“Another horse farm? You’ve got to be kidding me, Daddy,” Kayla protested, folding her arms and glaring up the stairs.
“Fresh air,” her father called down, as if that would sweeten the deal.
“It’s Iowa, Daddy. There’s fresh air everywhere,” she shot back, rolling her eyes before pausing. “What is it this time?”
“A horse trailer,” he shouted, “and it’s a ‘Beast’”.
Kayla frowned. “Where?”
Silence.
Her irritation bubbled over as she repeated the question, her voice sharper. “Where, Daddy?”
Still no answer.
Her annoyance meter red lined, “Daddy, where the hell is - ”
The sound of his boots clomping down the stairs interrupted her. Her father emerged, folding up the cuffs of his plaid shirt as he took a seat on the bottom step. With a heavy sigh, he looked her straight in the eye and said, “McKintrick’s.”
Her laugh came automatically, as if it had to be a joke. But the humor drained from her face when she saw that he was serious.
“No. No, no, no. Daddy, you cannot be serious!”
He didn’t flinch. Calm and unwavering, he delivered the verdict. “Just go. Pick up the trailer. It’s parked out front. You won’t have to talk to anyone.”
Kayla huffed, but her father wasn’t budging. As if to end the conversation, he mused, “Take the F450. That’ll pull my new ‘Beast’.”
She narrowed her eyes at him, but when his expression didn’t waver, she knew she’d lost this battle.
Kayla’s fiery gaze locked onto her father’s steady eyes, but her intensity did nothing to shake him. If anything, he seemed mildly amused, like he’d seen this storm a hundred times before and knew exactly how it would end. Her frustration, once blazing, would eventually fizzle under the weight of his calm resolve, like a match drowned in water. With a huff, she spun on her heel, snatched the keys from the rack, and threw open the screen door. As she stomped down the porch steps, the heat of her fit was already beginning to cool into mild frustration, fading like distant thunder after a passing storm.