2. Nora
CHAPTER 2
Nora
A fter a lifetime of ranch chores, I’ve never exactly been someone who sleeps in late. I’ve always been the first one up out of all of my friends, even after we spent the night out. However, my time in college appears to have changed that slightly.
Because when my dad wakes me to get up? Damn. It’s early.
We eat breakfast quietly in the kitchen. The balloons have sunk slightly, but they still wink at me from the corner.
I put down my cereal bowl and turn. “So. What needs to get done today?”
My dad grunts. “The usual.”
“Dad. Spell it out for me. What’s usual, and what needs to be repaired?”
“I don’t expect you to make repairs. We can ask?—”
“We can ask no one. We can’t pay anyone. Before we figure out… a plan,” I finally say, “we need to get this place in top shape.”
“It’s fine,” my dad says, his voice low.
“I love you, Dad. But I saw the broken fences and the moldy water trough when I drove in. What needs work?”
Hesitantly, he pulls a faded piece of paper out of his pocket. “After the animals have been fed, I was… planning on seeing to the ditch out in th e back pasture. The storm a couple of months ago took out the ditch gate, and I haven’t had a chance to burn the ditches out there yet.”
I wrinkle my nose. Burning ditches is a nasty business and usually requires you to file a permit with the fire department. “Did you get the permit in?”
“No, not yet.”
“Okay. That sounds like something I can do. You work on the gate; I’ll get the permit.”
“Okay. There’s only one ATV,” he adds, looking down. “Rats chewed through the battery cables on the other two, so…”
“So, I’ll ride Gunter.”
Gunter, our gelding, and the only male horse in our little trio of horses, is a sweetheart. He’s ancient, a little boring, but rock solid in terms of temperament.
“Okay. Uh. I also haven’t checked the alfalfa yet to make sure it’s coming in, and…”
I narrow my eyes. My dad’s a pretty healthy guy, and even though we always hired help when I was growing up, he managed to do most of these kinds of things on his own.
The fact that he hasn’t done something like this yet? I need to dig through those accounts more. Something else is going on, and for whatever reason, he doesn’t want to tell me.
“Got it. Gunter, fire permit, check the alfalfa. Meet you back here for lunch?”
My dad lifts his head, and his blue eyes twinkle for a minute. He looks like his old self, and it makes my chest squeeze. “It’s a date, Bluebird.”
“Cool. I’m going to the horses, and you check the chickens.”
He laughs. “You still afraid of the chickens, college girl?”
“Yeah,” I grimace. “They’re mean.”
“They’re just birds, sweetheart.”
“Whatever. I have horses, you have chickens. Deal?”
“Deal, Bluebird.”
Tasks designated, we head out.
The sun is up, but just barely, painting the hills around me with the lightest dusky pink. To the west, the alpenglow lights up the mountaintops, and I take a second to just look before I continue to the barn. God, it’s breathtaking here.
My resolve hardens until it’s like an iron shield in my mind. I’m going to figure out what the hell happened to this farm, and I’m going to fix it. No matter what.
Inside the barn, the horses whicker, clearly surprised to see me. I did my best to come home for breaks and stuff, but still. Four years is a long time for a horse.
Thunder, true to form, tries to bite me when I feed her. She looks like she’s pregnant with a baby whale, and her condition hasn’t made her any nicer.
“You leave me alone, bitch,” I mutter when she tries to sneak in another nip as I walk by.
Gunter is sweet, but he’s definitely looking old. I feel nervous about riding him, but looking at Joan, there’s no way I could ride her, either. She’s big as a house as well. I make another mental note to call the vet to come look at both her and Thunder.
“Hey, girl,” I murmur to her as I approach. Joan sniffs my open hand, smelling me quickly before shoving her velvet nose into my hand. I laugh, petting her, running my hands over her smooth face. Stepping closer to scratch her ears, I look into her big brown eyes. “I missed you, too. How are you feeling?”
She snorts, like she’s explaining that being a thousand months pregnant is totally not her thing.
“I know, sweetheart,” I whisper. I step closer again, and Joan leans her head on my shoulder. The gesture nearly makes my eyes water. They say that horses and humans have a special bond, and with this one? I believe it.
With the horses fed, I saddle up Gunter, turning Thunder and Joan out into the pasture. Thunder, predictably, trots right by, giving me the equine equivalent of a middle finger as she does. Joan stops next to where Gunter has his saddle on, and gives me a huff, stomping her feet with disappointment.
“I know, girl. But I couldn’t even get the saddle around you if I tried,” I explain .
She nibbles at Gunter’s mane, and he returns the gesture before she slowly turns, waddling out to join her angry sister in the pasture.
I check Gunter’s tack before hauling myself up and into the saddle. The gesture feels awkward, especially for something I’ve done my whole life. Beneath me, Gunter gives a little shuffle, like he can tell it was weird.
“Just a little out of practice, guy,” I say, giving his neck a firm pat. “Come on.” I grab the reins, clicking my tongue, and we head out.
The alfalfa field isn’t that far. We keep the cattle on the opposite end of the property, where there’s a river and big green meadows as the landscape starts to tuck up toward the mountains. The alfalfa is a fifteen-minute ride, but it’s right against our neighbors’ land.
Right against the Wild Spur.
Despite myself, I’m curious to see the operation. I let Gunter pick the pace, worrying about his back and his age and not really rushing because if it. The fifteen-minute ride is going to be more like thirty.
About halfway in, my phone beeps. I grab it, squinting, then give a little squeal of excitement that earns a flick of Gunter’s ears.
“Sorry, man. I haven’t heard from Kendall in weeks,” I tell my horse.
I open the text. Kendall Sutton, my best friend in the whole world, is a rare creature. We met in a poetry seminar, where she was the teaching assistant in charge of helping me. We’ve been besties ever since. She graduated from college two years ago and moved straight to Nashville, hell bent on becoming a country singer.
Turns out, it worked for her. I hear her on the radio more often than I talk to her, and I’ve missed her.
Opening the text, I smile.
Kendall : Hey, girly pop. Heard you went back to where the deer and the antelope play.
In response, I hold up the camera and snap a selfie of myself on Gunter’s back, then add a message.
Me: You wanna come play Pony Express?
Even though we didn’t grow up together, we found out after talking that both of us had this as our favorite game as kids. Kendall’s grandparents owned a farm out in Colorado, and she used to take messages from her grandma to her grandpa when he was working in the fields.
I did the same. I’d climb on Gunter’s back, no saddle, no tack, and ride out to deliver messages to my dad, who would give me a message to take back and interpret at the house.
Kendall : Girl! Yes! I’ll be in Montana… soon-ish? Tour schedules are brutal. I’m heading home soon, then shows in Denver and Cheyenne, so maybe I could work a visit in after?
Me : Yeah, right. I’ll believe it when I see it.
Kendall : Grr. You sound just like Blaire.
I laugh. Blaire, another one of our friends, is a journalist who has a really strong sense for bullshit.
Me: Well, if it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck…
Kendall: Whatever. You doing good? I know you said there was farm trouble, and I want to hear about that, but… how are you feeling about Aaron?
With that, my good mood bubble bursts a little. The truth is, I didn’t tell my dad about my breakup with Aaron. He was a boyfriend that my dad barely knew about. Deep down, I didn’t think my dad would like him, so I kind of kept him hidden.
Turns out, I was right to do that. Aaron cheated on me during one of my last exams, with not one, but a couple of very sweet freshman girls who he tricked into believing all of his lies.
It was a nasty breakup.
My dad called about the ranch soon after, and I was glad for the distraction.
I definitely prefer to work on the ranch than my own terrible taste in men.
Kendall knows all about getting over someone, though. She had her heart broken her last year of college, and now she’s the queen of moving along.
Me : Meh. Let’s get drinks at the Hideout when you visit. Are you for real coming back soon-ish?
Kendall : For you, babe? Of course. I’ll let you know within twenty-four hours of my arrival. Give Gunter some treats. He’s old and deserves them.
Me : I will. Miss you, KenDoll.
Kendall : Miss you too, Nora-bora.
I put the phone away, tugging on Gunter to get him to stop snacking on the grass he found. It would be nice to see Kendall again. Hearing her on the radio or seeing her picture splashed on the cover of magazines or online is just not the same as being with her.
I miss all of my college friends. After graduation, we all just kind of… went away. Kendall has music. Juniper’s event planning business is getting off the ground, the last I heard. Piper’s graduating later this summer, because she needed to take some time off to take care of her sister, and I make a mental note to send her some flowers. Saylor, who was a senior when we all were younger, is finishing vet school next year. I wonder if she’d be interested in moving to Montana instead of home. It would be nice to have an in-house vet…
If it wasn’t so damn expensive.
I sigh. I miss my girls. Being around them feels like some kind of weird fever dream.
Now that I’m here, and I’m home, it’s time to deal with the reality in front of me.
“Come on, guy, let’s get this done.” I click to Gunter, and he ambles toward the alfalfa.
The alfalfa is… fine. It’s not great. But it’s not terrible.
As Gunter and I ride through the field, I note a couple of things. The weeds are out of control, which is going to drive down the value of the crop, eventually. That will have to be dealt with, but I refuse to use chemical weed control, so it’s going to have to be by hand. My dad really didn’t get the chance to burn out the ditches, so there’s barely any water getting to some of the big irrigation sprinklers. I decide to wait and see if they turn on to run properly, and in the meantime, see if I can’t pull some of the weeds out that are choking the ditch gates.
I’m arms deep in muck and roots when I hear Gunter make a low warning noise. I look up, and there’s a horse about fifty yards from us.
But not just any horse. This is the most beautiful horse I’ve ever seen in my life.
It’s a bay roan. Thick, stocky with muscle, like it’s been lifting weights or something. It holds its head up high, tossing its mane, and gives Gunter a laser-focused look of pure hatred.
Oh. Shit.
I stand quickly, dropping the vegetation from my gloved hands. I make my way over to Gunter, standing in between him and the much younger, much stronger looking horse—who I have a feeling is a stallion, and who I have a feeling is real pissed to see us here.
“Easy,” I say, eying the horse. “Easy there, big boy.”
It stomps both feet, blowing loudly from its nostrils.
Gunter whickers, trying to shuffle back.
“It’s okay, guy, let me just…”
The sound of hoofbeats makes Gunter and I look up. In the distance, three shapes are absolutely hauling ass toward us.
I frown. Where the hell is the fence?
I grab Gunter’s reins, warily watching the stallion. He’s turned, ears forward, nervously shuffling on his feet.
My poor, sweet old man is so scared. And that pisses me off.
I drop the reins and wave at him. “Shoo. Go on, Gunter. I got this.”
The most loyal of gentleman horses, he looks at me, then nervously back at the stallion.
“I got this, guy.”
I turn and stomp forward, waving my arms. The three shapes are close enough now that I can see they’re three men on horseback. For a second, I wish I had grabbed the shotgun hanging up in the barn.
“Hey!” I yell, waving at the stallion. “Go! Get! Get out of here!”
The stallion, being a stallion, snorts at me and rears up. He’s still a fair distance away, but I’m not going to be intimidated by him. “Out!” I shout.
The stallion gives me a loud squeal, and I wave my arms again. “Stop it, you bully!”
“Lady, what the fuck are you doing?”
The three riders are close enough that I can see them now. Three men, each on a different horse. They’re about ten feet away from the stallion, putting us in a triangle: myself, the stallion, and them.
The stallion rears up at the men again, and lightning quick, two of the guys split off, circling it. One produces a rope, which he rather deftly tosses around the stallion’s neck. The stallion screams, tossing against the rope, and the other one loops another from the other side. Between the two of them, the horse fights, and for a second, it looks like he’s going to hurt himself.
“You dumbass!” I yell. “You’re hurting him!”
“Lady, that right there is our stallion, and we know what the fuck we’re doing,” the man barks back.
“You’re going to choke him!”
“Clint,” one of the guys yells. “He’s pretty fuckin’ mad.”
“Let him go!” I scream.
The rider closest to me gives me a look. His nostrils flare, and I can tell he’s pissed. He hops down off his horse and strides over to where the stallion is fighting, hands up. He’s going to die. This man is going to get himself trampled to death, right in front of me. I sure hope I won’t be held responsible.
“You idiot! What on earth?—”
A freaking miracle happens. The stallion settles four feet on the ground. It’s still panting and pacing but staring at the man. He inches closer, hand out. When his hand makes contact with the stallion’s nose, my eyebrows skyrocket.
What the heck is this horse whisperer shit?
One of the other guys chuckles. “That shit’s creepy, man.”
“Fuck off,” the man mutters, glancing up at the stallion. He looks back at me, glaring. “He was probably upset at you hollering at him.”
“I was hollering at him because he was scaring my horse, asshole!” I snap. The stallion makes a nervous noise, and I throw my hands up. “Whatever. For the love of god, just get him off my property.”
“Your property?” the third cowboy, who I haven’t heard speak until now, chimes in. He’s got a deep voice, and the bass of it resonates from where he’s sitting. “I thought this was the Foster Ranch.”
“And I’m a Foster.” I throw my shoulders back and lift my chin. “So, get out.”
“A Foster, huh? Then you need to fix the goddamn hole in your fence,” the horse whisperer snaps at me.
I glare at him, rage swirling through me. “And you need to learn some goddamn manners! ”
All three men blink at that. They’re close enough now that I can see them. One of the cowboys, the one with the deep voice, has dark black hair and the lightest blue eyes I’ve ever seen. He’s lanky and leans easily forward in his saddle. The other one, who had initially roped the stallion, is big. Built like a linebacker, he has brown hair and brown eyes, and studies me with a little smile on his lips that I want to wipe right off of it. The third one, the horse charmer, is blond. Dirty blond, with a beard and dark blue eyes that are narrowed at me in anger.
“Get. Off. My. Land,” I spit at them.
The guys exchange a look. “Are you the kid?”
“Doesn’t matter who I am. All you need to know is that I’m a Foster, and you’re on my property.”
“Did your dad tell you about us?” the one with blue eyes and black hair says.
In that instant, I know exactly who they are. These are the cowboys. The hotshots, the ones my dad had nothing but contempt for.
They’re the freaking Wild Spur boys.
And they’re all staring at me like I’m the steak that’s been slapped down for dinner.