Steamy Dorm

by Kristine Robinson

  “Oh God,” I moaned. “So, we have to deal with a yuppie and a priss.”

  Pete snorted.

  “Oh, stop it, Anna! Isn't that sexist?”

  I shrugged.

  “I don't know. What I do know is that every woman who's ever come here, who isn't from a ranching background, flips out at the sight of horse poop. They think the idea of horses is all romantic and lovely, but then they get a whiff of what an actual stable looks like, and their feminine sensibilities are, like, all offended or something.”

  Now, it was Pete who rolled his eyes.

  “Knock it off, Anna. You're not the only woman alive that can handle a horse ranch. You aren't that cool, or that special.”

  “Pssshhh....We'll see,” I muttered.

  “We will,” Pete agreed. “I'm gonna shoot this lady an email right now. Tell her she's our first guest and give her a discount, since she's coming for an extended stay.”

  “Okay,” I sighed.

  I left the room then, thinking of everything that I had to do. I had a lot of cleaning and tidying to do. If we were going to do this dude ranch thing, we should at least do it right. We would give our guest a nice clean room to stay in and show them a great time. I might even do some cooking of my best recipes. I wandered down the hall, planning in my head as I went.

  *****************************************************

  Three days later a car arrived, bringing our guest from the nearest town.

  Pete and I stood on the porch, watching the white Oldsmobile slide up the dusty drive. I recognized the car from town. It was the car of an older gentleman who acted as the town cab driver. He mostly ended up driving guys home from the local bar when they'd had too much to drink. Every once in awhile he had a ride like this, a visitor heading to a ranch or a farm like ours a few miles from the outskirts of town. My guess was that this wannabe-rancher had taken the bus down the bus depot in the center of town and caught a ride with him from there.

  The car stopped in front of the steps, and the back door opened up nearly right away. The car had hardly stopped moving, and as she jumped down, I worried that her feet would be crushed by the still rolling tires.

  It was a slim well-built woman that jumped down from the backseat and began looking around eagerly, an idiot grin on her face. She had short-cropped black hair that curled around her ears. She had wide shoulders, that were further accentuated by the smart gingham blazer that she wore over a fitted red turtleneck. Her eyes were hidden behind a pair of over-sized aviator sunglasses. She was slightly taller than average. She looked to be about 5'9 or maybe even 5'10. Her lips were smooth and red, and they slid open to reveal a dazzlingly white smile, creating dimples on either side of her face.

  “Wow!” she gushed. “This is gorgeous! Just look at that barn! Oh! And that round pen over there! That must be where the horses run! This is just the way I imagined this place to look. It's like something out of a John Wayne movie. It looks just like the old wild west!”

  I caught Pete's eye and raised my brows. This was the person that we were going to be spending the next three weeks with? She was already prattling away and she wasn't even conversing with anyone yet. She was just spinning in circles and making pointless noise.

  “Oh, thank you!” she exclaimed, taking her two Luis Vuitton suitcases from the driver. I was ashamed of myself for knowing what they were, but my sister was into all that high-end stuff. Ever since she'd moved to Boston and married a fancy lawyer three years ago. I remembered seeing the same logo emblazoned upon her bags. I also recalled the way she'd humble-bragged (or tried to) about the prices. I readied myself for the worst. I knew that I was going to have to put up with the same pretentious and self-involved sorts of conversations from this well-dressed urbanite.

  I watched the woman place a generous tip into the driver's hand. Maybe too generous. I considered, with suspicion, the possibility that she may be over-tipping just to impress us. Maybe she was trying to show off or make us feel small.

  Well, whatever she was trying to do, it wasn't going to work. She was wrong if she thought a little money was going to impress me. Anybody could make money. Not everyone had character, or knew the meaning of true hard work. I wasn't going to pay her any mind. I would just be a professional, give her the superficial ranch experience of her dreams, and then send her on her way.

  “Howdy!” she called with a small wave, making her way over to the porch. She grinned as she climbed the steps, and I had to exert physical effort to keep from rolling my eyes in their sockets. Howdy? Seriously?

  The woman used one hand to remove her sunglasses, and with the other she extended a hand, giving me, and then Pete, a vigorous handshake.

  “I'm Dahl!” she said. As our eyes met, I could see that hers were both brown and green, and they were positively dancing.

  “Dahl?,” I said in surprise. “Like a kid's toy?”

  Pete elbowed me in the side.

  “Anna!” he hissed.

  Dahl laughed and shook her head. The soft ringlets of her dark curls trembled against her forehead.

  “No,” she said. “Dahl. Not Doll. Hear the difference? Mine has an 'a' in it.”

  “What sort of a name is that?” I asked.

  Dahl shrugged and tilting her head, gave an easy smile. She smiled as if nothing in the world could intrude on her happiness.

  “Beats me,” she replied. “I didn't pick the name. My parents did.”

  I raised my eyebrows and crossed my arms, unsure of quite how to respond to that.

  “Here,” Pete said. “Let me help you with those bags.”

  “Sure,” Dahl replied, cheerfully. “Then I'd love to get a tour of this place. I can't wait to see everything.”

  “Right,” I said, flatly. “Okay, well, I'm Anna. This is my brother, Pete. We grew up on this ranch and now we both run it together. Come with me. I'll show you to your room.”

  I headed inside, with Dahl following right behind me. Pete was only a few steps back, carrying Dahl's bags in hand. We walked through the living room, hustled through the kitchen, and then up the back stairs. I led Dahl into the first bedroom on the left, at the very top of the stairs. I had chosen Mom's old sewing room as the guest bedroom. It was close to the kitchen and the upstairs bathroom, but far enough away from the other two bedrooms to allow for some privacy; for all parties concerned.

  I stepped into the room and spun to face Dahl, gesturing around me.

  “Well, here it is,” I said.

  Dahl stepped over the threshold and glanced around. She gave the room an appraising stare, sweeping into each corner with those bright hazel eyes.

  I had given the room a final tidying early that morning. There were fresh sea-green sheets on the bed that lay next to the window. I'd opened the window to allow for a nice cross-breeze and to flush out the remainder of the stale air. It had been quite awhile since this room had gotten used.

  My eyes couldn't help but dart over to the large white cupboard next to the door. I'd cleaned it out to make room for Dahl's stuff. This room didn't have a closet, only that one cupboard and a wardrobe. It had been filled to nearly overflowing with Mom's sewing supplies, and the top of the cupboard was where Mom's sewing machine had sat. Removing these items from the room had been especially difficult. Mom had died nearly two years ago, and still I'd never been able to muster the strength to sort through all of her fabric, bobbins, and thread. Mom loved sewing more than anything else. She'd even made all of the clothes that Pete and I had worn growing up. Getting rid of Mom's sewing supplies seemed like throwing away a part of her memory. I still hadn't done it. For now, her massive collection of sewing paraphernalia had been relocated to the attic.

  Dahl set her sunglasses down on top of the cupboard and then edged past me over to the bed. She climbed atop the bed and leaned over the side to peer out of the window. She rested her fingers on the sill and her eyes widened as she sat up tall, craning her neck to the side.

  “Whoa” she murmured.
“This place is beautiful.”

  For a moment, my heart glowed. She sounded truly in awe of the ranch's beauty. Maybe Dahl wasn't going to be so bad to spend time with after all. Maybe I wasn't giving her a fair chance.

  Then Dahl spun to look back at me, pointing out the window to the east.

  “What are all those barrels doing in that field?” she asked.

  “Rainwater collection,” I answered.

  Dahl nodded seriously.

  “Hmmm,” she said. “Right. That's so that you can collect water to store, in case of droughts, right?”

  I shook my head up and down slowly, feeling the beginnings of irritation rising in my nerves.

  “I read about that,” Dahl said. “It's better to build a comprehensive irrigation system. Something that doesn't just route water to different fields for crops, but one that stores up some of the water that it diverts.”

  I attempted a smile, but I could feel that it was tight and forced on my face.

  “Thank you so much, for that, Dahl. How kind of you to teach us how to run our ranch, especially with your many years of ranching experience.”

  Dahl didn't seem to notice the sarcasm, instead smiling as if I'd given a genuine compliment.

  Pete dropped Dahl's luggage next to the bed and then turned to me with widened eyes, giving me a pleading look.

  “Oooh, hey!” Dahl chided. “Watch it guy. Those aren't cheap. I didn't exactly buy them at Macy's.”

  “Oh,” Pete said. “Right, I'm sorry about that. Well, I guess me and Anna should leave you be. Give you a chance to get settled-”

  “Hey!” Dahl interrupted, spinning from the window, and climbing into a cross-legged position on the bed. “What are your grazing methods? How do you ensure that you're not over-grazing, and that you're giving the field enough time to recover?”

  “Ah, well I-”

  “Because I've been reading a lot about sustainable grazing methods,” Dahl said. “I'd love to teach you what I know.”

  Pete laughed. It was a strained and uncomfortable sort of laugh.

  “How about we give you a few minutes to freshen up and get comfortable?” Pete suggested. “The bathroom is just down the hall, on the right. You'll be sharing it with me and Anna, but hey, that's ranch life. We don't have a big fancy house with a bunch of bathrooms.”

  “Fine by me,” Dahl said. “I'm ready for the real ranching experience.”

  “Great,” I said. “We'll see you in a bit.”

  Dahl clicked her tongue twice and made her hands into little pistol shapes, pretending to shoot at both me and Pete. At the completion of this gesture, she giggled.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I'm being a weirdo. I'm just so excited to be here. This is the first time that I've taken a vacation by myself, and I've always loved horses. I always wanted to live on a ranch or out in the wilderness when I was a kid. I had all the Little House on the Prairie books. I couldn't get enough of them.”

  I pursed my lips and nodded briskly.

  “Okay,” I said, and spinning on my heel, I left the city-slicker's room.

  After Dahl had showered and changed into her “ranch clothes”, an outfit even more ridiculous than it sounded, consisting of high-waisted jeans, a blue flannel shirt, and of course, cowboy boots; we ate lunch. Then I took Dahl on a tour of the ranch. I showed her the stables, where she insisted on explaining to me how I could make better use of space. I showed her the cattle-grazing fields, currently hosting a mixture of eighteen bulls and cows. Here she told me about an article she'd read, on how to train cattle to bring themselves in at night. Down in the chicken coop, she tried to teach me the best way to check to see if an egg has already been fertilized. It didn't even help when I told her that we didn't have any roosters left on the farm. She continued to prattle on, even as I told her that our only rooster had fallen victim to a coyote weeks ago.

  By the time we'd finished our tour and had made our way back to the stables, I'd decided that I didn't like her. She was arrogant, intrusive, brazen, and rude. She actually thought that she knew more than someone who lived on a ranch.

  “I can not wait to get on a horse!” Dahl squealed. “Thanks for agreeing to take me out. I know that it's my first day here and everything.”

  “No problem,” I muttered, sliding a saddle onto Sally. She was one of the few mares on the ranch that wasn't pregnant. The studs had done well this breeding season. I finished readying Sally for Dahl, and then started to prep one of the proud papas-to-be, for myself.

  “Wow,” Dahl said, looking over the large, black horse. “This guy is massive. He's like the real life Black Beauty or something.”

  “Isn't he gorgeous?” I agreed. “His name is Tim. He's my favorite horse to ride. He can be a bit of a challenge to people he doesn't know, but he's an absolute pussycat, once you've gained his trust. He's fast too. I can do longer rides with him, than I can with any of the other horses.”

  “You know,” Dahl said. “I read that when Horses have more fruit incorporated into their diets, they can ride longer, and they're just generally more energetic and in better physical shape. If all they eat is grain, then they tend to tire out easy.”

  I chewed the inside of my cheek for a moment and sucked my tongue. I tried to keep control of my composure. Now this woman was going to try and tell me how to care for my horses? And why was she assuming that I didn't give fruit to my horses?

  I fumed at her presumption and the intrusiveness of her statements

  “Are you sure you wouldn't rather go back to the house and rest?” I asked tightly. “We can always do this another time.”

  “No way!” Dahl cried, exuberantly. “I can't wait to take this baby for a spin!”

  She ended this pronouncement by patting Sally lightly on the haunches.

  I rolled my eyes.

  “Do you need help mounting her?” I asked. “Do you know what to do?”

  Dahl raised her eyebrows and blew a raspberry.

  “I got this,” she replied confidently. “You obviously didn't understand me when I said that I've seen all of John Wayne's movies. I think I can manage getting up into a saddle. I've seen the king of western movies do it, probably over a thousand times.”

  I raised my eyebrows.

  “Okay,” I said. “Go on then.”

  Dahl reached up and grabbed hold of the horn. She hoisted one foot into the stirrup, and then projecting her body upwards, flung the opposite leg over Sally's back. I was more than a little pleased to see Dahl, flail for a moment as she tried to get her second foot into the stirrup. For a second there, it appeared that she would lose her balance. But in the end, she was able to regain control of her equilibrium, and sat haughtily atop the mare, preening as though the entire mounting process had been expertly executed.

  “Man, I am exited about this!” Dahl crowed.

  I hoisted myself onto my own horse and began to guide him towards the stable door.

  “Okay,” I called back. “So hold onto the bridle, and use the pressure of your legs to tell the horse to go. Just press your thighs into her sides lightly to get her to walk.”

  Dahl began to drive the mare forward, keeping the pace slow and gentle as we both exited the stable, but once we were out in the yard, Dahl sped up. The mare broke into a trot, as Dahl increased the pressure of her thighs.

  “Dahl! Stop!” I called out. “Let's just go at a nice steady pace. You're new to riding. You want to be careful!”

  I led my own horse into a trot and arrived at Dahl's side, just in time to watch her toss me a self-assured smirk.

  “No way, Ma'am!” Dahl laughed. “I bet that I can keep up with you just fine, and I intend to get my money's worth. I want the full ranch experience!”

  I found myself rolling my eyes, for what must have been the thousandth time that day. The full ranch experience. Really? If I told this fancy urban-dweller that the full ranch experience included shoveling poop and cleaning stables, I'm sure she wouldn't want any part of it.
<
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  The next two week's were the most irritating of my life. I had never before met someone who got so thoroughly under my skin. She rubbed me in completely the wrong direction. She bothered me, like an itch I couldn't scratch.

  Dahl followed Pete and I everywhere, giving us advice we didn't ask for and getting in the way during our chores. I tried my best to keep her busy, giving her chores that didn't really need to be done, but ones I thought that she'd have fun with. While I changed the bedding for the horses, I had her brush their manes and feed them apples. While I milked the cows, I had her bring water to the calves.

  Every afternoon Dahl took a ride around the ranch. As much as I hated to admit it, she really was a natural with the horses. She took easily to riding and the horses bonded quickly with her. Still, her rides were never very long. As cocky as she acted, I think she was actually a bit insecure in her riding abilities. Maybe that's why she wanted to do it so often. Maybe she was trying to overcome that anxiety.

  The idea that she might be a little anxious, actually made me like her a little bit more. Even after two weeks, she hadn't gotten the hang of mounting and I had to stifle a giggle each time that she almost toppled over, caught herself, and then acted as though nothing had happened.

  Dahl even began to present herself as a bit helpful. There was one afternoon when Pete took a turn escorting Dahl on her afternoon ride. I had wanted to stay behind and make use of the tomatoes that I'd finally been able to pick. This batch had taken an especially long time to ripen, or maybe that was just my impatience getting the better of me, making it appear that time was lengthening.

  I stood in the kitchen slicing up the tomatoes. I was making my herb-roasted tomatoes. I sliced each of them in half and dipped them into olive oil. Then I started chopping up herbs. I needed seven different types for this recipe.

  I was still chopping Rosemary, only the second herb on my list, when Pete and Dahl came stumbling into the kitchen. They were both laughing and carrying on about something.

  “Hey guys,” I said from where I stood chopping next to the sink. “You guys are back early. What's going on?”