The early morning sun bathed the campsite in a golden glow as Spencer and Tate emerged from their tents. Spencer in mismatched pajamas and a cowgirl hat perched atop her head. Tate in a mirroring attire. They both yawned and stretched, they looked at each other realizing they had overslept.
John Dutton their grandfather, sat in a weathered chair with a smirk, cradling a steaming cup of coffee. "Overslept, did you?" John teased, taking a sip of his coffee. "Well, you... You slept. That's what matters."
Rubbing her head with a playful pout, Spencer asked, "Is it too late to go fishing now?"
John chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Trout are like... They're like bankers."
Tate confused says, "Huh?"
John continues saying, "They don't do a damn thing in the morning."
Spencer and Tate look at each other confused.
Spencer, intrigued by the aroma of the coffee, ambled over to John. "Can I try some?"
John, playfully protective of his morning elixir, pulled the cup closer to his chest. "Nah. It'll stunt your growth."
Tilting her head, Spencer questioned, "What does that mean?"
John rose from his chair, looking down at his granddaughter. "Means it'll make you short."
Spencer, quick-witted as ever, retorted, "I'm already short."
John chuckled heartily. "Yeah, well, not as short as you'll be if you drink coffee." John stands up from his chair and says to Tate, "Why don't you bring the net if you're planning on a big one?"
Excitement gleamed in the two kid's eyes. Tate grabbed their nets and scampered after John as he strolled away. The trio ambled toward the river, their boots kicking up the dust of the campsite.
As they reached the riverbank, John pointed toward a promising spot. "Here, Tate. This is where the big ones like to hide." The young boy eagerly positioned himself with the net, eyes scanning the water for any sign of movement.
Spencer, always curious, asked, "Grandpa, why do you think we can't live like this all the time? Just fishing, sleeping under the stars, no worries."
John squatted down, a thoughtful expression on his weathered face. "Life has a way of complicating things, Penny. Responsibilities, expectations, battles to fight. But days like today, they remind us of what matters."
Tate, eager to prove his fishing prowess, cast his line with determination. Spencer, on the other hand, was more captivated by the reflections in the water, her young mind lost in the beauty of the moment.
John, sensing the tranquility of the scene, shared a quiet moment with his grandkids. "You know, there's something special about mornings like these. Makes you forget about all the troubles of the world."
Spencer, who had managed to find a comfortable rock to sit on, chimed in, "Yeah, it's like everything is okay for a little while."
Tate, fully invested in the fishing expedition, piped up, "I like these days."
John ruffled Tate's hair affectionately. "Me too, buddy. Me too."
The river flowed peacefully, a canvas reflecting the golden hues of the morning sun. Spencer walking through the water to stand next to John, took in the scene with a contented sigh. "Can we at least have more days like this, Grandpa?"
John smiled down at her. "We'll have as many as we can, sweetheart. Now, let's see if we can catch some breakfast."
The trio settled into a tranquil routine, casting their lines into the river, the rhythmic sounds of nature providing a soothing backdrop to their morning. In those moments, the challenges of the ranch, the struggles, and the uncertainties felt like distant echoes, drowned out by the laughter of children and the wisdom of a grandfather who understood the magic of simplicity.
—
The morning sun cast a warm glow through the windows of Rip's cabin. Beth emerged from the bedroom, her hair falling loosely around her shoulders. The scent of breakfast wafting through the air as Rip, already up and about, worked his culinary magic in the kitchen.
"You ever had fried bread?" Rip inquired, a slight smile playing on his lips.
"Mmm-mmm." Beth shook her head no.
"My mother used to make it for me when I was young," Rip reminisced a hint of nostalgia in his voice. Rip, pouring a cup of coffee, offered it to her. "It's Penny's favorite."
"Thanks," Beth replied, taking a sip as she observed Rip's domestic prowess. The cabin seemed to emanate warmth and comfort.
"You hungry?" Rip asked, his eyes fixed on her.
"Mmm," Beth affirmed.
Rip, carrying a plate laden with food, gestured toward the table. "Come sit."
Beth complied, settling into a chair, and they shared a quiet meal. It was a rare moment of serenity for the couple, away from the chaos that often defined their lives. As Beth indulged in the hearty fare, Rip watched her with a tender gaze.
"You're not eating?" Beth inquired, noticing his empty plate.
Rip chuckled, his love for her evident in his eyes. "Beth, I ate hours ago. I think I'll just watch you."
Playfully attempting to hide her face behind her hand, Beth was met with gentle resistance as Rip lovingly pulled it away. His fingers traced a path across her cheek, and a contented smile played on Beth's lips.
Amidst the quiet intimacy, Rip broke the silence. "I was thinking we could decorate one of the bedrooms for Penny before I bring her home from camp."
Beth's smile brightened at the thought. "That sounds like a nice idea. She would love that."
Rip inquired about Penny's thoughts on her upcoming birthday, "Did she mention anything to you about her birthday? She's usually talking my ear off around this time of year."
Beth's expression shifted, revealing a hint of uncertainty. "I tried asking her about it, but I'm not sure."
Understanding the complexities of the situation, Rip nodded. "I'm going up to camp today, so I'll check on her. You wanna join me? I'm sure she's missing her mama."
Beth, a touch of vulnerability in her eyes, admitted, "No it's alright I've smothered her so much these past few months, I'm sure she is glad to be on her own. I want her to be happy as much as I want her with me. Sometimes I think she's better off."
Rip, his gaze unwavering, countered, "Don't ever think that, darlin'. I know she never would." He leaned in, capturing her lips in a tender kiss that spoke of unspoken promises and a shared understanding.
-—-
The camp, now perched on the ridge, radiated a sense of tranquility under the expansive sky. The rugged beauty of the landscape seemed to echo the quiet camaraderie shared by the Dutton family and their trusted ranch hands.
The constant buzzing of his phone, a source of irritation, became an afterthought as the realization set in that there was no cell service in their remote location. With a chuckle, John stashed the phone away, finally free from the tether of constant connectivity. As John surveyed the new campsite, his mood visibly lifted.
Seated next to Tate and Spencer, John's eyes twinkled with amusement. The simplicity of fishing and feasting, surrounded by the serenity of nature, seemed to be a balm for the soul.
Amidst the laughter and chatter, Rip arrived at the camp, greeted by the enthusiastic embrace of his daughter. Spencer threw herself into Rip's arms, as he lifts her off the ground, a broad smile stretching across his rugged face as he kisses her cheek.
Still holding her in his arms Rip says, "Look at you, cub. You having fun?" Rip inquired, his eyes reflecting genuine joy.
"Yeah. All we do is fish and eat and fish and eat," Spencer replied, her face beaming with happiness. Rip gently set her back on the ground, a proud father watching her thrive in the wilderness.
Later, as the camp settled into a daily rhythm, Rip found a quiet moment to express his gratitude to John. They stood together, overlooking the scene of Spencer assisting the wranglers with the cattle. "Well, sir, I wanted to... thank you. You know, I just haven't had, uh... been the right time," Rip began, his words carrying a sincerity that matched his rugged demeanor.
John, ever stoic, cut him off gently. "No need. You deserve that house, Rip."
But Rip corrected him, "No, sir, I'm, uh... I'm talking about the letter. Nobody's ever given me anything like that before."
John placed a reassuring hand on Rip's shoulder, the unspoken understanding passing between them. "Well, you gave my family a penny full of hope, in more ways than one. I don't ever want to lose that." Referring to Spencer, they stood together, silently acknowledging the unbreakable bonds that tied them to the land and to each other.
It was in this quietude that Rip shifted the conversation, his eyes scanning the vastness before him. "If we're gonna stake out this summer, we ought to get some more wranglers, you know? We're gonna run out of hands pretty quick around here," Rip suggested, his thoughts already planning for the ranch's future.
John, his eyes fixed on the landscape inquired, "What happened to that girl you hired?"
Rip, with a casual shrug says, "She's a drifter. Drifters drift. You know how it is."
John understanding commented, "Yeah. Probably for the best. The girl in the bunkhouse was a disaster waiting to happen."
Rip, defending the departed drifter, revealed another side , "She actually, uh, she kept the bunkhouse pretty honest."
John raised an eyebrow, "Is that a fact?"
"Yes, sir."
John, acknowledging says, "I'll leave it to you. You run the bunkhouse."
Rip, momentarily puzzled, sought clarification, "Sir, does Kayce know that?"
John, unveiling the origin of the decision, enlightened Rip, "It was Kayce's idea."
Rip, accepting the responsibility, nodded, "I'll let you know what I find."
John, clearing his throat, injected a touch of humor into the conversation, "Hey, if you... you hire another girl, she needs to be mean or ugly. One of the two. Last thing I need is some love-struck cowboy climbing in the wrong bunk, know what I mean?"
As Rip walked away, he replied with a hint of amusement, "Mean or ugly. Yes, sir."