West of Forever (Heartstone Ranch #1)(20)

But instead of finding him, I see a sweet little girl just a few paces away, sitting in the grass on the other side of the fence with tears streaming down her face while she holds a chicken in her lap.

“And he doesn’t listen to me, Cinnamon. He thinks I’m just a dumb kid,” she weeps. “I’m not a kid. I’m almost a teenager, and I’m growing up. Mom would’ve let me do it, but he just doesn’t care.”

I should turn around, but right as I’m about to, she looks over and then gets to her feet. I smile. “Hey, Sadie. Sorry to bother you.”

She wipes at her tears with the back of her hand. “Hey. You’re not. I’m just…sitting.”

I walk closer, ignoring the tear that’s still lingering on her cheek. “That is a beautiful chicken,” I tell her.

“This is Cinnamon. She’s my favorite.”

I grin. “We have about fifty chickens, and I’m the only one who has named them all. I have a favorite too, but her name is Norma Hen.”

Sadie’s eyes widen a touch. “You named them?”

I nod. “I did more funny names. Like, Hennifer is one, and then I have Mary Poopins. Oh, and my rooster is Cluck Norris, after Chuck Norris, but you’re probably too young to know who that is.”

She shakes her head. “Yeah, I don’t know why that’s funny.”

“I feel old. What are some of your chickens’ names?”

“Most of mine are after food. My rooster is named Cheeseburger, because he looks like the color of cheese. Then I have Sugar, Basil, Meatball, and Hey-Girl.”

“Hey-Girl?” I ask, a little confused since that’s not a food I know of.

“She’s a runner, and I would just chase her while yelling it, so Dad said that was her name.” Sadie shrugs.

“That’s a good name then. I have a few that no matter how much I try to get them to love me, they just don’t. Chickens are fickle animals.”

Sadie nods in agreement. “That’s Cheeseburger. Dad threatens to make him dinner every day because he charges him as soon as he comes close to the coop.”

I laugh, imagining the rooster chasing Tristan to the point that he’s yelling about killing him. “You should video that,” I tell her conspiratorially.

“I will next time.”

“Is your dad around?” I ask, trying to sound cavalier, but let’s face it, I’m a Gatlin and he’s a Stone. There’s nothing normal about me asking for him.

She pushes her one hip out and looks away. “No. At least I hope not. I’m avoiding him.”

I know that tone. “I see. You’re upset with him?”

Sadie turns her head quickly. “He’s stupid.”

“Most men are, trust me, I have brothers.”

That earns me a smile. “Why does my family hate you?”

I smile back and reiterate my last statement. “Because most men are stupid. Honestly? I don’t know anymore. There have been about a hundred versions of the story that change some detail each time we tell it. My favorite is the one about the time your family stole all my family’s horses and sold them. Of course, no one remembers all the details.”

She snorts a laugh. “I’ve heard about the time your grandad came to the auction and told everyone our horses were defective so no one bought them.”

Yeah, that sounds like my grandpa. He hated the Stones and did anything he could to piss them off.

“I’ll tell you this,” I say, leaning against the fence post. “I don’t hate your family.”

She raises one brow and smirks. “Really?”

“Really. I don’t. I try not to hate people without a really good reason.”

Sadie shifts the chicken to her other arm. “Me too.”

“I think it’s a good rule to live by.”

“So who do you hate?”

That’s a good question. I ponder it, going through anyone who might be on my list. “I hate people who litter. Find a garbage can and don’t be lazy, you know?”

Sadie laughs softly. “Okay…”

“I hate people who are mean just to be mean. There was a girl in middle school who just tried to be awful—I hated her. She did grow up, and I ended up being civil with her, but during that time, I definitely didn’t like her.”

Seriously, there’s always one girl who thinks being cruel is fun. Diana used to pick on me all the time. She used to call me names, always go after the boy I liked. It wasn’t until high school when she was a freshman and there was a senior who was much meaner than her that she was knocked down a few pegs.

“There’s a girl in school, her name is Lauren, and everyone thinks she’s so nice, but she’s mean. She’s, like, nice-mean, which is worse than just being mean-mean.”

I nod. “Be authentic, right?”

“Yes.”

“What about you? Who do you hate?”

Sadie puts the chicken down, walking toward the fence. “I hate people who think they know you better than you know yourself.”

That’s deeply philosophical for a twelve-year-old. I also have a feeling we’re not talking about random people, and this is a parenting thing. As much as I sometimes feel like I’m my brothers’ other mother, I don’t know this territory, so I’m a little hesitant to dive in.