Wednesday, January 5th
Ronan
“Ran, why don’t you take the truck into town and pick up our new guests?” my grandfather says while we sit around the large wooden table, eating lunch.
We do this every day; my grandmother prepares enough lunch and dinner to feed not only me and my grandparents, but my aunt, her husband, their kids, Thomas, Elias, and any guests staying at the ranch.
She’ll ring the literal lunch or dinner bell—or call everyone over their radios if we’re dispersed across the ranch—and we’ll gather in the main house at noon to eat, catch up, and discuss things that need to be done in the afternoon.
Even though everyone lives on the same ranch, it’s easy to lose sight of each other because the ranch is so big and there’s always work that needs to be done.
At this exact moment, the table is surrounded by my grandparents—my grandpa sitting at the head of the table and my grandmother to the right of him—me, Elias, and Thomas. My aunt, Martin, Colin, and Riley sit to the left of my grandfather.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to head into town to get them?” Thomas asks my grandfather.
My grandpa just waves him off. “I think Ran’s about due for a little escape from this place.” He chuckles and looks at me, his eyes crinkly at the corners.
He’s right. I haven’t left the ranch since I got here over two months ago. I’ve become a little stir-crazy lately, even though the ranch is huge and I’m always outdoors now. It’s just so vastly different from living in New York where I could go wherever whenever. The hustle and bustle kept me sufficiently distracted from thinking about the unpleasant things ruling my life.
Montana’s beautiful, and I recognize that being here gives me distance and perspective, but I can’t deny how much I miss home, and especially my friends and Cat. I’m so isolated out here, never knowing what’s going on, what everyone’s up to until I get to talk to Cat on Sundays. That one hour after lunch on Sundays is what I look forward to the most, and it’s definitely provided an added incentive for me to polish off my lunch as quickly as possible—to my grandma’s delight—so I can retreat into my bedroom and talk to the most perfect girl in this world. Talking with her, hearing her voice, her laugh, the words “I love you” is the most calming, yet most painful thing at the same time. I miss her so fucking much, but I’ll take whatever I can get of her right now.
“What do you say, kid?” my grandfather asks.
I hastily swallow my sip of water before nodding. “Sure, what time are they coming in?”
“You’ll need to get them at the train station at one-fifty,” my grandmother chimes in while she gets up from her chair. It scrapes against the wooden floorboards. “But Perry, didn’t you mention last night you needed some supplies from the tack store? Maybe Ran could take care of that errand for you while he’s in town.” She sweetly pats my cheek.
I’m pretty sure I would’ve never known even one moment of pain if I had been raised by my grandparents.
She collects my plate and then wanders into the kitchen with a stack of dishes.
“That’s a good idea,” my grandfather nods. “I have a list, Ran. You better head out now, though. The roads might be tricky.” He’s referring to the fresh snow we got last night. There’s really no such thing as having your roads cleared when you live on a ranch out in the middle of nowhere.
I get up from the table and head to the mudroom to slip into my boots before grabbing my jacket and ballcap.
My grandmother walks in with a smile on her face. “Our guests are newlyweds. This will be their honeymoon. When I spoke with the gal on the phone, she told me she and her newly minted husband are outdoorsy. Their names are Tensley and Devin Foley. I think they’re really young—early twenties.” She hands me a laminated sheet of paper with “Mr. & Mrs. Foley” printed on it.
I look at the paper and grin. “Would you like me to wear a tux and chauffeur’s hat when I pick them up?”
“I like it when you’re feisty,” she says. “I’ve missed that side of you. Drive safely, baby boy.”
I trudge out of the house, silently cursing my right knee, which aches from the strain I have to put on it maneuvering through the sticky snow to the shiny black Ford F-250 parked just by the barn.
Driving the truck took some getting used to. I’m so accustomed to my Mustang and its quick acceleration. It’s a zippy car and I miss it. I miss a lot of things… and people. Others not so much.
The truck, on the other hand, is a fucking beast. It’s huge and has a powerful engine made to haul heavy loads like horse trailers and bales of hay. It takes a moment to get it up to speed, but I can’t help but feel safe whenever I drive it. I’m pretty certain I’d survive just about any collision short of a head-on with a semi.
The truck maneuvers the fresh snow easily, and I make it into town in under an hour as the roads are empty today. I decide to take care of getting the supplies my grandfather listed before picking up these newlyweds from the train station.
The tack store is located right on the main road leading through Redtail Ridge. It’s easily one of the largest buildings, outsizing even the grocery store. That’s probably because just about everyone who has reason to visit the small town—population: under a thousand, where everyone knows everyone and each other’s business—is a rancher and requires materials only available at the tack store. It carries everything from feed to saddles to vet supplies. A lot of ranchers do their own basic vet care.
The store, too, is empty today and I stand in the entryway, perusing the list of things my grandfather needs. He apparently put in a large order of dewormer for the livestock. I decide to head to the counter to let someone know that I’m here to pick it up, since that stuff would likely be stored on a pallet in the back.
“How can I help?” an older man in his early sixties asks me, not looking up from his stack of papers, his reading glasses sitting low on his nose.
“I’m picking up an order for Soult.”
The man looks up at me and his expression changes from neutral to delighted. “Ronan, is that you?”
I nod and smile at John Stacy, the owner of the tack store.
“Good lord, I had heard you were back, but wasn’t sure the rumors were true because you haven’t been seen,” he says in a booming voice. He walks around the counter and offers me his hand.
I shake it, noting the feel of his rough, calloused skin against my palm. Typical hand of a person who engages in hard manual labor.
“How are you, John?” I ask as he claps my shoulder with his free hand, still holding on to me with the other.
“Well, you know, same ole, same ole.” He gives me an admiring once-over and chuckles. “You’ve grown. Last time I saw you, you were still a boy.” He scans my face, lingering on the scar around and under my left eye. It’s faded a bit but is still red, raised, and noticeable. “But you’ve really come into your own.” He nods appreciatively, focusing his gaze away from my healing injury and onto my eyes. “You’re a monster,” he says. “How tall are you? Six-two, six-three?”
I laugh. “Something like that.”
“Have you been here long?”
“Couple of months,” I say with a slight frown.
He studies me again, clearly curious to know more but too polite to ask. “Huh, so Randall wasn’t fibbin’,” he muses. “And how long are you in Montana for this time?” he asks and motions for me to follow him to the back of the store.
“Not sure exactly. Hopefully not too much longer.”
John glances over his shoulder at me as we walk. “Missing the city already?”
“Mostly the people in the city.”
John grins. “Ah, I sense there’s a girl.” He pushes back a large barn door that leads to the storage area.
I nod, feeling the sting of not being with Cat. “There is.”
“Yes,” he hums. “Well, they say absence makes the heart grow fonder. Some people worry about long-distance relationships, but I think they underestimate how incredible they can be in terms of growing your connection as a couple.”
“How so?”
“When you’re not able to see each other all the time, you’re forced to communicate in other ways and on a deeper level. I know you kids have it easier now with your video calls and texting at your fingertips, but when I met Maureen we had to write each other letters that took days to arrive, and we only occasionally got to talk on the phone. It teaches you patience and it makes the time you do have together that much more special. It builds a strong foundation, and you’ll find that almost nothing will be able to shake that.”
“I only get to talk to my girl once a week,” I say, not totally sure why I’m sharing this info with John.
“Oh, well, then you understand what I’m talking about. How do you feel when you hear her voice?”
“Like my heart is about to give out. It’s the best part of my week.”
“There you go,” he says. “Alright, here you are.” He points toward a pallet stacked with boxes of medicine. “You have a truck, I assume. I can load this for you with the forklift.”
“Yeah, that would be great.” I check my list. “I also need poly rope and four bags of grain.”
“Poly is on the wall to the far left. I’ll load the grain for you, too.” He shuffles away while I make my way out of the storage room and toward the rope.
I measure and cut what I need and walk out of the store where John is just placing the pallet on the truck bed. He finishes off by loading the sacks of grain, and I shut the tailgate, then walk back inside and wait for John at the counter.
“Alright.” John exhales as he makes his way back toward me. “How much rope did you end up getting?”
“Seventy feet of the three-eighth.”
He jots it down on a piece of paper. “You got it. I’ll add it to Perry’s tab.” He smiles at me. “It’s good to see you, boy. I hope you’re doing alright.” His eyes flick to my scar, probably wondering how I got it. It was a gnarly laceration and the scar is a good size, cutting through the length of my left eyebrow and continuing under my eye on my cheekbone. It’ll be obvious even once it’s completely healed.
“I’ll see you later, John,” I say, and turn to leave. “Tell Maureen I said hi.”
“Will do. Don’t be a stranger!”
I leave the store, pulling the collar of my jacket up to cover the back of my neck, shielding it from the cold as I walk to the driver’s side of my truck.
“Oh. My. God. Ronan Soult,” I hear a familiar voice say behind me.
I turn around only to find my ex-girlfriend standing mere feet away from me. “Holy shit, Miranda.”
She chuckles at me and shakes her head, her hands on her hips. “Miranda? You never call me that. Am I in trouble?”
I smile at her. She hasn’t changed one bit since I last saw her two and a half years ago. She’s still tiny. I was always taller than her, but my growth spurt over the last few years has only added to our height difference. She’s more than a head shorter than me and barely reaches my shoulder.
Her petite frame is clothed in a perfectly fitting pair of light-blue bootcut jeans with a pair of jet-black boots peeking out on the bottom, and a black, stone-washed v-neck shirt, topped off with a lamb-fur-lined denim jacket. Her long, light-brown hair falls freely down her back.
“I heard rumors you were in town.” Her blue eyes glint mischievously, and I grin because it’s all so familiar.
Miranda and I dated pretty much the whole time I was in Montana. She was my first in a lot of respects, and even though she’s tiny in stature, she has a huge personality.
I raise my eyebrows. John made a similar comment. I wonder who in the world is talking about my return and why it would be of such interest. “Oh yeah? Who’d you hear that from?”
“People,” Miranda says vaguely. “You look good, Rony.”
I cringe. I’ve always hated that nickname. Miranda gave it to me when I was only ten, and I’m convinced that my obvious dislike for the moniker only emboldened Miranda in her use of it. That’s just her personality.
“Please don’t call me that,” I beg her.
She laughs at me. “If you call me Miranda, I’ll call you Rony.”
“Fine, Randi.” I chuckle. “What are you doing here?” I look around and spot her baby blue ’88 Chevy Silverado—her mom’s old truck—parked further down the road.
“I was just heading to Sterling’s for a quick bite to eat. How about you join me?” she asks, eyeing me from head to toe, a smile on her face. “I’d love to catch up.”
I shake my head. “I have to pick up some guests and then head back to the ranch.”
“Always such a good boy.” She smirks but wraps her arms around my neck and hugs me like we only saw each other yesterday. “I’ll see you around then, Rony,” she says—as usual ignoring my request to refrain from using that stupid cutesy name—and winks at me before stuffing her hands into her jeans pockets and walking away.
***
I get to the train station with thirty minutes to spare before the newlyweds’ arrival, so I lean my head against the headrest and close my eyes, allowing myself to doze off until the trail pulls in.
I stay in the truck where it’s nice and warm and watch a few people disembark the train.
It’s immediately obvious who Tensley and Devin are because they’re the only young couple coming off the train, and I’m secretly glad I don’t have to stand around holding that damn sign like an idiot.
They step out of the train holding hands while Devin drags a giant suitcase. I open the door, get out of the truck, and trudge toward them. They look woefully underdressed for the frigid Montana weather. I wonder how “outdoorsy” they truly are.
“Devin and Tensley?” I call out to them.
Both heads turn toward me.
“Yeah, hey dude,” Devin says, parks his suitcase next to him, and holds up his hand as a greeting. Devin is dressed in jeans and a hoodie with a black puffer vest over it, a slouchy beanie on his head. Tensley, on the other hand, sports ripped jeans and a matching jean jacket over a cropped pullover. Her wavy brown hair frames her face. Her cheeks are already turning red from the cold.
“Hey, I’m Ronan. I’m parked just over there.” I nod toward the truck, and Tensley looks grateful she won’t have to be out in the cold for too long. “I got this.”
I grab Devin’s fancy, hard-shell suitcase and pick it up to carry it to the truck rather than roll it through the watery sludge on the train platform.
I open the tailgate, place the suitcase on the truck bed, then make my way around the truck and climb in. I’m surprised to find that Devin got into the passenger seat rather than sit in the back next to Tensley.
“Is it a long drive to the ranch?” Tensley asks once I pull onto the road.
“About an hour,” I say.
“Not too bad.” She takes off her jacket. “Your name is interesting. Where is it from?” She leans forward in her seat.
“It’s Irish,” I say. “So where are you guys from?”
“California,” Devin says. “I’m from a small beach town called Cayucos.”
“Where exactly in California is that?”
“Central California coast, about four hours north of L.A.”
“I’ve never been to California,” I admit and focus on the road.
“I bet you don’t get to travel much having to work on a ranch. Isn’t that like a year-round job?” Tensley asks.
“Oh, I don’t live on the ranch all the time,” I say. “I’m just here temporarily. I live in New York.”
“Sick,” Devin says. “I’ve always wanted to go to New York.”
“Wait, that’s interesting,” Tensley says, leaning forward even more, resting her elbow on the center console. Is she even wearing a seatbelt? “Do you work on the ranch, or what’s the arrangement? You look so young.”
“It’s my grandparents’ ranch.”
“How old are you?” Tensley asks.
“Seventeen.”
“How long are you staying at the ranch?”
“Jeez, babe, why are you interrogating this poor dude?” Devin asks with a chuckle.
“I don’t know, I’m just interested,” she says and leans back in her seat.
“What about you guys?” I divert the attention away from me. “My grandmother said you guys are outdoorsy?”
“Oh yeah,” Devin says. “Tens and I do a lot of camping and we spend as much time at the beach as we can. We actually just got married last weekend, right on the beach in Cayucos.” He turns toward Tensley.
“I’ve always wanted to go stay on a ranch in Montana,” Tensley says, and once again my heart aches as I remember Cat telling me something similar the night I met her. God, I miss her so much. I just hope John’s right with his opinion about long-distance relationships and that this heartache isn’t for naught.