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When we land on the tarmac at a local airport about an hour later, I can feel my pulse racing with nerves. Once I gather my bags, I step into the blazing afternoon sun, wondering what the hell I’ve gotten myself into.
Quickly, I hail a taxi to take me to the ranch, which is another hour or so beyond the already remote airport.
“Have you heard of the Lazy R Ranch?” I ask the driver, reading off the address to him.
“Oh sure, that’s a beautiful spot,” the older man responds pleasantly enough. “It’s a bit of a drive, but you’ll like it.”
I want to roll my eyes at his complete misinterpretation of the situation, but instead I smile tightly. “That must be the place,” I say in a neutral voice.
Soon, we’re winding our way through rolling grasslands and purple-crested mountains. It’s much hillier in this part of the state, and I find myself staring out the backseat window with slight awe. I spot a few wild deer, a fox, and even what appears to be a small herd of bison off in the distance. The sun, still high overhead, casts golden shadows across the plains.
I sit back against the seat, feeling a bit lost. Nature is gorgeous, but where are all the people?
Too quickly, the taxi begins to wind its way down a neat, but dusty dirt road. I glance at the overhead entryway sign that reads ‘Lazy R’ in sculpted wire letters. My nose is pressed against the window like a little kid as I try to take in every detail of the ranch unfolding around me.
On one side of the property is a large, lazy stream winding its way among the tall grass. To the other sits gorgeous fields filled with rows of grains and vegetables, growing tall in the summer heat. Within another few moments, we reach what appears to be the main house – a large, imposing structure made of dark, solid wood. It’s enormous but beyond the main house is another, even larger building that resembles a giant barn. It’s probably a dorm, come to think of it.
I stare at the building, stomach churning as my entire world threatens to change forever. The taxi loops around until the driver parks in front of the second, larger structure, and I jump out of the cab, pulling my heavy duffel bag behind me.
“Thanks a bunch,” I mutter, pulling out my wallet.
“Good luck,” the cab driver says not unkindly. I smile again, grateful for the good wishes but secretly filled with dread.
I turn around and stare up at the big red building. But before I can spend too much time contemplating running away, a prim looking woman marches down the front stairs of the house. She looks to be in her forties with graying hair pulled in a tight braid and a handkerchief wound around her neck. The woman is dressed in a typical ranch fashion of faded flannel, loose jeans, and practical boots.
“Welcome to the Lazy R. You must be Juniper Rossi.” She extends a hand to shake mine.
I raise my eyebrows at her as I take her hand in my grasp. “How did you know?” I ask.
The older woman laughs lightly. “I’m Hester, in charge of the general management of the girls here. I have a picture of everyone,” she angles her clipboard so I can see the list of names and photos for a quick moment.
“Nice to meet you,” I offer, glad that Hester doesn’t seem insane, even if she’s likely going to be full of rules.
“Let’s get you to your room,” she smiles. “Lots of girls are still arriving, but a few are around already. It’ll be a great opportunity for you to meet some of your fellow students.”
Students? Ugh. Well, at least they aren’t calling us prisoners. I follow Hester up the steps toward the imposing front door. I’m grateful she doesn’t seem too chatty because it means that I can observe the place I’ll be calling home for the next year.
Once inside the massive entryway, on the right is what appears to be a giant mess hall, filled with rows of large wooden tables and accompanying chairs. To the left is a massive parlor. There are couches scattered about and bookshelves stacked high with tomes. Meanwhile, directly in front of me is a sweeping staircase that leads to a second level.
Hester leads me up the stairs to what must be the dorm rooms. There are about a dozen or more doors lining the long white hallway, a couple of them open, but most still tightly shut, waiting for their new occupants. The hall is narrow but windows provide enough sunlight that it doesn’t feel too confined. Everything’s painted bright white, and at least the place looks clean. Hester strolls down the hall and stops outside one of the closed doors.
