something she thought was gone for good.
Just a week here and her head had felt clearer. She could hang out here and morph into that eccentric old horsewoman, doing whatever she wanted. There were worse things. It beat the hell out of crazy Carter the break up artist, desperate for a man, sucky at accounting, at least.
Oh, to not have to sell. Right Carter, she said to herself. “That ain’t happening,” she said out loud.
Up. Grey needed feeding and she was starving. She’d stopped by the grocery store and picked up more food, so no more peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.
#
Thursday afternoon
Rafael stood outside next to his truck. His cell was ringing. It was Danielle, calling him again. He’d broken it off with her, and of course, she hadn’t taken no for an answer, not yet anyway. Some took his breakups harder than others. He hit the decline button and put his phone back in his pocket.
He was home to grab a quick bite to eat, and then it was on to ordering some more chicks from this one hatchery he used; necessary to keep up with the growing demand for his birds.
He was lucky. His birds were catching on with a handful of small, organic foodies in and around Austin. He sold his chickens at the farmer’s market, but selling to restaurants—the high-end kind—was his ultimate goal. They were more willing to pay his asking price.
He couldn’t profit from the large economies of scale offered by the larger poultry producers. His chickens didn’t come cheap—not as cheap as the grocery stores at any rate—but then, his chickens weren’t choked full of antibiotics; just farm-raised, and some free-range for those that wanted that, too.
A big
Waste To Go
truck was parked near the front of the drive leading to Carter’s home. She was getting her very own dumpster. Surprisingly enough, she was keeping herself busy. Every time he saw her she was on the move, doing something. She probably didn’t have much time to think about her life that way, or maybe she had more time to figure herself out. It could go either way.
Working out here did that for him, too. He could figure things out—his goals were clearer out here, away from people and their constant pushing.
He caught sight of her and waved. She waved back. He’d given thought to taking a trip into town, solely to purchase a decent pair of jeans for her—not that he minded seeing her bent over in her skinny pair, they were beautiful with her in them—but they weren’t very practical. Women he knew didn’t always consider practicality when making decisions. That was another part of their charm.
His stomach growled, prompting him to do what he’d come to do. Lunch.
#
An hour later, Rafael walked back to his truck for a quick run into town. He saw Carter with her wheelbarrow this time, filled with paper—probably Jack’s magazine collection. Such a waste. He should have picked out a few. No, he was past the flipping through magazines stage. He preferred his women live and in living color.
She was working herself too hard for a newcomer, and would probably pass out if she wasn’t careful. Perhaps that was her intention, suicide by hard work, and if that were so, she was on the right track. He stopped and watched her for a second, pushing her little wheelbarrow. She hit a rock and struggled to keep the wheelbarrow steady. It fell in spite of her efforts and he chuckled, as he watched her shovel the contents back in with her hands. He chuckled again, shook his head, got in his truck and pulled out of his drive.
#
Thursday night
All of the fences were done. All of Jack’s junk from the back porch was now where it belonged—in the dumpster. She felt not even the slightest tinge of guilt at throwing it away. She’d put all she’d deemed important in a large box and moved it to the garage, in case Jack returned.
She was dead on her feet. Tired, but proud of herself, and it had been a long time since she’d felt that way she realized. In
Just a week here and her head had felt clearer. She could hang out here and morph into that eccentric old horsewoman, doing whatever she wanted. There were worse things. It beat the hell out of crazy Carter the break up artist, desperate for a man, sucky at accounting, at least.
Oh, to not have to sell. Right Carter, she said to herself. “That ain’t happening,” she said out loud.
Up. Grey needed feeding and she was starving. She’d stopped by the grocery store and picked up more food, so no more peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.
#
Thursday afternoon
Rafael stood outside next to his truck. His cell was ringing. It was Danielle, calling him again. He’d broken it off with her, and of course, she hadn’t taken no for an answer, not yet anyway. Some took his breakups harder than others. He hit the decline button and put his phone back in his pocket.
He was home to grab a quick bite to eat, and then it was on to ordering some more chicks from this one hatchery he used; necessary to keep up with the growing demand for his birds.
He was lucky. His birds were catching on with a handful of small, organic foodies in and around Austin. He sold his chickens at the farmer’s market, but selling to restaurants—the high-end kind—was his ultimate goal. They were more willing to pay his asking price.
He couldn’t profit from the large economies of scale offered by the larger poultry producers. His chickens didn’t come cheap—not as cheap as the grocery stores at any rate—but then, his chickens weren’t choked full of antibiotics; just farm-raised, and some free-range for those that wanted that, too.
A big
Waste To Go
truck was parked near the front of the drive leading to Carter’s home. She was getting her very own dumpster. Surprisingly enough, she was keeping herself busy. Every time he saw her she was on the move, doing something. She probably didn’t have much time to think about her life that way, or maybe she had more time to figure herself out. It could go either way.
Working out here did that for him, too. He could figure things out—his goals were clearer out here, away from people and their constant pushing.
He caught sight of her and waved. She waved back. He’d given thought to taking a trip into town, solely to purchase a decent pair of jeans for her—not that he minded seeing her bent over in her skinny pair, they were beautiful with her in them—but they weren’t very practical. Women he knew didn’t always consider practicality when making decisions. That was another part of their charm.
His stomach growled, prompting him to do what he’d come to do. Lunch.
#
An hour later, Rafael walked back to his truck for a quick run into town. He saw Carter with her wheelbarrow this time, filled with paper—probably Jack’s magazine collection. Such a waste. He should have picked out a few. No, he was past the flipping through magazines stage. He preferred his women live and in living color.
She was working herself too hard for a newcomer, and would probably pass out if she wasn’t careful. Perhaps that was her intention, suicide by hard work, and if that were so, she was on the right track. He stopped and watched her for a second, pushing her little wheelbarrow. She hit a rock and struggled to keep the wheelbarrow steady. It fell in spite of her efforts and he chuckled, as he watched her shovel the contents back in with her hands. He chuckled again, shook his head, got in his truck and pulled out of his drive.
#
Thursday night
All of the fences were done. All of Jack’s junk from the back porch was now where it belonged—in the dumpster. She felt not even the slightest tinge of guilt at throwing it away. She’d put all she’d deemed important in a large box and moved it to the garage, in case Jack returned.
She was dead on her feet. Tired, but proud of herself, and it had been a long time since she’d felt that way she realized. In
Similar Books
