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ChapterOne
Casey
Running a ranch as a single woman in a small Montana town gets me more attention than I’d like sometimes.
I chose this life because of the fresh air, wide open spaces, and the lack of interference from the outside world.
Today, I will not be lucky enough to enjoy that last thing. From the pasture where I’m out in my John Deere, moving hay bales around to feed the herd, I can see the dust trail coming up my long drive.
Visitors.
Pausing the tractor, I peer through the window at the gray sedan. As it approaches, it becomes clear who it is.
A Lexus carrying one Mrs. Violetta Reed. Town busybody.
“Shit.”
I shift gears and keep working. Cows don’t particularly understand when their meals are postponed to accommodate the unexpected. Violetta can cool her heels up at the ranch house ’til I’m done.
Joy, the housekeeper, is there today, so she’ll know to stall Violetta with some coffee and cookies.
That will only work for so long, though. If that woman is driving out here in the middle of her work day from Darling Creek, then I know there’s only so much stalling that my full-time housekeeper and cook can sustain.
I mull over what Violetta could want with me while I drop the hay bales into the field. I usually only run into the woman when I’m in town, as much as I try to avoid her. The last time I got snared into a conversation with her, I ended up volunteering as the Easter Bunny.
“But you’re routinely awake at the crack of dawn!” Violetta had exclaimed when I’d expressed hesitation at the idea of donning a fuzzy bunny suit and delivering eggs to all the homes with children in Darling Creek. “It’s the perfect fit!”
At the time, I couldn’t say no. I’d been new here in Darling Creek and looking for ways to meet people. Everyone on the festival planning committee had been welcoming to me. However, once word got around that I was the new owner of a parcel that used to belong to the massive and legendary Turner Ranch and that I was a single woman running the place alone, the nosy Nellies began bombarding me with questions about my relationship status and shoving photos of their unmarried offspring in my face. Forced introductions to awkward singles next to the green bananas at Trudy’s supermarket weren’t my idea of a good time.
Since Easter, I’ve been dodging Violetta and most of the town’s festivities. Which there seems to be a lot of.
I don’t fault anyone for wanting to see me happily entangled with a local fella. I know my own mom back home in Seattle is happily ensconced with grandchildren already, thanks to my brother. And I wouldn’t object to providing her with another one. If that happens, fine. If not, that’s fine, too. I’m 30 now, and not set in my ways about anything. I’ll be content either way.
Most men I’ve dated tend to bail out when they realize how busy I am. I don’t have time for typical dating. And that’s the way I like it. After my last serious relationship back in Seattle, I’m not in any rush.
If I ever do settle down, it would have to be with a cowboy. Or anyone who can cope with this schedule. I wake up at four a.m. and work outside, rain or shine, all day. Joy cooks me a quick dinner at six p.m. before I burrow myself in my office for a couple of hours to do administrative shit I don’t like to do until I can’t see straight, and I hit the bed about nine p.m. to start the cycle all over again. Forget weekends and holidays. Sometimes I can lighten the load during busier times by hiring extra ranch hands, but I’m not profitable enough to employ full-time workers. All I can manage is Joy, who stays here three nights a week to tidy the house and load my freezer with meals. Sure, I could eat peanut butter and jelly for three meals daily and let the laundry pile up, but hiring Joy was an investment in my sanity.
Besides, I don’t have cabins for them to live in, and I certainly don’t feel comfortable having strangers stay in the house.
Not that I wouldn’t let one prove trustworthy if the opportunity came along at the right price.
When I’m about finished counting my herd, I hear the notification for a text message on my phone.
Joy: Sorry to bother you, but Violetta Reed is here to see you. I plied her with coffee and cookies, but she won’t pass on a message. Says she needs to speak to you directly.
It ain’t Easter for another six months. Wonder what she wants. If she needs someone to play Mrs. Claus for the Christmas Fair, she’s barking up the wrong tree.
Me: Thanks for trying. Be right there.
When I arrive at the ranch house, Violetta is in the kitchen with Joy.
I call out from the mudroom. “Hello, ladies! Be right with you, Violetta.”
The women in the kitchen answer in greeting, then Violetta continues chatting with Joy. I eavesdrop to prepare myself for this conversation while I strip out of my dirty coveralls and boots. It’s about time for me to grab some lunch anyway.
“What about you, Joy? We do have some single men signed up who are…well, I don’t know how to put this delicately…more mature. That cute ol’ cowpoke Harley Pipps has put his hat in the ring. What is he now? Sixty-seven? I mean, if you don’t mind a widower.”
What in the heck are they talking about?
