Welcome at Henderson's Ranch

by M. L. Buchman

  Whatever in the wide, wide world of Montana was happening to her? A good girl’s education in being Japanese hadn’t prepared her for this place. Nor a journalist’s.

  Her ears rang in the silence. No cars at night, no planes. Not even the ocean when she vacationed down at Cannon Beach, Oregon and could pretend the waves were actually the low rumble of I-5 that was never silent in Seattle—easily audible from her apartment on the other side of Lake Union.

  A soft whinny drew her back to her feet and out onto the cabin’s porch.

  Raymond sat astride a big roan—as she’d learned to call his cream-colored mount with dark legs and mane. The sunset lit his gentle face.

  He’d “happened” to more than her notes. He was happening to her and none of her training, neither as Kurva Baisotei nor Colleen McMurphy, was ready for it. Not even the city pickup bars had prepared her for him—not even the good ones (if there was such a thing).

  Worse, Raymond hadn’t resisted her journalistic inquisitiveness.

  (Anta, sensakuzuki, her sister would curse under her breath—you are always so nosy, with the anta insult thrown in.)

  Raymond hadn’t resisted it because she hadn’t unleashed it on him. Which was totally unlike her. But he had impressive listening skills as well.

  To his credit, after his horseback riding lessons yesterday and today—in between the lessons he was giving to others—she had a good feel for riding. This afternoon she’d joined a trail ride for beginners and even cantered once; which had been both exhilarating and nearly scared her back into the womb.

  But she knew so little about him.

  He didn’t seem to mind talking—he wasn’t a reclusive hikikomori or even a male jerk “not in touch with his feelings.” But it was as if his life beyond the boundaries of the ranch stretched as empty as the scrub prairie.

  She knew that was total crap—he was a summer instructor and trail guide, no more. But every time she got ready to pin him down on what he did the other eight months of the year he’d smile at her, adjust her “seat” position, point out an eagle soaring on a thermal, anything to distract her…without appearing to distract her.

  Now he sat astride his horse not five feet from the porch of her cabin, looking the quintessential “cowboy in the sunset.”

  “You can’t be some mystic cowboy forever, you know?”

  “Evening to you too, Kurva.” Somehow he’d gotten that out of her. He also managed to say it like it wasn’t a comment on her figure, or rather lack of one, so she let him use it. Instead, he turned her name into a tease, a friendly nickname that didn’t chide her for choosing another.

  “Evening to you, Raymond. What are you doing up on a horse at this hour?”

  “Hoping to take you on an evening ride and see the stars. It’s a warm night, but you might want a jacket.” Never quite a question, yet not a statement either. As if coaxing her along like a reluctant horse. She didn’t appreciate the metaphor but couldn’t find the urge to fight it either.

  Her own mount, a patient bay named Gumdrop of all silliness, trailed behind him on a lead. Colleen was really getting the vernacular down. She wanted to do a little horse-words rap there on the porch but resisted it. Instead she grabbed a polar fleece off a hook inside the door and climbed up into the saddle.

  Seattle girl in the saddle girl

  Astride some rawhide like a way cool—bri—No!

  Her mind nearly strangled itself when her inner rap artist cast up “bride” for worst-rhyming-word-choice-of-the-century award. Definitely not!

  The vertiginous Big Sky of Montana expanded even more as they rode up past the cabins and over the rise at a lazy, side-by-side plod. Gumdrop’s head bobbed easily, no longer nearly jerking Colleen out of the saddle each time the horse leaned down to crop some grass as they went along.

  In the sky, golds found reds.

  Reds hinted at impending purples.

  Soon Raymond reined to a halt and pointed to the west, “Venus.”

  Colleen didn’t know where to look.

  Raymond pulled his mount close beside her so that she could easily follow the line of his pointing arm.

  It took her a moment to pick the sparkling point of light out of the red-gold sky, then she had it. It hung above the silhouetted-black mountains like a diamond.

  “Planet light, planet bright, First planet I see tonight, I wish I may, I wish I might, Have this wish I wish tonight.” Ray’s voice was as soft as the call of a passing bird. “Meadowlark,” he filled in for her.

  “This seems to be the sort of place that wishes come true.” It really was. The pale dry grass lay in golden waves over the rolling prairie. Far below—she didn’t realize they’d wandered so far as she had watched the shifting light—lay the cozy cluster of ranch buildings: lodge, barns, and cabins. The next farm over, a big-spread cattle ranch, was just barely visible and looked homey as well.

  “What do you wish for, Colleen Baisotei?” He said it right. It was as if he couldn’t quite leave her names alone but had to play with them like cat toys. It seemed to make him happy to do so and, curiously, it didn’t bother her. Words were her toys as well. She liked that in a man.

  “What do I wish for? Not this.”

  “You don’t?”

  “Not really. The beauty here is like a drug. Perhaps in small doses, but I’d miss the city too much as well.”

  “I know,” his voice was as soft as the night. “I come here for the summers, retreat to my city in the fall. But I don’t think about that now. Now, I am simply here.”

  “A cowboy.”

  “They let me play at being one.”

  Colleen liked that about him, too. He knew what he himself was, even if she didn’t know what he was in the real world. And now she understood why. Whereas she— “Huh!”

  “What?”

  “I’m…not sure what to wish for.” Peace with her parents? There was a greater chance of a forest fire in Antarctica. Finding… Colleen didn’t know what to plug in there. That bothered her. She really should know.

  Sure, she was doing fine. She had good friends in Seattle, whether for a quiet dinner or to go out dancing: square dancing at the Tractor, Britpop Thursday at the Lo-Fi, or bottom-trawling at the J&M. Her job sent her traipsing up and down the Northwest until she knew it like the back of her hand, but kept discovering new things there anyway. Men were pleasant and easy. She knew there was a type of man who looked at her and melted, and she didn’t mind that either. Slim-Japanese-with-dark-hair-well-down-her-back slayed them…another advantage to America over Japan where she was just another potential housewife. Dressing in a tight tube-top at least doubled her yield.

  But what to spend an actual wish on…

  She turned to him, “What’s yours?”

  “I would think that was obvious from the moment you walked into the ranch kitchen, Ms. McMurphy.”

  And when he said it, it was.

  She turned from the diamond light of Venus to inspect Raymond Esterling, itinerant horse guide and otherwise unknown. He was what she wasn’t. Melting-pot American versus pure-blood Japanese. Sandy blond and fair skinned. Easygoing to her own hyper tendencies—though those seemed to go quiet around him.

  “I didn’t come here looking to be a summer cowboy fling.” Yet he’d grown on her enough over these last days to make it a reasonable consideration.

  “Can’t say that I’ve ever been much for flings myself. Every time I try them, I get burned.”

  “But you’re willing to try me? I burn men baaaad! Just warning you.”

  “I expect, despite my mortal fear of fire, that you are well worth the risk.” He also knew how to slay her with a simple piece of flattery. It might be a line, but it was a good one.

  “Let’s find out.”

  Chapter 4

  Dateline…uh…unknown.

  Lying naked in the bed, the cool Montana morning washes in the open window and over my body raising goosebumps. The crickets called through the night, singing a
chorus of heat that had indeed scorched between the two highly-compatible humans. Now the siren call of the rising sun drags me back to the present.

  For five more fun-filled days, and five enchantingly rigorous nights, Henderson’s Ranch had delivered. She’d fished, learned to cook her trout on a heated rock by a wilderness campfire (though she’d passed on learning how to gut and clean the fish), gone horseback on a wildlife photo safari (she’d bagged a fox, two elk, and a rare bobcat with her camera), and even discovered some skill with a bow and arrow.

  She’d also unearthed a bottomless need for how Raymond Esterling could make her feel.

  Feel?

  Dear gods, it was like she hadn’t known the meaning of the word. Her body had responded to his in ways she’d never imagined. His hand on her calf as he checked her stirrup was enough to wrap her entire body in a warm heat. Even now it burned through her memory despite his having left her bed to start his morning chores.

  And what she felt inside was equally foreign.

  Demanding that her journalistic objectiveness chronicle what was happening to her resulted in—no answers.

  Instead, like the splash of cold water that sent her scrabbling for the covers, she was reminded that her idyll was done. This was Last Day, Departure Day.

  By this evening she’d be at SeaTac airport, waiting for her best friend Ruth Ann to pick her up and get her good and drunk. Except she didn’t feel the need to. Ray had somehow purged her soul of her parents far more than the most exotic cocktail. Going trawling for a bedmate at the J&M, after she’d had a taste of what Ray could make her feel, would be beyond pointless.

  Yes, he could make her feel. And by his desperate groans and happy sighs, she knew she did the same in return.

  They’d started their final night together with another sunset ride. This time he’d brought a blanket and they’d made love together under the stars. Once before, she’d done it outdoors, fast and desperate on Golden Gardens beach at a college bonfire party, the fear of imminent discovery adding to the hurry.

  Last night had been a slow, languid adventure under a brilliant canopy of starlight. When the half moon rose, it had turned the prairie pale yellow and was more than bright enough for them to appreciate each other visually as well as physically. She’d come to like the way Ray looked, a great deal. He was lean but strong. And only six inches taller meant that instead of her face being crushed to a man’s chest when they embraced, she could lay her head on his shoulder and nestle against his neck.

  She was a journalist because she loved learning new things.

  The things Ray had taught her she could place in no article, but they’d been written indelibly upon her skin and emotions.

  But now it was time to go. Showered and packed, she was surprised at the hugs she received after breakfast. The women in particular made a point of saying how glad they were to have met her. It felt genuine.

  There! That was the hook on her travelogue about this place.

  It didn’t feel genuine—it really was genuine.

  She might have become closer to the staff than the tourists, but as they all gathered together for departure, there were many warm farewells.

  Colleen stood in the midday-flight time group, waiting for the helicopter to return from the morning-flight group. New arrivals were inbound for their own adventures, welcomed, and were escorted to their freshly cleaned cabins.

  Then Ray arrived and cut her out of the herd. She went willingly until they were alone with the horses in the barn.

  “Kurva Colleen. May I see you again?”

  “Gods, please, yes. But I’ll be in Seattle.”

  “So you said. I’ll come looking for you there when I’m done being a cowboy.”

  “You’d better.”

  His kiss made that promise as the distant thrum of the helicopter approached to whisk her away.

  Chapter 5

  Dateline, done.

  Larry loved the piece. For the first time, it passed beneath his evil editor’s pen without a single tick-mark or correction. Her next assignment started tomorrow, learning about building boat sails. There were several premier sail lofts in Seattle and she had a very nice contract to write a multi-page marketing-promo article about them for one of the glossy magazines.

  But she didn’t care about any of that.

  She cared about the simple text message, “J&M, 8pm. R”

  It would be good to just sit with Ruth Ann, drink a Mai Tai or a Mango Daiquiri, and catch up. She’d been back two weeks. Back? As if time was now measured in distance from Montana.

  Out of habit and the lingering Seattle summer heat—rather than thinking about attracting men—she wore a clingy tube-top, short shorts, and sandals, and brushed her hair out long. For once it wasn’t about torturing men or even finding one.

  She’d already found one, and was discovering that she wasn’t getting over him as she’d expected. Her sometimes-cowboy was persevering in her thoughts—like a good story that was hard to forget. Somehow, she couldn’t quite remember how, she’d let him slip away without any way to contact him. He was always good at using distraction. Perhaps he hadn’t wanted to keep in touch.

  Colleen had considered calling the ranch, but he would be gone soon. The short Montana summer was ending. With the start of school, their number of guests would plummet and the extra hands wouldn’t be needed. Yet some part of her waited.

  She went with the familiar J&M daiquiri for coolness. She also managed to snag her and Ruth Ann’s favorite table. It was small, but close by the door. It offered a good view of the male wildlife down the long bar as well as at the small streetside tables outside the windows. A hundred-and-thirty years of drinking had happened here (with a one-year hiccup in ’09 that had been devastating until a new owner was found), and she could feel the history every time. It was deep and solid.

  The band in the back was just getting rolling. Country-rock tonight. In another hour, conversation would approach the impossible and everyone would move onto the dance floor. For now, shouting was only necessary in the deeper sections of the bar, and the dancers still had room to do some moves.

  The parade of men and women through the door barely registered on her. She could see that she was registering on them, but that was the point. Dates were having to poke their men in the ribs, some of them sharply, to keep them moving.

  Then one man arrived by himself—which wasn’t unusual.

  Dressed in typical Seattle: sneakers, jeans, and a UW Huskies t-shirt.

  But his gait was odd.

  As if he’d just…gotten off a horse.

  Ray smiled down at her as he strode up to the table like he was still roaming the prairie.

  “You’re not ‘R’.” But he was. Not Ruth Ann. Raymond. She hadn’t even looked at the sender on the message.

  “You told me you liked this place.”

  “I do,” then she caught herself and patted the seat beside her. “Now I really do.”

  “And I thought you were dressed that way for me.” He sat beside her.

  “No, just to torment passing strangers.”

  “I’m hurt. But it definitely works. You’re absolutely killing me.”

  “What are you…?” His t-shirt registered. “Huskies? You’re an alum?”

  “Not exactly.”

  She knew there were adult students, but he didn’t act like a student.

  He cleared his throat as if preparing to lecture.

  He worked there!

  “UW Professor Raymond Esterling, specializing in advanced robotics, particularly communication protocols with natural language. That means how robots and people speak to each other.”

  “You like the way I listen,” she recalled the very first thing he’d ever said to her. Of course he would appreciate that.

  His nod was easy as he ordered a beer from a passing waitress, as if it was as natural as could be. Of course, she liked the way he communicated too. Except when he evaded her.

  “You knew
all that time that I was from Seattle and you didn’t say anything?” A part of her that had been strangely quiescent over the last two weeks stirred to life. Like one of the Front Range’s hibernating bears starting to wake up. She didn’t know yet if she was of the angry variety.

  “That’s a separate part of my life. My days in this life are pretty intense. All indoors, a lot of computer code, with some mechanics and theory stirred in. For three months every year I get to ride horses and look at the horizon.”

  “And snare willing ranch guests.”

  “Tally of one so far. But based on that narrow statistical sample, I’d say it was absolutely worth the risk. Don’t you agree?”

  The last, gentle words were so soft they barely cleared the noise level that the J&M was pumping itself up to.

  Raymond Esterling. Robots and horses. He took her hand and the warmth ran up her arm and wrapped around her. Not just her limbs, but that strange place inside where no man had ever belonged.

  Belonged.

  Something she’d never done. Not in Japan, not really in Seattle. Always a barfly never a…she let the next word come after only briefly shying away. Never a bride.

  Yet whether enjoying each other’s bodies, riding through the sunset together, or just sitting here knowing they’d be on the dance floor soon, she now knew what the belonging meant.

  For outsiders, Henderson’s Ranch was about welcome—maybe having a place for a week, or a summer. But with Ray, he made it easy to imagine so much more. There was an absolute rightness that was undeniable.

  She leaned in to kiss him. Just before their lips met, she whispered.

  “Now I know what to wish for. And yes, absolutely worth it.”

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  Nathan’s Big Sky (excerpt)

  The silence was deafening.

  Nathan gripped the crowbar-handle of his car’s jack so tightly that it hurt his hand but he couldn’t ease up. It was his sole hope of survival.

  The only sound for miles on the emptiness of the Montana prairie was the hot-metal pinging of his cooling Miata sports car, lurched awkwardly to the roadside by a flat tire. The chill of the cold April evening almost hurt his lungs. The sun hadn’t quite set; instead it illuminated the clouds of his own breath like some horror movie with a fog machine turned on too high.