The Rancher's Untamed Heart

“What’s new with you?” she asked.

I thought about telling her about losing my job, but I didn’t want to hear the satisfaction in her voice. She’d find out soon enough.

“I changed jobs,” I said. “It was past time for a change from my old position, I didn’t think I’d get promoted there at all. I’m at a smaller place now, but they’re already talking about sending me off for more training and giving me more responsibility.”

Her laugh tinkled through.

“I’m happy for you, darling, but you know that that’s not what I meant,” she said. “I mean, are you seeing anyone? Someone, well, suitable?”

“Actually, yes, I am,” I said. “He’s a rancher, I met him through work. At my last job.”

“He’s educated and successful, then? That would be a nice change,” she said.

I bristled and opened my mouth, but before I could say anything, she continued speaking, her voice as calm as ever.

“I know, I know, I shouldn’t say things like that, but Naomi, I worry. It’s a mother’s job to worry about her daughters.”

“He’s a good guy, Mom, and yes, he’s successful,” I said. “I really like him.”

I hesitated.

“It’s been making me think about the future,” I said. “About what I want out of life. When I was your age, what did you want out of life?”

“Honey, when I was your age, I was married to your father, and let’s not forget, I was already a mother” she said. “We had you when I was twenty-five, you’re twenty-six. More than old enough to be thinking about the future, it’s past time you picked a man and settled down.”

I sighed. Why on earth did I think this conversation would be productive?

I changed the subject back to her, and after a few minutes, got off of the phone with a promise to call more often.

I stared at the phone for a minute and then hit the button for recent calls - Clint was always in there, now.

When he answered, I started right in on my diatribe.

“Why on earth did I think that calling my mother to talk to her about things that were bothering me was a good idea? My father says going within a thousand miles of the woman is a bad idea, and I’m more like him than I am like her. I should have listened to him. I should have called him instead. Maybe I should call him now. Would you mind if I just hung up and called him now?”

I paused, and after a second, Clint spoke up.

“Bad day?” he asked.

"Bad day," I agreed. "Bad talk. Bad mother. Bad daughter."

"Why do you say you're a bad daughter?" he asked.

"I don't write, I don't call, I don't text, I don't e-mail, I don't send smoke signals, and, whenever possible, I don't visit," I listed.

His voice was, like my mother's, calm and steady. Unlike my mother's, it was reassuring, not laced with hidden judgment. Hearing it was helping me calm down, I was no longer twisting the steering wheel angrily in my hands, and I was relaxing into the familiar seat of my car.

"Do you want me to be a housewife?" I asked, suddenly.

"What brought that on?" he asked.

"You said something about a house full of children and home-cooked meals," I said. "That's what you want out of life, right? Do you want me to be a housewife for that house full of children?"

Clint hesitated.

"I want you to be happy," he said. "If you wanted to be a housewife, that would be pretty nice. My mother was a wonderful woman and worked hard every day keeping the ranch in order and feeding us all."

"If I didn't want to be a housewife?" I asked.