Part one of the “Empty Revenge” series
The sun was high and brutal, like any other day at noon. However, this afternoon the sweat running down Beckett’s neck wasn’t from long, arduous hours of riding along the miles of fenceline checking on repairs.
Today, he found himself 15 yards from the barrel of a shotgun. Beckett wasn’t afraid of his opponent; he just hated the thought of standing in the heat another moment having the same argument.
“Christ, Aspen.” Beckett rolled his eyes, while rolling his neck, getting a good crack. He readjusted his cattleman cowboy hat, and began to walk over toward the fence dividing them.
Aspen Hewitt stood about five foot nine, her dirty blonde hair pulled back in a perfect braid tied and pinned. She was a slender beauty, with olive toned skin. The shadow cast from her Gambler style hat intensified her green eyed leer.
“Don’t get any closer to this fence, Beck. I swear I’ll shoot!” Aspen caressed the trigger gingerly, never taking her eyes off her target. Beckett paused with his hands slightly in the air; a momentary surrender to appease her.
“Will today finally be the day?” he asked.
“What are you talking about?” Aspen held her shotgun steady even though her thoughts ran a mile a minute.
A grin slithered across his lips. “Will today finally be the day you stop talking about shooting me and actually get it over with?”
Aspen couldn’t stand his arrogance. She fixed her gaze and took a small step forward. Beckett followed in kind, also moving forward.
“I swear to god, Beck. I will shoot you!”
This released an involuntary deep chuckle from Beckett.
“You’ve been saying this for weeks, Pen. This has become a regular Thursday afternoon routine. Hell, even the cows know to move down the pasture when you show up.” Almost in agreement, a cow in the distance let out a lazy lowing.
Aspen didn’t say a word, so Beckett continued.
“Last week, you showed up yelling about how I wasn’t putting the fence up fast enough.” He nodded down the fenceline, boots crunching the dirt. “The week before that, you accused me of shorting you on steers.”
Still nothing.
He rubbed his chin looking down at the ground. Then his gaze shifted, spotting an old, weathered lawn chair underneath an oak tree, on his side of the fence.
“Well,” he muttered, taking off his work gloves and dropping them on the ground. He sauntered over towards the tree, like she wasn’t pointing a loaded weapon at him, grabbed the adirondack chair, hauled it back to where his gloves laid, and set it in front of her. Locking eyes with Aspen again, he slowly sat down, letting out a tired groan.
“I got a lot of work ahead of me today, Pen.” he said, resting his elbows on the arms of the chair, folding his hands in his lap. “So let’s skip to the part where you finally tell me what this is really all about.”