The Promise

by River Laurent

  “So, who’s Lars?” she asks perkily, like she is my best friend and we are having a heart to heart.

  For some weird reason, my heart contracts. “He’s just one of the trainers.”

  “And?”

  “And nothing.”

  “Oh,” she says in a disappointed voice, as if she was expecting to me to gossip with her about Lars.

  Someone calls to her so she turns away from the screen and shouts, “What?” I wait while she listens to someone say something indistinguishable, then she faces me again and rolls her eyes. “No rest for the wicked. My hairdresser is here. The sun is wrecking my hair.”

  “Bye, Tamara,” I say quickly.

  The line goes dead.

  I blow out a puff of air, switch off the light, curl up with my hands under my pillow, and fall straight back to sleep.

  “Morning, Poppet,” Emma Jean greets, looking up from her pots and pans to smile at me.

  “Morning,” I reply and smile brightly even though every muscle in my body is in agony.

  “Take a pew. You’ve got a big day ahead, and you’ll be needing some food that’ll stick to your ribs.” Pulling a slip of paper from the notepad on the counter, she walks over and puts it in front of me. I peer down at the page and sigh heavily. Lars has written a specific to-do list to ensure that I don’t slack off on my chores. The list includes disgusting stuff like picking up trash, cigarette butts, and dog poo from around the property, as well as feeding and watering the horses; and of course, shoveling manure.

  “Will I not be learning to ride today then?”

  She pours coffee into my mug. “Lars is away, so probably not.”

  “Oh.”

  Disheartened, I curl my hands around the mug and take a sip. While Emma Jean fills the kitchen with mouth-watering smells as she makes veggie browns, bacon, Croquet-Monsieur, and waffles, I ask her about the ranch and its surrounding area. She tells me that the mountain range visible from my patio is the Pryor Mountains and that Bucking Bronco Ranch is located on the east slope of it, right in the heart of the historic Crow Indian Reservation.

  I fill my belly with the food that she piles high on my plate and listen to her talk about life on the ranch. It seems to be completely dependent on the seasons. The men drive the cows and horses fifty miles into the ranch in spring, then it’s back to winter pastures all the way in Wyoming during the late fall. Spring, I learn, is also when the mother cows bring forth their calves. The branding of new calves happens in June, and weaning is in September.

  “What’s done about now?” I ask, shoveling another mouthful of waffle drenched in huckleberry jam and maple syrup into my mouth.

  “This is the season for the arrival of the new foals.”

  “Really? Will I get to see a birth?” I ask excitedly.

  “I don’t see why not.”

  Once I have eaten, I start on my chores and do not stop until it is time for a quick lunch. The work is never ending and I only finish at sundown. I walk through the deserted house and find chicken, a baked potato, and chocolate cake with a gooey center waiting for me in the kitchen. My mouth is watering as I walk to my room. I have never eaten anything like the food Emma Jean serves up. Possibly because everything here is freshly grown, slaughtered, and collected, instead of being frozen and store bought.

  I suck it all down like a starving savage, shower, and hit the sack.

  Chapter 16

  Cass

  For the next three days, my life revolves around the same pattern of drudgery. A long to-do list that keeps me going until late, and no sign of Lars. The work is hard but it leaves me time to think, and the more time that passes, the more I realize how much I want to see Lars again. Somehow, I manage to avoid other people, which is for the best. I don’t want to act like Tamara to anyone else. I hate being horrible and rude to these simple, good-hearted folks.

  By day four, I arrive in Emma Jean’s kitchen, mentally and physically beat. I’m used to hard work, and I knew working on a ranch wouldn’t be easy, but the workload I’ve been given is beyond difficult.

  “What’s on the list today?” I ask tiredly.

  “There’s no list today,” she says with a satisfied expression.

  I perk up. “What do you mean?”

  “He’s been overworking you. Twelve hours of physical labor every day with only one break all day ain’t right. Even the highest paid employees here only work a few hours a day and have multiple breaks. It’s too hot to work the way you’ve been doin’.”

  I stare at her. Lars dialing down my hours without a good reason? “Wait—what? How did you get him to agree to that?”

  Emma Jean smiles and takes the scrambled eggs off the heat. The pan is full to the brim and I wonder how she manages to cook it all so evenly, or avoid spilling any on the stove top. I’m used to Jesse’s burnt scrambled eggs.

  “I’ve been around a long time, Poppet. I’ve seen people come and go, but I’ve never met anyone as passionate as you. It’s been three days. You look like you can barely keep your eyes open, but you won’t give up or admit defeat. If he carries on with this silliness, he’ll run you into the ground.”

  “I am a bit tired,” I admit with a smile.

  “You’re dying on your feet, child. Today you’ll have time to digest your breakfast. You’re not to go to the barns until gone nine-thirty.” I look at her with wide eyes then glance at the clock. It’s only seven.

  “What will I do until then?”

  “Go look at the animals. Go back to bed. Go explore the ranch. Whatever tickles your fancy.”

  “When will Lars come back?”

  “Probably in the next couple of days.”

  “Does he go away a lot.”

  “Some,” she says cautiously. It’s obvious she doesn’t want to gossip about him.

  I nod unhappily. The next time Tamara calls, she’ll be expecting me to tell her that I’ve mastered riding and at this rate… “I’m only asking because I need to be able to ride a horse by the end of my stay, and if he’s not around much to teach me then…” I leave the sentence trailing.

  “I’ll mention it to him when he calls,” she says, switching off the stove.

  I stand to grab a plate from the cupboard and Emma Jean gives me a look best described as sit-down-and-don’t-you-dare-try-to-do-my-job.

  I raise my hands up and drop back into the chair. “So, you just asked him to shorten my hours and he did it?” It still seems too unbelievable.

  She begins to fill my plate and my stomach growls.

  “You still have to be in the barns at nine-thirty today, but anytime in the future if you ever get in later than nine o’clock at night, you don’t have to be back in the barns until noon the next day. Also, you get a small fifteen-minute break every hour and an hour lunch break,” she adds with satisfaction.

  I gawk at her and shake my head in awe. “Thank you so much.”

  “Lars is a good lad. He always tries to do the right thing. The two of you might have gotten off on the wrong foot.”

  Might? “That’s an understatement if I ever heard one.”

  “I know your reputation isn’t great, but you’re not a bad person. Your eyes show that you’ve been through hard times, and eyes never lie.”

  “Thank you so much.” To have a stranger who doesn’t know me acknowledge and empathize with how hard my life has been, fills my eyes with unexpected tears. I blink them away, but I can’t stop the tremble in my lower lip. To hide it, I hurriedly stuff a forkful of eggs and sausage into my mouth.

  “Do you miss your life back home?” Emma Jean asks.

  I slow down chewing to give myself some time to think. I don’t want to lie to her. I like her a lot and find solace with her every morning. In a funny sort of way, she’s almost like a mother to me. Even though she doesn’t even know my real name, she knows me better than most people do. I pick up my glass of orange juice and down it in one long gulp. No longer able to put the moment off, I shift in my seat and loo
k up into Emma Jean’s kind face.

  In a flash, I come to a breathtaking solution. I don’t need to pretend to be Tamara with her. Why should I? She’s never meet the real Tamara. I’ll be myself and show her the real me, and all she’ll remember is that someone called Tamara Honeywell was nice and kind to her. I smile warmly at her. “Not really.”

  Her eyes sparkle. “So, you do like it here?”

  “I should hate it, shouldn’t I?” I ask rhetorically, “with all the endless chores, but I don’t. It’s an awesome place. I’ve always loved animals and the idea of a farm, but I thought of myself as a city girl because that is how I grew up. I realize now I couldn’t have been more wrong. Even with the punishing workload, I still love it.” Other than to Jesse and Emma Jean, I wouldn’t admit this to anyone else.

  She nods triumphantly. “I knew your daddy did the right thing when he sent you here. How could anyone hate it here? It’s wide open land and you never run out of things to do. When I was a girl about your age, I was a lot like you—aside from the celebrity aspect, of course. I lived in Dallas, Texas, and I didn’t know hard work a day in my life until I married a ranch hand. Over the years, we drifted about all over the States until we finally found this place five years ago. We’ve been working here ever since.”

  I smile at her. “You and your husband are lucky.”

  “We are,” she says, smiling softly. “We got each other and we live in beauty.”

  I pick up my empty plate to take to the sink, but before I can even take a step forward, Emma Jean snatches it from my hands. She heaps more eggs and a sausage on it and slaps it down in front of me. “After all the work you’ve been doing, Poppet, you need more sustenance.”

  I’m not going to argue with her. “Where’s your husband now?” I ask, slicing into a sausage.

  “One of the stallions broke a couple of his ribs, so he’s home resting.”

  “You mean Thunder?”

  “That’ll be the one.”

  “How old is your husband?” I ask curiously. She must be at least sixty.

  “Jack just celebrated his sixty-eighth birthday last month,” she says with a smile. “After this stunt, I won’t be letting him go back to training horses. He’s getting too old to be jumping on and off horses. It was good of Lars to agree to pay his medical bills.”

  “Lars paid for your husband’s medical bills?”

  She looks anxious. “You won’t tell anyone I told you, will you?”

  I shake my head. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

  Maybe I’ve misjudged Lars after all.

  Chapter 17

  Cass

  I have a surprise the next day. Emma Jean says that I’m getting a riding lesson after my chores. Someone called James will teach me. I wonder why Lars can’t be around. What is it that makes him too busy to see me for days at a time. He’s supposed to be my trainer, after all.

  Nevertheless, I rush through my chores excitedly. As I am running to the barn, my phone rings. It’s Ms. Moore checking up on me. I quickly assure her that everything is hunky dory.

  “Has Tamara been in touch?” she asks.

  “Yeah, she called me last night at 2 a.m.”

  “Hmm,” she says disapprovingly.

  We talk a bit more before she rings off. I have just enough time to race to the barn for my four o’clock lesson.

  “Are you James?” I ask breathlessly.

  A man, maybe twenty-eight or twenty-nine years old, with a Miley Cyrus hairstyle, turns around with a broad smile on his face. “And you must be Miss Tamara,” he says, walking in my direction with long strides. Like Lars, he too is good-looking, but where Lars is rugged and masculine as hell, this man is more of a pretty boy with sparkling blue eyes and cute lips.

  “I am her,” I say.

  He stops right in front of me, and to my surprise, pulls my hand to his lips and kisses my knuckles.

  My eyebrows rise. I did not expect this type of gallantry from a guy in the middle of nowhere.

  “You’re nothing like…” he begins, and I know exactly what he’s thinking. I’m not what he was expecting. My hair is scraped back in an unglamorous ponytail and I’ve stopped wearing the thick foundation I’m supposed to wear. Mainly because it takes too long to slap on, but also, it seems stupid to layer it on thick when all I seem to do is the most disgusting tasks anyway. So, I’m not glamorous but I’ll have to do because I don’t have enough energy to be painstakingly put together and fulfill my responsibilities on this ranch.

  “… what you expected?” I finish his sentence dryly.

  “No,” he says, his eyes calculative. It’s obvious he’s read stuff about Tamara and thinks she’s some kind of slut he can have a roll in the hay with. He has no idea what a tyrant she really is. If I had been her, he’d be licking my boots right about now.

  “Life is full of surprises,” I say lightly.

  “It sure is.” I see him make a quick recalculation of his strategy. His eyes darken as he takes his time looking me up and down.

  I frown at the slow look. “Shall we start?”

  ‘Sure thing, doll.”

  “Well, the last time I rode Misty,” I say, getting straight to the point.

  But he doesn’t take his eyes off me or move an inch. “You got a man waiting for ya back in the city.”

  “What?’ I explode.

  “You know. A boyfriend.” He winks. “A lover.”

  “None of your damned business,” I say through clenched teeth. There are all kinds of bad words clawing up my throat, but I swallow them down. I just want to learn to ride.

  “Pipe down, sweet cheeks. It was a fair question. City folk are always runnin’ around.”

  That does it. I suddenly decide I don’t like the idea of him training me one bit. What if I fall and he has to catch me the way Lars did the last time?

  A) I didn’t trust him.

  B) I didn’t want him anywhere near me, let alone, touching me.

  But if I refuse to let him teach me, I’ll just get into trouble. Lars could tell Tamara’s father. There is a better way.

  “This time I want to ride Thunder?” I say.

  “Thunder?” he exclaims with a disbelieving laugh.

  “Yeah, Thunder,” I reply firmly.

  He shakes his head. “You want to learn horseback riding on a wild Arabian race horse?”

  I nod.

  A sly look comes into his face. “You’re used to handling big males, huh?”

  I know what he is alluding to, but I don’t bite. “Don’t you think I can ride him?” I counter, knowing instinctively that I can. For the last few days, I’ve been sneaking carrots and sugar cubes to him and we’ve become buddies. I think he completely trusts me.

  “Oh, baby. I know you can ride a big man, but how about we do your riding lesson on another horse—any other horse.” The man with the perfect smile, straight nose, and crystal blue eyes finally shows an imperfection. He’s scared of Thunder.

  I raise an insolent eyebrow. “Are you trying to tell me that you’re afraid of a horse?”

  “Damn straight, I am? That horse is a hammerhead.”

  “Hammerhead?”

  “A bad horse,” he explains briefly.

  “No, he’s not. Anyway, you won’t be riding him. I will.”

  He shakes his head and takes a step away from me. “Nah, no way. I ain’t taking that responsibility.”

  “It sounds to me like you don’t have the balls.”

  He flushes brick-red with anger and I want to laugh. Men are so predictable. Maybe this is the only way to get what I want.

  “You betcha,” he snarls. “That brute is damn near two thousand pounds dry, and I ain’t stupid enough to put a greenhorn prune picker on it.”

  “Did you just call me a prune picker?”

  “You’re from California, ain’t you?” he asks belligerently.

  I fold my arms stubbornly.

  “I was told to teach you to ride. Are you going to mak
e my job impossible?”

  “Your job wouldn’t be impossible if you’d let me ride the horse I want,” I snap.

  “Quit your yammerin’, woman,” he bellows. “That horse deserves to be sent to the glue factory for the trouble it’s already caused. I’m telling you now. You’re not riding that horse. We can’t even get him to cooperate being led on a rope.”

  “I can lead him,” I retort.

  “No, you can’t,” he says, jamming an accusing finger at me.

  “Want me to prove it?” I challenge.

  “No, I don’t. For Pete’s sake, just pick another goddamn horse, or I’ll pick one for you.” His face is nearly purple, and he is irate and completely frustrated at this point. I consider backing off. My dad used to say there are times when pressing to get something you want is a good, healthy action, and there other times when it is downright dangerous and it’s best to concede to the whims of your rival. Unfortunately, I’ve always been bad at determining which situations are dangerous and which are acceptable.

  “No,” I growl.

  “You will get on a damned horse if I have to throw you over my shoulder and put you on the horse myself,” he shouts, completely losing his temper with me.

  “Screw you,” I shout and stomp away from him.

  For a second, he is too shocked to respond, then I hear him coming up behind me with the rapidity of a wild animal. I stop dead in my tracks and whirl around. “If you so much as touch me, you’ll have a roomful of sharp-suited lawyers come down so hard on your ass you’ll wish you never heard of Tamara Honeywell.”

  And just like that, I unintentionally become Tamara Honeywell’s protégée. My sass combined with her money is probably not a good combination.

  He blinks as if suddenly remembering that I’m not his equal.

  Chapter 18

  Cass

  As I walk away from the barn, my fists are balled and the blood is pounding in my veins, but I revel in my disobedience. It felt invigorating to be able to threaten someone with the force of the law like that, have them quake in their boots with fear, and immediately back down. What must it be like to have that kind of power for real? No wonder Tamara is such a bitch.