Lisa.
Lisa: Want your daughter back yet ? I promise I'll be good.
Mason: She's not even there yet.
Lisa: Think of all the time you'll save her by calling her back now.
Mason: No.
Lisa: Please?
Mason: Don't try to be polite. It doesn't suit you.
Lisa: Suck a dick.
Mason: How do you think I'm keeping all your sponsors?
Roseanne Park pulled up in her fancy SUV and ridiculous prissy outfit like she's going out on the town rather than showing up on a cattle ranch. So, I made myself scarce. I might be stuck with her, but I don't have to like it.
And I don't. I fucking hate being treated like a child, or like I'm stupid. Or worse, like I'm some sort of criminal. I had hoped that sleeping in my own bed and having some processing time to come to terms with my new arrangement might make it feel a little less stifling-less insulting.
But it still feels like trash.
Which is why I'm here pounding posts with my older brother. Setting new fence lines for some of his horses to be closer to his house, which is just over the crest of a big hill from where my dad and I live. Ten pulls a post out of the back of his pickup and hefts it over his shoulder with a grunt. He looks the most like our dad, wide shoulders and tightly cut hair. The only thing missing is a mustache. Something I love to harass him about, especially since he's one growly motherfucker. It's just too easy.
"When are you going to grow out the 'stache and go full Old Man Manoban?"
He glares at me before he drops the post and lines up the pointed end with the spot he wants. "Dunno. When you cutting your bangs and your long hair, Rapunzel?"
This feels good. This feels familiar. Pissing Ten off is one of my favorite past-times. And he's so fucking grumbly that it never stops being satisfying. He's all bark and no bite, one of the nicest dudes I know.
If you can overlook what a prick he is.
I pull my cap off and flick my hair over my shoulder, trying not to wince at the shot of pain in my shoulder. Or the swelling in my knee. Or the ache in my back.
Never mind Rapunzel, I'm more like Humpty Dumpty
"Never. How will I pull a princess through my window?"
He snorts and grabs the post pounder while I take over holding the post upright. "Just one princess, sister? Hardly seems like you."
I roll my eyes. Ten is the monk in this family. I don't think I've seen him with a single woman since his divorce.
"I'm just trying to have enough sex for the both of us," I lie. That part of me has changed. It doesn't hold the same appeal these last couple seasons. Not like it used to. It brings drama, and I've grown tired of having to spend time with people who only want something from me or who see me as some sort of trophy.
Ten reaches up and slaps the cap off my head. "Douche. You going to help do one or just stand there looking pretty?"
I step away and cross my arms. "I am pretty, aren't I? People keep telling me that," I deflect because I don't want to confess that my body is feeling utterly run down. All that will get me is a lecture about how I need to retire, how I've stuck with it too long.
The problem is, I'm addicted.
Riding bulls is a high I can't replace. A rush I can't stop chasing.
"Aunt Lisa!" The small, sugary voice makes me smile, and I'm grateful for the distraction.
Ten glances over his shoulder, brows drawn together in concern.
"Luke! What's up, little man? I thought you were with Mrs. Hill," I say.
My nephew smiles at me, exposing his little Chiclet teeth, a mischievous expression overtaking his face. "I told her I wanted to play hide and seek."
