His Ranch or Hers

by Roz Denny Fox

  Joe Watson laughed after the cowboy left. “Len hates doing stuff he considers farmwork. He’ll choose tackling anything involving horses or cattle first.”

  “Give the man a break, Joe,” Hank chided. “Len’s saved us a lot of stock we would’ve lost without his experience turning a calf coming breech.”

  “Is that common?” Zeke asked Myra in a low voice after she had him detour past her pickup for the back belt.

  “Not common, but it happens. I’ve been thinking about spring calving. You may want to hire Eddie and Aaron.”

  “Aren’t you staying through spring?” Zeke unzipped his jacket to Velcro the wide belt around his waist. He’d fallen a few steps behind Myra, so he spoke louder.

  Apparently overhearing him, Joe Watson fell back, too. “Yeah, Myra, what gives? We were shocked when Dad told us you were leaving. My wife says the bazaar won’t earn half as much for the snowy-owl fund without the draw of your dollhouses.”

  “That reminds me, Myra,” Zeke said as he pulled on his gloves, “three snowy owls swooped right down in front of the baler. They all had something in their talons. What a sight. You’ll see where I zigzagged instead of baling in a straight line as I watched them.”

  “You probably opened up a nest of field mice,” Myra said.

  “The owls are back early,” Joe exclaimed. “Damn, that generally means a bad winter won’t be far behind their arrival.”

  Zeke turned to Joe. “Will the birds go farther south?”

  He shrugged. “Myra, maybe you can answer that. You ladies keep better track of the snowy owls than we men do.”

  “Jewell tracks them. They don’t always follow the same migration path. If we can ensure a safe habitat, we hope over time owl families will return each year and their numbers will increase.”

  “As long as they stick to hunting rodents and don’t start making off with my wife’s chickens, I’m fine having their numbers grow,” Joe growled. He stopped and lifted a bale next to where his father idled with the trailer.

  Myra passed Mark and beckoned to Zeke. “You load this bale when Hank pulls up. I’ll go to the next one in line. Watch. You’ll see how it’s done.”

  Because Zeke worked behind her, Myra didn’t notice as the afternoon wore on how much he favored his left arm and shoulder until Mark quietly called it to her attention. “You maybe ought to advise Zeke to take it easy. He’s lifting everything with just his right arm. Being new at this, he could’ve strained his left shoulder. Unless he takes it easy, he might not be able to help bring in your bales tomorrow.”

  Myra spun around to assess Zeke. “They’re his bales now,” she said. But Mark was right. Zeke was definitely favoring his left side. “It’s an injury from Afghanistan,” she noted, frowning. “Eric said Zeke almost lost his arm rescuing guys in his patrol. He had something like eight or more surgeries. But he’s a big boy. Surely he knows his limits.”

  “So the rumors are true. Your new boss really is a hero. Awesome.”

  It was awesome. Myra wouldn’t take anything away from Zeke’s heroic actions. But having Mark refer to Zeke as her new boss felt as if he was jabbing a hot poker in her belly. All of the neighbors seemed only too happy to accept Zeke as one of them. That stung most of all.

  She’d worked side by side with these guys for three years. Longer if she counted the summers she’d spent tagging after her grandfather doing these same chores. Suddenly, though, she sensed the circle closing her out. The men were quick to joke and chat with Zeke.

  By the time the last bale was stored in Hank’s shed and dusk had set in, the men grouped together high-fiving each other for a job well done.

  They didn’t high-five Myra.

  Hank stripped off his gloves and shook hay dust from his shirt. “Sarah Jane phoned to let me know supper’s almost ready. Zeke, why don’t you stay and eat with us. Meet the boys’ wives. And we’ll set a time to collect at your place tomorrow.”

  Zeke swiftly turned to Myra.

  Having the grace then to look sheepish, Hank cleared his throat. “Of course the invitation extends to you as well, Myra.”

  “Thanks, but I have a chicken in the Crock-Pot at home.”

  “Oh, I didn’t know that,” Zeke said. “I’ll take a rain check, Hank.”

  Myra cut in. “No need. There’s no better cook in Snowy Owl Crossing than Sarah Jane. Maybe Lila’s mom, but she cooks for a living. Stay, Zeke, and get acquainted.”

  He chewed his lower lip, seeming torn. Then because Myra told the men she’d see them in the morning and walked away, Joe Watson said in a tone that carried, “Good, it’s settled. I’m starved. Let’s go eat.”

  Myra didn’t look back. Her pickup lights, once she’d climbed in the cab and turned them on, outlined the men trudging to the big farmhouse on the knoll above the barn.

  She didn’t blame Hank for shutting her out. She’d long known that cattle ranching was a good-old-boy network. She had wormed her way into acceptance of her grandfather’s standing in the community. But tonight had made it plain that she needed to move on. She headed out on the rural road that would take her home. To her now-temporary home.

  This was far from the first time she’d driven this road after dark and then had to enter a house empty except for Orion. But now it seemed different. Emptier.

  She sighed and turned on the living room light. Tonight the home she loved felt lonelier. But the scent of her Crock-Pot chicken reminded her she was hungry and that she’d put in a long day.

  As had been her habit prior to Zeke’s arrival, she let Orion loose to root around her feet while she sat at the kitchen table checking local news on her laptop, slowly eating her meal. Snow was still predicted for late Saturday or early Sunday. It looked like a big storm. She hoped she had gauged right on winter feed. It was always a guessing game. But why should she care?

  Closing her laptop, Myra decided to call Eric. As a rule she spoke with someone in her family every few days. Her dad would be busy moving cattle and harvesting hay, and her mom might still be miffed at her. But unless Eric came home dog tired, it was odd he hadn’t phoned her. She pressed his automatic link on her phone. He picked up at once.

  “How’s life at Rolling Acres?” Myra said by way of greeting.

  “Hi, sis. What’s up? I talked to Zeke at lunch. He said he was running the baler.”

  Myra stiffened a tad. “He didn’t mention talking to you. He’s having supper with the Watsons. How are the folks? And you?”

  “Good. Dad told Mom to give you some space. You sound down. What’s wrong? Why is Zeke at the Watsons’ without you?”

  Myra didn’t hide her despair. She was always honest with her brother. “Each day that goes by, taking me closer to spring when I said I’d leave, is like adding a stickpin in my already breaking heart, Eric. I’m trying to be glad Zeke is willing to learn what it takes to make a go of the ranch. Yet I still wish he’d fail. I know that’s horrible but I can’t help it. The other day I had hoped he’d quit. He bugged out in the middle of prepping the heifers. Then he came back and doubled down. I know it’s nothing, but he’s even taken a real interest in the snowy owls.” Emotion choked off anything else she might add.

  “Zeke said he suffered a minor flashback to the chaos that happened during our ambush. You know I’ve had a few. He said that was his first. They’re scary, Myra.”

  “I know. I don’t want to wish him ill, Eric.”

  “Have you considered telling him exactly how you feel?”

  “I can’t. It’s not his fault. Hey, I’m sorry for dumping on you. Do me a favor and tell Mom I’m updating my academic résumé. In fact, I’ll get to it as soon as I hang up.”

  “It’s probably for the best. I actually sort of hoped you and Zeke would hit it off. Especially after he told me you’re taking him to a potluck dance Saturday night.”

  “At the grange. Everybody goes. It’s not like a date, Eric. I can tell you he thinks I’m bossy. I wonder if he got that from you.”


  “Ouch. Go tweak your résumé. You may feel a whole lot better if you get away from the ranch and find another job.”

  Myra didn’t tell him her heart would never heal. Clearly no one understood how deep her feelings ran when it came to the Flying Owl. “Listen, we’re due for snow and so is your area. Winterize. I’ll see you after calving, if not before.”

  “Right. I love you to pieces, Myra. But I owe Zeke my life. He knocked me away and took the percussion from an IED.”

  “I’m aware of that. It’s why I’m still here helping him. Bye, Eric.” Myra hit Disconnect before the tears came.

  She jumped up and stored the leftovers from the Crock-Pot, cleaned up and put everything in the dishwasher. Her résumé didn’t need much updating. Then because it was too early to call it a night, she carried Orion into the living room. Moving the card table that held an unfinished dollhouse in front of her grandfather’s recliner, she tucked Orion in beside her and settled down to assemble the roof. The pig was soon snoring away, which helped lift the gloom from her heart. Orion didn’t have a care in the world.

  She’d installed the gables and was fitting a faux-brick chimney when her cell phone rang. She didn’t recognize the number and almost didn’t answer, but the caller didn’t hang up so she cautiously said, “Hello.”

  “Myra, it’s Zeke. I...uh...don’t know where I am. I thought when I left the Bar W fifteen minutes ago I was retracing the route I took to get there. Somehow I got off the paved road. For as long as I’ve been on this gravel, I know it’s not leading to the ranch. I left the map your dad gave me in the pocket of my other jacket. And I never plugged the address into my GPS. Actually...” He hesitated for a protracted moment. “I don’t remember the ranch address.”

  Myra could have just provided it and let it go. But a little demon nudged her. “Gee,” she drawled, “since our lane isn’t crisscrossed with land mines, I guess you can’t navigate your way home now, Lieutenant Maxwell.”

  The silence lengthened and Myra blanched, concerned she’d lost him. Then, at last, sounding humble, he said, “I deserve that dig. In my defense, there are no stars out tonight to help with coordinates.”

  “Sorry, I couldn’t resist. Here’s the address.” She gave it and had him read it back. “If I had to guess, I’d say you turned off on one of the reservation roads. If so, you aren’t too far away. You should see the house in ten minutes or so. But if you don’t, call me back with some landmarks.”

  He hung up, and Myra didn’t know why, but the very fact the man admitted he deserved her needling left her feeling much friendlier toward him.

  Chapter Eight

  Myra dislodged Orion, who shook his head and snorted a few times at being awakened. Concerned for Zeke and now wishing she hadn’t given in to the petty urge to dig him, she carried her pig to a front window and peered into the night.

  She shouldn’t have acted so cavalier. Getting lost in this expanse of nothingness wasn’t anything to take lightly. Last year a tourist had missed a crossroad at night when a winter storm blew in. It wasn’t until the family expecting him to meet them in Canada contacted authorities that they found him way off any beaten path, frozen to death.

  Relief swept through her as she saw headlights appear at the lane and bob past the barn. She didn’t wait for him to shut off his pickup’s engine before she threw open the front door and dashed out.

  Zeke bounded up on the porch, his smile speaking for both of them. He swept Myra and Orion into a bear hug, surprising her. And he kissed her, which shocked her.

  “I’m an idiot,” he professed, walking her backward into the house. Reaching behind him, he shut the door, blocking the wind that rattled the remains of a hanging plant. Tightening his arms again, Zeke gazed into Myra’s face. “Do you realize you may be the only rancher in this whole corner of the world with lights on this time of night?”

  “Ranchers tend to turn in early,” she said. “But how does that make you an idiot?”

  He let her go and shrugged out of his jacket. “I didn’t fill my gas tank when I was in town the other day. And I discovered I don’t have a map or a flashlight in my vehicle. I’m damned lucky my cell phone was charged. Probably luckier there’s cell service around here.”

  “That only happened the year before I came to help Gramps. Some of the big ranchers south of here lobbied to get a tower. This used to be no-man’s territory. It’s still not very populated.”

  “Tell me about it.” As if noticing she held a yawning Orion, Zeke reached out and rubbed the little pig’s head. “We should keep a porch light burning as a beacon to lost travelers.”

  “That’s up to you. But electricity is expensive.”

  “It was really unnerving being out there in total blackness.”

  “I’m sure it was. Outside of that, did you have a good time with the Watsons?”

  “Yeah. They’re a lively bunch. You probably know Joe has a microbrewery in his basement. He took me to see his setup. His mother thinks he could have picked a better hobby, but he claims it keeps him occupied in winter. Sort of like your dollhouses. And Mark has a room at his house filled with model trains. They all thought it was odd when I said my hobby is reading. There wasn’t much else to do during downtime in Afghanistan. Unless you count playing basketball or baseball with village kids.”

  “I don’t think it’s odd to like reading.”

  “Thanks. I know you said you had to come home because you had food cooking. I wish you’d been able to stay there for supper.”

  “Why? Oh, of course, so you’d have been able to follow me home.” She laughed.

  “That’s not why. It was all couples, making me the odd man out.”

  “Joe and Mark married their high school sweethearts. That’s common here. But there are singles around. You’ll meet most of them Saturday night at the grange potluck.”

  “I didn’t mean I missed any old company. I would have liked sharing the evening with you.” He touched her arm again when he said it.

  What was behind his sudden flattery? Myra fought against a flutter in her belly and recalled her recent litany of complaints to Eric. The prime one being how she wished Zeke would opt to leave. Pasting on a false smile, she said, “Probably you’re missing the woman you left back east.”

  Zeke looked surprised. “She found a dentist.”

  “Pardon me?” Myra frowned in confusion.

  “To marry.”

  “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.” Myra sidled toward her bedroom.

  “Don’t be sorry. I’m not. They were better suited.” A smile played at the edge of his lips. “Stacy would’ve freaked out if she’d ever stepped in cow poop. And she wouldn’t have owned a goldfish, let alone have a pig for a pet.”

  “Country life isn’t for everyone,” Myra said then wondered if Zeke found her amusing because she was in direct contrast to his former girlfriend. She’d been so sure all she needed to do was wait him out and he’d tire of living here. Maybe not.

  “Speaking of country life,” she said. “Mark noticed you had trouble loading today. Is your arm bothering you? We’ve got more days of gathering bales ahead of us.”

  Zeke automatically rubbed his left shoulder. “The surgeon suggested I join a fitness club for exercise. Hefting bales should be as good and it’s cheaper.”

  His cheerfulness rattled her. Nodding because she’d run out of things to say, she murmured, “Okay, well, I’m turning in. I set up coffee. First one up in the morning can turn it on.” She slipped into her room, not waiting to see what Zeke did.

  Sleep didn’t come quickly. She was bothered by that kiss and a conscience that nagged her for hanging on to resentment. Zeke was trying. In fact, he’d bent over backward. And some part of her that she couldn’t control found him attractive. In ways that went beyond physical. Despite injuries, he pitched in. He joked at his own expense. He admitted to liking books—and snowy owls—and Orion. And he was a great kisser. She kept finding things to add to his pos
itive column. His negative one was shrinking. Thankfully, sleep claimed her before she analyzed too closely where those pros and cons might lead her. She might really fall for the guy.

  * * *

  THE SMELL OF fresh coffee drew Myra out of sleep the next morning. Checking her clock, she saw it was six thirty. She’d forgotten to turn on her alarm. Bounding from bed, she hurriedly dressed, collected Orion and practically ran to the kitchen.

  “Gosh, how long have you been up?” she asked, seeing Zeke pull a pan of biscuits from the oven.

  “Awhile. At supper the Watsons said if it wasn’t foggy they’d be here at eight to help haul bales. Hank said that’d give everyone time to finish morning chores.”

  Myra lifted the curtain to look outside. “It’s cloudy, but no fog. That’s good. The bales should still be dry enough to house.”

  They ate breakfast. “I’ll put on a new pot so after chores I can pop back in and fill a thermos,” Myra said when Zeke carried his dishes to the sink. “And I’ll make sandwiches to serve everyone for lunch if you’ll drive the tractor and trailer out to the field.”

  “I can do that. How long do you think it’ll take us to finish? Will it be today?”

  “I hope so. Tomorrow we’ll give Dave Ralston a hand. His winter-wheat field is near his barn. Even after helping him we should get home in time to shower, change and make it to the potluck by seven. I’m taking a big pasta salad that I’ll fix tonight.”

  Zeke kept nodding.

  Myra knew it was a lot to take in, but he didn’t ask her to repeat anything. And as cold as it was when they went out to make rounds of the cattle, she thought she may need to change what she’d planned to wear. This might not be skirt weather. Especially not short-skirt weather.

  * * *

  THEY GOT A late start moving bales. While checking on the herd, they discovered a broken section of fence. The bull was out. Zeke went back to the barn for tools while Myra corralled the bull in a smaller pen and phoned Hank. “Hi, it’s Myra. We’ll be delayed. Our bull got out.”