Cowgirls Don't Cry

CHAPTER THIRTY - JESSE

Saturday morning began the same as every other one over the past few weeks; five am wake-up, get dressed, take a quick breakfast - or coffee, if you're Kacey - and head to the sheds to begin housing. We'd meet the Morgans in the last shed, and settle into a familiar routine of stacking, passing and hanging the heavy tobacco sticks, as the chilly Autumn air cooled us off and the dusty sunshine of early morning filtered through the wooden slats of our old barn.

No one spoke much during the first hour or two, as we all woke up and settled into routine, but it was a good time to think and reflect and plan, without the chaos of school, home or other people's voice. As I took my place on a wooden beam just above Katie's position, and waited for the tobacco to begin being passed up, I glanced over out of the window, a dusty glass square perfectly in line with my beam, offering a dim view of the home yard and horses.

Below me, Katie leant back against the wall, her hands half-hidden in an old oversized jacket, a hand-me-down from a cousin she'd never quite grown into. Her blonde curls were wound up into a messy bun on top of her head, and her scuffed old cowboy boots gave way to golden tan legs in denim shorts.

Pretty as a picture. Mrs Halloway's words came drifting back to me as I surveyed my best friend, smiling in spite of myself as the dust in the old barn made her sneeze. Shifting my gaze, I glanced up towards the roof of the barn, at the line of workers ready to set the tobacco for housing. Then the sticks came, a steady line of passing and lifting, so fluent that I barely had to watch my hands and my balance, as we settled into what had become routine over these past few weeks.

Lift and pass, lift and pass, on and on it went in the quiet of the old barn, until the sun rose fully over the horizon and everyone began to come to life, the murmur of voices breaking the silence. Everyone was just far enough apart that normal volume had to be used over a whisper, but not so distant that we couldn't talk and had to yell. The noise grew, and the work quickened in pace, until everyone was joking and laughing and chatting like a schoolyard.

I caught snippets of conversation between almost everyone, from Dad and Jimmy Morgan's discussion about the cattle market prices this year, and Kacey and Cash's banter just above me, to Hallie and Katie's conversation about the local quarter horse stud's newest lot of foals and Momma and Sara Morgan's overview of the October church roster. Sometimes mornings like these in the field or shed were better than a barbeque or lunch together for catching up on gossip, news, plans and recent events.

I didn't join in on the chatter, content to let the wave of voices wash over me as I continued passing the sticks up under the warm sunshine from the dusty window beside me. Each hour passed in much the same way as the one before or after, the clock slowly ticking towards knock-off hour as the minutes dragged.

"Alright, kids, I hear you've got some dance to get ready for, and besides, it's the end of your work-day anyway," Dad laughed, teasing. "Goodness knows it'll take you all afternoon to look half-way presentable,"

"Jack!" Momma chided him, amid the echoes of laughter as we all began to climb down from our places on the wooden support beams.

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding," he chuckled. "You all inherited my looks; you don't even have to try in order to look good,"

"Well, I don't know about looks, but now we know where Kacey got his sense of humour from," Katie teased, dusting off her hands and jumping down from the crate she had been standing on.

"Well, I don't know which I'd rather inherit; both seem a bit lacking," I joked, leaping down from my beam as Dad shook his head, smirking.

"Lacking? I'll have you know I was the best-looking cowboy in the ring back in the day," Dad retorted, and Momma snorted. "What? I was, too!"