Heartland

by Julie Cannon

  “You know you’re not supposed to be up here, young lady,” Shivley scolded her but couldn’t keep the smile from spreading over her face. She was rewarded with Lucy’s long tail thumping against the nightstand. “Okay, I hear you. I’m up, I’m up.” Shivley dashed to the bathroom, pulling on her thick terry-cloth robe as she went. When she emerged, she opened the patio door, let Lucy outside, and went into the kitchen to put the coffee on to brew.

  After adding a touch of cinnamon to a large mug of steaming coffee, Shivley headed out to the back porch. She loved this time of the day. The sounds of the early morning filled her with strength and peace as she gazed out over her land.

  Four years ago she had bought fifteen hundred acres of ponderosa pine after her lover lost her battle with cancer. She and Dale had met while standing in the supermarket checkout line, and after paying for their groceries, spent the next three hours at the coffee shop next door. After they’d been dating for a year, Shivley gave notice on her apartment and moved into Dale’s condo. The following year they bought a house, got a puppy, and opened a joint checking account.

  Their plan to live happily ever after was completely dismantled when they learned of Dale’s illness. At that time Shivley was the owner of an accounting firm and Dale taught third grade in the Flagstaff public school system. Shivley turned the running of the firm over to her most qualified employee and devoted herself to Dale’s care. During the last few months of her life, Dale had been in and out of hospitals and hospice care, with Shivley constantly at her side. In the beginning, friends would stop by often, but as Dale’s condition worsened the visits became fewer and farther between. Only a handful of friends remained and were close by when she died.

  The ranch was Shivley’s dream. She had it all worked out in her head. How many acres she wanted to have, the stock she wanted to run, and she had even gone so far as to design the house. It was her dream, not Dale’s. Sure, Dale listened while she talked and said the appropriate supportive phrases, but deep down Shivley knew she was just humoring her, and that hurt.

  Her thirty-sixth birthday was when she’d first mentioned her ranch, as she called it, to Dale. Her business was thriving, Dale loved teaching, and they had money to spare. They went on vacations, bought the standard lesbian toys, and made the obligatory visits to parents and in-laws. Dale hadn’t understood and kept referring to the ranch as her midlife crisis, but Shivley knew it was something more profound than wanting to relive her lost youth.

  When she was growing up Shivley wanted to be a cowboy, even after her father told her little girls grew up to be young ladies, not cowboys. She hadn’t listened to him then and she didn’t listen to him now when he voiced his opinion of her, her lifestyle, and her choice of residence. Her mother took her vows to love, honor, and obey to the extreme and never once contradicted him in Shivley’s presence. Shivley doubted she ever did. Her mother had said little, but her father was appalled when she told him she was selling her accounting practice and her house and using the proceeds and Dale’s life insurance to buy land and open a dude ranch. Long ago she had ceased to care what he thought, and even though he and her mother lived only twenty miles from where she was sitting right now, she had never invited him out to see the place.

  After Dale’s death Shivley lost herself in the ranch, often working until she dropped into bed exhausted. This grueling pace had continued for six months before her best friend Ann came to the ranch and rescued her from herself. Ann had taken over the responsibility of everything inside the house and saw to it that Shivley ate regular meals, went to bed at a decent hour, and relaxed for at least an hour each day. She still worked hard, but in the past few months had started to enjoy life again. It was during one of those quiet times when she happened to mention to Ann her idea of opening a dude ranch. She had enough money to last her a few years if she was careful, but she also knew how unexpected expenses were usually the most expensive. She knew that there were other little girls who dreamed of riding horses, roping cows, and bedding down on the ground under the stars. Well, maybe not directly on the ground, but definitely under the stars. And she thought she could make money at it as well. She named the ranch Springdale in honor of the first spring after Dale’s death.

  Shivley refilled her mug and returned to the deck. She put her feet up on the small table, leaned back, and closed her eyes, enjoying the scent and sounds of the forest. Her land held a thick population of ponderosa pine with a sprinkling of aspen trees. She loved the change of seasons, especially when the aspens exploded in color in the fall and wildflowers eagerly popped their heads out of the ground at the first sign of spring.

  With a mix of reluctance and anticipation, Shivley stood. “Lucy! Come on, girl.” The two almost collided as the dog rounded the corner at full speed. “We have to get ready. We’ve got guests coming this afternoon, and you know what that means.”

  Lucy looked at her as if she understood every word Shivley was saying. Her tail wagged so hard the entire half of her body moved with excitement, and she could hardly keep still.

  “That’s right. Women!”

  *

  Rachel looked at her watch as she pulled into the space designated for the return of her rental car. It was odd to see the Timex Indiglo on her wrist where her sleek Cartier watch typically rested. She was far more comfortable with the multifunctional timepiece than with the ever-present showpiece. She was thirty minutes early, and as far as she could tell, the first one here for her twelve fifteen flight.

  She turned off the car and leaned her head back. She was tired and her eyes hurt. She had slept fitfully the night before, her dreams filled with a knight in shining armor with piercing black eyes. Rachel was the damsel in distress, and her savior rode in a red Jeep and rescued her. Following the fairy-tale plot line, she rewarded her knight with the proverbial thank-you kiss. It was what happened after the kiss that woke Rachel on the brink of orgasm. She could only remember one other time when a dream was so vivid that she climaxed in her sleep, and the erotic images ticking inside her subconscious last night came very close to doing the same. As it was, she finally gave up on going back to sleep until she took matters into her own hands.

  A familiar sound roused Rachel from her partial slumber. She craned her head and saw a plane taxiing into the small airport. Rachel had been on enough private planes lately to recognize this one was a Beechcraft King Air 350, and it was a beauty. The King Air was fully appointed, and Rachel was curious who owned such an exquisite aircraft. She was surprised when an ordinary-looking man and woman descended the steps. In her experience, people who either owned or flew in private jets typically were not shy about flaunting their status, and she could spot them from a mile away. These two were very different.

  The man was about forty years old with well-worn jeans and boots that probably hadn’t seen a shine in years, which was a direct contradiction to the short-cropped hair and physical bearing of a career military officer. The woman was very similar except she was a good six inches taller and fifty pounds heavier than her companion. She too carried a certain air of authority, and Rachel assumed they must be the flight crew. When no one else exited the sleek aircraft, she opened the car door.

  The small boarding area quickly filled with the flight crew and ten women. The room was crackling with excitement, anticipation, and just a pinch of fear.

  “Good afternoon, ladies. My name is Gail West, and along with my buddy here, Bart Tillman, we’ll be your pilots for our short flight to the Springdale Ranch.”

  Rachel half listened to the safety briefing, imagining what the next ten days would bring. The plain but informative brochure said that the Springdale was a working ranch, which meant they would have the opportunity to experience a variety of activities that kept the ranch running while enjoying the great outdoors. Chores included fence mending, cattle tagging, giving of inoculations, and the customary cattle drive. A large block fireplace in the bunkhouse was the showcase picture on the inside flap. Each guest wou
ld have her own room with all the amenities, and four women in a Jacuzzi were featured on page three. All this and the opportunity to discover muscles you never even knew you had as well as blisters, broken fingernails, the assorted bumps and bruises, and all for the price of $7,500 per person.

  The safety briefing complete, she picked up her duffel and headed for adventure. Rachel chuckled. In a plane this size, every seat was a window seat and every seat an aisle seat, which suited her because she was not in the mood to socialize with her fellow passengers, at least not yet. She had enough of people, talking, and posturing to fill her needs for the next several months. She wanted—no, she needed to be alone with no crises, worries, or intellectual challenges to clog her mind.

  Rachel was one of the top political strategists in the country and highly sought after by candidates all over the country for her success at getting her clients elected. Lately those responsibilities had morphed into public relations more than anything else. Rachel instructed her candidates on how to walk and stand with an air of authority and confidence, on the amount of pressure they needed in their handshake, and on dozens of other little mannerisms that would magically transform their image into that of a leader. And then there was the spin. The twisting of unpopular positions, politically dangerous liaisons, or previous voting records into whatever angle necessary to get elected today. For the last several months the constant nausea from spinning and weaving sound bites threatened to gag her every time she stepped into a campaign headquarters office. She needed to get away, recharge, and if she was lucky, maybe even get laid.

  As a teenager, Rachel had spent three years on a ranch in southern Montana, and thanks to her nonexistent father and irresponsible mother, it was just another place in a long line of places that the state referred to as foster homes. They were never “homes” to Rachel, but places where she slept and ate, and in most cases, where people simply tolerated her for $362 a month.

  At first she was appalled by the lack of creature comforts, including no television or stereo, in the Stewart house. They didn’t even have a microwave. She was intimidated by the desolation of the ranch, and the wide-open space gave her almost a reverse sense of claustrophobia. There was so much space she felt like a speck in the universe. After she’d brooded for a few days, her natural curiosity and independence kicked in, and in no time she was riding horses, shoveling manure, and feeding chickens. She grew to love the outdoors, the challenge of nature, and more importantly, she learned how to be independent and confident and to rely on no one but herself. She learned a sense of responsibility and respect for that which was bigger than she was. The ranch was just what she needed to tame the wild, rebellious teenager she was becoming. But like everything else that had positively shaped her life, that too was taken away when she was moved yet again to another foster home.

  A business associate had spent a week at the Springdale and recommended it as the perfect place to unwind and recharge. It was just what Rachel needed to get her feet planted firmly on the ground again. The Springdale catered to the gay and lesbian community and had soon assumed its rightful place next to P-Town, the Michigan Womyn’s Music Festival, and the Dinah Shore golf tournament as one of the must-go places for lesbians, which was an added plus.

  Rachel closed her eyes, and the face of an angry, yet stunningly attractive woman sneaked into her mind. It was the woman who had literally almost run her over not once, but twice a few days ago. Shivley, what an interesting name. Shivley McCoy. Goose bumps rose on Rachel’s arms when she remembered her reaction when Shivley jumped out of the Jeep. After she’d gotten over the initial shock, she thought Shivley was hot. When they met the second time on the sidewalk outside the pet shop, her body had instantly reacted to the smile that lit up Shivley’s face. Her breath caught when she recognized desire flickering in the dark eyes staring back at her. It had been far too long since a woman looked at her like that, and she was grateful that her body had not forgotten how to respond.

  Two of the women sitting behind her on the plane laughed, and Rachel opened her eyes, glancing at her watch. This time when the women laughed it was the intimate laugh of women in love. Rachel thought about Shivley and wondered for a moment how something as simple as the touch of a complete stranger’s hand could make her feel this way. No matter how busy she was, she was always able to find a way to spend some “quality” time with a beautiful woman, but her reaction to Shivley had both confused and thrilled her. But it really didn’t matter. She was here and Shivley was wherever butch cowgirls went in this area.

  It wasn’t long before the plane began descending. The forest was so dense, in some places Rachel couldn’t see the ground below. In others, green pasture speckled the ground as if large stands of trees had been cut down for just that purpose. The plane banked to the left and a bunkhouse came into view. That’s a bunkhouse? Even from this distance the house was a sprawling masterpiece of wood and glass that surprisingly didn’t look out of place on the pristine land. Horse pens, trucks, and a tractor or two dotted the landscape surrounding the house. A red Jeep was headed toward the landing strip, a soft plume of dust following. Within minutes they landed softly on a dirt runway and coasted to a stop not far from what Rachel suspected was the barn.

  *

  A shadow of the plane eerily crossed the field minutes before landing, offering Shivley the opportunity to check her reflection in the rearview mirror. She looked tired, the dark circles under her eyes clear proof she had not slept well the night before. She had tossed and turned, her subconscious dedicated to dreams of the svelte woman she had run into several days ago. Each dream was more vivid than the last, giving her the opportunity to gaze into intense eyes and listen to a soft, sexy voice. The plane pulled in, capturing Shivley’s attention, and within minutes both engines had shut down and Bart was at the bottom of the landing stairs. She stepped out of the Jeep to greet her guests.

  Shivley evaluated each guest when they arrived. She looked for any natural athleticism, and whether their skin was tanned, either from the sun or a tanning booth. The way they came off the plane and down the steps was an indication of whether they were generally tentative or aggressive in nature. Even the condition of the clothes they were wearing indicated their ability to withstand the rigors of working outside and riding a horse all day. Stiff, dark blue jeans were the first indication that they had been bought specifically for the week. On the other hand, if faded, worn, and slightly tattered jeans could talk, they would say their owners wore them often and kept them busy.

  Shivley had carefully selected her stock to accommodate the various skill levels of her guests. Several of her horses were calm and could not be ruffled by anything their riders did. The black gelding was so good that he knew what to do regardless of what his inexperienced rider commanded. She had three or four quarter horses that were for the more experienced riders.

  The first woman off the plane was short and stocky, and even from where Shivley stood she could see the large, tight muscles of a bodybuilder. She walked down the steps with an attitude that said she took the world by the balls and would kick anyone’s ass who tried to stop her. Shivley filed that away for future reference.

  Next out the door was a tall brunette dressed in tight designer jeans, high-heeled boots, and a leather jacket. She looked totally out of place, and Shivley immediately decided to give this fashion plate one of the tamest horses. Her decision was the total opposite when the next two stepped out of the plane. They could be sisters, she thought. They were both tall and tan and literally bounced down the stairs. They looked exactly alike except for the length of their blond hair. Following them was a woman who could be no more than five feet tall even in the boots she was wearing.

  A casually dressed redhead was after that, and she was holding hands with a woman at least six inches shorter than she. They both stopped at the top of the stairs and took in their surroundings like they were memorizing every detail to recount to their friends at a party after they returned. A w
oman wearing worn jeans and Dingo boots was crowding the doorway behind them. Her hair was dark and full, and the sleeves of her flannel shirt were rolled up to her elbows. The woman close on her heels was of average height and weight and was wearing a baseball cap pulled low on her head.

  Shivley was debating between two horses for the guest at the bottom of stairs when the final woman stepped out. She was of average height but carried herself as if she were much larger. Her left hand tucked blond hair behind her ear while the right hand secured a hat on her head. Shivley experienced a sense of déjà vu as she watched her descend the steps. The wide brim of the hat hid her face until she reached the ground, and when she lifted her head to view her surroundings, Shivley’s breath caught in her throat. Rachel Stanton.

  Chapter Four

  Rachel’s lungs filled with crisp, clean air as she descended the seven steps from the comfort inside the King Air. Trees were in every direction as far as she could see. Tall, majestic living foliage that had survived everything Mother Nature had thrown at it for decades. There was a hint of pine in the air, along with the scent of horses and fresh hay. It was a smell she remembered from her three years in Montana.

  Rachel took in her surroundings as she followed the trail of her companions to where they were gathering near the door leading into the barn. The yard and surrounding area were neat and free of weeds and clutter. Directly in front of her were several pens that she assumed were for horses or could comfortably hold fifty head of cattle. The fence was standard four board and showed no sign of disrepair and appeared to have recently received a new coat of white paint. She was a stickler for little details that indicated care and responsibility, and the condition of the fence spoke of the ranch owner’s commitment to keeping the property in top condition for the guests. The stables were to her left, with a double set of swinging doors propped open to display stalls neatly lined up on both sides. Several horses stretched their necks over their stall doors, curious at the sounds of the new arrivals.