- SIX -

Rose.

The problem with Harv and with me is that we couldn't be bought, reasoned with, or ordered around. Our lives were our own, blades of emerald grass in the fields. Though man thought he could trample and flatten us, the only force that commanded us was nature. Even as leather boots and steel toes sought to tread and trash we rose again to gently sway among our brethren, refusing to bow.

We were also alike in that a good cut horse required a sizable amount of time, patience, and finesse. You push 'em the wrong way or overcompensate too far and you could ruin an animal for life. The same went for a good woman, which I happened to consider myself; I wasn't going to work for just any man who had the cajones to hop in the saddle. We didn't like to be ridden, me and Harv. It's why he was the only one I ever seemed to get along with.

My father specifically forbade the men he employed from fraternizing with me, although it could be argued it was for their safety and not mine. Most of them came and went like fish in the river; they'd pop up for a nibble before they'd jettison back to the mucky safety of the riverbed. A seldom few ever let the hook really sink in.

I don't recognize a handful of men moving amongst the herd, although their reaction at seeing a woman on horseback was as familiar as the Oklahoma moon. I did fancy a big, tall-looking one with short, midnight black hair that curled wildly. Too bad he'd probably be gone in a week.

Swinging my legs, I slipped off my beautiful boy and dropped his reins before sashaying over to the chuck wagon for a drink. I'd only been back from Alabama for, at least as far as daddy knew, a few days. My parents never clued me in about what was going on with the ranch; they'd prefer me in a princess dress than pearl snaps. It didn't matter I could ride and rope better than most of the people my dad employed.

Bella and Tony's trailer had been a dead giveaway, and personally I felt it was a good thing I'd hurried up here. Too bad I didn't have as clean of a getaway as my entrance: Daddy dearest had hopped down from Babe, looking tired and much aggrieved as he strode over to me.

I uncapped a bottle from of water, taking a large drink, trying to delay the inevitable speech on decency and propriety.

"Rosie, honey, now you know I'm glad you're home-" My booted foot came down, stamping into the dirt, cutting off the well-worn tirade.

"Then why don't you act like it? Good fucking thing I came, too - where the hell is Donovan?" My usually-beautiful face turned down, marred by an ugly scowl. Our back and forth routine was practiced ad nauseam by now - you'd think at 24 I'd have earned the right to run my own life, but my dad was intent on ensuring I only regurgitated the bits he found most tasteful.

He frowned, the action sending a pang of sadness through my bones. It hurt to know that our little dances wore on him so much, but I wasn't a fucking Barbie doll. He couldn't pose me the way he wanted and expect me to sit still, look pretty.

"Watch your tongue, or I'm taking that horse and sending him down the chute, you hear me? We'd have managed just fine without you, Rose. Now-" He stopped, catching the mutinous glint I couldn't quite keep tucked away in my eyes.

It was the same old song and fucking dance; I knew the words, and I was sick of the steps. "If you touch a single hair in that horse's mane, I will never come home again. Why can't you just love me for who I am?"

Pulling my Carhartt around my body I pushed past him, ignoring him as he hollered, "You never come home anyway, Rose." I stayed away because I was sick of being treated like his fucking cattle, being driven from point A to point B like I didn't have a say in the fucking destination. Of course he had no answer about loving me, because we both already knew the truth - he loved the idea of me. That was it. But I wasn't an idea, and I definitely wasn't pageant material. I was a cowgirl, whether he loved it or not.

Bella's voice, carried on the wind and sounding warm but nervous: "Hey, Rose!"

Tony's, right behind his wife's: "Nice to have you home, Rose." He sounded sarcastic.

Jasper, his hand coming to rest on my shoulder, and pulling me to a stop. "Still meaner than evil, ain't you? Give the old man a break, he's just trying to look out for you."

I brought my eyes up to meet his, silently imploring. Jazz couldn't understand because he always did what was expected of him, whether he agreed or not.

"You know as well as I do that I don't need 'looking out for.' Speaking of looking out, who's the dandy riding Daisy? I'd love to take him for a spin."

Jasper actually growled, teeth and all. "Stay away from the help, Rose. They can't ride a horse when they're dead."

"Well you know what they say, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. I'm just toughening them up for you, baby brother." I brushed by him, swishing my flaxen mane in his face. Picking my way through the brush to Harv, I could feel eyes trailing me.

When I swung my leg up and looked around, it was the same guy. He had wide, earnest eyes as blue as the afternoon sky set in a ridiculously handsome, square face. He looked out of place, young and rugged, among the old steers that made up most of the usual ranch hands. I couldn't shake the feeling that those eyes saw me, but not like my father or mother or brother saw me. They saw the crazy in me, and still held on.

Ranching was grueling, often unforgiving, work. I loved it because I wasn't just born in it - the dust made up my bones, the grasses were sinew and the sky my breath. Not any old person could take something that bitter on the tongue and swallow it with a smile. As I pushed Harv into a canter, I gave Mr. Blue Eyes a wink.