by J. B. Havens
“Willow?” Jeremiah sat on the stool next to her and placed a comforting hand on her shaking arm. “Are you okay? Who was that?”
She sighed heavily, dropped the phone on the counter, and ran her free hand through her hair. “Andrew Phelps is the slime ball I had the misfortune to marry a few years ago. I came home from work one day, happy to be out early for once, to find him doing his level best to fuck Mindy, my best friend, through our mattress. Yes. He was fucking my best friend. In our bed. With no condom, I might add. Not to mention, anytime I ever managed to save some money he pissed it away gambling.”
“You’re fucking kiddin’ me.” He looked equal parts shocked and appalled.
“Wish I was. I kicked his ass out right then and filed for divorce the next day. That was two years ago. And this isn’t the first time he’s called me. I block the numbers he calls from, but he keeps getting new ones. I should just get a new phone number and be done with it.” Picking up the phone again, she hit the appropriate buttons on the screen to select the latest number he’d called her from and blocked it like all the others. “I wish he’d just leave me alone. I came here to start over, to have a life as far away from him and Philly as possible, and here he comes, fucking with me all over again.”
Jeremiah squeezed her arm gently. “Listen, I’m here. If he bothers you again, you let me know, and I’ll track him down and bury his body where it’ll never be found—Marty Olsen’s pig farm. Those things eat everything you toss in their sty and don’t leave a trace of body parts.” She snorted a laugh as he continued, “What? I saw it on the Discovery channel! A couple pigs can eat an entire human body, bones and all, in a matter of minutes, if they’re hungry enough. He’s a bastard and never deserved you anyway.”
That she agreed with. “I know. To be honest, our marriage was already falling apart by the time I caught him cheating, but it doesn’t excuse that he did it. My mother had just died, and I was really struggling, both emotionally and financially. He didn’t get the attention from me he thought he deserved.” She shrugged. “I’ve moved on, honestly.” Her thoughts immediately zinged to Nathan. Oh boy, had she ever moved on. “One of these days he’ll get bored and stop. I mean, it’s not like he’s going to come to the middle of nowhere Wyoming to see me, right?”
“But if he does, I’ve got Marty on my phone’s speed dial.” Putting his arm around her shoulders, he tucked her into his side. “You’re a strong woman, Willow-girl. Don’t let a bastard like that get you down.”
“No worries about that. He doesn’t have power over me anymore.”
Chapter Ten
August 30
Dear PP Extraordinaire,
I hope you have a good day today. My day was half good, half shitty, but before I go down that road, let me tell you about where I am. I’ve taken to sitting outside on one of my porch swings when I write to you. If the weather is nice anyway—if not, I sit at the desk in my bedroom. Tonight is a gorgeous night. Warm but not too hot, and there’s a nice breeze coming through. I think it might rain later, because I can hear thunder pretty far away and see flashes of lighting in the distance. Do you like thunderstorms? I adore them in the summertime. The chickens are quiet this evening too, no doubt sensing the bad weather coming. Do you get thunderstorms where you are? I know it’s hot during the day and gets cold at night in the Middle East, but I admit I don’t know much else beyond that.
My friend Jeremiah just left—he took me target shooting today! Not only was it fun as hell, but I made that target my bitch! I don’t know if I’ll ever be totally comfortable with guns, but now I feel a measure of confidence handling them. My shoulder is a little sore from my father’s shotgun, and my right palm is pink and sore from the kick on the pistols I was firing, but Jeremiah said I did an awesome job. Who knew that a city girl from Philly would be wearing shit kickers and blasting a target with a 12-gauge shotgun? I sure as hell never imagined I would be that person.
After we finished up with my lesson, I cooked him dinner, and we had a great time laughing and getting to know each other better. Did I tell you he owns the neighboring ranch? He’s really nice. If I hadn’t met him, I don’t know what I would be doing right now. Probably running back to Philly with my tail between my legs.
Now, here I am, thinking about getting alpacas and raising chickens. Not to mention Fred and Ethel. If you miss horseback riding, maybe one day you can come see me, and we’ll go riding. The land here is so beautiful. I can see why the Lakota hold it so sacred. It IS sacred land. There’s something holy about sitting here on my porch and looking out across my property. Seeing the sage brush and grasses, smelling the wind and soil. I’m not a very religious person, but this place makes me feel like I’m on holy ground when I step outside. There’s a magic here that’s hard to put into words. I guess what I’m saying is that even though I didn’t know my father, I’m grateful to him. For giving me this place and making it possible for me to find myself here.
I was so sorry to read about the loss of your parents and sister. My heart breaks for you. After losing my mom, I know that kind of pain and wouldn’t wish it on anyone. I’m sure your family is very proud of the man you have become. I know I’m happy to call you my friend.
I’m glad you loved the photos and care package. I’ll have to send you another one soon. Any new requests? That coffee really is the best. It’s the only kind I drink. I was supporting veteran causes before I wrote to you, but now I have even more incentive to do so.
I will admit I blushed like a teenager when you said the other guys asked if I was single when you showed them my picture. The answer is yes and for good reason. I’ll explain, but I’m warning you, it’s not a great story. Speaking of pictures, before I forget to ask again, is that the only photo you have of yourself? Do you have any others where you’re not in uniform? Okay, that sounded like I was asking for naked pictures of you and now I’m blushing again. Since I don’t want to toss this letter in the trash and start from scratch to save myself from embarrassment, let me clarify—what I meant to ask is if you have a photo of you in civilian clothes.
Anyway, back to me being single. This isn’t something I talk about often, but there’s a safety in writing to you that I don’t feel when speaking otherwise. I was married before. I met Andrew six years ago. He was kind and handsome, seemed successful (seemed being the operative word here), and was interested in me. I realize now that I was more flattered by his attention than really in love with him, but sometimes emotions get the better of us, and like most people, I just wanted to be loved.
We dated for a year and when he proposed I said yes. For a while, things were good. Then when my mother got sick, and I devoted more and more time to caring for her, he started coming home later and later. Often, I was so tired from working and being a caretaker for Mom that I didn’t notice. Truthfully, after a while, I didn’t really care either. I was pulling double shifts to try and help Mom with her bills, so I didn’t have a lot of time left over for him or even myself at the end of the day.
I’m sure you’ve figured out where this is going. It reads like a cheesy Lifetime movie. I got out of work early one afternoon and I came home, thinking I would surprise him. Turns out I was the one in for a surprise. I was greeted by the sight of my husband and my (now former) best friend, Mindy, going at it like animals in our own damn bed.
I kicked them both out, filed for divorce, and bought a new bed the next day. Fast forward to today. During dinner this evening, I got a call from none other than Andrew. He was asking if I really did move to Wyoming and tried to give me his condolences about my father. The slimeball. Let’s just say, that conversation was brief, and I’ve blocked his number, yet again.
I was blindsided. Let me be clear. I do not in any way harbor feelings for that bastard. If I never saw or spoke to him again in my life it would be fine with me. He just keeps creeping back in, calling me up, and I don’t understand why. I wasn’t enough for him then, so what the fuck does he want with me now? No
offense, but men can be such bastards sometimes.
So, if you’re curious why I’m cursing more, this is why. But I had a great afternoon with Jeremiah, (who offered to feed Andrew to Marty Olsen’s pigs if he ever shows up here—I haven’t met Marty yet, but I might have to some day), and now I’m sitting here, talking to you. Well, sort of. Even though I know you won’t get this letter for a week or two, it still feels like I’m having a full conversation with you. I can pretend that you’re here beside me on this swing. Sorry if that sounds a bit sappy, but I’m feeling a bit sappy today.
All right, I want to end this letter on a few high notes. Drunken Jenga night was a friggin’ BLAST! My head was pounding a bit the next day, but it was so worth it. Maddie is a sweetheart, and she really made me feel welcome in the group. I had them add my name to the list of rotating hosts, but everyone’s schedules are always so crazy, it might be a few months before I get a turn.
My garden is coming along really well. The tomatoes are in flower, and I hope that I’ll have some fresh ones soon. Or green ones. Fried green tomatoes are delicious—one of my favorite summertime treats. What are some of your favorite foods? Beside beef jerky of course. I’ve been thinking of trying my hand at making some. This is beef country, right? I found a few recipes online that look good, and if it comes out right, I’ll send you some to try.
The trip to the alpaca farm was AMAZING! They are so damn cute! The Brodericks, who own the place, were so nice and gave me the grand tour. They gave me all sorts of reading material and websites to look into and told me how I could start off slow with only a few head, a couple females and one male. Their operation is huge now, but they started small way back when. I even got to see the ranch hands shearing the fleece off a few alpacas. The fleece is then sold to companies and individuals to make yarn. Gail Broderick also spins some of it to make her own yarn. I learned how to take care of them, what to feed them, etc. Gail said if I had any more questions (even though I’d asked around a hundred of them already) to call her or shoot her an email. She’s going to check around and see if anyone has any secondhand equipment that might be for sale for me. Thankfully, I don’t need a whole lot beyond a barn, hay storage, corrals, and feeding equipment. They aren’t as much work as cattle can be. Again, she and her husband Mark were awesome. So, it looks like I really might do this! I’m so excited!
It’s getting late, and this letter is so long that I’m probably boring you. As always, I hope this finds you healthy and safe. Stay that way, okay? For me? The thought of something happening to you . . . I don’t even want to think about it.
Yours,
Willow
P.S. Fred and Ethel say hello, and he loves the celery tops just as much as the carrot tops.
Nathan clutched the letter tightly in his fist, his heart slamming against his ribs. Who is this Jeremiah fucker? He was proud of Willow for learning to shoot, but dammit, Jeremiah better keep his hands off his girl.
Wait, what?
His girl?
When had he started thinking of Willow as his? She was a person, not a piece of property. They’d never met or even spoken on the phone. All he had of her was a stack of letters and an envelope full of pictures, but he felt possessive all the same. Maybe it made him more than a little crazy, but he couldn’t help but hope he wasn’t the only one who thought there was something between them. Was writing letters back and forth all that different from online dating? He didn’t think so. He knew he wasn’t imagining it. She’d said, right here in black and white, that she wished he was on that porch swing with her, watching the sunset together. It might make him a pathetic sap, but he wanted that more than anything. That she was there, alone and hurting, broke his heart more than a little. He hated that she had to deal with her ex by herself.
But she wasn’t alone, was she? Jeremiah was there. Jeremiah was nice and kind and her neighbor. Fucking Jeremiah.
As for her ex, Nathan wanted to track that Andrew fucker down and beat him to a pulp. He wasn’t normally a violent guy outside of work, but cheating bastards like that got his back up. Gritting his teeth, he swallowed his anger and put her letter safely away in his footlocker with the others. He needed to get to work, focus on getting through the day, and the next day, and then the one after that—on and on until he could get out of this shit hole.
He’d stay safe, he’d do his job, and he’d go home because now he had something to go home to.
Willow.
His girl. She was his, even if she didn’t know it yet, he would make damn sure she understood that too. That bastard Jeremiah didn’t stand a chance. Already mentally writing the next letter, he vowed to step things up a bit and put aside any sort of subtlety. He refused to let her have any doubts that he was interested in her.
It was a risk but one he knew he had to take. Losing Willow to her neighbor, or anyone else for that matter, wasn’t an option.
Chapter Eleven
A little over two weeks after her first shooting lesson and dinner with Jeremiah, Willow pushed her cart through the Pack & Sack, stocking up on groceries for herself and goodies to send to Nathan. As always, he was never too far from her thoughts. Jeremiah had opted to come with her after she’d called and asked if he’d needed anything.
“Here, Willow-girl, you need these.” Jeremiah tossed a box of condoms into the cart with a wink and a grin.
“I do not! Jesus, put them back.” She grabbed the box and threw it back at him with a glare and a frown. She was on the shot and free of any STDs, not that she was about to discuss her sexual health in the middle of the Pack & Sack. And the last thing she needed was for someone to see her buying condoms with her single male neighbor, who everyone thought was straight.
“When Nathan comes to see you, it would be a good idea to have them on hand. Better safe than knocked up.” He poked her in the belly with the box, smirking like an asshole.
Her eyes widened as her jaw dropped and slammed shut a few times before she found her voice again. “You did not just say that to me.” After smacking his arm, she snatched the box from him and shoved it onto the shelf, not caring that she’d put it with the wrong brand. “I don’t even know that he’s interested in me that way. He’s probably just lonely and grateful for the distraction of my letters. Like watching late night TV—it’s just something to do to kill time.”
They pushed their carts around to the next aisle. Willow had been hoping to run into Cody while they were there, but he apparently it was his day off. Tomorrow was his eighteenth birthday, and she’d stuffed a twenty-dollar bill into a funny card for him, figuring he could add it to the money he’d saved up for his tattoo. They’d discussed different design options, whenever they’d run into each other, and he’d it narrowed down to three really nice ones but was still undecided which would be his final choice.
“See, I’m calling bullshit right there. Maybe it started out that way, but it’s changed, and you know it.” Jeremiah reached over her head, adding chips and dip to his cart. “I think you’re afraid to let yourself like him.”
“There’s nothing to be afraid of, because there’s nothing going on. Grab me those crunchy Cheetos on the top shelf, will you? Two bags, please.” She was trying to send some different things to Nathan this time. Spotting the rack of beef jerky, she ignored the high price and threw several packages in a variety of flavors into her cart.
“Girl, stop doubting yourself so much.” Leaning closer, he lowered his voice. “I may not like women, but I have eyes. You’re sexy as hell. Trust me. That man is on the hook, and you just need to reel him in a little. He’ll be putty in those hands of yours. Oh, and if you need any blow job tips, just let me know.” Straightening, he whistled as he strode further down the aisle to the beer, leaving her gaping after him.
“Blow job tips?” she said to herself softly, stunned at the direction their conversation had gone in a heartbeat. Had she fallen down a damn rabbit hole? What world did she live in now, where she owned a ranch and had a gay best frien
d offering tips on giving hummers?
Chuckling and deciding to go with it, she followed Mr. Blowie Expert, snagging a twelve pack of beer for herself.
Arriving back at the ranch after dropping Jeremiah at his place, she was hauling the last of the bags inside when she heard a vehicle coming down the driveway. Thinking Jeremiah must have forgotten something in her truck, she waited just inside the screen door for him to pull up. Only the silver, mid-sized sedan coming toward her in a cloud of dust wasn’t what she’d expected to see.
Warning bells clanged in her head, and she stepped back deeper into the shadows of the door. The car stopped next to her truck and shut off. The windshield was dusty and shadowed, making it impossible for her to see who was inside. The car’s engine ticked as it cooled, and Willow waited patiently, glancing down at her shotgun in its normal place by the door. Patting her pockets, she realized her cell phone was in the kitchen, and she didn’t want to take her eyes off the car long enough to retrieve it.
