Chapter 1
The heavy snow meant that the highway was blocked from the southern Wyoming border all the way up to Chugwater and perhaps beyond to Wheatland or even Casper. Which meant that Ty had two options for his last delivery of the year.
Either he could pull off at the Ranchette’s Stop ‘n Go, gas up, pull out his cell phone to notify Eaton Trucking & Delivery that he would not be able to deliver.
Then he would turn around and head back to Eaton, south of the Wyoming-Colorado border, to the company headquarters.
There he would turn in his keys and his company credit card for gas and on-the-road repairs, and collect his pink slip so he could get unemployment.
Or….
Or….
Or he could play it safe, turn around and head south, pick up his pink slip and the rest of it, and disappoint the hell out of some kid who had been good enough that year to deserve a pony from Santa.
Or….
Or he could imagine a different future for himself. One where he hadn’t lost his dad nine months before to a sudden heart attack.
One where he hadn’t struggled to keep his job at Eaton Trucking.
One where he’d not learned, only three weeks earlier, that the company had been bought out by an east coast conglomerate that had no interest, none at all, at keeping any of their staff on, not drivers or secretaries or accountants.
One where the pink slip was not a foregone conclusion, and that the fact that his dad had spent the last 22 years working for them, and could have vouched for his son, would have made a difference.
One where he had a good life come the first day of the new year.
Except he didn’t have a different future. He only had a future that was the same as his current life, underfunded, uncertain, and definitely unfun.
It certainly was unfun to sit in traffic, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel of his truck while the radio blurted out the amazingly horrible news that the snow was expected to continue for days and that folks should just sit tight at home and wait it out.
And ho, ho, ho, at least it was a white Christmas, right?
There was also the regular splatter of snow on the windshield that built up so quickly Ty was forced to wait for the traffic to pause so he could push in the parking brake, leave the truck idling, and get out to scrape the slush away with his fingers.
While he was out getting soaked in the snow anyway, he went back to check on the pony in the horse trailer to make sure she was okay.
Her name was Cinders and she was a beautiful little dapple gray Welsh pony, around fourteen hands high, with sweet dark eyes and perky, sharp ears.
He checked to make sure her blanket was properly on and that the little vents for air were shut close to keep out the cold air as much as possible. He pet her neck and let her lip at his cold hands as he tried to recall whether he’d remembered to pack leg wrappings for the pony.
She had a hay net to nibble on and a little trough of pellets to keep her happy. He had planned on watering her at the Ranchette Stop ‘n Go and then again in Farthing before making his way to the guest ranch just to the west of town.
Well, he’d be watering her at the gas station, for sure, though after that, he had no idea.
If it was snowing all the way to the southern border of the state, he couldn't hardly get back to Eaton, let alone back to Greeley, where he’d picked the pony up from a lovely older couple whose granddaughter had outgrown the pony.
The granddaughter hadn’t been there earlier when he’d picked Cinders up, but it had been explained to Ty that the granddaughter was sick with crying and her heart had been unable to bear the final parting in person.
All in all it was turning out to be a sad, shitty Christmas eve for everybody.
His biggest worry was the child waiting for the pony.
A child who would certainly have been told that Santa was bringing a special present on Christmas morning, or, if not, who had certainly figured out that something was up, if the excitable conversation that Ty had only a few days before with someone from the ranch was anything to go by.
Had the guy at the other end of the line been called Bill or Clay? Ty couldn’t remember, though suddenly he remembered that the lucky child was named Bea, a little girl who was going to be ten years old in the following spring.
She loved horses so so so much, she’d taken to riding horses on the ranch meant for more experienced riders, horses with names like Big Red, and Diablo, and Flower, a headstrong mare that Bea had taken a particular liking to.
Bill (or maybe Clay) had told Ty how Bea had fallen off or gotten tossed, more than once, but nothing could keep her from sneaking into the barn or the corral to grab whatever horse was to hand.
She’d pick an already saddled horse so she could gallop up into the hills on her own, without consideration as to her safety, the horse’s safety in the hands of someone so young, or the blood pressure and anxiety of anybody and everybody at the ranch.
One of the other drivers at Eaton Trucking, when Ty had told him the story, had stated strongly that such an act would have, should have, earned that little girl a spanking.
To which Ty had unwisely taken umbrage because Bea was a little girl, for Pete’s sake, and no child deserved to have such a hand raised to them.
He’d not quite punched the other driver, but it had been a close call, and only the fact that the company had been sold and everybody would be without a job come the end of the year had prevented them both from being written up and put on unpaid leave.
If he could turn around at Ranchette’s, he could probably drive no further south than just south of Cheyenne, and be stuck there anyway, so there was, in effect, no point in turning around.
The only way to go was to head up Highway 211 and pretend it wasn’t snowing, that it wasn’t about to turn into a blizzard.
He knew the road, after all, as he’d driven it several times over the last year, delivering tattoo equipment to a tattoo parlor in Torrington, or delivered a set of wooden boxes to hold skeins of wool for a small craft shop just down the street from the tattoo parlor.
Taking Highway 211, either north or south, was a pretty drive, well worth the extra time it took.
He knew the way to the ranch. He had no other option but to drive until he could deliver the pony. All he had to do was make it through the stand-still traffic to Ranchette’s, gas up, water the pony, clear the windshield, and notify Eaton Trucking as to his plans.
After he made the delivery, he’d shelter overnight somewhere, wait out the storm, and head back to Eaton as soon as was humanly possible.
He didn’t think the company would dock his pay for returning his truck, keys, and company credit card late, but like the rest of his life, anything was possible, only none of what was possible was good.