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ChapterTwo
“…sayingestimated snowfall will be one to two inches per hour with whiteout conditions and possible accumulations over forty-eight inches.”
“That’s a lot of inches,” I mumbled into my coffee cup. I still hadn’t mastered the fine art of cowboy coffee. Guess this old cowhand did miss a few of the modern conveniences. Such as a Keurig, showers, and flushing toilets.
“Why don’t you let us send someone out now before the worst of the storm hits?” Nate pressured just a bit more. I shook my head and moved from the fire to the lone window. The blizzard was just moving in and already there were at least four inches on the ground.
“I’m good. Someone has to tend to the herd. I’ll just hunker down and ride it out.” My gaze moved around the cabin. I had everything that I needed, aside from decent coffee…and perhaps a maid. I really needed to do dishes. And bathe. Tonight I vowed to do so. “The cupboards are full, and I hauled in enough wood to last for a week, and I’ve not started talking to myself yet. I’m golden.”
“Hmm.” I smiled at my foreman’s worried tone. “Okay, but I want two daily check-ins until this bitch of a storm moves past.”
“Yes, Dad.”
“I’ve been called worse. Be careful out there. If you get hurt, there will be no one to come to your rescue.”
“You can worry about a lot of things, but I ain’t one of them. Go exercise the horses. Make sure to check that lunge line that—”
“Now who sounds like a worried old man?” Nate teased.
“Oh hell. I can run circles around most of the kids on that ranch.” That was not a lie. I was still in my prime and had a work ethic that the twenty-somethings envied.
Did they? Did they really envy you? I kind of doubt Will wishes he were you. He’s curled up with Perry, snug as a bug in a rug, and what are you curled up with? A book, your hand, and your confusion about why you’re unsatisfied with life.
“Shut the hell up,” I muttered as Nate listened in on the other end.
“I didn’t say anything,” he replied.
I rolled my eyes. Fucking hell. I’d held the talk button in.
“Yeah, just talking to myself,” I grumbled.
“Thought you said you weren’t doing that.”
“Only when I have my nanny riding my ass.” I then released the talk button just as a gust of wind swirled around the cabin. Tiny snow particles whipped in a crack between two logs. That would need to be plugged in before I left. Nate was nattering about something when I cut into his worry. “Not to be rude, but I do have to get moving. I’ll touch base this evening. Now go have some breakfast with your boyfriend.”
“Be careful.” I heard the concern in his deep voice.
“Always. Talk to you later.” I released the talk button and turned off the walkie-talkie. I’d brought batteries, but it was wise to conserve what I could. The old radio I’d brought along was playing mostly static now, the old country station I’d found fading out as the storm moved over the state.
That little talk, along with some terrible coffee and a can of beans, got my day rolling. And what a fucking day it turned out to be. The generator that ran the engine block warmer decided to throw a fit. After I determined the spark plug was gummy and got it cleaned off, I could finally get the skid steer warming and explain to a huge gathering of snow-coated, pregnant Black Angus why breakfast was late. None of the girls seemed to buy into my excuses, which kind of reminded me of most of the women I had dated. They hadn’t believed my sorry-ass reasons for being late for dates or forgetting birthdays either. And I’d never been with a gal long enough to reach an anniversary unless you counted the first date and I was probably late for that too.
Women seemed to expect more from their dates than men did. This was why in my later years I leaned toward males. We were just easier. No expectations aside from sex, or at least that was the general consensus of the guys that I hooked up with. And for thirty-five years, just sex had been enough. I’d been happy as a motherfucking lark. Then Landon had arrived at the ranch with Montrell. And they’d seemed content as clams, being married and all that. Then Bishop arrived and won Nate’s cold, sad heart. And they seemed happy as pigs in slop with the whole monogamy thing. Then there was Will, my baby brother, who had possessed a wild streak but had—happily, it appeared—settled down into a cozy relationship with Perry Yellow Horse. They were now living together. They glowed. I thought only pregnant women glowed. Nope. Seemed even young bucks in love radiated as well.
All this partnership, one-man, soul mate stuff was more than a bit perplexing to me. I’d not exactly grown up with a great role model for marital fidelity or longevity. My mother was now on her fifth marriage. You literally needed a fucking scorecard. So perhaps my views on wedded bliss and all that fidelity shit were tainted by growing up not knowing who my daddy would be next year or how many new stepbrothers and/or sisters Mom would add to the family dynamics. So far she’d added several kids with five different men. Will being the youngest. Most of the others were with their fathers and we hardly talked. Mom had given birth to Will, which was about the time I had left home.
I hated the last man she’d married. At fifteen, I moved out of her home and lived with my father until I graduated from high school. I’d kept in sketchy contact with Mom through the years, and all had been kosher until Will started acting up. Asshole Stepdad Five thought using his fists to beat the trouble out of Will was the way to go. This I didn’t know about until Will had thrown it at me a few months ago. I’d been under the assumption that Will was just an out-of-hand, young male—much like me at his age—who needed a firm hand and a new path. Which I’d provided with a job at Blue Ice. If only I’d known how bad things were with him and Asshole Stepdad Five, I would have intervened sooner. That burden was mine to carry as I’d been too busy avoiding family and commitment for years to dig a little deeper into the fucked up family dynamic I’d worked so hard to avoid.
My baby brother was curled up in his love shack with his man all snug as bugs and here I was out in a motherfucking blizzard feeding motherfucking pregnant cows as I puzzled over the vagaries of life. A bored and hungry Angus eyeballed me as I blew into my hands and danced a spry jig while we waited for the engine block warmer to do its thing. Snow and wind whistled around the pole barn.
“Patience is a virtue,” I said to her, then stepped back inside and out of the wind. It was still cold as a witch’s titty inside, but the wind couldn’t tear your clothes and flesh from your body. My mind kept up a steady litany of prattle as I fed the cattle. Breaking through the ice on the watering hole was fun. Nothing like chopping away at a frozen river or pond with an ax as snow blew into your face and froze the snot leaking out of your nose. Ah, the romance of being a cowboy. Pfft.
By the time I got home and parked my sled in the small lean-to intended for horses, the storm had picked up in intensity. Shielding my eyes with a hand, I could barely make out the Jante River a mere fifty feet away. My shoulders, arms, and lower back ached from all the chopping, and my toes were a few shades beyond cold. Even with snowmobile boots. A sigh of pure pleasure escaped me when I pushed through the wind and sideways snow into that rough little cabin.
“Warmth. Oh blessed warmth!” I shouted and tossed three more split logs into the fire. There I stood for at least ten minutes thawing. I stripped off my wet outer garments, spread them over the two chairs to dry, and eyeballed the tin bathtub that I’d brought in the night before. There was no putting it off. I was beyond ripe now. So with a huff, I began filling the tub with the water that I heated over the stove. No wonder pioneer women all looked eighty when they were thirty. There wasn’t one damn chore without electric or plumbing that was easy. Folding myself into a knot small enough to fit into a tub clearly made for a Schnauzer, I scrubbed top to bottom with speed. Water chilled quickly even with a roaring fire. Once I was clean, dry, and dressed for the night, I got some water boiling and made some boxed macaroni and cheese with some potted meat chucked in for flavor. A can of pears was dessert. I washed all of that down with more terrible coffee.
The sink was overflowing with cans, silverware, and plastic coffee mugs. I did not feel like heating more water.
“I’ll do you tomorrow morning,” I told the heaping mound of dirty dishes, then carried my disgusting coffee and the kerosene lantern to the bunk beds. It was dark as Toby’s touchhole outside the window. The wind howled like a banshee on the prowl. I rushed over to the cracked chinking and shoved a bandana between the logs. That would hold for now. It would have to. I had nothing on me to fix the gap. Recalling that I had to call home like I was thirteen or something, I grabbed the long-range walkie-talkie and reported in. Nate passed along the weather news. It wasn’t good. The storm had stalled. Snow and wind were to be expected throughout tomorrow and into the following morning. Which was just ducky. Still, could be worse. I signed off and dove into bed, my feet cold despite the thick wool socks I’d pulled on. My last clean pair. I’d have to wash my clothes soon. Tomorrow evening maybe. In the tub that I’d just bathed in.
