Meant To Be

Chapter sixteen

The sunlight sprayed in the back window, warming Ronnie with its premature heat. Spilling coffee into her mouth, belly cosied by scrambled eggs and toast, the beckoning day seemed soft and kind. She had slept much better last night. The restlessness of the past week had finally worn her out. Falling asleep minutes after her head hit the pillow, she didn't even have the energy to drift back home.

Ronnie got up from the table bushing crumbs on to the floor with her hand, making a mental note to sweep the place later. Filling the sink with water, she began working her way through the dirty dishes. Bits of egg had cemented to the bottom of the frying pan. The sponge was no use. She scratched it with her fingernails. Cows chiming in the distance.

With the worst of the egg removed, Ronnie turned on the tap and sprayed fresh water around it, getting rid of the bits. Pulling the plug, she set the pan on the rack and stood on her tip toes to get a better look out the back window. The cattle seemed to be getting louder but there wasn't a cow in sight, only the grass and the trees and the mountains. Ronnie moved across the living space towards the front window.

Ronnie's temper raged as she struggled to get the front door open. She turned the key in every direction, pulling it out and slamming it in. When the lock finally churned, she flung the door open bursting onto the porch, catching the herd's stragglers hopping over her busted fence. "For fuck sake!" The cattle ripped at strands of wild grass in Ronnie's garden, pulling it out of the ground with their tongues. Ronnie groaned, looking for someone to give her sympathy. She flapped her arms in a huff. A cow lifted its head, gazing at her with bulging eyes. Its jaw moving in a wide circular motion. "What are you looking at?" she snapped.

The herd spread around the house like butter on warm bread. Ronnie made another coffee, telling herself it was her last of the day and took it out to the porch with a book, using the cattle for company. She'd only read a few chapters when she spotted a man on a horse walking in her lane. Pretending to read again, Ronnie dragged her eyes over the words, hundreds crammed on the page, as she listened to the horse's hooves getting closer.

"Who are you?"

Ronnie lifted her head. The man's face was fierce beneath his cowboy hat with accusing blue eyes. Like she was no one just because she was no one to him. "I live here, who are you?"

"Since when?"

"What's it to you?"

"I live across the way."

Ronnie sought the house in the distance. "About two weeks."

"How did that happen?"

Ronnie screwed up her face. "None of your business," she said. When the man never responded Ronnie threw her stare at cattle as if they were an awful nuisance. She wouldn't have minded them being in her front garden if they had used the gate. "And I'm guessing these are your cows that just mangled my fence?"

"Why else would I be here."

"To meet your new neighbour."

"You're very sarcastic for being British."

"I'm Irish. And you sure are making an arse of this."

"Of what?"

"Making a good first impression."

"That was never my intention."

"Good, because calling an Irish person British is as bad as it gets."

"I better get my cows and go then," said the man as he squeezed his horse forward, walking by Ronnie.

"Aye, good idea," said Ronnie and she snapped the book shut and went back inside.

*

Zac ran the cattle home through the dried-up field they came out off. Back at the ranch, Jacob herded the cows into the pen, standing by the gate with his arms wide open. He tried to count them as they ran by in clusters, but it was no use. Even his estimation was going to be miles out. When they were all in, he closed the gate and climbed on top of the railings.

"How many is there?" asked Zac as he got off his horse.

Jacob never answered.

"Jacob."

"I'm counting."

"Could you not have done that when they were running past you?"

Jacob blanked him. Zac spat at the ground.

"They're all there."

"How many?

"Fifty-seven. How far did they get?"

"To Mrs Thompson's." Zac clipped his hands on his chaps, looking towards her house. "There's a woman living there."

"I think her nephew decided to rent it."

"Where did you hear that?" asked Zac sharply.

"When I was in town the other night." Jacob leaned into the ground, pushing through the heel of his boot. "People do talk Zac. If you left the house once in a while, you'd know that."

Zac ran his tongue along the inside of his upper lip. "When was the other night?"

"Friday."

"Who were you in town with?"

"Friends."

"I thought all your mates are away."

"Chase is back."

Zac pointed his finger towards Mrs Thompson's. "We need to buy those fields if he ever puts it up for sale."

"No one mentioned the fields."

"If he does. We need to be the ones buying them."

"What with? Pennies?"

"It's called savings Jacob."

"It's called stupidity Zac. Working your ass off to make a bit of headway and then just throwing it away on a bit of shabby dry land."

"You know nothing about investing."

"It's not investing if it puts us all under pressure."

Zac marched into Jacob's space like he owned it. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" He titled his chin towards the sky to make up for the fall between their eyes that Jacob was yet to recognise. "Don't you think for one second that you're better than me for handing over a bit of cash that was never yours to begin with."

Jacob pushed him away. Zac made up the distance, grabbing him by the scruff of the neck. Jacob tried to twist underneath his hold, but Zac threw his weight against him. Jacob clung on, pulling Zac to the ground. They rolled about, groaning. Zac slammed his body on top, pinning Jacob beneath him. He scrapped like a child until his breath was tattered. "Get the fuck off me Zac!"

Zac's hands were rough as he let Jacob go. Jacob lay there grazing up at the blue sky, sweaty and dusted with dirt while his big brother marched off. Jacob heard the back door falling shut. He sat up, looking back at the house, wondering how much Helen saw.