Whiskey and Country

“See, I told ya,” the woman replied.

I pinched my lips together to avoid smiling at their dispute. From the way they bickered, I bet they were an old married couple.

“Careful with your back, Harold. These things are heavy.”

The man huffed. “Had you brought that phone Rupert gifted us last Christmas, we could have called in for help.”

I inched closer. “Hey,” I hailed them, waving. “I’m Nick. Maybe I could give you a hand.”

Their stares drifted to me, but soon their argument continued.

“Harold, your pants. It took me hours to fix the hem the other day,” the woman said.

“Barb, it’s you who wanted me to dress nice for a livestock auction. That makes no sense. I should have worn my usual work clothes.”

I stepped between them. “If you let me, I could change that tire for you.”

Both their gazes shifted to me, studying me with matching frowns.

“Oh, you heard the boy, Harold? He could help you out. You’re too old to do this yourself.”

The man growled. “That’s what I said. If you would’ve listened to me.”

Barb added, “It is the ranch hand’s job to pick up the animals.”

The man continued. “I know. But we’re missing one now, so we need to do it ourselves in the meantime.”

Without a word, I picked up the jack from their open trunk and after disconnecting the trailer, I got their vehicle lifted, ready to remove the flat tire.

“Wow, you’re strong,” the woman remarked with an appreciative nod.

“I used to be strong too,” the man grumbled with a sigh.

“Yes. You were the strongest man I knew. It’s okay if you’re not anymore.” Love passed between them as they stopped arguing. The man leaned forward to kiss his wife’s—now I was sure—forehead. The way they smiled at each other made me yearn for a connection like theirs. One day.

After I attached the trailer, I wiped my hands on the rag cloth Harold handed me and accepted the bottle of water from Barb.

“Thank you so much, son. You really saved the day,” the old man said.

“I’m happy I could help.”

“How can we thank you?” Barb asked.

I raised my hands. “No need. It was my pleasure.”

“You have an accent. Where are you from?”

“Illinois.” I paused. “Chicago.”

“What are you doing on this deserted road all by yourself at this hour? Chicago is far from here. Are you lost?” the woman questioned with arched eyebrows.

“On my way to Green Mountain. I wanted to spend the weekend in town for the rodeo. I have some free time—about three weeks, to be exact—before I gotta reach my destination. I don’t have any plans, so we’ll see.”

“Oh,” was all Barb said.

“Are you okay to drive?” I asked them before moving on with my day. Semi-darkness had descended upon us, the sky now a darker shade of orange as the last sunrays lit up the horizon.

“Yes. I might be old, but my sight is still good,” Harold said.

I laughed with him. “What do you have in there?” I asked, pointing to the trailer.

“That? This is Roseanne, our new reproductive sow.”

“You guys are farmers?”

A proud smile stretched Harold’s lips. “Ranchers. For the last forty-six years. Our son is in charge of operations now. But we’re still overseeing some of it. One of our ranch hands quit yesterday. Met a girl, moved to Arizona. This means we’re short-handed, so we offered to pick up our newest resident ourselves. Like we did back in the days when we ran the ranch together.”

The couple exchanged a loving gaze.

“Wow, I’ve never been to a ranch before. It sure seems like a lot of work.”

Barb rested her hand on my forearm. “If we offer you a place to stay and three meals a day, would you like to spend a few days with us? You’ll never find a hotel for the next weekend at this last minute. All rooms have been booked for months. It would be our way of thanking ya. Also, we could show you around. And if you like it, you could be our ranch hand until you have to go. See for yourself if it’s as much work as you think it is.”

I let out a deep, heartfelt laugh. “I’m not sure I would be a big help. I’ve been living in the city all my life and working in construction since I was eighteen. Not sure how to care for animals.”

“Oh, we have the stable doors that need to be repaired, a part of the sheep’s hurdle to fix so coyotes can stay away at night, and a hundred more such tasks around the almost two-thousand acres. You would be more of a handyman than a ranch hand. Would that work? We would pay you for your time. Plus, meals and lodging. This could be good for all of us. What do you say?”

Me, a ranch handyman? I pondered the idea for a minute.

Why not?

It could fit into my new philosophy of surfing life’s wave for a while.

“Okay. I’ll do it.”

We shook hands to seal the deal.

“Follow us, son,” Harold said. “We’ll show you the way.”