Call Me Yours

Mitchell

It had been 243 days since we buried my dad, and I still wasn’t used to walking into the house and not being shouted at. I still hesitated slightly as my fingers gripped the rough, sun-worn knob of the front door. Muscle memory turned it as silently as possible and lifted the door slightly to avoid the hinges creaking.

But only the silent, open-concept living room greeted me. My muscles relaxed and the corners of my mouth lifted. That’s right; I was safe here. I tossed my cowboy hat on the hook next to the door and kicked off my boots, not bothering to stand them up straight. What harm did a tipped-over boot do, short of collecting scorpions? As long as I shook them out through the kitchen window before I put them on, that was honestly a bonus. At least they were out of my house.

I ambled into the kitchen in my stocking feet and pulled a chipped mug from the cupboard. I filled it with cold water from the tap and drank deeply while wiping the sweat from my brow. It was gonna be a hot summer, I knew it. I’d even gotten up extra early to feed the cows and let Admiral out of the barn, and still came back to the ranch house looking like I’d gone swimming.

Which didn’t bode well for the fence I had to fix along the north side of the farm. But nobody else was gonna do it; I had to let the farmhands go when Dad died. Nowadays it was just me, my horse, and the herd of cattle for five miles in any direction.

I finished my water and closed my eyes for a moment, allowing the cooler air of the house to soak in. In those seconds, though, I heard the sound of a car engine roaring up the dirt road. Curious, I popped my eyes open and leaned closer to the kitchen window. Who in their right mind would be driving up this road? There wasn’t anything on the other end except an old abandoned property. When Old Man Roberts died, his son Samuel had inherited the place. But nobody had heard from him in nearly fifteen years.

The car stopped at my gate, all shiny black paint and brand new tires. It looked as out of place here as a cactus in the middle of the rainforest. Especially next to my old Ford pickup, which was more rust than steel at this point. I squinted against the morning sun reflecting from the hood as the car door opened and someone stepped out.

He was tall and slender, with short, dark hair and brooding eyes. While his jeans fit right in, the white button-down shirt and polished black shoes spoke of a man who hadn’t seen a fresh cow pie up close in ages, if ever.

And I knew him. He was much older and more rugged these days, but I recognized the curve of his shoulders and the face that haunted my dreams since I was 16. Samuel Roberts had reappeared like a ghost, and I literally pinched myself to make sure I wasn’t in the middle of another nightmare.

The car door closed with a thud and those business shoes started up the dirt path that led to my front door. My damn heart began pounding in my chest and I glanced at my reflection in the window. My blonde curls were plastered to my forehead, still, and I had dirt all over my jeans and bare chest. I hurriedly ran my fingers through my hair in an attempt to look slightly less like a cat pulled out of the crick, and brushed away as much dirt as possible.

I didn’t have time to locate a shirt, though, before a rap came on the old front door. For a moment I considered pretending I wasn’t home, but that thought went right out the window when I saw Sam’s dark eyes peering through the glass door panel. They met mine and a familiar, yet long-buried feeling threatened to cause my knees to buckle. I took a deep breath and crossed the living room as casually as possible, trying to ignore the drumbeat of my heart in both ears.

When I opened the door, there he was: my childhood best friend and first love. I stared wordlessly and he stared back, neither of us quite sure what to say after half a lifetime. Though age had sharpened the once-boyish features I’d once known, Sam still held that same charm I’d always been drawn to. And when he spoke, his deep voice reverberated in my chest again. “Hey Mitchell. I need you to unlock the gate. The key from the safe deposit box doesn’t work.”

I continued staring awkwardly for a moment before the words sunk in. With a start, I took a half-step back and nodded. “Oh, yeah. We had to replace the gate last year after a windstorm knocked the old oak tree down on it.” I pulled the ring of keys from my pocket and jammed my feet into my boots. I couldn’t take my eyes off Sam’s face, and he definitely noticed. He scowled and refused to make eye contact, pretending not to care that we were finally seeing each other for the first time since we got caught.

Together we strolled back down the path to the cattle gate blocking off the road between my ranch and the Roberts’s. As much as I wanted to make small talk to break up the awkward silence between us, I didn’t know what to say. What did someone say to the person who abandoned them the same day they confessed?

I shook my head, not wanting to remember that day in the barn when I finally tasted a boy’s lips for the first (and only) time. Look where that had gotten us! So I just kept my eyes on the gate as we approached, stubbornly throwing thoughts in the thresher as they appeared. When we reached the gate, I unlocked it and pushed it inward, away from Sam’s fancy city-boy car.

Only then did I work up the courage to actually say anything to him. “So…are you taking over the ranch, then?”

Without looking at me, he shook his head. “Just here to take some pictures and see how much I can get out of the place.” He scowled at the waist-high weeds on his side of the broken-down fence and cast his eyes farther up the road to the old farmhouse. “Hopefully at least enough to pay off the damn debt and free me of this place permanently.”

The bitterness in his voice was a dagger to my heart, and the thought of the old ranch being sold made me sick. What if it was bought up by land developers and turned into who knows what? What would happen to our shared water rights and access roads? The anxiety of the unknown threatened to throw me into a panic attack. I leaned against the fence post that held up the gate and took deep breaths to stave it off.

I was only half-successful, though. Especially when my father’s words started echoing in my head. “This again? What’s wrong with you, boy? Haven’t I beaten this nonsense out of you yet?” At least this time they weren’t followed by the sharp crack of a willow branch on my back, or the sting of a palm against my face. Sam glanced at me and I saw the flash of recognition in his eyes.

But unlike the old days, he did nothing. Instead of looking me in the eye and helping me regulate my breathing, he rolled his eyes and turned back toward his car. He climbed in without another word and rolled forward slowly until he was sure the car would clear the gate. Then the roar of the car engine faded up the road, leaving me alone again.

I watched the dust cloud that followed the car until it disappeared behind the old orchard, then closed my eyes. That was nothing like how I expected my first meeting with Samuel to go after the death of both of our fathers. The wishful part of me pictured a scene from a movie of our eyes meeting and the world around us slowing. Walking toward each other with wide eyes, arms opening as we threw ourselves into each others’ embrace.

The bitter part of me always pictured punching him in his stupid face for abandoning me. He knew how I was treated, and how leaving would result in me being trapped on this damn ranch with my Dad and no buffer. He was weak, disappearing the moment things got hard. I guess everything we told each other that day in the rainstorm counted for nothing.

I turned back toward my house and angrily kicked a stone. Whatever. If he wanted to show back up like the ghost of yesterday’s baked beans, so be it. He’d be gone again soon enough, and I could go back to fighting to save my ranch from the bank. I couldn’t afford to pay attention to apparitions.