Ranch Life

The next year was a spiritual rebirth for Shanequa. Finally unshackled from the albatross that was Sugar's. Finally with a womb where she made the decisions. Finally in a relationship that wasn't transactional, and where the love felt earnest.

It was a little odd to still be Mrs. Lancaster, although she didn't dwell on it. She felt accepted more in this podunk redneck part of the state than she did in her own Black neighborhood. Will didn't even raise an eyebrow when she went with her natural kinky hair, eschewing the hours of straightening it that the strip club crowd demanded.

What she did want was a child with Will. It wouldn't be his, obviously, but it'd be half-white, and he'd be there from the beginning. But who to choose...

There was Rex, the ranch hand. He was her age, 23, young, sandy haired, muscular. He spent a lot of time on his horse, but Shanequa knew he was eyeing her up when she went by on the four wheeler.

There was Quinn, the banker. He was 60, and Will's best friend. He was polished, urbane, and already knew Will's dark secret. He was overweight, however, spending too much of his life behind a desk.

And finally, there was Wilbur, the farmer. A redneck through and through, Shanequa would go to his farm for fresh produce. He was 40, with red hair, a heavy beer belly, and a large lump in his overalls that always started twitching around Shanequa.

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