“I’m okay with late. I have a heifer that needs doctoring. I’ll tell the boys, too.”
Myra and Zeke returned to the house as the Watsons drove in at one thirty.
“Why don’t you pack up lunch,” Zeke said. “I’ll bring the tractor and flatbed by here. We can ride to the field together.”
“Sounds good. And we can take Orion out to play in that loose dirt, so let’s load his pen and haul everything on the flatbed instead of me driving my pickup.”
She had everything waiting on the porch when Zeke pulled up. He left the tractor idling and shot up the steps to help her carry Orion’s things out.
“What’s that you’ve got him wrapped in?” he asked, casting a sidelong glance at the bundle in her arms. “He can’t do much rooting in a blanket.”
“It’s his jacket. More like a cape Jewell knit for him.” Myra held Orion up for Zeke to see. “It buttons under his belly in two places. And it washes.”
“Huh. He looks like a black-and-white bumblebee with ears.”
Myra snuggled the pig and watched Zeke load the pen. “Pay him no mind, Orion. I think you look fashionable. And you can stay warm and have fun.”
Laughing, Zeke boosted Myra into the tractor jump seat.
Out at the field the Watsons also poked fun at the pig’s jacket.
“Stop, or you’ll go hungry,” Myra told the boisterous men. Still, once she’d settled Orion, she passed around plastic cups of coffee and wrapped sandwiches. “We can all start work on full bellies,” she said.
Not only did they start late, at four, with several rows still to go, the trailer got a flat tire, which had to be repaired.
Pointing to a dusky sky, Myra said, “Hey. If we don’t want to make our last run in the dark, we need to get back on task.”
Mark shivered and rebuttoned his shearling jacket. “Getting colder, too. We may load out Ralston tomorrow in snow.”
His brother took a long gander at the sky. “Not supposed to snow until tomorrow night. I hope everyone going to the potluck has four-wheel drive.” Bending, he lifted the first bale in the next row.
They worked steadily to the end of that row and were about to start another when Hank stabbed a finger at the sky. “Will you look at that? Is that a pair of snowies?”
They all stopped and craned their necks, including Zeke, who stilled the tractor.
“It’s not dark,” Joe said inanely. “I thought they only hunted at night.”
Myra scanned the sky and saw the smaller of the two birds dive into the row they’d just left. “Zeke saw them hunting in daylight while he was baling. Maybe they’re stocking up because there’s a storm coming.”
“Could be the same pair,” Zeke said, moving the tractor ahead a few feet.
Mark tossed another bale on the trailer and they adjusted their positions. All at once Zeke braked hard, let out a yell and vaulted off the tractor. He leaped over a bale not yet loaded. “The big owl,” he shouted. “She’s after Orion.”
Reacting to his shout, Myra ran after him. She and Zeke reached the makeshift pen inches from a massive bird coming down talons first.
Myra heard Zeke breathing hard and fast. Her heart thundered in her ears amid Orion’s frantic squeals. She waved her arms to deflect the owl. The bird kept coming. Up close it didn’t look as if it was smiling. The owl’s curved back talons sank into Orion’s cape as Zeke grabbed the pig’s short front legs. He dodged the flapping wings. The air was a cacophony of screeches, shouts and squeals.
Horrified, Myra saw Zeke and the owl locked in a vicious tug of war. “Lift Orion higher,” she yelled. “I’ll unbutton his jacket.”
Zeke immediately raised his arms, but Myra could tell by his grimace that his once-injured left arm hurt him terribly.
In spite of the determined bird’s beating wings tangling in her hair, she ducked and winced, barely avoiding being pecked by the curved beak. Amber eyes she’d once thought beautiful now glowed with menace.
Slow to react to the unfolding scene, Joe and Mark finally joined the fracas. The men waved their Stetsons and made a racket. Grateful, Myra felt the last button slip free of its hole. The force of the release sent Zeke and Orion reeling backward into Mark and Joe. They all sprawled on top of a bale.
The owl issued one last screech. With a forward thrust of her wings, the bird rose above the pen, her only prize Orion’s black-and-white knit cloak.
Scraping back her disheveled hair, Myra scrambled to Zeke on her hands and knees. She relieved him of the pig, still squealing because Zeke gripped him so tightly. “Are you all right?” she asked Zeke, her arms and voice shaking. “I’m pretty sure you were in agony while you fought to save Orion.” She breathed out a stream of frosty air. “I swear I never dreamed anything like this could happen. Heavens, I can’t think straight to properly thank you,” she said, cuddling her pet inside her jacket.
“I wish I could’ve got that on video,” Hank said, late crossing the field to join the others. “Unless they see it, nobody will believe what happened. I’ll bet no more than two or three minutes passed, but it seemed so much longer.”
“Sure did,” Zeke said, accepting Joe’s hand up from where he lay amid prickly cuttings of alfalfa. He suddenly gripped and rubbed his left elbow, murmuring, “Do you suppose the bird can escape from that knit blanket?”
Myra squinted skyward. “With those talons she’ll rip the cloak to shreds.”
Mark Watson settled his Stetson again. “In all the years we’ve lived here, I’ve never seen a snowy owl that close. Man, Zeke, you leapfrogged over here before I figured out what the hell was going on.”
Hank placed a hand on each of his son’s shoulders. “We don’t want to risk another episode. Myra, you scoot to the house with Piggy. The rest of us will get back to loading bales. That’s if Zeke’s not too done in to drive the tractor.”
“I can do that,” Zeke said. “Doubt I can lift a bale. But if you guys load the last two rows, Myra and I can unload in the morning.”
“Agreed.” Electing to let the men work it out, Myra crooned to Orion on her way to the house. She could tell the fright hadn’t left the animal. And her knees still wobbled. Inside the house, she dampened a hand towel and cleaned Orion up before setting him in his kitchen pen. He burrowed under his quilt but poked his nose out when Myra put mixed greens in his metal bowl. “I love the snowy owls,” she said, scratching her pet behind his ears. “But I love you more. This was a lesson learned today, and we owe Zeke a ton of thanks for saving you. First Eric, now you,” she said, straightening away from the pen.
She remained at the house preparing her pasta salad until she felt Orion had calmed down enough to be left alone.
But before she could go back to the field, the men appeared, all headed toward the barn.
“Is Orion okay?” Zeke called as she came toward him.
“He’s fine, thanks to you.” She swallowed a lump. “I know some would say he’s just a pig. But he’s a whole lot more to me.”
“I know.” Zeke smiled down at her since she’d caught up to his slow-moving tractor. “The little guy is kinda special.”
Hearing him say that warmed Myra’s heart. But the two of them didn’t discuss the incident further that night.
However, the next day when they met at Dave Ralston’s to collect his winter hay, Zeke’s bravery was a hot topic. He brushed aside the accolades.
Later, as he and Myra returned to the Flying Owl, Zeke again fussed about how fast information traveled among neighbors.
“Get used to it,” Myra advised. “You haven’t seen half the gushing. Wait until we get to the potluck. Yikes, is that snow?” she asked, suddenly pointing out the windshield. She drove, but they both leaned forward to peer at the sky.
“Yep,” Zeke acknowledged. “We finished at Dave’s just in time.”
Seeing the fat flakes thicken, Myra mentally scratched any thought of wearing a skirt to the grange hall. Who knew if they’d need to help push friends’
or neighbors’ vehicles out of snowdrifts?
As if Zeke could hear her thoughts, he asked, “What should a guy wear to this shindig tonight?”
“Dress like a rancher. Didn’t you buy new stuff in town?”
“Yeah. I went in for a jacket. A fast-talking salesman sold me fancy boots and a hat. Will people think I’m trying to be cowboy Ken doll?”
Myra sputtered out a laugh. “Sorry, but is there a cowboy Ken doll?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Seth and I only had G.I. Joe and ninjas.”
She spared a glance at him in a cab lit only by green-and-gold dash lights. “Of course you did.” His dark buzz cut was growing out, but it accentuated his handsome, rugged features. “Wear the new gear,” she said, stopping beside the house.
They went inside through blowing snowflakes and laughed as they stomped their feet and dusted off each other’s hair. “I’ll feed Orion then get ready,” Myra said. “We should leave in half an hour. I’m allowing extra time because of the snow.”
“Gotcha.”
Myra heard Zeke’s shower running when she passed his room on the way to hers. At her closet she tucked the skirt and blouse she’d put out into a back corner and pulled out her best skinny black jeans. She had a fringed leather jacket—an impulse purchase from last year’s bazaar. Until now she’d had nowhere to wear it. But for as many times as she’d attended one of these potlucks without caring what she wore, how dumb was it to be acting all girlie because of Zeke Maxwell?
She did it anyway. She brushed out her ponytail and dressed carefully. The boots she chose had two-inch wedge heels and zipped to her knees. Standing before her mirror, she knew if she indulged in more than her usual lipstick, her friends would tease her unmercifully. Still, she couldn’t resist swiping on a light smudge of brown eye shadow. Deep breath and a last fluff of her hair, and out of the room she breezed, then stopped cold.
Zeke paced near the door, turning a black cowboy hat in his hands. He wore black slant-heeled Western boots, pressed blue jeans and a black long-sleeved shirt, open at the throat. It fit him like a glove, showing off his well-honed upper body.
“It’s too much, right?” he said. “That’s why you’re gaping at me.”
Myra choked a bit. “I’m thinking no Ken doll I ever remember looked as hot as you.”
Zeke definitely blushed.
“Uh... I should have said fit,” she blurted, charging past him toward the kitchen. “Let me grab my pasta salad from the fridge. Are you driving or am I?” she asked in a rush, trying to cover the compliment.
“I’ll drive. And may I say I prefer hot over fit,” he called after her.
She returned carrying a large plastic bowl with a lid. “It was a slip of the tongue. Don’t let it go to your head.”
Zeke opened the front door and took the bowl. “I can never tell your true feelings about me, because if you give me a compliment it’s always backhanded.”
They trekked through a dusting of snow to Zeke’s pickup. He unlocked the passenger door and steadied Myra as she climbed in, after which he handed her the pasta salad and his hat.
“No comment?” he queried once he was settled behind the wheel.
“Did I take back the praise I heaped on you for saving Orion?”
“No,” he admitted, starting the vehicle and turning around.
“Do you mind turning on the heat?”
Reaching out, Zeke twisted a knob, producing a blast of warm air. “Better?”
“Yes, thanks.” Myra kept her face turned to the side window.
They fell silent for some fifteen minutes. Then following Myra’s directions, Zeke slowed down and got in behind a line of pickups and SUVs. One by one all left the highway to end in a parking lot surrounding a well-lit building. “It’s a big Quonset hut,” Zeke remarked, shutting off the engine.
“A brilliant design in snow country.” Myra passed Zeke his hat and thrust open her door.
“Hold on. I’ll come around.”
One thing Myra couldn’t deny was that Zeke had impeccable manners. He took the bowl for her, then loosely gripped her elbow as she stepped down. And he didn’t let go, but rather guided her along the path, which was beginning to get slick from the snow and dropping temperature.
The interior of the building burst with noise—raucous laughter and male, female and children’s voices. In the background, sporadic sounds of band members tuning a variety of instruments filled the air.
They’d no more than stepped inside when an older woman whisked the bowl out of Zeke’s hands. She bustled to a long table flanking one wall. Across the room, two men, also in Western garb, tapped the first of two beer kegs. Near them and throughout the middle sat smaller tables surrounded by folding chairs.
Zeke barely had time to take it all in when Myra grabbed his hand and pulled him into a good-size coatroom. Shelves above the coats held a plethora of cowboy hats. Bending, Zeke whispered in Myra’s ear, “Those pegs on the back wall...are those holstered weapons real?”
“Yes.” She hung up her coat. “Many outlying ranchers carry. They’ve got a greater chance of encountering the wolves we heard in the foothills. Also mountain lions or an occasional rogue moose. You can apply for a permit if you’d like.”
He shook his head and shed his outerwear. “I’ve had quite enough of weapons, thank you.”
Myra thought it took a big man to admit that. Again warmth toward him swept through her.
Two older couples entered the coatroom. Myra introduced Zeke, then led him into the great room, where a skinny brown-haired boy ran up and flung his arms around Myra’s waist. “Auntie Myra,” the kid exclaimed. “Mama sent me to tell you they’ve got the usual table.”
She ruffled the boy’s unruly hair. “Zeke, this is Rory Jenkins. His mom is Lila. She works at the café and runs the B and B I told you about.”
“Auntie?” Zeke lifted an eyebrow.
“Shh!” Myra touched a finger to her lips. “All of the Artsy Ladies are Rory’s aunties.” She smiled at the kid.
“Ah. Pleased to meet you.” Zeke extended a hand to Rory, who only blinked at Zeke then ran off with a pair of bigger kids.
Myra set off but was startled when she felt Zeke’s hand at the small of her back.
Surprised by the possessive sensation of his broad hand, Myra felt heat pooling low in her abdomen. Shaken, she blurted, “You can go find Joe and Mark Watson, or Dave and his son. I’ll hunt you up when it’s time to go home.”
His steps didn’t falter. “I’ve met those guys. I’d like to say hello to your friends.” He went with her to where a number of ladies sat around a large table. Chatter ceased as everyone eyed the man all but glued to Myra. She began by introducing Lila’s mother, a youngish-looking blonde woman in her late sixties. “You’ve heard me talk about the crafts and careers of some of the others,” she told Zeke. “Tawana, Lila and Jewell, Shelley and Mindy.” Myra pointed them out in turn.
The women had all heard about the incident with Orion. They made a big deal about Zeke’s part in the rescue. He brushed aside their glowing compliments by singling out Lila and Jewell. “I remember seeing you two at Cody’s Bar,” he said. “Jewell’s a great name for someone with red hair like yours.” Smiling, he moved on to acknowledge Shelley and Mindy.
“Shelley teaches ceramics,” Myra noted. “Mindy owns the town beauty shop. She makes lovely hair bows and scrunchies that sell like hotcakes at our Thanksgiving bazaar.”
Zeke held up his hands in surrender. “I understood fine until you got to scrunchies. I think I’ll leave you ladies to your catching up. I saw the Watsons come in.” Turning to Myra, he murmured, “Should I come back here to eat with you?”
“You can. Or sometimes the men pick a table so they can discuss cattle futures or the price of tractors and stuff.”
He said once more that it was nice to meet everyone, squeezed Myra’s shoulder then sauntered off. His gesture caused a flurry of speculation around the table, just as she knew i
t would. She countered Lila’s mother, who said, “That man’s a keeper, Myra,” by reminding them she was leaving come spring. It cast a pall over the friends until Shelley asked how bazaar projects were going.
As the evening progressed, Myra found herself following Zeke’s travels around the hall. He laughed and chatted with most of the local ranchers and their wives. It hurt a little to see how easily he fit in. She longed to be staying. But he hadn’t asked her to.
Zeke did eat with a group of men, but wandered back to the women’s table when the band struck up their first tune.
It was then Myra learned he loved to dance. And he was good at it. He took a turn around the floor with each of her friends, but spent the rest of the night dancing with her. In his arms she imagined herself a princess. A new feeling for her.
She felt a pang of sorrow when the bandleader announced the last dance. More so because this was her last potluck.
But they collected their coats and her empty dish and said their goodbyes. It was a shock to walk out of the warm hall into a curtain of falling snow.
“Would you like me to drive home?” she asked Zeke. “I know you had a few beers.”
“Three over a long evening. But if you want to escort me home and can do it without running off the road in this whiteout, go for it.” He handed her the keys.
She reached the main road without incident.
For a few minutes, Zeke seemed tense. “How do you know you’re on the road?” he asked.
“See those eight-foot-tall colored poles off to the side?”
Zeke looked.
“Those are snow markers. Every foot up the pole is a different color so you can see how deep the snow is. The top foot is bright red. As long as I’ve lived here I’ve never seen it that high. Some old-timers claim they remember when it did.”
“Amazing.” He leaned back against the seat.
Every time Myra glanced his direction on the slow drive to the ranch, she noticed him smiling. “You seem happy,” she finally remarked. “I guess there’s no need to ask if you had a good time tonight.”
He turned toward her. “I can’t tell you when I’ve enjoyed myself more. I made good friends in the army, but there was always underlying tension. Everybody I’ve met here is relaxed. For the first time I feel I’ve found a spot I can call home.”
His Ranch or Hers Page 12
