Hit the Road, Cowboy

CHAPTER ONE SABRINA

CHAPTER ONE

SAbrINA

It’s blisteringly hot, too hot for western Wyoming this early in the year.

I stand on the porch and watch the dust rise from the road. Out here, it’s flat all the way until it isn’t, and then, mountains rise from nothing, like high walls around a castle. I’m used to it. I’ve never known anything else. The endless miles of nothing feel like comfort.

Behind me, through the screen door, my father sits at the table.

In front of me, my problems crush me like a metal vise.

We have a guest coming today, and I’ve been up since four making sure everything is perfect.

It’s been a long road from Dad’s retirement to me taking over the ranch and realizing we need a financial boost if we’re going to make it through the year.

This guest is high profile, and he’s got it booked for the whole summer via one of Dad’s friends.

That means our bills are paid until the auction comes in the fall.

For the next four months, I can breathe.

Alright, not quite breathe, because now I have to play host, but it’s better than bursting into tears every night after my dad and sister are asleep.

Once we get back into the swing of things, things will be better.

We’ll return to the regular cycle of having cattle to sell and crops to harvest. After Dad retired, we lost two seasons.

It was a gaping hole in our finances. I maxed out four credit cards in one month just trying to buy feed and equipment.

Those were the nightmare days, when we weren’t sure why Dad’s hands shook so bad, he couldn’t even drive.

Now, we have his diagnosis: nerve damage and the regular occurrence of age.

Hearing that was a load off my shoulders.

Nerve damage, I can handle. He’s almost seventy. He had to retire anyway. I knew this was coming. I’m his eldest daughter, the son he never had. This summer was always heading towards me at the speed of a high velocity missile, waiting to blow me to pieces.

I squint. A truck comes up the drive and skids to a halt in the gravel.

The engine cuts, and my sister hops out in her usual attire of the shortest jean shorts she can find, a tiny tube top, and cowboy boots, one of the wranglers at her heels.

She’s twenty-two, so I couldn’t give a fuck what she does so long as she doesn’t get pregnant. I don’t need another thing on my plate.

I shade my eyes. The wrangler she’s with this time is Colin, a lanky guy with a shock of dark hair and pale blue eyes.

He’s a good worker, so she better not fuck him up and make him leave in the middle of the night, crying, like the last one.

I was kind of hoping he’d stick around after summer ended.

“You got my groceries?” I say.

She jerks her head, blonde hair falling down her back. “In the truck bed. Store was kinda low on some things, though.”

“Have Colin put it in the hall.”

She nods, and I go back inside. Faintly, I can hear Dad snoring from his office.

He never admits to wanting a nap, so he goes in there and falls asleep on the recliner for most of the day sometimes.

I tread by, making sure he’s still alright, and close the door.

Then, I head to the kitchen and pull out a pot to boil water for pasta.

It’s about dinnertime, and even though our guest won’t arrive until late, I want to have leftovers in case he’s hungry.

My hands move of their own accord, pulling things from the fridge, stacking them up on the table.

Distantly, I hear Colin piling bags in the hallway.

The screen door slams. Silence. He’s probably saying goodbye to Serena, which means trying to eat her entire face.

I roll my eyes, peeling the plastic off the chicken.

The doors slams again. Serena clomps into the kitchen.

“How’s Dad?” she asks.

“He’s fine. Sleeping.”

“You need help with dinner?”

I turn, shaking my head. Serena and I are very close, have been our entire lives. I need female reinforcements on a ranch populated with men as far as the eye can see. “You want to feed the dogs? That’d be helpful. And make sure to lock their kennels. I don’t want them barking later.”

She smiles, nodding. I go back to cutting up chicken and dropping it onto the scorching skillet to sear.

In minutes, everything smells like garlic and butter.

My stomach rumbles, reminding me all I had today was an energy drink and a stick of beef jerky.

I really need to get better at that. And drinking water.

Feeling guilty, I fill up a glass and take a sip.

The roux is burning. I set it aside, grabbing the spatula just in time.

In goes the milk, then the pasta, and I lower the heat to a simmer.

From across the room in our open concept ranch house, I can see Serena dishing out two bowls of kibble for our two Belgian Malinois.

Dad calls them the Maligators, says they’re the best judge of character, and if they don’t like any boys we bring back, those boys better hit the road.

I lift the lid, poking at the pasta.

My mind drifts to Colin and Serena. He’s a recent hire to the ranch, and we’re not positive he’ll stay.

Probably why Serena is willing to steal him up to her bedroom after Dad is asleep; she’s never been one to stay with men very long.

I hope that’s not due to Dad lecturing us constantly on the evils of his own gender, or my reluctance to date.

It would be best if she’s just trying to have some fun before settling down.

In light of all the baggage our family carries, that would be the healthiest option.

She comes back inside, brushing off her hands.

“How was Dad today?”

“He was fine. Pretty tired,” I say.

“Does he need to go to the doctor again?”

I shake my head.

“Then what?” She comes to the counter, grabbing a bit of crispy chicken.

“Serena,” I say. “He’s almost seventy. It’s just part of it.”

She frowns, turning away. Dad spent his whole life being a cowboy before buying up land and taking things seriously, at least for a brief period.

He was in his late forties when he and Mom had me and in his fifties when they divorced.

Now, Mom lives in New York with her second husband, Hugh, and we fly in to visit her once a year for a few months.

It’s a brief visit, but we both have a good relationship with them.

I look forward to those times, though now, with Dad not feeling good, I wonder if we’ll be able to make our visit work this year.

Sometimes, I go back and forth on if I made the right choice in staying in Wyoming after the divorce.

Of course, Serena chose to live with me.

We’ve always been close. I just hope that didn’t fuck up her life.

I know she’s young, but sometimes, it feels like she’s spinning her tires in the mud out here in the middle of nowhere.

I stir the pasta, putting the chicken back into the pan. The oven is preheated. I throw a few breadsticks from the freezer in and set the timer.

“You mind checking the barn tonight?” I ask.

She nods. “Yeah, I’ll do it before bed.”

“I’ll get Dad upstairs.”

She puts out her fist, a little smile on her lips. I bump it with mine and give her a weak smile in return. We might be drowning, but we’re drowning together at least.

She goes upstairs while I finish cooking dinner and plate it up.

Dad will eat later, right before he goes to sleep.

I portion out food for our new arrival and put it on the stove in a covered pie dish.

Then, we go out on the back porch and sink into the rocking chairs where Mom and Dad used to sit when we were little.

Serena starts ripping apart her garlic bread, mixing the bits into her pasta.

It’s a little weird, but she’s done it her whole life.

I eat, watching in the distance as the wranglers come in from their shifts.

Tommy, part time cowboy, part time cook, lives in the bunkhouse with them.

He’ll make their food like he does every night.

Not fancy, but filling. It’s just a relief I'm not responsible for feeding fifteen grown men every morning and night on top of everything else.

“So what do you think this guy is like?” Serena asks. “The guest.”

“I’m not sure,” I admit. “But Dad knows his agent, so he must be okay.”

“What does he write again?”

I wipe my fingers on my napkin. “Country, something like that.”

“What songs has he written?”

I shrug. “I imagine that’s covered in the giant NDA we signed, but I didn’t read all the fine print.”

She’s silent, chewing, thinking. “You think he’s a douche?”

“Why do you say that?”

“I don’t know. I hear stuff online about people in the music industry.”

I laugh. “I imagine he’s got a pretty big ego.”

“He’s hot, though. I looked him up last night.”

“If you looked him up, don’t you know what he writes?”

“I was looking at his face, not his credentials. I’ve got priorities.”

I swing my stare around. “You are banned from even thinking about that. He’s here to rest, which probably means he did something bad and his agent wants things to settle down. He’s a guest, and no consorting with the guests.”

“I know, I know,” she says, spearing a bit of bread and pasta on her fork. “I get it, I do. I was just kidding.”

My eyes scan the horizon again. The wranglers have entered the bunkhouse, where they’ll start drinking soon.

It’s Friday night; I’m honestly surprised they haven’t all pulled out in their trucks to hit the bars until four in the morning.

Despite having to rotate weekends, they’re cowboys, and they party like they have every weekend off.

Maybe that’s part of the reason why Dad’s always warned us off dating one of them. Not that it worked, in Serena’s case.

“You okay?”

I blink, nodding. “Yeah, just nervous to have somebody new on the ranch.”

“We get new wranglers every summer.”

“I know, but he’s not a wrangler.”

We’re both quiet, eating until our plates are empty.

It’s getting later, and our new arrival is supposed to show up around eight.

I pull my phone from my pocket and swipe the screen, making sure he hasn’t texted.

Dad had his agent, Jamie Iron, send over all his info this morning, making sure I knew not to share it.

It’s been a strange experience, interacting with a celebrity.

Everything is super-secret, piles of NDAs.

Part of me wants to look him up online, but part of me is afraid of what I’ll find.

I decided a few weeks ago it was probably better to keep my head down and just get through this.

“I’m gonna go lock up the barn,” Serena says, getting up and grabbing my plate. “Might take me a minute. Diesel is out in the pasture, and he needs put away.”

That’s her horse, a wild dappled gray gelding she’s been working with for a while. Both of us have new horses, given to us by the neighboring ranch that sells barrel racers. Mine needs to be broken, but I haven’t had the time. Maybe I’ll start getting up early and working with her.

“That’s fine,” I say. “I’ll handle everything here.”

She leaves, dropping the dishes in the sink as she goes. I sit in the stillness for a while. Then, I make up a plate and go knock on the office door. There’s a beat of silence, and then Dad coughs.

“Come on in, Brina,” he calls.

I go, crossing to set his plate on the desk.

Once upon a time, Dad was a problem for everyone this side of Wyoming.

He was a wrangler, a bull rider, a notorious womanizer, but he calmed down a bit when he married Mom and took to ranching.

I wouldn’t know it, not looking into his kind blue eyes, creased with heavy wrinkles from never wearing sunscreen in the heavy western sun.

“You had a good day?” he says.

I nod, sinking into the chair opposite him. “Yeah, just getting ready for the newcomer.”

“I don’t know if I’ll stay up to meet him,” he says. “Pretty beat today.”

“It’s okay. He’ll be here all summer. I can get him fed and checked in.”

He clears his throat again, reaching for his thermos. “What’s dinner?”

“Chicken alfredo.”

“My favorite.”

He smiles, and I smile back, accepting the worn hand reaching for mine. He’s got faded tattoos, big scars, and calluses thicker than leather on his fingers. I pat the back of his hand, gripping it gently.

“So how well do you really know Jamie Iron?” I ask.

He takes a bite, thinking. “Jamie’s father, Scott, was a good guy, a good friend.”

“But how long’s it been since you saw Jamie?”

“Dinner’s good,” he says. “Great job again, Brina.”

“Thanks, Dad,” I say quietly.

He gathers his thoughts.

“Jamie came around after the divorce. You probably don’t remember it,” he says. “He was young then. It was before Scott passed. He wanted to make sure he was checking on me.”

“That was nice of him.”

His eyes go soft. “I’ll always check up on you like that, baby. I know this spring has been tough.”

Truthfully, it’s been tough since last fall, when Dad’s health started going downhill.

It was a long time coming. I noticed he was having trouble swinging up on his horse.

Then, he was struggling to grip things and couldn't use tools well. He fell on the front porch, and that was when I forced him to go to the doctor, only to be told he couldn’t outrun years of hard living anymore.

It would be easier if it were an actual diagnosis, something we could treat.

We missed out on the calving season, the planting season.

Now, I’m in the aftermath, trying to get back on track.

We don’t talk for a while as Dad finishes his meal and I take his plate.

I help him up, and we walk together upstairs.

He doesn’t like it, and the minute we’re in the hallway, he pulls away, giving me a pat on the head.

He was always so attentive, taking care of Serena and my every need, and I know it’s killing him that we're the ones helping him now.

“I got it from here, baby,” he says. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Goodnight,” I whisper, watching him head to the bathroom.

My heart hurts. There were some seasons of life I didn’t have to think about things like this, and all my problems rested on more capable shoulders. Now, I’m the most capable shoulders on this ranch, and God, am I tired already, not even a year in.

Quietly, I go downstairs and start cleaning.