Her Texas Cowboy (RV Park #3)

Chapter Two

Shit.

Literally.

The duct tape I’d used to patch the holes in the dump hose weren’t holding. I hated spending money for new stuff when I ought to be able to fix it. But it didn’t appear there was any other choice.

“What’s the matter?” Diane asked, as she arrived back from her morning walk.

“Remember when we were at that stop in Louisiana, and there were all those ravens with too much interest in the dumping hose?” I asked.

She wrinkled her forehead. “Kinda?”

“They kept pecking at the hose,” I prodded.

“Oh, yeah. It was weird. I don’t know what they were expecting to find.”

“They made a bunch of holes. I patched them with duct tape. Thought it was going to hold, but it’s not.”

Diane looked down. “Crap.”

“Uh-huh.” I sighed and stretched out my back. “Guess I’m off to the RV store. We’ve got enough money, right?” Diane was in charge of finances as well as logistics. She was the one with the accounting degree, so it made sense.

“We’re good. This leg of the journey—except for gas—has been a lot cheaper than the time we spent up in New York.”

“Yeah, things were expensive there. Good thing Liz makes a boatload of money if she’s going to move there. Who’d have figured our sister was a big deal in the art world?”

“Not me. Honestly, I can’t say I thought too much about it,” Diane said, a note of sadness to her voice. “I was living my own life, not really aware of what you two were doing. I’m sorry about that. I missed a lot.”

“We all missed a lot,” I said. “Thank you for suggesting this trip. We needed it.” I gave her a hug, my eyes a little misty. She squeezed back, and we stood like that for several heartfelt moments before we released each other. I gazed into her eyes, knowing we were lucky to have found our way back to each other. Many siblings never did .

Then we looked down at the hose.

“I’d best be off,” I said. “Anyone have dibs on the car today?”

“I can’t remember the schedule.”

“Best go look,” I said.

We towed Liz’s Jeep behind us as we traveled the country so we’d have the ability to go shopping, sightseeing, and run other errands. What we hadn’t planned on was our divergent interests and needs—especially to get away from each other once in a while. Diane had bought a scooter that hung on the back of the RV when we traveled which gave her another option. But for the car, we kept a schedule as to who wanted it when.

I looked at the paper stuck on bulletin board we’d put up.

Liz was scheduled for the car.

I walked over to where she was sitting on the couch, drinking her coffee and thumbing through an art magazine.

“Hey, I need to run an errand this morning,” I said. “It’s kind of an emergency. One of the hoses needs replacing. Can you delay your trip a little?”

“As long as you’re the one dealing with the hose, I can delay anything.” She beamed up at me.

Liz was fine in an art studio or kitchen. She’d learned to help me out with the dairy cows on our mutually owned ranch, and like everyone else, helped move the beef cattle when it was needed, but beyond that, she didn’t like to get her hands dirty.

“I should be back by noon, if not earlier,” I said.

“No problem.” Liz stretched. “I’m feeling lazy today anyway.”

I nodded and collected my things and the car keys.

Soon I was on my way down a two-lane road to Texas RV Supply on another bright southern day. This was nice countryside, rolling hills with lots of trees. They weren’t very big trees, not by Montana standards, but at least there was space between them. The dense forests of the East Coast hadn’t appealed to me.

Here and there I began to see small herds of cattle, and it made me long for home. This trip was good, but I was ready to get back to my real life. Ranching was hard work, especially since my dad had thought it a good idea to have some dairy cattle along with the traditional steers. Beef cattle could be neglected now and then; dairy cattle needed milking twice a day.

Diane had suggested a new-fangled automated milking set up, but it would take a decent financial investment. Maybe we should simply sell off the herd .

I pulled into the parking lot and headed into the store.

It didn’t take long to find what I was looking for, but I wasn’t sure if I should get the same length of hose we had or go for a slightly longer one. Sometimes RV parks set their sewage connection a good distance from where the rig had to park.

“You picking up a hose for your husband?” a clerk asked.

Why was it that there was always someone who assumed I had one of those things?

“For my RV,” I said.

“But your husband will install it.” The clerk couldn’t take a hint. “He’s right to pick this brand. They’re the best.”

I turned and faced him.

He took a step back.

“They work just fine until a bunch of ravens decide to poke holes in them. And I will be installing the hose like the capable woman I am. Don’t have or need a husband.” I made a little waving motion with my hand. “Now go away and take care of someone who actually needs you. I don’t.”

He scurried off, and I heard laughter behind me.

I turned again.

A small, but tough looking woman with a broad grin stood there.

“I do get tired of them,” she said. “I travel alone—it’s best that way. They never think we can do it.” She shook her head. “They think we belong in the kitchen.”

“I hate kitchens,” I said.

“Ditto.”

We chatted for a few more moments, then I picked up the box containing the longer hose, checked out, and left the store.

I decided to take a different, somewhat longer route back to the RV park. I needed more time in this open space where I was feeling at home for the first time in a long while. The red cliffs of Utah had created powerful images, and the long prairies, towns, and cornfields—did this country really need that much corn?—across the middle had introduced me to a different side of America. The East Coast had been overcrowded with people, and the Deep South left me feeling at sea. It was so very different from the way I’d grown up.

But here, in Texas Hill Country, life felt familiar.

The road twisted through gentle slopes, until signs of civilization started cropping up: the inevitable dollar store, some housing developments that had been planted like a crop in an open field, and a Tractor Supply store .

Then I saw it: Jupe Mills of Texas. It was one of those sprawling ranch supply stores like Murdochs in Montana.

Of its own volition—I’d swear it on my deathbed—the Jeep pulled into the parking lot.

I didn’t need anything. I should pull out and head back to the park. Liz was waiting.

I hauled my body out of the seat and locked the door behind me.

As soon as I got beyond the cash register section, I took a deep breath.

Yep. There was nothing that smelled like a ranch store except a ranch store.

Women’s clothing, hats, and boots were in the first section. My jeans were hanging looser on my body. Maybe I needed a new pair?

I wandered through the section, stopping to try out a hat. The hat was great, but the face in the mirror looked as old as it had for a while. Except the eyes. There was a spark that hadn’t been there for decades.

I must have been more miserable in my marriage than I’d ever imagined.

“It looks good on you,” a male voice said.

I whipped around, almost losing the hat in the process.

He was only a few inches taller than me, salt and pepper hair with a thick white mustache set above a friendly smile.

“Um. Thank you.” I took off the hat and put it back on the stack.

“You look pretty without it too,” he said.

Pretty? Was the man blind? Even as a teen no one used the word “pretty” in the same sentence as my name.

Or he could be a serial killer trying to lure me back to his secret hiding place, have his way with me, and then torture me to death.

If so, he was a really hard up serial killer.

He pulled at the brim of his own hat. “Have a good day,” he said, then walked away.

It took a moment for the air to close around the gap that his departure had left.

Then the bright lights and sounds of people’s voices took over. In front of me, a pair of blondes—perhaps mother and daughter—examined purses. Behind me, the melodic strains of Spanish played in my hearing.

I shook off the strange feeling and walked away from the clothing section, trying to think of what else I might need stranded in ranch land with no spread of my own within five hundred miles. I wandered up and down the aisles, and finally bought myself a new pair of work gloves. I didn’t really need them for everyday chores, but every once in a while they came in handy for repairs.

Throughout the whole time I was in the store, I had a feeling that my life was about to change. I didn’t really believe in the second sight my mother had sometimes mentioned. Mom claimed her mother had been able to tell when a couple was suited for each other, and her grandmother had been the village matchmaker.

As I walked to the car, I tried to shake off the feeling, telling myself it was only the result of being on the road for so long.

~ ~ ~

Before she left for the studio she’d rented, Liz had put something in the crockpot to slowly cook for hours. Rich smells permeated the small space. Diane had taken her camera and ridden off on her scooter to take pictures shortly after.

Once I replaced the hose, there was little else for me to tend to.

With the RV to myself, I felt the desire to pick up my weaving again, something I hadn’t done for several months. Between the holidays and the travel, it had been too overwhelming. Here, however, it felt a little bit like home.

I dug out the loom from where it had become buried in one of the closets. It was a ridge heddle loom, the right size for the table runner I was trying to make. I’d been weaving on and off for years, but this was the most intricate pattern I’d tried: a series of dark gray Celtic knots on an off-white background.

My late husband, Michael, had given lip-service to my craft, but always found something else for me to do when I pulled it out of storage.

I pushed the memory from my mind, took my loom out into the glorious day, and set about weaving. There was magic as my hands moved back and forth, each thin line creating a pattern, like how each decision we make creates a life. My choice to marry Michael after high school dictated the following decades. Now my determination to stay single would build the path for the rest of my life.