Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Fiera Sharpe had packed too much stuff. No better indicator of that than the zipper of her suitcase refusing to close, even after she put the suitcase on its side and bounced up and down on the darn thing.
“Oh, come on! Be reasonable,” she muttered to her largest bag, pressing her palms down and digging her knees into the hard side of her carry-on.
This one held no clothes, only her stuffed animals and other necessities.
She’d put her clothes in the second-largest suitcase, the one with the graffiti sides she could color.
The special markers were safe in her duffel bag.
On second thought, she’d better double-check that one, too. If she ever got the big one shut.
The zipper crept forward a quarter inch before it stopped again. She’d be lying if she said its straining teeth weren’t making her nervous. Fiera shifted her rear and pushed down with all her might. Reasonableness had never been her strongest suit, so it made sense that her luggage had none either.
After a dramatic sigh, she tried again, sliding onto her back on top of the suitcase and bracing her feet against the ceiling of the taxi.
“Hey! No feet on the ceiling!” the taxi driver barked out.
He’d been grumpy the whole ride. Well, ever since the air horn her friend from the Wild River Ranch, Tildi Boone, had insisted she bring had gone off in one of her two carry-ons.
It had taken a lot of wrestling to get that taken care of, but she’d done her best.
“Fine!” she snapped back at the taxi driver. She’d decided to subtract a nickel from his tip every time he was grumpy. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to owe her money.
The zipper finally slid forward, one tooth at a time, the rest of the way with a final, dramatic zrrrp that sounded suspiciously like judgment.
Fiera flopped onto the backseat, breathing a little harder with all her effort.
Her hair slipped loose from the messy bun she’d twisted it up in that morning.
The thick white streak at the front of her hair fell forward over her forehead, bright against the chocolate brown of every other hair on her head.
She pushed it aside absentmindedly and surveyed the damage.
In total, she’d brought her large suitcase and two smaller ones, one to pull behind her and one to push in front of her large unicorn scooter suitcase.
The unicorn’s horn and tail were perfect for keeping them both in place.
That way, she could carry her duffel bag full of snacks and games.
Then all that was left was her extra-large blue canvas backpack filled with what she considered as her emotional support stuffies.
Her backpack was actually a front pack, since it came with a carrier so Sniffles, her skunk stuffie, could see where they were going.
She winced.
Okay. Three suitcases, a duffel bag, and a backpack might be a lot.
But this wasn’t just any vacation. This was a Rawhide Ranch vacation, where all she had to do was relax, decompress, and play.
The word “play” still felt borrowed in her mouth, as if she wasn’t quite sure she was allowed to use it yet.
When she thought about it that way, were four bags even enough? She needed options. She needed backup outfits and toys. She especially needed… Fiera glanced at the duffel straining at its seams… her snacks.
She leaned over and unzipped the bag, ducking at the last minute in case the pressure release shot gummy bears all over the car. “Fire in the hole!” she called out. The taxi driver ducked. Probably ex-military. Luckily, all her gummy bears remained in her suitcase.
“Clear!” she informed the man. He didn’t say thank you, but his shoulders relaxed, so she added, “You’re welcome.” She couldn’t quite hear what the man said in return, but she subtracted another nickel for his mean tone of voice.
She checked her inventory for the fifth time since leaving the airport: gummy snacks, candy bars, applesauce, juice pouches, and frosted animal crackers. Perfect!
She’d tucked her coloring books, the ones with thick paper and sharp lines, into the side pockets of all her luggage.
She loved coloring Christmas trees, kittens, and hearts.
But her absolute favorite coloring book was the overly elaborate fantasy-castle book she’d been saving for something special.
“It isn’t going to get any more special than Rawhide Ranch.” Even saying the words made her shiver with anticipation. A plush highland cow with slightly crooked stitched eyes peeked out from beneath the books in her backpack. She smiled despite herself and nudged it deeper into the bag.
Turning to her favorite stuffie, she whispered, “Don’t worry, Sniffles. We can do this as long as we’re together.”
Sniffles did not disagree.
Fiera zipped the duffel closed before securing Sniffles to her backpack. She paused to adjust her hearing aids. The soft click as they settled into place grounded her. It was like straightening a picture on the wall.
The world around her grew… not louder, exactly, but clearer. Tires crunched on the gravel nearby. The wind whistled through the pine branches. Distant voices carried across the open space.
She liked knowing where sound lived. It calmed her and gave her a sense of control. Being born with Waardenburg Syndrome had shaped how she moved and interacted with the world. She didn’t talk about it much, especially not with strangers, but it had affected everything she did and experienced.
Her kindergarten students sometimes asked if she’d dyed the white streak in her hair on purpose. She never minded because they were innocently curious. It was the adults who lowered their voices when they noticed her hearing aids, as if she were fragile, which got on her nerves.
She wasn’t fragile. She was just… tuned differently. She’d made the trip from her hometown of Wilder, Wyoming, to Rawhide Ranch by herself without a single anxiety attack. Well, not a big one, anyway. That was a personal best, and she was claiming it.
The taxi had barely stopped before Fiera was moving.
She threw open the back door and launched herself out as if the world might disappear if she waited half a second longer.
Gravel crunched under her boots as momentum carried her forward.
She handled it well until she hit a particularly large rock.
At that point, her suitcase staged a full-scale rebellion.
Well. Maybe more than a rebellion. One suitcase tipped. Another spun like a Beyblade match top contender. The third… well, she wasn’t entirely sure where that one had been hiding, but it joined in the chaos with enthusiasm.
“Okay, no,” she told the luggage as she did her best to wrestle them all into place. “We talked about this.”
Behind her, the taxi driver cleared his throat.
“Oh! Right.” She spun back toward him, digging into the pocket of her shorts. “I almost forgot. You lost forty-seven nickels today.”
The man blinked. “What nickels?”
“I charge a nickel for every smart-mouth comment a person makes.”
“What the heck are you talking about?”
She slapped folded bills into his hand with a bright grin. “Your tip. You lost forty-seven nickels for your smart-mouth comments. But when I added what I owed you for mine, you came out ahead.”
He stared at the money, then at her. Then he let out a sharp bark of laughter. “You’re somethin’ else, young lady.”
“People keep saying that,” she agreed cheerfully.
She turned back toward the sun and immediately squinted, her face scrunching as the Montana brightness assaulted her eyes. Why was it always so bright? Did the sun have a personal vendetta?
Shading her eyes with one hand, she peered toward the three-story massive log cabin in front of her. Solid wood, with a huge porch and two gigantic doors at the top of the steps. So very ranchy.
The taxi driver heaved the long-suffering sigh of a man who had accepted his fate ten minutes into their hour-long trip from Butte, Montana. He leaned forward, reached up, and tipped the sunglasses from the top of her head down onto her nose.
“Oh,” she said, blinking as the world instantly improved. “There they are.”
“You’re gonna be fine,” he muttered as he climbed back into his taxi. “The people here will take good care of you,” he added before he pulled the door shut.
She waved enthusiastically as the cab rolled away, then turned back to her luggage mountain. Time for an inventory check.
One unicorn suitcase on wheels, complete with horn and tail.
She patted it affectionately. Two carry-ons, stacked but sulking.
One large duffel bag that absolutely refused to cooperate.
And one extra-large backpack strapped to her front.
She looked as if she were preparing to summit Mount Everest instead of staying at a luxury resort for a week.
Sniffles swung proudly from the front pack, secured with a strap. “You’re not helping,” she informed him.
Sniffles did not apologize.
She bent, tugged, and nearly tipped herself forward. Her cowboy boots slapped against the gravel as she scrambled to regain her balance and prevent herself from falling.
Bottom lip caught between her teeth, she began stacking again, adjusting angles like the president of the geometry club.
Lift. Shift. Step back. Squint. Nope. Try again.
She was vaguely aware of someone approaching but ignored it until a shadow fell across her luggage.
“Welcome to Rawhide Ranch,” a male voice said gently. “I’m Dax, and I work here. Do you need a hand?”
She straightened instantly. “No.”
The young man looked friendly enough in his yellow staff shirt and faded jeans. Gazing down at her luggage, he paused. “You’ve got… a lot.”
“I am extremely capable,” she informed him. Waving at her pile of suitcases like a game-show Barbie, she added, “This is a system.”
Her unicorn suitcase promptly slid an inch to the left.
He smiled like he’d seen this before. “How about I just help you get them to the steps?”