Page 36 of Cherry Tree Ranch

“I’ll think it over, but don’t get your hopes up,” I say, looking away. “How does it work with your sponsor?” I stop and check his expression. “With rodeoing. Isn’t that good money?”

He shrugs. “I get all my clothes and boots free, a small monthly stipend for now and the company pays for my travel.”

“To rodeos?”

“Yeah, and I make a performance bonus if I win.”

“What do you have to do for them?”

“Keep winning,” he scoffs. “But, seriously, I also have to be present on social media, do photo shoots for their apparel, and … there’s an interview coming up.” He looks down, digging a heel into the dirt.

“I sense you don’t like it?” I ask.

He sighs and puts on a brave face. “It’s terrible. I’m a puppet in everyone else’s show. I just want to ride.” He scratches his nose and regards me. “We all make sacrifices to get where we want to go – I just never saw myself being trapped as the literal poster boy for an apparel campaign. It’s so fake. The only good thing is I’ll get a big payout after semi-finals, and an even better one if I make it to finals.”

I take a twig from the ground and break it into small, even parts. His words chafe at me. He might be opening up to me, but the fact he’s conveniently failing to mention his girlfriend leaves a sour taste. “What’s so fake about it? It’s just modelling clothes, right? Not too bad a sacrifice.”

His eyes look distant and pained. “If only I could tell you the half of it.”

*

Cash came up to help me pick for the next two mornings, preparing for the second market. The work paid off; I sold every jar. In the week that’s followed, he’s stayed true to helping me – even on Sunday morning when his abuela was at church. He’s been friendly, chatty even, telling me about growing up here and asking me about growing up in Silver Springs. He hasn’t talked about his sponsorship again.

I’ve been bottling cherries in the afternoons by myself, but today Cash wants to stay. I show him Grandma’s recipe and how to measure the honey with an antique spoon, the same spoon my grandma used for sugar. He gives me a hard time about being like a grandma because they know recipes by heart but never measure anything.

“We are measuring,” I protest.

“Oh yeah? What’s the measurement of this fancy little spoon then?”

I bite my lip, thinking. “The right amount.”

“My abuela never measures anything either,” he says. Then he uses a voice I recognize instantly as an imitation of Julia Child’s, “Now, put in the honey. I like to cook with honey. Sometimes I even put it in the food.”

“Oh my God.” I laugh, recognizing it as a twist on her famous statement about wine.

“Growing up, me and my grandma watched YouTube videos of her. Now wait,” he says. “The recipe calls for sugar.” He points his finger at the word sugar under the yellowing plastic page cover.

“Yeah, it says sugar, but I improvise with honey. It tastes better.”

“What are you going to do when you run out?” He points to the only jar of honey I have left.

“I’ll put on my suit and harvest it, same as always.”

He measures everything into the stock pot. “I’ll help you,” he says. “I’ve never done it, but I’m a fast learner. You know, you can still get stung through a suit, don’t you?” I was hoping he didn’t know that. He studies his finger, furrowing his brow. Then he licks the honey off. “Damn, now I understand why you love this stuff. It’s fricking incredible.” He dips the spoon into the honey jar and puts it back in his mouth without hesitating this time. He lets it sit in his mouth while it melts on his tongue.

“You act like you’ve never had honey before.” I poke him in the ribs with my wooden spoon. “Don’t eat it all.”

“Of course I have, but this honey is a little too good,” he says. His smile curls round the spoon and his eyes brighten mischievously. “Seriously, why is it so delicious?”

I shrug. “I think it’s the cherry blossoms. The bees also love sage.”

“Huh, the sagebrush that grows everywhere?”

“They like the sagebrush, but it hasn’t bloomed yet. They go to the blue sage under the cliffs right now.”

I start pitting the cherries, pushing my thumb gently into the centre.

“We still have Grandpa’s old bee suit. I can show you how to harvest here soon.”