The Ranger's Passionate Love

by Nicole Jordan

  I sighed.

  When my pizza was gone and my belly was not so empty, I looked around the apartment.

  There was a hamper full of clean laundry to put away, and a few dishes to do. I'd gotten in bad habits, living by myself. With roommates, I was usually more on top of things.

  I stood up and applied myself to the housework. It was satisfying, although I didn't like to admit it to most people. I enjoyed putting an apron on and getting the work done.

  More than that, though, I enjoyed looking around a clean and tidy apartment, as I did when I was finished. It was nicer to sit around in a space that was fresh and clean, even if it was tedious to keep up with everything.

  I looked at the dining room table, bare and sad, and walked to the fridge.

  Underneath 'bread, peanut butter, cheerios,' I added 'flowers' to the grocery list. I didn't usually spend the money on flowers, but they could make my little apartment feel so much more like a home.

  Finally, I couldn't put it off any longer.

  I pulled my phone out of my pocket and called my mother.

  "Finally, darling," she said. "I thought you'd never remember that it was a Saturday."

  "I had cleaning to do," I said.

  "Oh, yes. Very urgent," she said, with a tinkling little laugh. I rolled my eyes.

  "How are you today, Mother?" I asked. "Did you have a good week?"

  "Well, you know," she said. "Tolerable. And you?"

  "It was actually really great," I said. "Yesterday, I had to go out to a pretty big ranch for a routine inspection, and they were very prepared. They had someone ready to show me around, and they didn't ask if they'd sent the right person, or ask if a man could come back next week and check my work."

  "Well, I'm glad you were pleased, but really, darling, you can't expect everyone to like you all the time. I don't know where you got that," she said. "I never worry about silly things like that."

  "It's not about whether or not they like me," I said, patiently. "It's about whether or not they'll listen to a woman."

  "Dear, you know I told you that people would be like that," she said. "What did you think would happen? You're a pretty girl, and I'm sure it's hard for men to look at you and not want to pinch your cheeks. Or your ass," she added, and laughed at her own joke.

  "Oh, they don't just think about pinching my ass," I muttered.

  "Really? How rude," she said.

  "Exactly," I said. "They're rude. They're all rude."

  She sighed. "Well, people are. Are you seeing anyone?"

  I hesitated. I told her that I went on a date a few months ago, and on a second date, but I never mentioned that I'd continued to see the man.

  She was always so pleased when I had a man in my life, it drove me crazy. If she were only a tenth as interested in my work as she was in my love life.

  Besides, Justin never really mentioned his parents or talked about mine. It didn't seem like we were ready to play meet-the-family, and I wasn't sure I would want him to meet my mother, anyways.

  "I've been busy with work," I said, which wasn't a lie.

  "If you don't get your priorities in order, you'll die alone, you know," she said.

  I had had enough.

  "That's nice," I said. "There are worse things. I've got to run."

  Before she could protest, I hung up.

  I turned the ringer of my phone off and put it face-down on the coffee table.

  Trashy television was looking more and more appealing. I picked up the remote and tuned out, pretending that my mother wasn't sending me irritated text messages about my failings as a daughter.

  I could always read those tomorrow.

  Monday morning, I walked into work before anyone else and started in on the never-ending paperwork that plagued my job.

  "Are you kidding me?" Sarah asked, when she got into work. "How long have you been here?"

  I blinked and stretched, checking the time on my computer. Sarah was standing in the doorway of my little office and staring at me.

  "Uh... two and a half hours?"

  "Come on, that's ridiculous. No one should be in this office at six-thirty on a Monday. A Monday! What is wrong with you, Naomi?" she asked.

  I shrugged.

  "It's peaceful," I said. "No one comes to add more work. I can feel like I'm really accomplishing something. It makes me happy."

  "Well, I'm glad you're happy, girlfriend," she said, "But you need to take a deep breath. You're not getting any overtime for this."

  "Yeah, Herman's not the overtime type," I said. Our boss had made it very clear that any overtime pay would be at his discretion, and he had no intention of opening the purse so much as an inch. To be fair, he didn't expect you to stay late or come early, but if you wanted to go the extra mile, it was on your time and your dime.

  She rolled her eyes.

  "Herman's not the anything type," she said. "The esteemed Mister Banks isn't going to do you any favors. Don't grow old waiting for them."

  "What do you mean?" I asked, sitting up straighter.

  She looked a little guilty, and her eyes darted into the hallway. Quickly, she stepped into my office and shut the door.

  "Look," she said, "No one wants to admit it, but this is an old boy's club. It's where ranching and government meet, and in Texas, those are men's jobs. It's getting better, but you're not going to change the way the world works, no matter how hard you work."

  I scowled. Sarah was sounding too much like my mother.

  "Are you saying I shouldn't do a good job?" I asked.

  "Of course not," she said. "I do a good job, you do a good job, and we need to keep doing our good jobs. I just don't want you to get your hopes up. Ferguson is going to get promoted long before you will."

  "He's been here a month," I said, incredulously. "I've been here more than a year. And... and... he's incompetent!"

  She nodded.

  "He couldn't find his ass with both hands, but he is a man, and his father golfs with Herman Banks," she said. She let out a long sigh and looked around my cramped office.

  "I probably shouldn't tell you any of this," she said. "I just don't want you to get blindsided when the promotions are announced."

  "It's a done deal, then?" I asked.

  "Pretty much," she said.

  I sighed gustily.

  "That's ridiculous," I said. I blinked back tears. It was unprofessional, and I normally kept a better grip on myself, but Sarah was a good friend by now, and I didn’t bother to hide how upset I was like I normally would at work.

  I had been hoping for that promotion for months.

  "I know," she said. “It’s a sucky world sometimes.”

  We shared commiserating looks.

  “Hey, let’s leave that alone,” she said. “Topic closed. Work sucks. We’re moving on. Tell me about your weekend!”

  “Justin took me out to Le Petite Gourmand,” I said. “It was spectacular. Everything you could ever want. I had duck breast for dinner, and the desserts…”

  “Oh, yeah, French desserts,” she said, closing her eyes and looking blissful.

  “I got a lemon crème brûlée,” I told her in a sing-song voice.

  “You’re the worst,” she said. “I want it. I want it so badly.”

  “Pretty sure I gained five pounds just from that dinner.”

  “That’s okay, you worked it off after, I bet,” she said.

  I blushed.

  “Come on, Sarah,” I said. “That’s not really appropriate.”

  “I don’t care,” she said, cheerfully. “He still flirting with the waitresses?”

  “No,” I said immediately. I remembered the waitress bending over the table and laughing with Justin, and looking almost guilty when she saw me coming out of the ladies room.

  “Mm-hm,” she said.

  “He wasn’t flirting with that girl when we all went out,” I insisted. “He’s just a friendly guy. He was friendly to you, too?”

  “Not as friendly as
he was to the waitress and her perky, perky tits,” she said. “Neil noticed, too, and my Neil has the subtlety of a two-by-four.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “So what if he looked at her chest?” I asked. “Apparently you did too.”

  “It was hard not to,” she admitted. “Hey, as long as he makes you happy. It’s not like he’s going out to strip clubs every weekend, or anything.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Hope you had a good weekend, but I’ve gotta get back to work in a minute.”

  We chatted about her and Neil and their neighbors for another few minutes, and then she headed to her own office.

  Looking out the frosted glass window of my office door, I was pretty sure I saw Herman Banks walk past a few minutes later. Part of me wanted to leap out of my chair, hurry around the desk, and confront him, but I knew it would be a bad idea. That would guarantee no promotion for me, possibly ever.

  It wasn’t like it was a promotion up to supervisor, or anything. Just another fifty cents an hour and a better parking spot.

  I had to let it go.