Wannabe in Wyoming (Antelope Rock Book 1)

by J. B. Havens

  Not even five minutes passed before her neighbor’s massive red pickup truck came rolling down her drive, kicking up dust in its wake. Walking down the steps to greet him, she tried to disguise her nerves. Knowing she needed to learn to shoot was one thing, actually doing it was another. The main thing pushing her to follow through with the lessons was the fact she’d spotted a rattlesnake near her mailbox the other day, and it’d scared the crap out of her. Actually, she’d heard it first before seeing it. In a panic, she’d run back into the house and called Jeremiah. Of course, by the time he’d gotten there, the reptile had been long gone. Thankfully, she hadn’t seen it since, but she now carried a spade shovel whenever she went to get her mail. She didn’t want to be some damsel in distress that had to run to her best friend every time something slithered by around here.

  “Hey, Jeremiah,” she greeted him as he climbed from the truck. Smiling, he gave her a big hug. As they’d gotten to know each other better, she’d discovered he was a hugger in a genial way. There was nothing sexual about his embraces, just warmth and comfort.

  He squeezed her tightly and lifted her clear off her feet. “There’s my Willow-girl! How are ya this fine day? Ready to sling some lead?”

  “People actually say that?” she questioned, laughing at his antics. She was so glad she’d met him because he was turning into a close friend—something she hadn’t had in a long time.

  “No, not really, but it sounds good, don’t it?” Keeping an arm across her shoulders, he led her to his truck. “Now, seeing as you’re a gun virgin, I brought a couple different choices for you, plus we’ll take that nice Mossberg you got by your door.” Releasing her, he opened the crew cab door of his big rig and waved her forward. “I brought my two-twenty-three hunting rifle, two pistols, and both a pump action and double barrel shotguns. A well-rounded education is ideal, yeah?”

  “That’s an awful lot of firepower, Jeremiah.” She didn’t want to admit to him that guns intimidated her. She was a strong and independent woman, right? She was living in the wilds of Wyoming, where guns were commonplace. Shit, most trucks in Antelope Rock had gun racks mounted on the back windows.

  “It’s good to be familiar with different types, so even if you’re around one that you’ve never fired before, you’ll know the basics and your way around them. I can tell you’re a bit intimidated, but don’t be. Ain’t nothing to it.”

  She wasn’t sure that was true, but she was willing to give it a try. “If you say so. Let me go get the shotgun from inside, and we’ll get going. I don’t have shells or bullets or whatever it uses though.”

  “Don’t worry about that—I brought plenty.”

  Willow jogged back to the house and returned with the heavy shotgun, holding it awkwardly. She had enough common sense to keep the barrel pointed at the ground, but she didn’t have a clue if it was loaded or how to check.

  “Here, take this. I don’t know if it’s loaded or where the safety is.”

  A guffaw erupted from him as he took the weapon from her and checked to see if it was loaded, which it was. She should have known, since it made sense if her father had kept the shotgun in the house for protection. “Willow, my girl, shotguns don’t have a safety. You’ve watched too many movies.”

  She blushed and looked down at her feet, kicking stones with the toe of one of her new boots she’d picked up the last time she’d stopped at Ducky’s Feed & Supply. If she was going to be a rancher, she figured she might as well look the part. “No need to make fun of me.”

  “Oh, honey. I was just teasing you. I didn’t mean any harm.” Keeping the shotgun off to the side, he hugged her with his other arm. “Come on, by time I’m done with you, you’ll be a regular Annie Oakley.”

  Nodding but not believing him for a minute, she climbed into the passenger seat when he held the door open for her. After securing the shotgun in the bed of the truck, he got in and didn’t hesitate to drive straight across her field as if it were any other road that could be found on a GPS. As they bounced along, Willow held onto the “oh shit” handle to keep from flying out the window. By the time Jeremiah pulled up to a small incline and stopped the truck, she’d been laughing harder than she had in ages.

  When they got out of the truck, she noticed there was a small hill and depression ahead of them. Behind her, Jeremiah lowered the tail gate and began to line the guns up on it. He nodded toward the hill. “This is perfect for target shooting. First rule, always be aware of your surroundings. Bullets travel a long distance, much farther than you probably figure, and it’s important to know where they might end up. In this case, the only place they’ll go is into the dirt.”

  “What are the other rules?” she asked as she watched him check each weapon.

  “Rule two, always, always assume the gun is loaded, even if you just checked it. Over-caution is the rule of thumb here. Three, never point a gun at someone unless you intend to shoot them. When you’re handling a gun, always have it pointed at the ground or downrange away from anyone near you. Four, never, under any circumstances walk into the line of fire of someone else. Even if they have finished, wait for the other person to unload and secure their weapon before you approach. Accidents can happen in a split-second of carelessness. Five, never shoot up into the air. You hear about this all the time, especially around the holidays. What goes up, must come down. People have been hurt and even killed because some jackass was shooting into the air to celebrate something a half mile away. Gravity always wins.

  “Okay.” Her nerves had ratcheted up another few notches as he’d rattled off the rules. It was a lot to remember, but it all seemed like common sense. “Anything else?”

  “Treat your weapon with care—clean it, secure it, respect that it’s a dangerous tool, and it will serve you well. Today, we’ll shoot for a while and later I’ll show you how to clean them. It’s important to clean a gun after each use. Firing them releases gunpowder residue that can gum up the action. The last thing you want is to need to fire your weapon for some reason and have it jam on you. Just like you change the oil in your truck and fill it with gas, you have to keep proper maintenance of your guns. Understand?”

  “Makes sense.” She jutted her chin to the cache of weapons. “Now tell me more about each one of these.”

  Pointing at each gun, he told her the make, model, and caliber of each. “This is yours—it’s a Mossberg pump-action twelve-gauge, takes a three-inch shell, and yes, they come in different sizes. Here’s my pump, same as yours. Next is my double-barrel ten-gauge. This one here is my two-twenty-three, bolt action. I use it for deer hunting. Next are my pistols. I brought both a semi-automatic and a revolver. I’ve got a Smith & Wesson three-fifty-seven and a Glock nine mil.”

  “Wow.” Words beyond that failed her. “If I didn’t recognize most of the words that just came out of your mouth, I would’ve sworn you were talking in a different language.

  “You’ll be talking like that soon enough,” he responded with a chuckle. “So, where would you like to start?” He rested his hands on his hips and looked at the guns all lined up in a pretty row of death on his tailgate.

  “I’ve never fired a gun, of any caliber, in my life. In fact, today was the first time I ever had one in my hand. So, I’ll let you pick.”

  “Okay, fair enough. Let’s start with your shotgun. It’s the one that’ll be in your house, and the one you should be the most familiar with anyway.”

  “Makes sense. Show me what to do.”

  He pointed at the end of her shotgun that rests against the shooter’s shoulder and then at the same spot on his. “This is the stock, see how it’s shorter on yours than it is on mine? Your daddy was only a few inches taller than you, maybe five-ten, which means his arms were shorter than mine. Same as yours. The shorter stock makes it easier to hold the weapon properly against your shoulder. If the stock is too long for the person shooting it, there’s a good chance it’ll shift out of position after the first shot. That happened to one of my nephews—
he fired two shots, one right after the other, and on the second one, the kickback had the base of the stock nail him good in the bicep. Nothing broken, of course, but he was badly bruised for a good two weeks.

  An hour later, Willow’s shoulder was sore, her right palm was stinging, and the smell of gunpowder was thick in the air around them. She’d shot all the shotgun shells Jeremiah had brought and most of the rounds for the pistols. The three paper targets he’d stapled to pieces of plywood attached to long stakes stuck into the ground a few feet in front of the hill, were in tatters, and over time, her confidence with the weapons had grown.

  “You’re a natural. I just can’t believe it,” Jeremiah said as they removed the eye and ear protection he’d brought for both of them. “You’re sure you’re not pulling one over on me? You’re a secret marksman—excuse me—markswoman, aren’t you?”

  Laughing with delight and pride in herself, she shook her head. “Nope, I swear. This is my first time. Did you not see my first dozen shots? I missed the targets by a mile.”

  “Well, remind me never to piss you off and be on the wrong end of your shotgun, woman. You’re deadly with that damn thing now. Ready to call it a day?”

  “Sure, on one condition. You let me make you supper. We’ve spent all afternoon out here, and I’m sure you’re starving.”

  “You won’t see me saying no to a home-cooked meal. Bachelorhood does have its downsides, that’s for damn sure.”

  His comment gave her pause, and she wanted to ask why he was still single. He was handsome and funny, not to mention sweet and kind. She couldn’t believe he hadn’t been snatched up yet. He wasn’t her type, but surely, there was someone in town for him.

  She helped him pack up and secure the guns into his truck, and then he drove them back to her house.

  Leading the way into the kitchen, she said, “Let me wash up, and I’ll see what I have that I can throw together quick. There’s beer in the fridge if you’d like one. Help yourself.”

  “Thanks, don’t mind if I do.” He grabbed a bottle for himself, holding another out to her in question.

  “Please.” After he opened the twist top, he handed her the bottle, and she took a long drink of the cold brew, the flavor hitting her just right. “Damn, that’s good.”

  “Nothing like a cold beer after a day outside in the fresh air, am I right?”

  She switched the radio on and the rumbling voice of Johnny Cash singing about Folsom Prison filled the air as she found some chicken and veggies from the fridge. “Stir-fry okay? It’s quick and easy.”

  “You could serve me peanut butter and jelly, and I’d just be happy not to be making it myself.” He sat on the barstool at the island before removing his Stetson and setting it beside him. His dark-red hair gleamed under the light. Not for the first time, she thought how lucky he was to have such gorgeous hair without a salon’s aid.

  “Why is that? You don’t like cooking?”

  “Nah, I cook just fine. Just gets lonely eating by myself sometimes is all.” He worked on peeling the label from his beer, not looking up as she diced the chicken and put a skillet on the stove.

  “I apologize in advance if this is none of my business, but why are you single, Jeremiah? You’re handsome as all get out and a great guy. Any woman would be lucky to have you. No one around that strikes your fancy?”

  He froze, before slowly rising his head and meeting her gaze. He studied her carefully, seeming to be debating something with himself.

  “Can I trust you?”

  Hearing the seriousness in his tone, she gave him her full attention. “Of course, you can. You’re the closet thing I have to a best friend around here. Anything you tell me stops with me.”

  He paused, as if weighing his words. “I don’t like any of the women around here. Actually, I don’t like women at all. I’m—I’m gay.”

  The implications of his confession hit her like a ton of bricks. The small town of Antelope Rock wasn’t progressive in any way. There was not a single rainbow flag anywhere in town. It was an archaic boys-club type of place where homophobia was alive and well. To be gay and a rancher in a small community had to be . . . hard. She was honored he trusted her with his secret, and she would take it to her grave if he wanted her to.

  His eyes were downcast, as if he didn’t want to see her reaction, so she did her best to lighten his load. “So, does this mean we can check out hot cowboy asses together? There’s just something about a tight pair of Wranglers . . .”

  Jeremiah threw his head back and laughed so hard, tears welled up in his eyes. “Oh, woman, you never cease to amaze me. Thank you for that. Coming out is never easy for anyone, and you’re the only person in my family or this backwater town that I’ve ever told. I’m sure my parents suspect at this point, but we don’t talk about it. They’re retired and live in Arizona, and we don’t see much of each other anymore. And to answer your questions, yes, ma’am, a nice tight ass in Wranglers is a sight to behold.”

  As she finished cooking, they laughed, joked around, and teased each other. Their conversation flowed easily, as if they’d known each other their entire lives. She hadn’t had a close friend since before her marriage. Having one now meant everything to her. Being here, in Antelope Rock, was beginning to be the best thing that had ever happened to her.

  “So, what about you, Willow? Have any of the single guys in town caught your attention yet?” When she blushed, his eyes widened, and he leaned forward. “Oh, c’mon, girl. I just bared my soul and came out to you, so you can damn well give me one of your secrets in return. Which one is he?”

  Smiling, she shook her head. “It’s no one in town. No one in Wyoming even.” As they ate, she proceeded to tell him about Nathan, doing her best to stick to the facts and keep the adolescent gushing to a minimum. She held out her left wrist where she’d been wearing the bracelet Nathan had sent her ever since she’d received it. It was colorful but would’ve gotten lost against her tattoos on her other arm. “He got this for me. The locals make them where he’s deployed.”

  “It’s pretty. He’s got good taste.”

  “Do you think I’m crazy, fantasizing about a guy I’ve never met in person, Jeremiah? Hell, we haven’t even spoken on the phone or video chatted—just old-fashioned, hand-written letters.”

  He shrugged. “People find their soulmates in all different sorts of ways. Over a hundred years ago, mail-order brides were a thing, and I’ve heard of romantic relationships that started out as pen pals before. Nowadays, people are marrying the love of their lives that they met over the internet. When that boy gets back to the States, invite him up here. Just wondering about it will get you nowhere. Maybe he’ll get here, and you’ll find you’re not attracted to him romantically, but you could still be good friends. Lord knows you can never have enough of those. But maybe you’ll discover he’s your soul mate. You won’t find out until you take that first step. And if you really want to win him over, cook him this dish.” He used his fork to point to his almost empty plate. “It’s the best damn thing I’ve eaten all year.”

  Her smile grew. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  As they finished their meal, Willow realized it’d been forever since she’d had a friend over for dinner. Even back in Philly, there had been very few times she’d had people over to her apartment. Since she was starting a new life here in Wyoming, she mentally added having company over more often to her list of things to do.

  Jeremiah was helping do the dishes when her cell phone rang from where it sat on the kitchen island. The sound startled her, making her drop a plate into the soapy water with a splash. “Damn, no one ever calls me. Who the hell could that be?” Although she suspected she already knew.

  When she picked it up, however, she didn’t recognize the number or area code. It wasn’t from Philadelphia or any of its surrounding counties, so she swiped the green button and said, “Hello?”

  “Willow? Oh hey, babe, it’s so good to finally hear your voice.”


  Her blood ran cold, and she felt the blood drain from her face.

  “Andrew, what the hell do you want?” Jeremiah looked sharply at her upon hearing her icy tone. He mouthed, you okay? She frowned in response, plopping down on a barstool at the kitchen’s island in disbelief and agitation, but held up a hand to stop him when he reached for her phone. The last thing she wanted was for her new friend to get caught up in whatever mess her ex had found himself in. And she was sure that was the reason Andrew was calling. “Did you not figure out I didn’t want to talk to you after I sent your calls to voice mail, blocked the numbers, and didn’t call you back?”

  “Ah, come on now, baby. Don’t be that way. I can’t call you up?”

  “No. You fucking can’t. You gave up that right when I found you balls deep inside Mindy.” She ignored Jeremiah’s eyes bugging out of his head.

  “Now you know that was a mistake, and I regret it. She didn’t mean anything to me.”

  She gritted her teeth as fury assaulted her. The nerve of her bastard of an ex-husband never ceased to amaze her. If only she’d realized it before she’d married him. “You have two seconds to tell me what the fuck you want, after that I’m blocking your number. Again.”

  “Well, honey, I heard about your father, and I just wanted to call and give my condolences. I didn’t know you’d found him.” She wasn’t going to explain it all to him, but before she could tell him to never call her again, he asked, “Why did you move out there? Your home is here, baby.”

  God, she hated the syrupy endearments he threw out at the drop of a hat. At one time, she’d thought the words proved he cared about her and loved her, but now she knew they meant nothing to him—just like she meant nothing to him. “It’s none of your business. You’ve given your regards, now fuck right off.” She ended the call, cutting off whatever he’d started to say and sorely missing old phones that you could slam onto the cradle. Swiping a button just wasn’t as satisfying.