by Sarah Monzon
The flow of eighty-mile-an-hour traffic from the interstate cut to half, and the four straight lanes I’d cruise-controlled through slimmed to two. The more distance I put between me and the five, the more it appeared I’d traveled back in time. The bustle of traffic and congestion of strip malls gave way to wide-open spaces painting green and gold across sloping foothills. Occasionally a house dotted the landscape, but it almost felt as if I could be the only person in a fifty-mile radius.
The tightness in my chest loosened with each sweep of my eyes over the rolling horizon. I’d never considered myself claustrophobic in the city before, but then, I’d never been able to fill my lungs quite so much either. A peace settled around me, as if taking up residence in the empty passenger seat. I almost wanted to tell it to buckle up, but I knew as well as the next person that feelings such as tranquility were as fragile as dandelion seeds. One swift breeze could dislodge them to dance in the wind.
“At the stop sign, turn right.”
I followed the GPS’s robotic voice, steering through a wooden crossbeam the size of small redwoods with two intertwined Bs burned into the planed surface in the center. A long dirt drive wreaked havoc with my suspension, and I made a mental note to get an alignment done on the car after the trip.
Two Teslas and a Mercedes were parked side-by-side, and I joined my Kia to the other vehicles which, if machinery had egos, would be suffering from an inferiority complex from the Dodge Dually casting them all in shadow.
A blue-eyed dog bounded to my door. I opened it with care so as not to bump him, and he wedged his head through the opening, settling his slobbery chin on my thigh.
“Well, aren’t you just the cutest welcoming committee there is.” I scratched behind his ears, and he looked up at me with hearts in his eyes.
I’d never believed it before, but love at first sight was real. That is, when the object of your instant affection was a dog. Who knew I’d be such a sucker for a pair of startling blue eyes? I flipped his tag around to read his name. Scout.
“I wonder what Molly would say to getting a dog. What about you, Scout? Want to hide in my bag at the end of the week?”
He placed his paw on my leg, so of course I took that as a yes.
“Every good cowgirl needs a side-kick, right? You’ll help me look good this week?”
He barked, and I gave his ear another good scratch. As I’d learned, looking the part was half the battle in fitting in. So instead of boho-chic or conference room ready, I’d donned a pair bootcut Levi’s and a buffalo plaid cotton-blend top. I’d tied the ends in a knot that rested against the not-Cowboy-cliché buckle. This was a working ranch, after all, not the rodeo. I stepped out of my car and looked around.
“Jocelyn. Good. You’re here.” Donald’s words were punctuated by the sound of clanking metal.
I tried not to let my eyes widen at the sight of him. Not only did he have actual spurs on his fancy cowboy boots, but the chaps encircling his legs looked like he’d killed a couple of sheep and slid his lower extremities through their carcasses. Not to mention his cowhide vest or the Stetson with the tag still on like he was the High Noon version of Minnie Pearl.
“What in the world are you wearing?” I tried to hide my amusement behind my hand. Really, I did. Could I help it if the man looked so ridiculous I couldn’t hold in my laughter?
Donald looked down at his shiny boots. Not to say mine were work worn, but at least they were appropriate footwear for the occasion. The only place Donald would fit in was with the bull rider clowns. “Tonya assured me this get up was what all ranchers wore.”
“Aw, honey.” Tonya needed to learn the way to the top wasn’t by shoving others down for her to climb on. “Please tell me you have an actual pair of pants on under those furry chaps.”
He nodded.
“Okay then. Don’t report to HR what I’m about to say, but take your clothes off, Donald.”
His head jerked up, eyes bulging like a cartoon character.
“Just the top layer,” I amended. “The chaps and vest. There’s not much we can do for your boots unless we can find a mud puddle, but”—I plucked the hat off his head and tore the tag before replacing the Stetson—“I think we can make you presentable.”
“Thank you.” His gaze didn’t quite meet mine, but it never did. Eye contact made him uncomfortable, which was one of the reasons he liked working with numbers so much. They didn’t expect anything social from him.
Scout whimpered and pushed the top of his head against my palm. “Don’t worry, pal. You’re still my favorite cowboy.”
“Speaking of, I overheard Mr. Thomas tell everyone to follow him to the barn so he could introduce them to the horses they’ll be partnered with.”
Sure enough, a line of people moved off toward the barn behind the modest farmhouse. “Why didn’t you join them?”
His neck reddened. “I could see as soon as I pulled up that Tonya had used me as the butt of one of her jokes. I’m going to make a fool of myself enough this weekend. I really don’t need any help from her.”
I grabbed a bandana from my back pocket and twirled it into a straight line before tucking it under the hair at my neck and securing it in a knot at my brow. “We’re all out of our comfort zones here, Donald. I promise not to laugh at you—”
His pale eyebrows rose.
I smirked before adding, “Anymore. If you make the same promise to me.”
“Deal.”
We didn’t shake on it, because Donald disliked physical touch as much as eye contact, but he did walk beside me to the barn. Scout trotted along on my other side. It appeared my canine love was reciprocated.
As we entered the barn, a series of familiar thoughts popped into my head as they always did in new situations and places. Would I be the only person of color? How would I be received?
The city catered for and even nurtured diversity to some extent. It wasn’t uncommon to hear another language spoken while commuting on public transportation, and smells from ethnic restaurants wafted on street corners. The farther from the city’s center, the more whitewashed our nation seemed to be. City and country cultures differed, and some good old boys weren’t used to interacting with a woman producing more melanin than they were.
I pushed my lips up in a friendly smile, prepared to put any preconceived notions to rest. After all, I was an individual, the same as they were. We all had a backstory. Usually one with more similarities than first thought at a single glance.
A tall man with broad shoulders stopped at the first stall. The seams of his western shirt, which met at a point between his shoulder blades, pulled taut with his movements, the brim of his black cowboy hat dipping to touch his collar.
The horse in the stall whinnied and put its dark head over the stall door. A white patch of hair in the shape of a diamond shone between intelligent eyes. I’d been afraid of the idea of horses. No one had ever told me they were so majestic in real life.
“This is Domino.” The cowboy’s voice drifted back to me in a deep drawl like rich molasses on a lazy summer day. “He’s a nine-year-old gelding with the manners of a true gentleman. If you haven’t ridden before or have any fears about this week, Domino will treat you with care.”
Pride sealed my coworkers’ lips. Though I doubted many, if any, of us had experience on horseback, nobody wanted to admit to being afraid. Scout’s wet nose touched my palm. Yeah, I got it. Pride went before a fall. In this case, probably literally.
I stepped forward and pushed my way to stand in front of Domino. Long lashes curved over his jet-black, soulful eyes—eyes that said I could trust him to take care of me this week. I held my hand out flat under his nose so he could sniff me. Worked with dogs, so maybe it worked with horses? The hairs on his muzzle tickled as his nostrils flared over my palm.
The cowboy next to me shifted as he reached a gloved hand into his pocket and extracted a small square, dropping the sugar cube into the center of my hand.
“Now y’all
will be the best of friends.”
Domino’s upper lip snuffled my palm and scooped the sugar cube into his mouth. I laughed at the feel of it—a little tickly and wet—and reached up to stroke his long face. His hair was softer than I’d imagined, and the warmth from his body imbued me with a confidence I hadn’t thought I’d feel when Jayden had announced the dude ranch as the retreat center.
I turned toward the cowboy, a huge smile tugging at my cheeks.
Eyes the color of onyx met mine. Strong and unyielding as the stone but shades warmer, they widened slightly at the sight of me.
Yeah. I felt that same widening as well.
John Wayne, Gary Cooper, and Sam Elliot had all forewarned me of the charms of a man in a Stetson. But they hadn’t prepared me for a Black man sporting the curved brim. The only actors of color in a western I could recall seeing were Danny Glover, Morgan Freeman, and Denzel Washington, but they’d taken on those roles later in their careers and were cast as supporting characters.
The cowboy before me radiated the persona of a leading hero. Strong bones structured the man’s face. Long hours spent under the unforgiving sun added a depth of character to his features I didn’t often see within San Diego county lines.
I realized I was staring and tamed my smile into a self-deprecating tilt of the lips. “Sorry. I’m not usually on this side of the surprise at a first meeting.” I leaned in conspiratorially. “You’re not exactly what I expected.”
Wow. Had I really admitted that out loud? My coworkers were probably screaming double standard! in their heads, because if they’d uttered those words there’d be more than one brow raised, but really, it was just as inappropriate coming from me.
I winced. “Sorry. Again.”
His cheek twitched like he was holding in his amusement. “Quite all right, ma’am.” He looked like he wanted to say more but was searching for just the right words.
Tonya spoke from the next stall over. “Can you tell me about Lady here? She looks perfect for me.”
Mr. Thomas touched the brim of his hat with a “ma’am” before sauntering down to introduce Tonya to Lady. Domino nudged my shoulder with his nose, and I turned to rest my forehead against his.
“What other surprises are in store for me the next few days, hmm?”
4
Malachi
God bless insurance and well-trained horses. Without the two, I’d feel obliged to call Mr. Whalen up and offer him a full return of his money lest his employees not make it back to their upscale offices in one piece. As it was, as long as the financiers could grip a saddle horn like it was a fistful of cash, the horses would do the rest. Call it equine autopilot. Cattle herding and cutting had been programmed into their DNA.
“Man, I’ve seen green, but that bunch are like salsa verde on steroids.” Nate spoke behind me, and I half turned, one eye on my brother and the other watching the group from the city get acquainted with their mounts.
A few showed promise. Like Domino’s partner. There’d been a sheen of fear in her eyes—the half- draft was a big horse, after all, standing just shy of seventeen hands—but she’d offered the gelding her open palm to smell despite the possibility he could bite. Well, the possibility in her mind at least. Domino wouldn’t hurt a pole cat even if the thing was attempting to turn him into 9Lives essential cat food.
“Nothing a few days on the range won’t fix.” And by a few days, I meant a lifetime. But they weren’t here to join the three-and-a-half-million agricultural workers in America, so they didn’t need centuries of dirt underneath their nails. A few eye-opening experiences on determination and teamwork and maybe they’d return to the concrete jungle with a slightly broader perspective.
“From the way they’re interacting with the horses, I’d say only two of them have any prior riding experience.”
My gaze swept over our seven guests. The oldest gentleman in the group and the woman with Lady had both seemed comfortable in the barn and with the animals. If I had to guess, I’d say the man was on his second career, the first having involved some type of manual labor, judging by the callus scars on his palms when we shook hands. Lady’s woman had mentioned something about trail riding at summer camps as a kid.
“That one is a surprise though.” Nate jutted his chin toward the lady dividing her attention between Domino and Scout. She laughed when the jealous dog pawed at her leg, but the Aussie was rewarded with his face being cradled and a kiss planted on the top of his head.
I didn’t ask Nate what about the woman surprised him. Truth be told, she’d stolen the breath from my lungs as well. I hadn’t been prepared for the juxtaposition of the gentleness in her honey-colored eyes and the quiet strength radiating just beneath the surface of her light-umber skin.
Nate’s lips curved as he studied me. “I see I’m not the only one.”
I flushed and averted my gaze. I may spend my days squinting under the brightness of the full sun, but that didn’t mean I was blind. And noticing a woman’s attractive qualities didn’t mean anything either. Just that I was a man. With eyes. As established. Whatever crazy ideas zinged through Nate’s mind to place that sly grin on his face weren’t the natural conclusion to said observations.
“Looks like she’s already stolen your dog. What’s next, your heart?” Nate nudged my shoulder.
I nudged back. “Sounds like some awful lyrics from one of your honky-tonk bars in Nashville.”
Light faded from my brother’s eyes, and I instantly regretted teasing him about Tennessee. Until I found out what had gone south in the South, I needed to steer clear of any mention of Music City.
“Nate—”
“Don’t worry about it.” He plucked a piece of hay from the nearby stack and placed it between his lips.
I rolled my eyes. Let the show begin.
Miriam slid her arm through mine, and I glanced down at her as she squealed, “Oh, good. I didn’t miss it.”
By it she meant, of course, Nate Thomas’s classic rendition of a wrangler caricature. He bent his knees and spread them wide as if an invisible miniature pony walked under him. Straw sticking from his mouth at a jaunty angle, he hooked his thumbs through his front belt loops and created two triangles with his elbows. He walked toward our guests as if something were wedged up his backside, dipping his chin in deference to the ladies.
He used to do the act with a gun holster riding low on his hips, but he’d scared a little girl so badly she’d burst into tears. Letting her shoot him with the water guns nestled inside had smoothed things over, but he’d hung up his “six shooters” after that.
“Howdy, y’all.” Nate stopped, feet braced apart as if he hadn’t the ability to click his heels together.
“Howdy.” The baker’s half dozen responded with smiles and snickers, eating up his shenanigans.
Nate puffed out his chest. “Welcome to the Double B. Are y’all rip-rarin’ to have yourself a hog-killin’ time?”
A few of the businessmen glanced at each other, questions written on their faces. They shrugged, but their enthusiasm in responding to Nate dimmed.
Not that my brother would let that stop him. “Now, I can see y’all are down but nine, but you’ll catch on in a twinkle of a bed-post. My brother Malachi here”—he turned and gestured toward me—“is our big sugar. Gran and my sister Miriam are the biscuit shooters. And me, well, I’ll be helpin’ y’all with them beeves out yonder. In a few minutes, we’ll be showin’ ya your diggings—fellers in the doghouse and fillies by the river. Now, we don’t expect ya to know how to fork a hoss right away, but before the week is up, you’ll be afly, or my name ain’t Nathaniel Thomas.”
Brows folded over confused expressions.
I leaned down to whisper into Miriam’s ear. “Should we rescue them?”
She shook her head, her twists dancing across her shoulder. “Give him another minute. I haven’t seen him do one of these since he got back.”
“We aim to make a mash with you’uns on our spread, but feel
free to come to one of us if yer balled up, even if it’s picayune.”
The woman with honey eyes leaned over to whisper into the ear of the man with the palest skin. Some color returned to his cheeks as he snickered in response to whatever she’d said.
Nate zeroed in on the whispering. “Well now, little filly, you joshin’ behind this pie eater’s back?”
She took a half step forward, as if accepting the challenge Nate had dropped at her feet. “I was just telling Donald here that he should go get his angora chaps for you. You’re talking the talk, but you’re just shy of walking the walk.”
He squinted one eye at her. “Are you callin’ me a flannel mouth, ma’am?”
“I’d say if the cowboy hat fits, but you aren’t wearing one.”
Her colleagues seemed to hold a collective breath until Nate threw his head back and laughed. “You’re gonna be all right here at the Double B, Miss...?”
She took another step toward Nate and held out her hand. “Jocelyn Dormus.” She turned toward her peers and introduced each one down the line. Her eyes sparkled when she faced Nate again. “So, you want to repeat that greeting in English this time?”
Miriam’s hand fell from my arm as I moved from the shadows and joined Nate in the center of the barn. When we’d agreed to open the Double B to guests, the actual people part had grabbed ahold of my windpipe with the strength of a bronc rider. Animals I understood. People, not so much. But I’d discovered keeping things on a professional level eased my nerves. Center conversation around the ranch and what we did here and I could string words together with the rest of them. Women made my skin itch a little more, like ants crawling along at a picnic, but the more of them there were, the looser my tongue. One-on-one with the females though… Well, I shied away from that like a green-broke stallion and a tarp flapping in the wind.
I clapped Nate on the shoulder. “What my oh-so-eloquent brother said in the most convoluted way possible is welcome to the Double B and our home. I’m Malachi and this is my sister, Miriam.”