by Peak, Renna
“Yeah. Unfortunately.”
His grin returns. “In that case, you don’t need a gas can. I’ll just push the car here.” He grabs his jacket and steps around the counter. “Of course, if still want a gas can, I won’t refuse to sell you one. It’s always good to be prepared, I say. But no reason I can’t push a car fifty feet for a nice young visitor.”
“You don’t have to do that,” I tell him. “It’s a bit more than fifty feet.”
“Bah. I know I look feeble, but I’m as strong as I was when I was twenty.”
He doesn’t wait for my response. He strides right outside, leaving me to run after him.
“This isn’t the first car I’ve had to push,” he tells me. “I keep telling ‘em to put in a gas station down south. Keep telling ‘em people are gettin’ stranded out here. But no one listens to me.”
If I’d been paying attention, I probably wouldn’t have gotten stranded. But I don’t tell him that.
When we reach the car, he motions for me to get inside. “Put it in neutral for me, miss.”
“I can push,” I tell him.
But he shakes his head, grinning. “I tell ya, miss, I’m as strong as an ox. Name’s Bill, by the way.”
I can’t help but return his smile. “I’m Clara.”
“Well, Miss Clara, what’ya say we get this car movin’?”
Still fighting my smile, I slide into the driver’s seat. No one is ever this nice in New York. If I’d run out of gas in the middle of Madison Avenue people would have just honked and screamed at me. No one would have offered to help.
I switch the car into neutral and call back to him. “Okay.”
For a moment, nothing happens, and I wonder if I should get out and offer to help him again. But then, slowly, the car begins to roll forward. I put my hands on the wheel, steering as Bill pushes me down the road.
Finally, we reach the gas pumps. The car rolls to a stop.
I climb out of the car and go back to Bill. He’s wiping his forehead on his sleeve.
“Thank you,” I tell him.
“No trouble at all, Miss Clara,” he tells me. “It’s only fittin’ to treat strangers with kindness. Just like the Good Lord asked us to.”
Is everyone in this town so nice? I glance over at the trees again. Nice people, beautiful scenery, peace and quiet… When I ran away, this was exactly the sort of place I imagined escaping to. After years of pushing myself at a career I didn’t want, coming home to a man who never really understood me, this feels like exactly the sort of place I can just be myself again.
“About how much gas will you be wantin’?” Bill asks me. “I’m afraid we don’t have fancy credit card machines at our pumps yet, so it’s cash up front.”
“I don’t suppose there’s a hotel around here?” I ask him.
“There’s the Rosewood Motel about thirty miles north,” he tells me. “But if you want something closer, Delilah Hodge rents out a couple rooms in this sorta BnB situation. She’s only half a mile from here, right outside downtown. Follow the road and you can’t miss it.”
“Do you happen to know how much she charges per night?”
“Thirty-nine dollars, I believe. Same as the Rosewood. And with a much nicer breakfast.” He gives me a wink.
Thirty-nine dollars. That leaves me eleven for gas. Which is better than nothing.
“What’s this place called?” I ask him, reaching into my purse for my wallet. “This town, I mean?”
“Firebird Falls,” he says proudly.
I pause with my hand on my wallet. “That’s an unusual name.”
He shrugs. “We’re named for the falls a couple of miles from here. Legend has it that George McDonough, the man who discovered them, saw a phoenix rise from the water and disappear into the sky above. He knew he’d witnessed a miracle, and he founded the town that very day.”
“Do you believe that story?”
His grin widens. “I’d rather believe it than not. Life’s too short not to believe in the mysteries of the universe.”
His words hit me harder than they should. As a born-and-raised New Yorker, I’ve always prided myself on my strong sense of logic and practical reasoning. But something about all of this resonates with me.
A phoenix, I think. The firebird that rises from the ashes. That’s only too fitting. I may not have technically burned down my old life, but close enough.
“I only need eleven dollars’ worth of gas,” I tell him.
His smile falls slightly, replaced by a look of concern. “That won’t get you to the next gas station, I’m afraid.”
I suppose I could give him more, but that means I won’t be able to stay here tonight. And suddenly I really want to. I guess I could use that credit card, but I’d rather sleep in my car on the side of the road again than do that.
My only other option is…
“Any chance there’s a jewelry store around here?” I ask him. “Somewhere I could sell something I don’t want anymore?”
Bill gives a shake of his head. “No jewelry store for a hundred miles or more. Got something of a pawn shop, though.” He jerks his thumb back toward his store. “I can’t give you as much as a jewelry store can, but at least you have the chance to buy back whatever you sell. Assumin’ you ever come back through here.”
It might not be an ideal situation, but it’s too much of a coincidence that I happened to stop at the one place in seventy miles where I might be able to get some extra money. That has to be a sign, right?
“Hold on,” I tell him, bending back over into my car and reaching over to the glove box. I told myself I wasn’t going to touch the ring any more than I was going to touch the credit card, but that was before the universe started speaking to me.
Fuck, when did I start listening to the universe and “signs” like some sort of crazy hippie? I really have gone off the deep end, just like all my friends and family think.
I straighten, holding out the ring to Bill. “How much could you give me for this?”
Bill’s eyes widen, and he lets out a low whistle under his white mustache. I’m not surprised. It’s an exquisite ring. It cost Adam almost eleven thousand dollars.
Bill takes the ring from me. The giant diamond glitters in the late afternoon sun as he tilts it from side to side.
“You really want to sell this, Miss Clara?” he asks me.
I nod. “Yes.”
He gives me a curious look, and I’m glad he doesn’t voice what he’s thinking.
“I need to inspect this inside,” he tells me.
I follow him back into the store. He goes behind the counter and pulls out a magnifying glass, and I turn around and study the rest of the store. It looks like Bill sells a little bit of everything—groceries, auto supplies, even a few small appliances. And, of course, animal feed. There’s also a corner I now notice is labeled “PAWN” in big block letters. It has a small assortment of items—a couple of TVs, an acoustic guitar, power tools, hunting rifles. A glass case holds some watches and a handful of pieces of gold jewelry. Nothing like my ring.
I return to the front of the store. Bill is still studying my ring, so I turn and examine the bulletin board hanging on the wall, wanting to learn more about Firebird Falls.
The bulletin board is the equivalent of the classifieds section of the newspaper. Mostly people buying and selling farm and ranch equipment. In the corner, though, is a card with “Help Wanted” scrawled across the top in fine, practiced script. Curious, I read on.
Wanted: Ranch manager. Must be good with horses.
Nothing more, except a phone number at the very bottom. I have no idea what a ranch manager does, but I bet it’s a whole lot more fun than the Marketing Department Manager job I left behind.
“Miss Clara?” Bill calls to me.
I turn and go back over to the counter.
He’s still watching me with a curious look in his eye. He glances down at the ring then back up again.
“It’s a very nice ri
ng you have here,” he says slowly. “I’m afraid I can’t give you what it’s worth.”
“I know,” I tell him. I wasn’t expecting that. But any money is better than none, especially if I want to stay in this town for a while.
“I don’t have much cash on hand,” he tells me. “I can offer you two thousand dollars.”
My stomach sinks. That’s even lower than I was expecting. But it’s still two thousand dollars more than I have now.
“Okay,” I say.
“Ya sure you want to sell?”
I nod. I don’t care if I never see that ring again. “I’m sure.”
Bill doesn’t ask me again. He tucks the ring in his pocket. “I have the money in the safe. I’ll be right back.”
Before he makes it a few steps, though, I call after him. “Any chance you need some help around here? Like an extra cashier or something?”
He turns back to me. “You lookin’ for a job?”
“Maybe.” My cheeks grow warm. I didn’t expect this situation to feel so awkward. “Or maybe you know of someone else in town who needs help? I can do almost anything.” Maybe there’s a restaurant that needs a server or line cook. Or maybe Delilah Hodge needs an extra hand at the BnB.
Bill gives a sad shake of his head. “Not much that I know of. But if anyone in town needs help, they’ll post about it on my board.” He points to the bulletin board. “If you’re plannin’ to stay a while, you should come back on the regular and give it a look.” His smile returns. “Something’ll come up, Miss Clara. The Good Lord works in mysterious ways.” He shuffles off to the back of the store for the safe, and I find myself turning back to the board.
To that one Help Wanted advertisement.
Wanted: Ranch manager. Must be good with horses.
I find myself smiling at the horses part. I’ve never actually worked with a horse before in my life, but after all those books I read as I kid, I’d like to think I’d be pretty darn good at it. And as for the manager bit…managing a ranch can’t be that much more complicated than managing a marketing department, right? I have plenty of skills in that area.
Maybe this is a sign, too. An indication that I’ve made the right decision. That I should take another leap of faith.
Emboldened, I grab a pen and a blank notecard from next to the bulletin board and scribble down the phone number. Maybe it was fate that led me here, or maybe just a coincidence. But either way, I’m not going back to the life I had before.
Nicholas
I’ve always considered myself the least needy of my siblings. And now that I’ve lived on the ranch alone for a few two weeks, I’m finding myself missing some of the comforts of home.
Food, I think as I prepare my macaroni and cheese. The orange concoction from a box doesn’t compare to the dish of the same name served at the palace.
But this box of dehydrated pasta also doesn’t come with drama. I’m sure my family would be horrified by my living conditions—even my siblings who’ve married Americans wouldn’t understand why I’ve chosen to come here.
I take my dinner—if one can call it that—out onto the large deck behind the kitchen and sit in the straight-backed dining chair I’ve moved out here. I didn’t think to ask that the house be left furnished when I purchased the place, and all that was here was an ancient wooden dining set left in the kitchen.
It’s sturdy, though, I think as I tilt back against the side of the house. And what more do I really need? I gaze out over my land. My land. The mere thought of it warms my soul.
Montana is much different than Montovia, to be sure, similar though their names might be. And this is all mine, for as far as the eye can see.
It’s my kingdom. Mine. I can’t help but smile to myself. I think of my horses resting safely in their stalls. My subjects. It might be silly, but having this place all to myself…there’s something very freeing about it. Of course, I still have no idea what I’m doing. Not really. I’ve been riding horses since I was a boy, but the actual care of them is something else entirely.
Moving here might have been an impulsive decision, and perhaps I should have looked into the care of a ranch a bit more before I came here. But I pride myself on figuring things out on my own, on being able to take care of myself.
On not needing anyone else.
Living here, in the middle of nowhere, I won’t need to concern myself with that. Bill at the mercantile is probably the only person I’ll ever need to interact with again. And if the internet and phone service here wasn’t so terrible, I probably wouldn’t even need to go into town at all.
It’s been nice, actually. My phone doesn’t ring, I can’t check my email. When I went to purchase my groceries yesterday, I noticed that the only message I had was one from my sister, Sophia. Perhaps my family is finally beginning to realize that I don’t need them—or their drama.
I finish my meal and look out over my land for a few more minutes. It’s a lot of work, to be certain, but there is something very fulfilling about knowing this is all mine—even if I might require the assistance of a ranch hand to help.
That advertisement I posted yesterday was likely a waste of time. The nearby town—Firebird Falls, I believe it is—has only a few hundred people living there, if that. There is but one diner, and it is the hub of the town, which says everything anyone needs to know about the place.
But the people have left me alone. If they are at all curious about the new owner of this land, they haven’t made themselves known to me. And that’s exactly the way I want it. The fewer people I interact with, the better. I’m sure this small town wouldn’t appreciate the media circus that would ensue should my identity be revealed. The place doesn’t even have a proper hotel—something I became all too aware of my first day here.
“Hello? Hello?” A female voice comes from the other side of the house, growing louder as she nears my location. “Hello?”
I stand as she approaches, nearly toppling over on my tilted chair. I drop my plate, shattering it into pieces.
“Oh my God, I didn’t mean to…” The woman climbs the stairs of the deck, staring down at the broken dish before looking up at me. “I’m…I mean…I’m here about the job.” She juts her hand out. “I’m Clara. Clara Weaver. I’m here to work as your new ranch manager.”
I stare at her hand for a moment. She certainly doesn’t look like a ranch manager, not that I would know what one looks like. I suppose I imagined if anyone ever did apply for my job, it would be a man—a man in a cowboy hat.
And this woman doesn’t appear to have been anywhere near a farm. Her manicured nails—painted an odd color of blue, several of them with additional white ornamentation—look like something from a fashion magazine. Certainly not the hands of a ranch manager.
“I…I’m the perfect person for your job.” She continues to hold her hand out, probably waiting for me to shake it in agreement.
My gaze goes from her hand to her face. She’s young. Pretty. Her reddish-blonde hair is pulled into a braid that she’s draped over her shoulder. It’s almost as though she thought enough to style her hair in such a way that she’d look the part of a ranch hand, but the rest of her… Something isn’t right. She’s wearing black slacks—tailored slacks that make her look like she’s come from a boardroom—with running shoes. And her t-shirt advertises Columbia.
I’d ask her if that is her alma mater, but I don’t dare speak. I still haven’t practiced my accent enough, and even if I can hide my accent, I still won’t sound like I’m from here.
She must sense my doubts about her. She looks down at her clothing as she drops her hand. “I…I know I’m not exactly dressed for it. But I promise…I mean, I have the right clothes. Just not here.”
I clear my throat. I need to keep this as short and sweet as possible. If I say too many words, she’ll start asking questions. And when she returns to town, there’s no doubt she’ll start talking to the people there. And then it’s only a matter of time before there are news trucks pul
ling into my driveway.
“I don’t need a lot of pay, if that’s what you’re worried about. Room and board…” She nods, almost as though she’s negotiating with herself. “And internet. Do you have internet?”
I shake my head, still staring at her. Something isn’t right.
“That’s okay. I mean, who really needs it, right? It’s quiet out here…” She turns and looks over the railing of my deck. “Beautiful. And quiet. It’s perfect.” She nods to herself again, turning back at me. “Okay. You drive a hard bargain. I’ll work for room and board.”
I lift a brow. As far as I recall, I still haven’t said a single word to the woman.
“And…and I can do whatever you need me to do. I know your ad said horses. I’m great with horses. I know all about them. I’m…I’m something of an expert at them, you might say.”
Might I? I lift a brow, looking at the woman again. She not the sort of woman I would ever find attractive—she’s the sort of over-coiffed, debutante type that I usually find abhorrent. She’s put a little effort into covering up her background, but there’s only so much one can do to hide that sort of thing.
Which makes me wonder if my jeans and flannel shirt are doing much to hide my own upbringing.
Whatever is going on with this woman, she doesn’t seem to have noticed a thing about me. She just continues to rattle on, as though I’ve already offered her the position.
“Horses just love me.” She walks over to the railing, leaning over it for a moment as she gazes around the ranch. “And there’s a garden over there.” She turns to me again, smiling. “I can definitely plant a garden. I can grow all sorts of things. In a few months, we’ll be growing enough to sell produce to Bill at the store in town.”
I open my mouth to tell her…something. I’m not even certain what I want to say, except that she’s clearly not cut out for working here. Not that I am either, but if I’d like my horses—my ranch—to survive the summer, it would certainly be better if I hired someone who actually knew what they were doing.
