His Ranch or Hers

by Roz Denny Fox

  “What now?” he asked as he found bare ground to stamp snow and mud off his boots.

  “We have an hour or so of daylight left. Not adequate to decide if the alfalfa fields are dry enough to cut. There won’t be time to start that for a few days anyway. So I’m going to ride out to have a look at the owls. If you’d rather stay here, that’s fine. You may not want to sit a saddle if you still hurt where the cow head butted you. Grab some rest. I’ll be back in time to start supper.”

  “Do you not want me to tag along?”

  “It’s not that. I’ve seen you shifting your weight uncomfortably. If you want to go, Ember can use the exercise.”

  “I do. Lead on. Are the birds on Flying Owl land? I heard you mention to your friend that the owls nest in some other guy’s trees.”

  “Leland Conrad. I don’t know him well. I thought he was kind of a recluse. Gramps talked to him at cattle meetings or at the grange hall. Leland never stayed long and he didn’t shoot the breeze over potluck tables like other neighbors do. But Tawana said he’s not so bad.”

  They entered the barn and each took the horse they’d ridden the night before.

  Once Zeke had saddled Ember, she handed him a set of binoculars and took another set for herself. “These are to better see the owls.”

  “I figured as much. I’ll close the barn door,” he said, looping the binoculars’ strap over his neck once they led the horses out.

  Myra vaulted easily into Cayenne’s saddle, then waited for Zeke to mount up.

  The horses were frisky, glad to be out and wanting to run.

  Zeke held Ember in check, likely because he had no idea which direction they were going.

  After they cleared the house and cantered into vast, empty land, Myra let Cayenne move faster.

  Zeke did the same to stay abreast of her.

  “This is Flying Owl land,” she said. “We rotate growing wheat, alfalfa and milo. We reseed our pastures in native grasses every year. Leased pasture on BLM land reseeds itself on the wind. Grass is better for adding weight on cattle. Prairie grass is rich in nutrients. It’s also cheaper in time and money than hay.”

  “At the risk of sounding stupid, why don’t you let your pastures reseed on the wind?”

  “Zeke, no question is stupid. Running a profitable cattle ranch takes know-how. For us Montanans success hinges on raising healthy calves we can sell for more than it costs to raise them. With our brutal winters, by November cattle have eaten all visible grass. The wind doesn’t reseed fast enough for all our needs. That’s why we haul hay. You’ll do that for four or five months along with supplementary grains bought at the feed store. Right after calving, just before the green grass returns in spring, we feed our stock our richest baled alfalfa. That keeps cows from stripping the new grass down to nubbins.” She let out a lengthy sigh.

  “I apologize if you’ve already told me some of that. It sounds familiar. I wonder if I’ll ever store in my head all the information that seems to roll off your tongue.”

  “You asked if there was a book on ranching. I’m sure there is, but ranching in Montana, and even in our corner of the state, will be different from anywhere else. I said I’d make you a list. Actually, I’ll see if I can carve out time to write descriptions of what needs doing and when throughout a typical year. It’d be a general guideline.”

  “That would be much appreciated.”

  “We’re now on BLM land,” she said, switching subjects.

  “Are we in danger of falling in any of those abandoned mines you spoke of?”

  “Not here. I’ve traveled this route many times. All I know of abandoned mines is from hearing others talk. I believe they’re in the foothills. The gold-mine collapse that killed my friend Lila’s husband is east of here. That mine operated for years without incident. From what Gramps said, the company followed a vein down the mountain, then an upper tunnel crumpled on top of a new one they’d dug in spokes underneath the played-out section. It caused a huge collapse. They never recovered the bodies of twenty or so men. Lila doesn’t talk about it, and if anyone mentions mining she gets up and leaves.”

  “It sounds like an awful way to die. I worry about my brother mining in developing countries. But I assume in the States there are rules governing mines. Currently Seth’s on his second trip to Afghanistan for lapis. I roamed those mountains and went with demolition crews who mapped natural caves. I hated being underground.”

  Myra slowed and turned Cayenne east. The new pace made it easier for them to talk even as they continued to climb into an area where snow still lay in patches. “Did you get to see your brother while you served in Afghanistan?” she asked.

  “Yes. On his first trip. Eric met him, too. The base commander let Seth and another gem hunter stay with us. I hope he calls me when he leaves there to go to Tanzania. Although he may be safer in Afghanistan. Unfortunately, regions where people dig for precious or even semiprecious gems are often dangerous.”

  “Do gem hunters get shot at? I can’t tell you how glad I am that Eric decided not to continue a military career. When he phoned to say you’d saved him during a gun battle with IED explosives involved, my mother was a basket case.”

  Zeke frowned. “Gemologists do get shot at. According to Seth, many men have died in a quest for diamonds, rubies, emeralds and sapphires.”

  Myra turned in her saddle. “I’ve read in our newspaper where what they call summer gem hunters come to Montana searching for sapphires. I think they’re found in or around defunct gold mines.”

  “Is that so? I wonder if Seth knows that,” Zeke murmured.

  The terrain got steeper and talk fell off. All at once Myra reined in and looked back down the hill to where Zeke had stopped. “What’s wrong?” she called. “Did Ember pull up lame? I should have told you to watch out for gopher holes.”

  “There’s no problem. I stopped to look at the mountain shadows. I’ve gotta say this is truly God’s country.” Leaning an arm on his saddle horn, Zeke continued to study the light and dark areas where gold from the late-afternoon sun glittered like a crown atop the highest ridges still fringed with snow.

  “I’ve always thought so,” Myra said, following his gaze. “I shouldn’t be surprised to see deeper snow up here. We should have worn hats and gloves, I guess.”

  “It’s not too cold.” Zeke touched his heels to Ember’s flanks and joined Myra on the slope. “I get what you meant when you said living here gives you a sense of freedom. That’s partly why I left Boston to come see if your father really wanted to give me a house in these wonderful, wide-open spaces.”

  Myra touched her heels to Cayenne and moved ahead of Zeke.

  He trotted his horse up beside her. “In Boston I’d recently seen a TV interview with John Mayer—you know, the songwriter?”

  “Kind of a bad boy, right?”

  “So went the rumors. Then he dropped out of the LA scene. I’ll sort of paraphrase here, but I read this interview when he said he’d moved to Montana where life wasn’t all about ego. He said something that resonated with me—how he’d come to realize he wanted one wife in his lifetime, and one set of kids, and neighbors who liked him for himself. Really profound stuff.”

  “That’s why you left Boston?” Myra sounded amused. “Because of John Mayer?”

  “I’m making a mess telling this. There’s nothing else a man should want in life but what Mayer said in that interview. A lot of my buddies were on second or third marriages. Many had no spare money because they paid so much in child support.”

  “So military life equates to the fast trackers in LA? Huh. Eric hardly ever talked to me about his time in the service. However, Mom said when he was home on leave, his uniform was a magnet for women.”

  “I’m still not being clear. My own military career in no way compares to a rock star’s life. After opting for a medical discharge, I expected to go back to Boston and nothing would have changed. But the city had gotten bigger, busier, and my friends had moved on. While I
don’t think I battled ego, I was restless and out of sorts during my time in Boston. That’s why the notion of wide-open spaces appealed to me.”

  “Now, on that score I understand.”

  “Whoa! What was that?” Zeke asked, ducking from a traveling shadow overhead that was accompanied by a strange noise: prek-prek, prek-prek. He stopped his horse.

  “That was a full-grown snowy owl,” Myra announced. She, too, halted Cayenne. “We were so involved talking I didn’t realize how close we’d gotten to the forest.” Raising her binoculars, she trained them on the tallest fir in a group that sat at the edge of a denser grove. “The snowy that cruised over our heads lit almost at the top of that middle tree. It was a female. The male’s call is harsher, more like krek-krek.”

  “I’m impressed you know the difference.” Zeke lifted his binoculars and spun the dial. “I see a pair,” he said excitedly, rocking sideways in his saddle even as the gelding shifted his weight. “Man, their backs blend with the tree bark even though with the field glasses you can see the white face and underbelly.”

  “Tawana said she counted five. Ah, I’ve got two in sight. Both in that tree are female. Males are almost pure white. Females have what birders call brown scalloping. The one that flew over us must have been collecting straw or twigs to build a nest. They’re night hunters, so it’s too early for them to be on the lookout for food.”

  “I feel foolish for ducking, but that thing is bigger than some of our drones,” Zeke said, refocusing his binoculars. “What would you guess their wingspan is?”

  “Full-grown, they can span fifty to sixty inches. I only know that from listening to Jewell talk about them. She and Tawana and a few older folks on the reservation are huge advocates. I like seeing owls flying about, though. And I’d hate for their numbers to dwindle. That’s what’s happening according to the National Wildlife Federation.” Even as she finished speaking, another bird left the tree and swooped down less than twenty feet in front of where they sat. The bird picked up a slender tree branch in its beak and soared aloft again.

  “Honestly, I didn’t expect to be so captivated by them,” Zeke said. “They’re quite a sight. These owls are the biggest birds I recall seeing in flight—even bigger than the crows in the Afghan cornfields. And when that one lit to get the branch, I managed a good look at its face. I’d swear it smiled.”

  Myra lowered her binoculars. “Jewell said a lot of people think the dark markings below their beaks and eyes resemble a smile.”

  “I’m surprised they don’t seem to be afraid of us.” Zeke again trained his binoculars on the trees.

  “They’ll be more defensive during nesting season. Adult snowy owls don’t have a lot of predators. But they have to guard their eggs against avian thieves, and of course their chicks from foxes, wild dogs and wolves.”

  Zeke let his binoculars fall the length of the strap. “I see we’re losing sunlight. There probably isn’t enough light to take a photo with my cell phone if an owl comes as close as that last one did.”

  “True. And we should go. At this rate it’ll be totally dark before we get back to the ranch. Why do you want a picture?”

  “To send to Seth and to my mom. She’s always regaling us with pictures of parrots in Barbados.”

  Myra guided Cayenne down the steep slope. As she passed Zeke, their knees bumped, knocking her foot out of her stirrup.

  All at once, nearby—too close for comfort—a timber wolf howled. Then another joined in. Unexpectedly Cayenne reared. With a wild shake of her head, she whistled through her nose and pawed the air, dumping Myra from the saddle.

  Losing her grip on the reins, she skid face-first through a wet patch of snow. As she got up on her hands and knees, Cayenne clattered off down the slope.

  Zeke lunged for the mare’s loose, flying reins, but missed. Another mournful call forced Zeke to keep a tight hold on Ember, then he jumped from his saddle to check on Myra. “Are you hurt?” He knelt close beside her because the fading light made it difficult to see.

  “Only my pride,” she sputtered, wiping wet snow from her jeans and scrubbing her face. “Did you catch my horse?”

  “No. We’d better go after her. Ember is getting antsy and it’s too gray to see how near those wolves may be.” He helped Myra up.

  Myra slipped as she tried to stand.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Yes, only a bit shaken. Cayenne’s never thrown me before.”

  “If you’re sure you’re okay to ride, come on.” Zeke nipped her at the waist and boosted her up onto Ember’s saddle. “We’ll ride double.”

  “I can sit behind you,” Myra said, attempting to swing down again.

  “Stay. We’ve gotta make tracks home and I want to know you’re not so woozy you’ll fall off.” Taking charge, he tightened his grasp of the reins and landed in the saddle behind her.

  Myra grabbed the saddle horn to keep from leaning against Zeke, and Ember took off at a trot. Then at Zeke’s urging, the nervous gelding moved faster.

  Snugged between Zeke’s solid thighs and cradled by his arms, Myra relaxed against her will. She’d never ridden double like this before. Somehow her fuzzy mind decided it wasn’t a bad way to get down out of the foothills.

  “It’s really dark now,” Zeke said, his breath rustling Myra’s hair. “I don’t see a moon or stars. Do you think Cayenne will head straight to the ranch?”

  “I hope so.” Myra turned slightly to look at him. She felt her hair brush his cheek and she froze. She hadn’t been this close to a man since moving to Snowy Owl Crossing. At the moment her mind warred with itself. Part of her liked the comfort afforded by Zeke Maxwell’s strong arms. Another part of her brain whispered, But he’s the enemy.

  Chapter Five

  “The wolves sound more distant,” Zeke said. “I had no idea there were any here. Are they a hazard to the herd?”

  Myra didn’t respond.

  He slowed Ember’s dash through the dark terrain and shook Myra lightly. “Hey, speak up. Let me know you aren’t hurt.”

  “Sorry, I was back thinking of our conversation about taking photos of the owls before I so unceremoniously got dumped from my horse.”

  “I’m sure I’ll have other opportunities. I hope so, at least. Like I said, Mom always sends me photos of tropical birds.”

  “I’m surprised you didn’t go live with your parents after you got out of the hospital,” Myra said. “Seems like you’d be in seventh heaven lying around all day on sandy beaches overrun with bikini babes.”

  “What, in our short acquaintance, made you form such a low opinion of me?”

  She could have said he hadn’t seemed to have a problem taking a ranch he hadn’t worked for, but Myra still clung to the hope he’d tire of the hard work and pack it in. And maybe he’d change his mind about fun in the sun during severe Montana winters. “I didn’t mean to cast aspersions. I thought that was every guy’s dream.”

  “Can’t say I don’t admire women in bikinis. But I’ve never been one to lie around all day doing nothing. And my folks have a one-bedroom bungalow inland from the beach. Honestly, I had enough sun and sand to last me a lifetime in Iraq and Afghanistan.”

  “Fair enough. I stand corrected. But I still wonder why you ride so well. Boston doesn’t strike me as a horse haven. And don’t you military guys all travel in Humvees?”

  “The one tour I did in Iraq before we pulled out, I was embedded with a friendly nomadic tribe. They liked to make fun of the city guys in my outfit. Once they had their laughs at us, they took us under their wing. Their horses are top-notch.”

  “Well, that makes sense. Oh, look, there’s the ranch.” Myra sat upright and the top of her head struck the underside of Zeke’s chin.

  “Ouch, don’t knock me out.”

  “Sorry. I was trying to see Cayenne.”

  “I think that’s her darker outline by the barn.” Zeke pointed over Myra’s shoulder.

  “That’s a relief. I woul
d feel terrible if anything happened to her.”

  As they approached, the mare lifted her head and whinnied. For a minute it seemed as if she’d take off running again.

  “Let me off to calm her,” Myra said. “She’s still spooked.”

  Zeke reined in, swung out of the saddle and reached up to lift Myra down. If not for the hold he maintained on her waist, she’d have fallen again.

  “Heavens,” she exclaimed. “I hurt my knees more than I thought.” She hobbled over to grab Cayenne’s bridle then limped on to open the barn door.

  “We may both soak up liniment tonight,” Zeke joked, following her.

  “I hope not. There’s a lot of hard work on tap tomorrow.”

  Zeke stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Let me take care of the horses. You go in and treat your knees. We can do sandwiches or something easy for our meal. No need to fix a full supper.”

  “I put stew in the Crock-Pot at lunch. All we need to do is make coffee and pop some French bread in the oven for ten minutes or so.”

  “Great. So what besides shipping calves are we doing tomorrow?” Zeke studied Myra in the brighter light she’d turned on inside the barn.

  “I need to call Eddie Four Bear. If he and Aaron Younger can round up a third man, tomorrow afternoon we can vaccinate, spray for parasites and test for pregnancies. Believe me when I tell you that’s about the toughest job you’ll do outside of calving during wind, rain or a late snowfall.” Myra handed over Cayenne’s reins and limped off.

  In the house, she greeted and fed Orion, washed up and started coffee. Then she went to the bedroom in search of her phone. As she’d guessed, her mother had left a stream of messages, all scolding her for choosing to stay at the ranch rather than apply for teaching jobs. Eric had phoned, too. So after she called Eddie Four Bear and got his promise to pick up vaccinations and bring two helpers to the ranch the next day, she dialed her brother’s number just to talk.

  “Sis, it’s about damn time you called home. What’s going on? Mom’s in a tizzy because Dad said you’re staying at the Flying Owl until spring.”