Rancher Daddy and Cowgirl

CHAPTER ONE

Mary Caitlyn

“This ain’t some horse show,” Thompson says.

It doesn’t tick me off. I’m used to this kind of thing. Still, on your first day at a ranch, you have to nip this kind of thing in the bud. “See that calf over there?” I ask, “I’ll bet you a hundred dollars I get to him and rope him before you.”

He laughs and looks at his buddies. Of course, he does. They always do. While he’s checking whether or not all his friends think he’s appropriately masculine, I say, “Ha!” and kick my heels into Rainbow’s flanks. Yeah, I call my horse Rainbow. I call every horse I ever get that name just to make idiots like Thompson deal with it.

The mare lunges forward at a fast run, and I have my loop up and ready a few seconds later. I hear Thompson say, “Holy shit!” and thunder after me. I have the calf roped by the time he catches up and tied a few seconds later. People laugh and Thompson says, “That’s bullshit. I didn’t know you were starting.”

I ignore him and retrieve my lasso. “That doesn’t count,” he protests.

“Wanna go again?” I ask.

He says, “Yeah!”

I point at another calf in the distance and say, “Go.”

“Go?” he asks. I walk to my horse and he finally gets the picture. I leap onto Rainbow’s back and we head after him. I’ve seen Thompson throw. He’s going to miss it. He’s probably better at me than roping steers but calves don’t have the horns steers do.

This kind of thing isn’t all that uncommon for me. Cowboys are good guys but part of being a cowboy is exhibiting bravado. Those at the lower end of the social pecking order need to show more bravado than those near the top. When I arrive, it seems like I’m an easy target. I have no doubt at all, Thompson would stand in front of me and beat the hell out of anyone who tried to attack me. That doesn’t mean he won’t try to establish himself at my expense.

It's going to be the case on any ranch in any place. Hopewell Springs is no different. Different town, sure, but the same situation. It always is.

I don’t mind it, though. A girl like me must expect that. I’m not one of those wispy, thin girls that spent all day being coddled by men who think they have to treat them like some kind of porcelain doll. I’m the kind of girl a cowboy would call sturdy. Maybe they might call me handsome. I’m the kind of girl who traveled west in the days of the pioneers. Maybe I’m not going to win any beauty pageants. At least I don’t have to be like one of those girls who win beauty pageants.

I wait until he’s missed twice and then I spring into action. A minute later, I finish tying the calf’s legs. Thompson looks at me with a frown and then says, “Well, by God, welcome to the Triple Bar Arrow!”

There are cheers all around and I realize we’re all going to get along fine.  We get the calves loaded into a truck and get nine more of them as well. There’s one missing and Thompson and another guy by the name of Rockwell’s head out to find it. The truck with the nine leaves toward the barns, where the calves will get their immunizations. The rest of the riders keep the mothers in the same general location so the calves can be reunited. It’s an interesting way to handle things, a little different than some other ranches. It works, though.

I’m only putting in a half-day today because of the move and set up. Around noon, the bell rings for lunch and we all sit down. There is a lot of laughter and I’m already included, which is fun. After, I meet with Hilde Green, who’s the combination cook/mother of the ranch. She’s about as stereotypical a ranch grandmother as possible. She gives me a big hug, welcomes me, and then drops the bad news.

I’m the only female here.

That means I won’t have a bunk at the bunkhouse or even on the ranch until the main house remodeling is finished, at which point I will get a private room. For the next three months, though, the ranch is putting me at the hotel in town. It’s not too terrible a thing but I wish there weren’t such an obvious separation between me and my coworkers.

That’s also not unusual. Not being the only female but being separated from my coworkers. Most of the ranches around here have a core group of hands that have been on the same ranch for years or even decades. The rest of us are temporary or seasonal workers who work here anywhere from a few weeks to a few months before moving on. The result is that very few of the people I meet remain a part of my life for very long, so I don’t have any lasting friendships.

I’m used to being alone.

I drive to the hotel. It’s reasonably modern and the room is immaculately clean. Unusually for a small town like this, it’s also nearly full. This town benefits from being a minor tourist stop in between two major cities. Evidently, some outlaw gang had a last stand nearby and some enterprising individuals decided to capitalize on that by building an old west museum and a replica of the corral where the last stand took place. It’s not the real corral. A supermarket was built over the original. That doesn’t matter to the modest crowds that generate just enough business to keep this motel alive and in good condition.

The hotel has a small bar and I decide to have a drink before bed. I don’t drink often but I have several hours to kill before bedtime, so I head to the bar and order double rye, neat.

The bartender lifts his eyebrow in surprise and approval and fetches the drink. I smile slightly at that. About the only nod to my femininity, I get surprises when I order a proper drink and not some fruity juice concoction.

As if reading my thoughts, a voice says, “Don’t often see a lady order a drink like that. Buy you another?”

I turn to make a biting reply, but the words die on my lips. The man sitting next to me looks like he walked off the cover of a western romance novel with piercing blue eyes, a square jaw, and a rugged physique that suggests a lifelong love of hard work. His smile is equal parts kindness and aggression and before I can even form the thought, my lips say, “Thank you.”