“All week?”
“Who the hell is gonna run the office? Take care of the guests? That was Sarah. All Sarah. Fuck. We’re gonna have to hire another outsider.” Preston had scuffed at the marble floor with his shiny black shoe. He’d been dressed to the nines, even though the ranch was shut, and we were all clearly in a disarrayed state of mourning.
“It worked out okay with Betsy,” I’d offered.
“Betsy is like, 95 years old. She was here before you or me. She’s family.”
“Joe and Matt have been good.”
Preston had laid his head back, rolling his eyes dramatically. “There’s a huge difference between mucking out stalls and being the welcoming face of the ranch. We’ll need someone who’s good with people – not just the horses. They’re gonna have to be organized, and friendly, and like kids – even the bratty ones. Someone who cares if Cabin B needs two fresh towels at midnight. I sure as fuck don’t.”
I had missed Sarah terribly in that moment. When Pierce brought her into our lives there had been a definite shift in the Hardick household. Nothing had been quite the same since Mom died – everything was darker, quieter... We’d been existing; Sarah helped us live again. Avy and Braden had brightened our worlds even more with their entrances, and Hardick Ranch was a happy place once again – seemingly recovered as best as it could have been.
That happy recovery had ceased to exist in the same moment that Sarah did.
“Nobody can fill Sarah’s shoes,” I’d replied finally, still fixating on the stairs and considering approaching Pierce.
“Nope. Nobody,” Preston had agreed, downing the rest of his drink and fixating on nothing at all.
“Why does this keep happening?” I’d said it out loud, but wasn’t expecting an answer. Preston had given one anyway.
“What? Did you think Mom was the only one who was ever gonna die? World keeps spinnin’, buddy. That means death, death, and more death.” I knew he was trying to joke, but Preston’s face had gone completely blank as he said this. None of us were really over Mom’s death, and we probably wouldn’t ever be. Dad would have barked at Preston for making a comment like that, but I understood my brother’s humor. Mom had understood it too.
“I’ll stay. I’ll stay and help,” my words had flown into the air without any hesitation.
“Kid, that’s sweet. But you aren’t even done with college yet. I thought you wanted to teach groups of little snot-nosed tyrants? You need the degree,” Preston had stated, firm and serious for the first time since my arrival. He’d stared me down, his face just a slightly older version of mine – dark hair, blue eyes, and a short-trimmed beard that I hadn’t been able to grow yet at that point.
“We get plenty of snot-nosed tyrants here. I’d still be teaching them, in a way. Just different types of things, I guess,” I’d returned calmly, my gaze unfaltering.
Preston shook his head at that.“You’ve always been way too nice, Penn. You can’t just give and give and give your entire adult life. It’s gonna wear you down. You gotta think about you.”
I had shrugged, my mind already made up. “I’m not gonna be happy if things aren’t okay here. So, call it a selfish decision. Just me lookin’ out for me.”
That had elicited a slight chuckle from drunk Preston. “You’re somethin’ else. This is why you’re Dad’s favorite.”
“And you were Mom’s. Stop whinin’,” I’d told him, managing a smile. Preston gave me a half-hearted playful punch to the shoulder, and then he’d risen to his feet.
“One of us should go check on Payden,” he’d said quietly. Apparently, he wasn’t only thinking about himself, either. “Kid is gonna stay out there in the cold till he loses his damn toes.”
“He’s processing. You know how Pay is.” But I’d been worried as well.
“I’ll take Payden, you take Pierce,” Preston had offered, staggering towards the front entrance.
“I thought you said we can’t talk to Pierce right now?” I had stood as well, unsure if I’d been offered a fair deal. Payden was calm and agreeable by nature. Pierce was an intense guy when he was in a good mood.
“I said I can’t talk to him. You’ll be fine, little brother.” Preston had disappeared then, and I remember taking a deep breath as I approached the staircase.
A heavy weight seemed to have been placed on my shoulders, and I had known. Penn Hardick’s days as a kid were done. I’d turned into a man that night.
Closed. Smith’s Hardware was one of maybe a dozen independent stores left in tiny Central Creek’s “business district”. We’d been coming here for as long as I could remember – at first because it was the closest to the ranch, and then because we liked the Smiths and had grown close to them over the years.
They always took a weeklong camping vacation in June, and I realized that it had completely slipped my mind. Bob Smith had called, and I did know that they weren’t open this week. Or, at least I did now.
Filling Sarah’s shoes hadn’t been easy, and it was fair to say that my brainpower was used up nearly every day to 100% depletion. I couldn’t seem to remember my foot from my face lately.
“Okay. On to Corydon, then,” I said to no one. The sidewalk was empty – Thursday afternoon didn’t mean much to Central Creek’s 2500 citizens. Corydon was only another five minutes down the highway, and even though it was an even smaller town than this one, I knew they, at the very least, had a hardware store.
I tapped my hand to the beat of the radio as I flew down the deserted road. The tiny green sign that declared I’d reached my destination was nearly covered in ivy vines. Corydon had the very specific feel of a zombie apocalypse movie set. There wasn’t a town square so much as there was a single main street that ran unceremoniously past what may at one time have been a lively little strip of small businesses. Now, however, I could only count four storefronts that seemed to be in operation, and lucky for me the hardware store was one of them. A simple banner reading “Kate’s Supplies” had been hung over the original brick that no doubt still harbored the ancient name of the original store in sorely faded paint strokes.
I wasn’t familiar with Corydon. There had never been any reason to become acquainted with it, as the interstate to Denver passed right by the sleepy village without so much as a mention of its existence. Central Creek was on an old highway as well, but that was as far as I usually went, because there hadn’t been a need to go any further.
Until today.
An old-fashioned bell rang when I swung the door open and strode into “Kate’s”. The original floorboards seemed to still be in use, and every step I took creaked loudly, alerting anyone and everyone who hadn’t already been privy to the jangle of my entrance. I knew exactly what I needed – no need to bother anyone. I’d just find the nail section, zero in on the size, pay, and be blasting more classic rock ‘n’ roll from my truck radio in five minutes flat.
Easy goin’.
“Can I help you find anything today, sir?” I couldn’t find the face that belonged to the sweet, timid voice at first, and I had to stop myself from laughing at the address. I was twenty-four. “Sir” wasn’t something I’d been used to hearing.