by J. B. Havens
At the bbq, there was a band playing in the gazebo in the town square. There were food contests for the best chili, pulled pork, homemade pies, hot wings, jams, and more. I was almost completely stuffed before the pigs cooked on spits were ready to be served. That was a little gross to see for the first time, but it was the best damn ham I’ve ever had in my life, after I got up the nerve to try it.
I also got a kick out of the 4H club’s competitions for best cow, chicken, and pig (not the ones on the spits). Too bad I’m too old to enter one of my chickens to win a blue ribbon—you had to be under sixteen.
My neighbor, Jeremiah, introduced me to some people, most of whom are all from their late-twenties to their mid-forties. One of them, Maddie, who’s my age, invited me to a wine & Jenga girl’s night at her house this weekend. That should be an interesting combo! The others were all really nice too, even though some other people in town still gave me the evil eye. I can’t figure out if it’s because of who my father was or if it’s because I’m an outsider with pink hair, tattoos, and a tiny nose stud. Either way, I’m not going to let them bother me.
I have a new addition to the ranch since I last wrote to you—a kitten I’ve named Ethel (I figured that was a good name since my “dog” is named Fred). Someone was giving away their cat’s kittens when I went to the store the other day, and this little gray one wormed her way into my heart. (Her picture is included too—did I mention I got a little crazy with the new camera?) I’ve never had a cat before, or a dog for that matter, but always wanted one. Jeremiah said it’s good to have one here because she’ll keep the field mice and other rodents away. Surprisingly, or maybe not, Fred doesn’t seem to be afraid of her. There was a little hesitancy when they first met on the back porch, but now they seem to be fine with each other. Ethel wants to play, but Fred is more interested in getting his daily seeds into his cheeks to carry them back to his family. Oh, and I finally followed him to his home, and I counted ten others in his little group or coterie as it’s called (thank you again, Google). They didn’t seem as trusting as Fred, so I stayed far enough away so I wouldn’t scare them.
You’ll be happy to hear I started a garden (thanks to your question). I’m growing green beans, zucchini, cherry tomatoes, carrots, and green peppers. I didn’t go crazy planting a huge amount of each one, since it’s only me here and it was a little late in the season to start them. Next year, I’ll start earlier.
I’ve done a LOT of research on animals for the ranch, and I think I’m going to raise alpacas. There’s an alpaca ranch about an hour from me, and I emailed them through their website and asked if I could go visit and talk to them about it. They were really nice, and I have an appointment with them set up for next week. I’ll tell you all about it in my next letter.
Oh, one more update and then I’ll let you go. I start horseback riding lessons next week too! One of the women I met at the bbq has a horse ranch and gives lessons. I figure if I’m going to be a rancher, I need to learn to ride a horse, right? Do you know how to ride one?
Well, I guess that catches you up on everything happening in Wyoming. Looking forward to your next letter. I’m counting the days until you’re back on US soil. Stay safe.
Yours truly,
Wannabe
P.S. I am NOT keeping any sort of tally, Nathan. The things I sent are a gift—accept it with good grace. I don’t want to hear another word about you “paying me back.” As far as I’m concerned, we’re square. You’re fighting for our country, for our freedoms, and the safety of the men beside you. A box of goodies is the least I can do. Understand?
Willow tucked the letter to Nathan into its envelope before sealing it inside the care package she had all set to go out with the mail in the morning. Sitting at her desk by the window in her bedroom, she looked out over the fields. The blinking glow of lighting bugs appeared as dusk settled, in even greater numbers than there’d been a month ago. Fall would be approaching before she knew it though, and she’d been warned that winter came early there, and seemingly all at once. The picture Nathan had sent her was propped against the growing stack of letters from him. Picking it up, she studied it closer, as she’d already done hundreds of times. If she wasn’t careful the edges were going to start to wear.
He was handsome, incredibly so. It was a photo of him from the knees up but still close enough she could make out his facial features—those not hidden by his helmet anyway. He wore camo and cradled some kind of rifle in his arms. A thigh holster held another gun. She didn’t know much about guns, including how to tell one caliber weapon from another, but Jeremiah was taking her shooting soon, deeming it a basic skill she needed to have, which she agreed with. While she was nervous, he was obviously very comfortable with them, considering he often openly carried a handgun on his right hip, which was legal in Wyoming.
In the photo, Nathan was standing between a pair of Humvees, which gave her an idea of how tall he was. Even under his layers of clothing and armor, his strong build was apparent. A sharp jaw was lightly dusted with dark stubble. She was guessing his hair was equally dark, but none showed from under his helmet. Did he keep it buzzed short or shaved completely? She wanted to ask him to send her a more casual picture, one where he wore civilian clothes and looked relaxed, not so tense and gruff.
His eyes were what grabbed her attention the most. His gaze was piercing, boring into hers even through the inanimate photograph. She couldn’t make out their color. It was hard to admit it to herself, but she kept dreaming about him, his big, calloused hands cradling her face as he devoured her mouth. He wasn’t smiling in the photo, but even in its indifferent state, his mouth looked sexy as hell. Would he kiss her roughly and hard or softly and sweet? A bit of both? Light bites and slow drags of his tongue along her lips?
Her face heated at the thought. She patted her cheeks, grateful there was no one around to see her blushing like a schoolgirl fantasizing about a cute boy in her class. Though there was nothing boyish about Nathan, not in his posture, his profession, or his attitude. He was all man. She shivered. They didn’t have men like him in Philly, that was for damn sure—at least not that she’d ever run into. These corn-fed mid-west boys were something special.
She could kick herself for sending so many pictures. The box was already sealed, and she wasn’t going to waste the tape by reopening it now. Would he like them? Was she being too forward, sending shots of her tattoos the way she did? What if he thought she was weird and stopped writing her? Why did that thought sink a stone of disappointment into her belly? She knew she’d be spending the next couple weeks, tied in knots of nerves, waiting for his reaction.
“Don’t be an idiot. He’s writing you because no one else does. He writes back for something to do, not because he has any sort of feelings for you. No doubt a man like him has women throwing themselves at him every chance they can get. Sure, he’s a nice guy and sweet, and seems to care, but people are very different on paper than they are in person. And now you’re talking to yourself like a lunatic.”
Shaking her head, she tried to force her thoughts to her upcoming riding lesson and the renovations she was still dealing with. Nothing good could come from pining after Nathan. He was half a world away and even when he was back on US soil, she’d probably never hear from him again. She highly doubted he’d want anything to do with her in a romantic way. Her ex-husband certainly had preferred the company of other women to her. Logically, she knew that wasn’t her fault, but doubts and insecurities still lingered.
Speaking of her ex-husband, her phone vibrated, showing yet another incoming call from a Philadelphia area code. She let it go to voicemail, knowing it was probably him again. He’d been trying to get in touch with her for the past week, calling from different numbers which she blocked without remorse. When the phone signaled the person had left a voicemail, she raised it to her ear, and listened to the message, just in case it wasn’t him.
“Willow, baby, it’s Andrew. Is it really true? Did you inherit a ranch
in Wyoming? I’ve been trying to get ahold of you. When you wouldn’t answer your phone or call me back, I went to your apartment and your landlady said you’d moved out. She had this address for some hick town called Antelope Rock to forward your mail and security deposit to. Where the fuck is that? Call me back, please, baby. I miss you.”
Rolling her eyes, she deleted the message, blocked the number, and made a mental note to call her former landlady tomorrow and remind her not to give her personal information out to anyone. Shuddering, she wished she could block Andrew from her life as easily as she did his number, but like a swarm of mosquitoes, he kept bugging the hell out of her. Marrying that man had been such a huge goddamn mistake. Granted, he hadn’t turned into an asshole until after they’d been married a few months, so it wasn’t like she had any warning things would go downhill so fast. Andrew had done a good job of hiding his gambling and recreational drug use until after Willow had said, “I do.” She’d felt like such a fool when she’d finally found out.
She hadn’t dated since her divorce, beyond meeting someone for drinks a few times, being too gun-shy to commit to anything more since the fiasco that’d been Hurricane Andrew. None of those men had ever made it past her front door, and now that she thought about it, she realized she hadn’t even been kissed in years. How long did one have to go without sex to be an honorary virgin?
Even as she prepared for bed and turned off the light, her mind kept unwillingly shifting back to Nathan. He was already beginning to haunt her dreams, and now it seemed he was going to star in her waking thoughts as well. She was determined to keep her romantic notions to herself though, chalking them up to going too long without sex and nothing more. Of course, the first guy in years that treated her with respect and care was going to lead to a crush. It was only normal.
Right?
Chapter Eight
August 13
Dear Wannabe,
Thanks so much for the care package! Everything you included is greatly appreciated. I’m sitting here with the best cup of coffee I’ve had in ages. I love that you got a brand that’s veteran owned. It was a tough decision which flavor to have, but I went with the dark roast since it’s an eye-opener. I didn’t get much sleep last night. There was stuff going down a few klicks (which is short for kilometers) away from the base, and we saw some action. No casualties on our side, which is always a good thing. Can’t tell you much about it, just that I’m glad it’s over and we’re all in one piece.
As for your P.S. in the last letter, yes, ma’am, whatever you say, ma’am! I’ll accept your care package in good grace as ordered. On one condition—you accept this bracelet I got for you. The local kids make them. I try to give them candy when I have it, but buying from them is better sometimes. I know the little boy I bought it from will eat today. I hope you like it.
I LOVED all the photos—they definitely made me homesick for the good ol’ USA. The guys in my platoon made me pass them around. I might have growled a bit when a few of them asked me if you were single (sorry, not sorry). Your tattoos are awesome—I absolutely love them—although now I feel a bit like a slacker in that department. I’ll have to add some more ink when I get home. Maybe you could give me some ideas on what I should get.
It looks like you had a great time at the parade and bbq, and I got a better idea of what the town and your property look like from the photos. As I suspected, Antelope Rock (I assume that’s the name, since it was on the big banner hanging across the street above the parade) is a lot like the one I grew up in—Foxborough, Colorado. I haven’t been back there in years, so I loved seeing something similar to it.
I got a kick out of the pictures of Fred and Ethel—I know some people have prairie dogs as pets, but I’ve never heard of a wild one being that friendly before, especially with a cat around. I hope they stay friends as Ethel gets bigger.
As for horses, yeah, I know how to ride them. My friend’s family (the one I went camping with) had a bunch of them. They bred them, gave horseback riding lessons, and boarded them for people who needed it. It’s been ages since I’ve been on one, and I really miss it. If you’re sore from the lessons, get some arnica gel. It’ll help with the aching muscles.
I owe you the answers to a few questions that I skipped over last time. It’s kind of hard to write about—or even talk about. My folks and my younger sister were killed in a car accident nine years ago while I was deployed. Shannon was seventeen, a senior in high school, and my only sibling. They’d taken a day trip to check out Colorado State University—it was one of the schools she was interested in going to. On their way back home, a tractor-trailer jack-knifed on the interstate during a freak hailstorm, setting off a chain reaction. Twenty-two cars and trucks ended in a massive pileup that killed eight people. From what I was told, my parents and Shannon died instantly when their car was sandwiched between two semis. The three-pointed Celtic knot I have over my heart, along with the date of their deaths, is in memory of them.
I’d never planned to be in the Army as long as I have been, but after losing my family, I had no one to go home to, so I re-upped the next few times I was asked to. My mom’s best friend, Melinda Jackson, and her family were a godsend during the aftermath. They helped arrange the wakes, funeral, and repast while I was flying home. A week after it was all over, I couldn’t stand being in the house I’d lived in for most of my life all by myself, so I got back on a plane to rejoin my platoon. The Jacksons packed up the house for me, sold what I told them to, and put the rest in storage for me, then put the house on the market. My dad’s lawyer and accountant helped out too, and I was able to handle a lot of the paperwork over the internet. It took a heavy load off my mind when I was back over on this side of the world. I honestly wouldn’t have been up to doing all that, even with their help. I threw myself into work because I didn’t know what else to do without my family. Nine years later, all that stuff is still in storage waiting for me. I have a few pictures of them at my place off-base in the States, and one of all of us that I carry over here. I know there are so many memories in that storage unit—maybe after I’m discharged, I’ll find the courage to finally go through everything.
You would’ve liked my sister. Shannon was one of those people who made friends with everyone she met. She’d walk into a room and bring joy and laughter with her. She wanted to be an elementary school teacher because she’d loved her summer job as a camp counselor. She was great with kids. I always thought she’d grow up and give me a dozen nieces and nephews someday, but it wasn’t meant to be.
My folks were great people too. They gave us a loving, happy, and stable home. I miss them so much, and there are mornings, when I’m in that foggy state between sleep and consciousness, that I think they’re still alive. But then it hits me full force that they’re gone, and I grieve all over again. Anyone who ever says the pain of losing a loved one goes away is lying or they truly don’t get it. The pain is always there—we just have to learn to live with it.
All right, that’s enough sadness for one letter. Tell me, how did the drunken Jenga night go? How’s the garden doing? And fill me in on how things went with the visit to the alpaca farm. Are you still interested in raising them?
Looking forward to your next letter. I was never one to get excited about mail call, since I rarely get anything, but you’ve changed that. Thank you, Willow. You’ve given me something to smile about, and some things to think about other than how much time I have left in this crappy sandbox. You’ll never know how much you’ve brightened my world with your letters. Maybe when I’m stateside again, I can come to Wyoming and we could meet, that is, if you’re okay with that.
Until next time . . .
Yours affectionately,
Nathan
Chapter Nine
Willow folded the letter carefully and added it to the stack with the others. She would write back a little later tonight after she got her thoughts and feelings back under control. Her heart broke for him as she’d read about his family.
Her mother’s death had been difficult, but she couldn’t imagine what Nathan had gone through, losing both parents and his sister all in the same instant.
Her mind shifted to other parts of his letter. He wanted to meet her? She couldn’t believe it. And he was growling at his buddies who were asking about her? Was she reading too much into it? She didn’t know, but maybe she’d be finding out someday.
For now, she needed to get ready for her shooting lesson with Jeremiah. He’d told her to wear comfortable clothes and a hat. Well, comfortable described all her clothes, because who wanted to wear things that weren’t?
Going downstairs, she opened the hall closet and grabbed the ball cap she’d noticed one day on the top shelf. She shook it out and looked at the patch above the brim. She was surprised to see it was the Philadelphia Flyers logo. Her father had been a hockey fan? Being from Philly, it was hard to escape the constant bombardment of sports teams from the city, and while she didn’t follow the sport, she’d recognized the team’s logo immediately. The cap’s bill was perfectly curved to protect her eyes, and the sweatband was worn from years of use. It was ragged, but well-loved. Settling it on her head, she stepped out onto the porch to wait on the swing for Jeremiah.
