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Mounting a horse one-armed while cradling an unconscious person is no easy feat. After several unsuccessful attempts, I prepare to drape the woman over the saddle and secure her there with my lariat while I walk back to the ranch, leadingQuiver. But, not wanting to explain that kidnap-esque decision should she wake mid-rescue, I decide to hoist her onto the front of the saddle, climb up, and reposition her in front of me for the ride. Right before I climb up behind her, I notice a grungy backpack near where I found her and grab it, securing it to the back of my saddle.
A few minutes later, we’re on the way back to the ranch at a steady pace. It seems Quiver feels the urgency and seriousness of the situation, as well, because she remains calm while her legs carry us swiftly over the uneven terrain. Twitch runs ahead but heads straight for the ranch, ignoring several critters rustling in the grass on either side of us.
A short time later, we come to a stop in front of the house. I carefully pull the still-unconscious woman into my arms as I slide out of the saddle. My feet absorb the impact, landing firmly on the ground, trying to jostle her as little as possible. Grabbing her bag with one hand, I start walking toward the front door.
I’ve only been gone a short time, so there is still not as much activity as there will be later. Using the quiet to my advantage, I walk up the porch steps, getting ready to open the door to take my mystery guest into the house. As I reach for the knob, the door swings open, Simona bustling her way through, shocked at my reappearance.
“Who you got there, Mr. West?” she asks me, her forehead wrinkling more than usual in her confusion. “I din’ know we were havin’ guests today. Looks a bit rough. Best bring her on through to the guest room, and we’ll get her sorted.” That’s Simona. Observant, blunt, and always up for whatever comes her way.
I may own the ranch now, but there’s no doubt Simona is the woman of the house. In many ways, she’s been a second mother figure to me, telling me what I need to hear, helping, unofficially, of course, to raise the boys after Tanya died. While her husband retired a number of years ago, Simona has been keeping this place going with her delicious cooking and immaculate housekeeping.
We walk quietly up the stairs and down the hallway lined with family photos toward the guest room we rarely use. I rearrange the woman in my arms, carrying her delicately, checking her breathing and pulse points every few steps.
“Simona,” I whisper, pausing my steps. “Can you call Doc Stone? She needs to be checked out as soon as possible. Who knows what the hell happened to her out there.”
A small nod as she opens the door on the right is the only indication that she’ll do as I've asked. The guest room is bright with natural light and contains a comfortable queen-size bed. The bathroom is through a door on the right, small but with all the amenities guests could need during their stay.
Walking quietly through the room, I approach the bed but decide to lay our guest on the chaise in the corner of the room at the juncture of the windows until we can clean her up a bit and change her out of her torn and muddy clothes. Without a sound, Simona disappears back down the hallway, leaving me to tend to the beautiful stranger.
Rather than rummage through her dirty backpack, I cross the hall into my room as quietly as possible and grab a soft navy t-shirt and gray sweatpants from my dresser, knowing they’ll be far too big for her. Returning to the guest room and dropping the clothes on the bed, I enter the bathroom, grab a washcloth, and wet it with warm water before returning to the chaise.
“Don’t worry, gorgeous, we’ll get you right as rain in no time,” I croon to her as I gently wipe the top layer of dirt from her face. Going back to the bathroom to rinse the washcloth, I think about the last time I was needed like this. Sure, my sons depended on me for many things growing up, but it was usually my mom or Simona who they called for to tend to them like this.
Tanya had left the day before to go to a “conference.” That was clearly code for paying a ridiculous amount of money to sit in an uncomfortable chair and eat shitty food while listening to some quack tell you how to be happy. She’d been engrossed in the teachings of Bill Smothers, an emerging self-help guru. I didn’t mind the money or the nights she spent away from the ranch. I wanted her to be happy.
Gage and Brooks were fine the afternoon Tanya left, but by that night, they were both throwing up and running a fever. I hadn’t had to take care of one of the boys by myself in—well, ever—let alone two of them. Tanya wasn’t due back for another night, and Simona had gone to visit her sister-in-law, so it was just me and some of the ranch hands.
The doctor was reassuring and advised me that a stomach bug was going around and was the most likely cause. Getting them comfortable and in bed was the best course of action. One thing that gave them comfort was a cool washcloth on their foreheads once they were settled in bed.
I’m not sure if that also works for unconscious adults, but I bring the washcloth back and move it gently over her skin. With each layer of dirt I remove, I’m graced with a better view of this girl’s natural beauty. Milky white skin becomes clear once the brown dirt is completely wiped away. Strong, high cheekbones are graced with a small sprinkling of dainty freckles, so faint I almost mistake them for remaining dust.
Her lips are slightly parted, barely moving with each shallow breath. They’re cracked and dry, but their natural berry pink color is discernible underneath the damage from her exposure to the elements. Going once more to the bathroom to rinse the washcloth, I rummage in one of the vanity drawers, my fingers landing on a tube of chapstick. Grabbing it, I head back into the bedroom to continue my careful cleaning.
The rest of her body is hidden under a large sweatshirt that proudly declares her love of South Dakota, skintight jeans, and useless boots with a short heel more practical for walking down the street than over the range. Her condition and the circumstances surrounding her discovery don’t scream “I’m from South Dakota” to me. My best guess is that she was traveling and got lost. However, her clothing has shielded her body from substantial damage and most of the dirt.
I almost drop her back on the chaise while trying to avert my eyes as I take off her sweatshirt and replace it with my t-shirt. The last thing this girl needs is a concussion, or possibly a more serious concussion because I was too concerned with propriety to change her into clean clothes safely. Telling myself I would do this for anyone, I quickly remove her sweatshirt and the thin t-shirt she wore under it, leaving her bra on, and pull my clean t-shirt into place.
Unable to avoid it any longer, I unbutton her jeans, removing them gently but quickly, only briefly glancing at her bright blue panties. Leaving them on, I reach for the sweatpants I brought for her, slipping them over her feet and up her legs with an economy of motion. With her dressed in clean clothes, I once more lift her into my arms and carry her over to the bed.
I lay her down and pull the blanket over her, tucking it just under her chin. I run my hand softly over her forehead, and I swear I hear a faint sigh. “Sleep tight, princess. You’re safe here.” With those parting words, I walk out the door, leaving it partly open so I can hear if she calls out.
Roused from sleep by a heavy warmth, I startle awake, unable to see anything in the darkness. A soft, warm blanket envelops me while the soft cushion beneath my body tells me I’m not on the hard boulder or scratchy grass I last remember.
The silence around me gives no clues as to my location. It doesn’t feel familiar, but I must be back at home. That must be it. I had one of my spells, and nothing seems right. God, I had the weirdest dream. The parts I can remember about my father marrying me off to his business partner are particularly disturbing.
Anger flares inside me, and I dash away a frustrated tear, ready to track my father down and confront him. He will most likely be in his study. I’ll just explain to him why his plan is impossible, and together, we can find another solution. He may not be the warmest parent, but deep down, I truly believe he cares about me. Surely, I can convince him that this won’t make me happy.
Ready to get it over with, I lift the heavy, unfamiliar comforter off of my body, feeling my muscles protest the movement. My fingers brush gently over my body, numerous tender areas letting themselves be known. Reaching my hands out, exploring my surroundings in the darkness, all I feel is more bed. Well, that’s not right. My bed is large, but it’s not endless.
Sitting up, my head throbs. I turn to look around, and I see that there is soft light coming from a small crack in what appears to be a doorway. I swing my legs over the side of the bed, intending to stand up and move toward the light. I yelp loudly when my feet encounter something warm and shaggy on the floor.
Pulling them back onto the bed, I wrap my arms around my knees, gently rocking back and forth, trying to wake myself up from whatever nightmare I’m having. A soft snuffling sound comes from beside me, and I freeze, holding my breath. Realizing that it must be a dog, when I barely make out the movement of a tail in the near darkness, I resume breathing with a soft laugh at myself.
The snuffling stops suddenly, and the clacking of nails retreats toward the door. “Princess. You’re awake.” The voice is low and doesn’t sound threatening, but it terrifies me nonetheless. “Are you okay? I heard you cry out.” The owner of the voice stays by the door, only his outline visible against the dim light behind him.
“W-who-who are, wh-where am…” I struggle to take a deep breath to focus. “Who are you? Where am I?” Finally, coherent sentences. A quiet chuckle emanates from the direction of the door and soft footfalls indicate he’s walking toward me.
“Close your eyes, princess. I’m going to turn on a lamp for you.” Appreciating his warning, I tuck my forehead against my knees, closing my eyes tightly, still hoping this is just a dream. After a moment, I bring my head up and open my eyes slowly, gasping as they land on the most handsome man I’ve ever seen.
