by Jordan Marie
It used to bother me, but Orville would laugh it off. He said it didn’t matter, as long as we knew the truth. I held on to that—but inside it still mattered.
Orville was the father of six of my children and an uncle to one. I wished he had been the father to all of them. I wanted to put his name on the birth certificates, but Orville didn’t want the children to have names different than their siblings. He didn’t want the others to feel like they didn’t belong to him too. We were in the process of hunting down Gray’s father and having him sign over rights when Orville had a heart attack out in the field working with the horses.
It nearly destroyed me when he died. Some days I think it still might. Orville was twenty-five years older than me and I don’t shy away from the fact that in a lot of ways he was a father figure. So, in losing him, I found myself lost and alone again. If it wasn’t for my children needing me and this farm, I’m not sure what I would have done.
Orville was my rock and I’ll forever miss him.
Tonight, I’m missing him a little more. It’s nights like tonight when the loneliness creeps in. Running this ranch is hard work, and most days I don’t get to look up from my brood to run it properly. I’ve put some flyers up in town looking for a ranch foreman, but so far, I’m not getting any one applying.
I heard the running joke in town was that they’re afraid to apply in case they knock me up.
I may have to start looking out of town for a foreman. I hate to, because that will take a lot of time and effort, but I may not have a choice. White and Gray are older now, but they’ve made it plain that ranching is not how they want to live their lives. They already have begun working on careers that will take them far away from Mason. Of all of my children, the only one showing interest in the land at all is Blue. Then again, he’s more like his father than any of my children. He’s quiet, and he thinks of things from every angle before he acts. Orville was just like that. I swear the man could think something to death before he would act.
A fact that used to drive me crazy.
I frown at the sound of a car turning into the long driveway. It’s too late for company and I never get that much anyway. I stand up and go to the door, yelling for Maggie who is camped out on the couch.
“Magnolia, get your sister and put her in bed for me. We have company,” I tell her.
Maggie doesn’t give me lip—which normally she would. Maybe she can hear the concern in my voice. When you’re a woman alone with a house full of kids you can’t be too careful. Once she takes the baby, I grab my old shotgun by the door and then make my way back out onto the porch, just as a man gets out of an old blue and white Ford truck.
I watch as he walks toward the porch and when he gets to the bottom of the steps, I motion with my gun.
“That’s far enough,” I warn him.
“Ma’am,” he says tipping his hat. I have the porchlight turned off because of bugs, but even with just the pale light of the moon, I can tell he’s a good-looking guy. Probably close to my age, salt and pepper hair and a mustache to match. He’s got Wrangler jeans on with a matching jacket and a flannel plaid shirt on under it. He has a gold belt buckle that screams rodeo rider even in the darkness. If I still cared about men, I’d have to say this was one gorgeous specimen.
But I don’t.
I’ve written men off.
From now on, it’s just me and my kids.
That’s it.
3
Jansen
“What are you doing here?” she asks, and as welcomes go I’d say this wasn’t one, but for whatever reason I like it.
“Heard in town you might be in the market for a foreman.”
Her gaze moves over me and I get the feeling she is sizing me up. I’d say it was a pretty safe bet that this woman has the instincts of a hawk. I stand here, letting her appraise me and wait, wondering just what she will see. Sometimes, I’m not so sure of what I see in myself.
“You have any experience?”
“My fair share. I used to run a spread about the size of this one for about fifteen years,” I tell her. I don’t bother adding that the spread was mine and that I was raised on it. There’s no point.
“You have references?”
“No Ma’am.”
“Can you stop with the Ma’am? You’re probably older than me, so if you call me Ma’am that makes me feel like I’m older than dirt.”
“Where I’m from, it’s a sign of respect.”
“If you’ve been in town, I figure you know how much of that I get.”
I don’t respond to that. Anything I could say won’t make her feel a damn bit better.
She frowns, looking at me.
“What’s your name?”
“Jansen Reed.”
“What kind of name is that?”
“The kind my parents gave me.”
“It’s not a great name.”
“Only one I’ve ever had. It makes me kind of partial to it.”
“You look more like a tree.”
“A tree?” For the second time today, I find myself wanting to grin. That should probably warn me…
But I ignore the small voice that tries.
“Yeah, something tall and lanky. Maybe Maple, possibly Hickory.”
“Not Pine?”
“I hope not. The damn things leak sap constantly and ruin anything they touch. Plus, I’m allergic to it. I break out in hives with one touch. Only thing it’s good for is a wood chipper.”
“Suddenly, I find myself hoping you never call me Pine.”
“Suddenly, I feel like I should. You staying in town?”
“Not sure. Haven’t seen a hotel yet. If your job is filled, I’ll probably just move on down the line.”
“You’re awful old to not have roots.”
“I’m not much on roots.”
“I guess tree might not be the kind of name for you.”
“I guess so.”
“You can sleep in the barn,” she mutters, finally putting her gun down.
“There a room in the barn?”
“There’s a hayloft.”
“I can sleep in my truck,” I mumble.
“Your choice. The boys head to school at seven. I can ask Magnolia to watch the girls and I’ll meet you at the barn. If you manage to not screw things up, the job is yours.”
“Just like that?”
“You haven’t seen what I’ll have you do tomorrow,” she warns me.
“I guess I’ll see you in the morning.”
“I guess so,” she says staring at me.
“Is there somewhere you’d rather me park my truck for the night?”
“Is there somewhere else you’d park a truck instead of a driveway?”
“Wasn’t sure you’d like people seeing a strange truck in your driveway.”
“There’s something you should know, Jansen.”
“What’s that?”
“People are going to talk about me, whether your truck is there or not. That’s just fact.”
“I—”
“Hell, they’re probably saying I’m spreading my legs for the horses I own.”
I probably wasn’t meant to, but I laugh.
“Not sure I could compete with a horse, Ma’am.”
“Not sure many could. Call me Ida Sue.”
“Okay, Ida.”
“Ida Sue,” she corrects.
“Ida Sue,” I agree, but as weird as this conversation is, that name clearly doesn’t seem to fit her either. “You don’t look like an Ida Sue, though.”
“It’s a good name.”
“You look more like a flower.”
I don’t know why, but I immediately think that was the wrong thing to say to her. She takes two steps back from me, but it feels like she’s put a wall between us at the same time. It’s the strangest thing I’ve ever experienced, but I feel it just the same.
“I’ll see you in the morning Jansen. Watch out for the coyotes running around and if you get the urge
to come to the house, don’t. I’m more of a shoot first and ask questions later kind of girl.”
“So noted, Ida Sue.”
“Good,” she says and then she turns around, walks inside and closes the door.
I stand there frowning at the door. I hear the tumbler turn as she locks the deadbolt and then I make my way back to the truck.
Tomorrow will be interesting if nothing else. I probably shouldn’t look forward to it.
But I am.
4
Ida Sue
“You look more like a flower.”
His words haunt me all damn night.
I don’t know why. I figure he thinks he’s being funny. I’m sure the people in town have filled him in on how I named my children—specifically naming the boys after colors and the girls after flowers. It doesn’t bother me, they can say whatever they want.
There was a time I was known by Peace Lily Lucas. It fit, considering my parents were hippies, growing up with the generation that was responsible for psychedelic colors, Volkswagen vans, and terms like groovy. When free love was the way of the world and fighting the man was a way of life.
You would have thought parents like that would accept their daughter, no matter what. I think if I hadn’t have accused someone of rape, maybe they would have. If I’d just said I had sex, there wouldn’t have been a problem. Hell, they would have been proud of me. The mere mention of rape made it look like they did something wrong.
Which they did.
While they attended their parties and had their fun, my siblings and I were right there… unwatched and vulnerable.
I shrug off the old memories.
Water under the bridge.
Thinking about the past doesn’t change the future. Besides if anything came from it, I know it was the resolve to make sure my children never feel unwanted or unloved. I will always do everything in my power to protect them and keep them safe… and happy. I want them happy. I want every last one of them to find their happy.
And damn if they won’t.
Fairytales might not have existed for me, but they will for my children. I’ll make sure of it.
Once I get Magnolia settled with the girls, I walk down towards the barn. She’s off school this week and I’m glad. I know she’d rather be out with her friends than watching her sisters, but she hasn’t complained. None of my kids complain very much—except maybe Cyan. My baby boy is going to be a handful for sure. He already is and he’s just eleven.
“Howdy.”
Jansen calls out the greeting and I immediately look around to find him. He’s leaning against the side of the barn. I ignore the tingle that moves through me when I see him. I thought he was good looking last night in the dark, but seeing him now, it’s clear that I had no idea. He’s sex on a stick. He reminds me of old pictures I used to see hanging in the county store growing up.
The Marlboro Man.
I wanted to marry that man someday.
Fairytales.
“Looks like you survived the coyotes.”
“I’m too mean for them to fool with.”
“Right. I’m sure that’s it. Are you ready to look over the ranch?”
“Don’t you have any workers at all?”
“I used to. I had a foreman and two others. When my foreman left, he took the others with him.”
“You been running this place by yourself?”
“You don’t think a woman can run a ranch?”
“I’m not saying that, but you have kids.”
“We can saddle up some horses and I’ll show you the spread,” I mumble, ignoring his response.
“You’re the boss.”
I’m probably a bitch, but I give Jansen Duke to saddle up. He’s an ornery old cuss that doesn’t like to have anyone ride him. I figure that will tell if Jansen truly belongs on top of a horse.
“What’s his name?” he asks, as Duke paws at the ground, shaking his head and chomping the bit.
“Duke.”
“Like a dog?”
“Like in John Wayne,” I correct him, getting on my own horse.
I watch as Duke dances a few times, trying to sidestep so that Jansen can’t climb on him. Jansen ignores it and seemingly climbs up into the saddle with ease.
I find myself being disappointed. I would have liked to have seen him thrown to the ground. We don’t talk as I lead us out toward the north pasture and show him the small herd of cattle that I keep. He doesn’t say anything one way or the other on what he thinks. I realize I need more cattle than I have, but when you don’t have the men to work the land, it is what it is. Next, I take us out toward the creek bank. I used to have cattle here, but this is where the fencing is in bad shape.
“Damn. Ida Sue, this ranch needs a lot more than just a foreman.”
“Yeah,” I tell him and I hate that my voice sounds a little defeated.
“This fence looks like it has been years since anyone has seen to it. The barbwire is shit, and half the wooden fences are rotted…”
“I have eyes Jansen. If you think you’re not up for the job, just say so.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Sounded like it from where I’m sitting.”
“Then you need to clean out your ears. If I take the job, I’m going to need to hire some men too. Is your pocketbook going to allow that?”
“I’m not sure,” I tell him, being honest.
“Can you afford me?”
“I need to get some cows to the sale and new stock in here, Jansen. The way I look at it, I don’t truly have a choice.”
“I think I need to look at your books, Ida Sue.”
“I don’t know you. Why would I let you do that?”
“Because you need me, and looking at those is the only way I’ll agree to take on this job.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. I don’t need a man. I never really have.”
“I’m not talking about in your bed or having my ring on your finger,” he scoffs, pissing me off.
“That’s good because that will never happen.”
“I’ll try not to be heartbroken about it. You going to show me the books or am I hitting the road?” he asks.
“Fine,” I grumble, refusing to be hurt when it comes to this conversation. It’s not like I care how he feels about me. I just need someone to help me save my ranch.
That’s it.
“Fine,” he says, leaning back in the saddle.
“We’ll head back to the house. See if you can keep up,” I taunt him and then I spur my horse into a gallop and head back home. I can hear Jansen behind me, but I don’t let up and I definitely don’t look back.
Duke doesn’t throw him off and that just pisses me off too.
I don’t know what it is about Jansen that rubs me the wrong way, but right now I find myself wishing someone else would apply for the job.
5
Jansen
I rub the back of my neck, trying to knead out the frustration and stress. I push my chair back and look at the desk—and more specifically, the ledger in front of me. This damn place is a mess. When I agreed to take the job, I had no idea what I was getting into. I’ve been here for two weeks and there hasn’t been a day since I got here that I haven’t thought about leaving.
There’s only one thing that stops me.
Correction.
Seven things.
Ida Sue has seven kids living at home, and nine altogether.
Seven.
I couldn’t even imagine. If I leave she’s going to lose this ranch. I know it. There’s no saving it and it will be close even if I stay. The problem is, knowing that, there’s no way I can just walk away.
“Mom said you might be hungry.”
I look up to see Maggie standing at the door, holding a large plate with fried chicken, potato salad, green beans and biscuits. Ida Sue might be a guarded woman who can be a pure bitch. She might have enough kids to start her own football team and she is shit at running a ranch. Ho
wever, there is one thing the woman can do—well, besides having kids. She can cook food that melts in your damn mouth. If I wasn’t running myself ragged on the ranch trying to mend enough fences so I can attempt to buy some cattle, I’m sure I would have gained a good ten pounds.
“That smells awful good Maggie-May.”
“It is. Mom is really good at cooking. It’s important for a woman to know how to cook. Don’t you think?” she asks, barely stopping to take a breath as she talks. The entire time, she’s putting the food down on the desk and goes to the mini-fridge in the corner of my office to grab a soda, before bringing it back to me.
“I reckon it’s useful for anyone to know how to cook,” I laugh.
“Yeah, but more useful for a mother or a wife, right?”
“I suppose so,” I mumble not really paying attention. My eyes close as I bite into the fried chicken. I thought that you couldn’t get much better than Ida Sue’s pork chop casserole. I was obviously wrong.
“Does your wife know how to cook?” Maggie asks, and I nearly choke as I hear the question.
I cough and wheeze and drink down half a can of soda pop before I can finally respond.
“I’m not married, Maggie.”
“Do you have kids?” I frown wondering what the twenty questions is about, but I don’t really care. I’m more interested in the food.
“Nope.”
“Don’t you like kids?” Maggie asks, sounding as if I said no the world might end.
“They’re alright I guess. Just wasn’t in the cards for me. Don’t you have homework or something to do?”
“Yeah. Actually, this is part of my homework.”
“It is?”
“Yeah, I’m supposed to interview someone and ask what he would look for in a wife.”
“They sure have strange homework these days. Whatever happened to reading and math?”
“They still have those. This is for social studies.”
“Social studies? I thought that was about maps and people all over the world kind of thing.”
“Well, they want to know about people and why they decide things they do. Like who to marry. You know?”