here I am,” I said. “How you been, Owen?”
“I'm good, I'm good. I was on the highway and I saw the sign for here, and I thought...” He trailed off, and that little boy grin widened. “I wanted to see you, Em.”
“Well, now you have. You can be on your way.” Takin' the gloves outta my pocket, I put them back on and walked over to the hay bales.
“Come on, Em,” he called, following me. “Emily. Emily, wait.”
“No offense, Owen, but I ain't got time to stand here and reminisce with you,” I said, grippin' the twine around a bale and haulin' it up. “I know it's been awhile since you worked a ranch, but the chores don't get any easier the longer you leave 'em.”
He tried to take the hay away from me. “Let me help you.”
“God dammit, Owen, I got it.”
Laughing, he raised his hands and said, “Jesus Christ, Em. When did you get so mean?”
I didn't answer him. I just kept luggin' that bale while he followed like a puppy, the way I used to when he came to work. It never mattered that I'd been doin' those chores since I was old enough to walk; when Owen was here, I followed.
When we got to the pasture he opened the gate and waited for me there, lookin' everything over while I tossed the bale in the feeder and cut the twine with a pair of pliers. Beau wandered over and lipped my shirt, lookin' for treats. I gave him a sugar cube outta my pocket and a scratch on the neck.
“Handsome boy,” Owen said, eying my horse appreciatively. “What kind is he?”
“Quarter horse,” I said. “Best damn gelding in Georgia.”
“Bit skinny, isn't he?”
If I were a dog, my hackles woulda been a mile high. “He's a runner, that's all.”
Sensin' that he'd stepped in it, Owen pointed behind me at the apple tree and said, “Now that's something I haven't thought about in a while.”
“Rot came through, 'bout three years after you left,” I said, tuckin' a piece of windblown hair behind my ear and reachin' under Beau's chin for his mane. “Took nearly everything, 'cept that old tree. Maybe it was too far away, or too strong, or just too stubborn to die properly.”
Owen shook his head and braced a foot on the bottom rung of the fence. “Everything looks the same. I can't get over it.”
I snorted and pulled Beau along with me. We'd put in a brand new barn ten years ago, and the practice ring only a little after that. My childhood pony and Daddy's horse had both died a long time ago, and none of our current boarders had been here for more than five years. Only the apple tree was just like it'd always been, with our names carved into it: E.C.A. on one side, and Owen beneath it. There'd been a heart around the letters at one point, but seventeen year-old Emily had been a lot wiser and angrier than her summertime self, and she'd taken a hatchet to it until the bark was chipped away. She'd tried to do the same to his name, but all she got in was one good lick before the tears hit.
“I'd kinda like an apple,” Owen said, rattling the gate open again.
“Ain't nothin' left but windfall by now,” I pointed out as Beau and I passed him. “Bruises and worms are all they got. And that's if the horses ain't gorged themselves.”
“Pessimist,” he scolded. Not payin' any mind to my words, that idiot marched stubbornly to the gnarled old trunk of my apple tree and started rootin' around the grass. “Ha!” he said, pullin' up a perfect pink and gold one that nobody'd touched. “What were you saying?”
I raised a hand. “Fine. It's yours, if you want it.”
He did, apparently. Owen took a big bite, chewed, and spit it out. “What the hell?” He showed me the inside, which was fine except for the heart. That part was brown as winter dirt.
I took the apple from him and gave it to Beau, who bit it in half and got mashed apple all over my hand. “Told you. Nobody but the horses wants windfalls.”
Owen watched me, quiet for once. “You know Em, I don't have to be in Savannah til the end of the week. I could come back tomorrow.”
My throat tightened, and I wiped my sticky hand on my jeans. “Do whatever the hell you want, Owen. I got plenty a' things to worry about other than you.” Before he could say anything else I walked off with my horse, leavin' him alone in the pasture. I didn't stop until I was inside Beau's stall with my hands knotted up in his mane and my face so tight on his neck that it was hard to breathe. My boy snuffed and shifted, but let me stay even when I was cryin' and shakin'.
Finally I sat down in the corner of the stall, where the mulch was fresh. I put my head in my hands and prayed again. Lord, don't do this to me. Please don't do this to me. I can't do it again, not with him. I felt warm breath on my hair, and then Beau's lips. “Leave off,” I told him, shoving his nose away. I leaned my head back against the stall door and said, “My life would be a hell of a lot easier if you were just a man.”
Beau snorted in agreement and stuck his head in the bucket with his grain. I watched his skinny sorrel sides heave as he ate, tryin' to tell myself that I couldn't hide out in his stall for the next few days, not when there was so much that needed to get done. So instead of havin' my own personal pity party, I wiped my swollen eyes, blew my nose on the tail of my shirt, and got the hell up.
There was a scuffle by one end of the barn. “Emily? Is that you?”
“Yes ma'am,” I called back, openin' the stall door and steppin' out before closin' it and slidin' in the lock with a decisive click. Beau turned his head at the sound and shot me a scornful look that woulda' made a cat green with envy.
“Don't look at me like that,” I told him. “I wasn't born yesterday.”
“Ain't you done yet?” Mama asked as she walked over to me, still a spring chicken even at fifty-seven. Her hair in its thick braid reminded me of a rusty lock, all iron streaks and faded copper. Lookin' at her was like peekin' into my own future.
“Yes ma'am,” I said again. “I was just---”
“Lord Almighty, girl, what happened?” she interrupted, frownin' down at me. Her cool hand felt good when she put it on the hot side of my face. “You get kicked?”
“No ma'am.”
“Well, then what is it?”
I took a shaky breath and said, “Owen's here.”
For a second she didn't know who I was talkin' about, and then it hit her and she pulled me into a hug. “Oh, baby. I'm sorry.”
“It's alright,” I said into her shoulder.
“You want me to get your daddy's gun? I could use the practice.”
I laughed and pulled back, wipin' my eyes. “No ma'am.”
“How long's it been?”
I pretended to think. “Seventeen years.”
She smoothed my hair back. “That boy sure did a number on you. I remember that much.”
I remembered too. I remembered runnin' from the road, my back heavy with books. I remembered hearin' my pony call for me, and passin' him by. And I remembered flingin' open the barn door and throwin' myself into Owen's arms like it'd been weeks instead of eight hours since we'd seen each other.
“It's fine, Mama,” I mumbled.
“No it ain't. You weren't the one who had to hold your baby girl after her first broken heart, knowin' the sumbitch was long gone and there wasn't anythin' you could do about it. I can forgive a lot of things, Emily Charlotte, but I can't forgive that.”
“I don't wanna start anything.”
“I know, I know,” she muttered, raisin' her hands in surrender. “I'm just gonna go inside and keep my mouth shut. You don't need anybody takin' care a' you, and you sure as hell don't need me tellin' you what to do. But it seems to me like you got some things that oughta be said to that boy.”
I smiled at her and said, “Thanks, Mama.”
“I love you, baby girl,” she told me with a grin. “Go get 'im.”
The Owen that I knew didn't like messy things like hard goodbyes, so I was a little surprised when I found him still in the pasture, tryin' to get Dancer to come over. That mare was smarter than me though, and she wasn't havin' any of it. Every time he sidled closer, she'd snort and trot away. Finally he put his hands on his hips and sighed.
“You win,” he called, wavin' at her. He turned around and saw me watchin' him from beside the barn, and his face cracked wide open in a grin. He put his hands in his pockets and sauntered over to the gate like he still belonged here, and I let him do it. When he was a few feet away he said, “Hey.”
I tried to pretend that he was just an old neighbor comin' over for a friendly chat. “Hey.”
“So can I stick around after all?” he asked, and his smile wasn't neighborly at all.
“What in the hell makes you think you'd be welcome here?” I asked. Without waitin' for an answer I turned on my heel, full of sudden need. Before I could blink I was back in the barn, and I had Beau's door unlocked and open. He snorted while I tied his halter and followed me out and over to the post by the barn.
Owen hadn't moved, but his smile was gone. “Em, I said I'm sorry. Even if you don't want me to stay, you could at least forgive me. Don't you think it's been long enough?”
“You mean since you left me behind for greener pastures?” I asked, pilin' everything I needed up and bringin' it outside in one go. “Well shit, Owen, I guess it has been a while. Let me just sweep that under the rug so we can pick up where we left off.” I swung a blanket and my saddle up on Beau's back and started cinchin' things down.
“Em---”
“You wanna sneak in my window tonight like old times, or should I meet you down by the creek?”
“Dammit Emily,” he said, “I asked you to come with me!”
“I was sixteen,” I hissed, turnin' on him with the bridle in one hand. “I had a life here, and you were just passin' through.”
“We were good for each other,” he said. “Why can't you remember that part?”
I finished tackin' Beau up and took him over to a little wooden block, leavin' his halter tied up at the post. “I do remember it. I was crazy about you, but when you got that itch to move on, well, that was it.” Holdin' the reins in one hand, I grabbed the saddle and used the block's height to heave myself up. The minute I settled in, a sense of rightness filled me down to my bones. “You disappeared like the last eight months never happened.”
Owen's mouth pressed down and he looked away. “It was time.”
“Now it's time again,” I said, circlin' Beau around. “You know the way out.”
Without sayin' anything else I gave Beau a touch with my heels, and we cut around the side of the pasture. I could still feel Owen there at the edge of my vision, but I was caught up in the fever and there were so many more important things than him.
We hit the trailhead, and the minute his hooves touched hard-packed dirt Beau moved up into a trot. I shoulda reined him in, but I didn't. A trot became a lope, and it was the prettiest thing I'd ever felt, so I let that go too. Then we turned the corner around a stand a' young hickory trees and saw a long open space stretchin' out forever, and he knew. He knew what I wanted without bein' asked, and because he was the best damn gelding in Georgia, he gave it to me with everything he had. We flew, and nothin' could catch us. Not tears, not memories, and not the weight of a broken heart. That beautiful horse was my wings and my soul set free, and I knew right then that he was all I'd ever need.