Meant To Be

Chapter thirteen

Bell Buckle, Tennessee

Ronnie stood by the bedroom window, dressed in her nightwear - shorts and a luminous Belfast marathon tee. The mid-morning sun invited itself inside, brightening the purple stains that fenced her cheek bones. Her snow complexion strengthened the contrast and her hair, sprinkling from the tight bun that turned messy overnight, framed it all together.

Beyond the wild garden that cupped Ronnie's new home with its straggly weeds and flowering thistles, the land rolled away, taking the cattle with it; tumbling out the yonder at the foot of the mountains where trees clumped in thick clusters. She reined in her gaze, clinging to the house not too far from her own. It was coloured cream inside the blurry lines with farm sheds shooting out back. A family farm Ronnie assumed. A place with a phone that didn't require a battery and signal. She blew through her lips, shy of a whistle. It eased the pressure in her chest, her shoulders sinking.

Crossing the living area amounting to a musky armchair, circular table and two stools, the wooden boards ran coarse beneath Ronnie's feet. She set her empty glass in the sink. Cupboards lined the wall on either side. One end to the other, her kitchen in its entirety. The house as a whole was tight. Every space fed of another. But Ronnie wanted it that way, thinking, that if there were little to get used to, it would become familiar quickly.

Quiet vibrations shifted Ronnie's phone across the worktop. The high-pitched ping making Lucy feel close. She picked it up. It was Josh her new landlord, checking in to see if everything was ok. Ronnie typed 'perfect, thanks'. Another message came though before she set it down. Josh again, telling her to ring if she needed anything. Ronnie didn't reply. A few minutes later she sent a delayed thumbs up.

Lifting her book from the armchair, Ronnie cosied inside it, sitting on top of her crisscrossed legs. Flicking to the end of the novel, she noted the page number and went back to the front. She found the time above the stone fireplace, a whole in the wall with a shelf above it, acting like time mattered in Tennessee.

*

Thick sweats slipped over Zac's brow. His beard holding the heat, criminal at the peak of the day. A greasy moisture licked his body making his grip on the calf slip. He leaned awkwardly low, trying to shift his hand over its buttocks as it thrust to get away, the dry dust smoking up around them. Zac shouted Jacob; his attention derailed. "Put that dam phone away and get over here!" The calf kicked back, knocking Zac face first onto the ground. His hands too slow to break the fall. Zac spat grainy powder out of his mouth, Jacob's boots levelling with his eyeline. "You're a bit fucking late." He pushed up onto his feet.

Jacob tucked his laughter behind his teeth. "Just cos you couldn't hang on to the tearaway."

"If you hadn't been stuck on your dam phone and got over here when I shouted she wouldn't have got away!"

"We can just catch her again, no big deal."

"We don't have time to be catching her again!" Zac looked towards the cattle. "And she's in the middle of the bloody herd now, it'll take twice as long!" Jacob blinked, a bead of sweat transferring from Zac to him. He wiped it away, turning. "Where the hell do you think you're going now!?"

"To catch that dam calf."

"Like you're going to do that by yourself."

Jacob kept walking towards the herd chucking fuel all over Zac's raging temper, forcing him to catch up.

It was so humid Helen could taste the dry heat as she crossed the pen with two-pint glasses of lemonade. The clinks of ice cubes chimed against the glass. Zac remembered his scorched lips. Taking a glass, he gulped it down. "Thirsty work," said Helen, shielding the analysis going on behind her grey eyes. Zac tipped the glass higher. The liquid softened the dryness in his mouth as the sweat dribbled down the side of his face. Finished, he set the empty glass back on Helen's tray and walked towards the cattle herded in the corner. Only half a dozen had been moved into the other side of the pen.

"How are you two getting on?" asked Helen when Zac was at a safe distance.

"Like a dream."

"Don't be so sarcastic."

"He's his usual cranky self but he's fine."

Helen looked at Jacob sideways. "You would tell me nothing else." She held onto her cross exterior. "You boys aren't making much head way."

Jacob set his empty glass back on her flowery tray. "Thanks for the lemonade." Helen stood and watched as he fell into step beside his big brother who acted like he wasn't even there.

Helen left the tray and glasses by the kitchen sink. In the utility room, she reached for her leather gloves that were worn at the fingertips and pulled her black cowboy hat off the hook, placing it on her head. Zac and Jacob were at each other's throats again as she crossed the pen towards them. "Would you two cool it," said Helen. "If you keep squabbling, we'll never get these calves branded." She took the rope from Zac's hand. "I'll help Jacob with roping. You'll be able to work through them much quicker with the iron then."

"Yes mam," said Jacob. He looked at Zac like he was a child again, full of mischief. Zac tied his lips in a straight-line, striping Jacob back to the bare bone.

Helen cleared her throat. "Let's get to work."