I have no other family members. While I don’t think it’s totally weird, I really don’t have any close friends. Oh, I have acquaintances in the horse community, but no one with whom I can share my innermost thoughts.
And yet, despite that loneliness, it’s never occurred to me to leave home. To venture forth to a city where I could be surrounded by people. A part of me likes the solitude, and I’m not merely content but happy here. I feel most at peace on the ranch, nestled and protected in the shadow of the Tetons, surrounded by raw beauty and the soft nickers of horses joyful to see me every day.
I grab the cooler I keep stocked with bottled water and snacks for while I’m out working and head up to the main house, eager for a hot shower, a good dinner, and a nice romance novel after I’m tucked in bed.
* * *
By eight o’clock, I feel human again. The steamy shower worked out my sore muscles. My skin is slathered in sweet-smelling lotion, a nod to my girly side since I’m sweaty and grimy most days. My hair is blown dry and left to hang long since I normally have it in a braid down my back. After polishing off two microwaved meals (because I didn’t have it in me to cook after physical labor all day), my belly is full.
In a pair of leggings, fuzzy socks, and a long-sleeved, soft cotton tunic, I sip a cup of tea and nibble on shortbread cookies while flipping through bills. Breeding and training quarter horses is my passion, but the paperwork is the pits. A necessary evil.
Working solidly for the next half hour, I write out checks, stuff envelopes, and resolve to reconcile my checking account tomorrow.
Affixing a stamp to the last envelope, I lean back in my chair and stretch, satisfied with a productive evening and looking forward to relaxing.
I take my teacup and empty plate to the sink and wash them by hand. The dishwasher is on the fritz, and I don’t have the spare cash to replace it. And I’ll have to get a new one rather than repair it as the current machine is avocado green, meaning it’s really, really ancient.
The kitchen is my favorite room in the old family ranch house. It was the first thing I renovated after my parents passed on, wanting to keep the same charm but needing to make it mine, as well. I restored the knotty pine floors and whitewashed the cabinets. I couldn’t afford to replace the appliances, but I more than made up for that by finding my kitchen table at the junkyard. Made from reclaimed chestnut, it’s hand-carved with square inlays and a trestle base. I only had to do some minor refinishing, and it looks amazing under the wrought iron chandelier with metal roosters. Of course, there’s a hodgepodge of mismatched chairs surrounding it, but I don’t think it in any way diminishes its beauty.
Nabbing a cloth from the drawer, I wet it and move to the table to wipe my crumbs when all the horses in the barn start to whinny at the same time. There are several loud bangs, and I can tell Dealer is kicking the back of his stall again. Something has them worked up—I’m guessing a coyote might have gotten too close. Perhaps even went into the barn to look for food.
“Goddamn it,” I mutter as I toss the cloth back into the sink and head for the front door.
I slip into my boots and shrug into a jacket since the temperature has dropped to the low fifties. Before stepping onto the porch, though, I grab the shotgun hanging on the wall and check to make sure it’s loaded.
I peer hard into the darkness surrounding the house. The porch light illuminates just a few feet outward, but over to the right, the outside bulbs on the main barn light up its front as well as part of the paddock. Only the area between me and the barn is dark, but it’s a quick walk, and I’m confident with my gun.
It’s always with me if I go out at night because you never know when a serial killer might be lurking behind a bush, just waiting for the dumb female to walk his way. That won’t be what’s written on my epitaph.
Instead, it will say, She went out with a fight.
Another loud bang as I get closer to the barn. Clearly, Dealer’s kicking out his displeasure over something.
Admittedly, I’m a little spooked in the dark, but I don’t feel any real apprehension. Moose Gap is a safe community. Crime is virtually nonexistent.
Thump.
Freezing mid-step, I snap my head toward the barn and listen intently.
Thump.
That’s a different sort of noise, not a horse kicking at his stall.