Coincidental Cowgirl

by Jillian Neal

  “Uh, hi. I’m sorry I don’t know how many bulls Brock is purchasing.” Not knowing that suddenly irritated her. Should he have told her that? The ranch work was another thing they didn’t have time to discuss, she supposed. “Um, I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve met.” She forced herself to extend the stranger her hand while simultaneously biting her tongue to keep from asking what business it was of his to keep up with Brock and his bulls.

  “Oh, sorry, I’m Carson Rupp. I work at the bank in Kempton. It’s the next little town after Pleasant Glen, between here and Lincoln. Sorry, didn’t mean to come on too strong. I forget you outsiders need a chance to get used to everybody knowing who you are.” He chuckled and shook her hand.

  “It’s fine.” Hope didn’t care for being called an outsider, but the man did seem kind. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  “You, too; well, officially I suppose. Tell Brock Carson says hi. He’ll remember me. I used to ref his little league games when I was a teenager.”

  “I’ll tell him.” Hope waved as she reached her first stop. Stepping inside the Cut n’ Curl, her nose wrinkled as a cloud of hairspray made her cough.

  “Well, hey there, Mrs. Camden, I’d just been saying to Sally I was wondering if you were gonna stop by anytime soon. I know we haven’t officially met, honey, I’m Pearl.” She extended her hand.

  Hope shook Pearl’s hand, but couldn’t take her eyes off of the chairs in the old beauty parlor. There were two large poodles seated in both Pearl and Sally’s styling chairs. The dogs were both draped in hot pink floral styling capes. Hope blinked rapidly, trying to somehow make sense of the image before her. She rubbed her eyes and futily hoped that perhaps what she thought were poodles were just two very unfortunate looking women. She had to be imagining this. She’s seen human beings coming and going from the Cut ‘n Curl. This wasn’t a dog grooming shop, but when she focused again she was certain there were poodles sitting in styling capes having their hair … er … fur done.

  “These are our dogs Miss Sue and Theodora. We’re just giving them a little trim, and Miss Sue likes it when mama paints her nails and fixes her up pretty for her day, don’t you, Miss Sue?” Sally proceeded to make kissy noises for one of the dogs.

  “Uh …” Hope couldn’t seem to verbalize any rational thought.

  “Did you want to make an appointment, hun?” Pearl bustled closer and grabbed an appointment book off of what appeared to be an ancient console stereo from the 60’s that she was using as a desk.

  There was a Coke machine nearby from approximately the same decade. Vintage, harvest gold, hooded hair dryer chairs lined the walls opposite the styling chairs. Hope had read enough time-travel romances to wonder if the door to the Cut ‘n Curl was some kind of portal to another time.

  “It’s Tuesday, so Sally’s working the mortuary today. She’s leaving here as soon as she finishes Theodora’s deep conditioning treatment, but I could squeeze you in just before Mr. Henson’s cock-a-poo,” Pearl offered with a beaming grin.

  “The morturary?” Hope squeaked.

  “Yeah, poor Mrs. Davidson from over in Kempton needs her curls set for the great beyond. Her service is tomorrow.”

  Hope managed a nod. “Uh …” she glanced at the poodles once more and grasped the door handle to steady herself. “I can’t. Well, I mean … I can’t today. I just stumbled in … accidentally. Yes, that’s it. Accidentally. Uh, have a nice day.” With that she flew out the door. She’d let Brock cut her hair before Sally or Pearl came anywhere near her head with scissors.

  What the hell? Maybe it wasn’t her. Maybe the entire town was completely insane. The entire town cannot be insane, Hope. Deep breath. Visions of Brock’s hysterical laughter when she told him that there were poodles in the beauty shop and that the stylists moonlighted at the mortuary soothed her shock somewhat. He’d grown up with Uncle Ev giving him buzz cuts on the ranch. He’d obviously never been in a beauty shop. She’d get Jessie and Holly to take her to their salon in Lincoln. Now she understood why they drove all that way for a haircut. There was no real harm done, and it would make for even better dinner conversation.

  Determination stiffened her spine as she headed into the grocery store. She sighed when she discovered that the supply trucks hadn’t made it through the storm yet. The produce selections consisted of squishy brown bananas and a sack of oranges. Her hopes for a salad withered along with the single head of iceberg lettuce she located. At least there were always potatoes. She grabbed a bag and moved on.

  She picked up a few of Brock’s favorite snacks and another loaf of bread, though there were three in the freezer. With every additional snow storm, she had to talk herself out of stocking up on bread and milk. Something about living in the South her entire life hadn’t prepared her for existing in a place constantly covered in snow.

  “Hey there, Mrs. Camden, how are you today? Saw Ev and Brock heading out of town on my way in. They going to the bull sale in Laramie?” Mr. Caruthers, the grocery store manager, offered her a kind smile.

  Ignoring the slight irritation that clearly everyone knew where her husband was and what he was doing, Hope gave him a grin. “Yes, sir. They should be back tonight.” Might as well give everyone full updates on his itinerary, she thought spitefully.

  “Yeah, my son Brian just bought some property out near the McCovey’s old place. He’s bound and determined to keep buying land and keep adding to his herds. He went to the sale today, too. I’ll tell you, ranch life is working him but good. He’s struggling. I don’t know how Brock and Ev keep as many head as they do. They’re something else. I admire ‘um. Salt of the earth, both of ‘um. Ranch life is tough. I grew up on a corn farm. I told my daddy he was crazy to try and grow anything between the winter snow and the summer droughts, but we never missed a meal. It was a hard life, though, and now Brian wants to be a rancher. He grew up working my daddy’s fields, so he knows what it’s like to make a living outdoors here, but that’s what he wants.”

  A genuine grin formed readily on Hope’s features. Her previous irritation dissolved completely. It was tough. He was right. Clearly even people born and raised here struggled when they first got started. She shouldn’t be so hard on herself or on Brock. Things would settle in just as she suspected. “It is hard. I’ve hardly see Brock since we moved. He’s working so much. I’m sure it gets easier, though.”

  “I sure hope so. I’m trying to help Brian out when I can, along with running the store. I tell ya, I much prefer grocery marketing to cattle raising.”

  “Well, give Brian our best. It was nice to see you.”

  “You too, Mrs. Camden. I’m sorry the trucks didn’t make it in. That was some storm. We’ll have more in stock tomorrow or the next day.”

  “It’s no problem. I’m just picking up a few odds and ends.” Hope offered him a wave as she headed towards the refrigerator cases.

  There was a paltry selection of chicken and turkey. She picked up one of the available whole chickens and tried to decide what to do with it. Brock wasn’t a terribly picky eater, but he worked hard, was always hungry, and had been raised on a cattle ranch. He vastly preferred beef to chicken.

  Before Hope’s parents had been killed, she’d loved cooking in the kitchen with her mother. Forcing herself to feel the pain of missing her mom, she tried to recall anything they’d made with chicken. Chicken pot pie was an idea, or maybe soup. Roasted chicken! Yes. That was a perfectly respectable meal. She’d never cooked an entire chicken before, but it couldn’t be that hard.

  She picked up a few more staples and then strolled down the health and beauty items aisle. Glancing around uncomfortably, she noted three people eyeing her and her purchases. Didn’t these people have anything better to do than wonder about what she was buying at the supermarket?

  “Oh, Mrs. Camden, I’ve been meaning to get out to Camden Ranch to talk to you.” A round woman with bright red hair and wind-pricked cheeks lunged at Hope. Her apple red top and knit green hat gave her the appea
rance of an overly-rip tomato. “I wanted to get to you before Nora had a chance. I’ve decided we need to have a little chat about what kinds of books you’ll be allowed to order for the library. Nora keeps going on and on about censorship or some other nonsense, but you and I both know that the devil is always looking through our keyholes. Sinful books in the hands of our citizens is just inviting him right on in for Sunday lunch with the preacher.”

  Unable to believe what she was hearing, Hope’s mouth hung open stupidly until the woman finished her diatribe. She wasn’t certain whom Nora was, but she liked her better than … “Um, I’m sorry, who are you again?”

  A huffed gasp of offense blew in Hope’s face. She fought not to cringe. “I’m Rhonda Bellamy. My great-great-great granddaddy founded this town. I’m president of the PTA at Pleasant Glen elementary. My daughter, Christina, played Mary in the Christmas play last year, and my son, Zed, came in fourth in the 4-H Ornamental Horticulture competition. I headed up the committee to try to keep that blasted cell tower from being built here in the Glen. If you ask me, cell phones are a passing fancy. Has no one considered the fact that people can see,” Rhonda lowered her voice to a hissed whisper, “naughty pictures on the internet right on their phones? Satan’s eye right in the keyhole. I’m telling you.”

  Dumbfounded, Hope squeezed her eyes shut for a long moment, hoping against hope that when she reopened them, Rhonda would be gone like some kind of deranged mirage in the desert. Much to her chagrin, Rhonda was still five inches from Hope’s face when she blinked her eyes open.

  “Okay, well, Mrs. Bellamy, the town gave me full purchasing power within the allotted budget for library books when they hired me as the librarian. I do try to order in requested items and to get books from every genre. I don’t believe books should be banned or in censorship of any kind.”

  “Well, I think I’ll just see if I can’t speak with Brock about this, then.”

  Hope’s brow furrowed in shock. She huffed her indignation. “And you believe that my husband will tell me what I am and what I am not allowed to have available in the library? Brock would never do that, and just for your information, the Camden family founded this town! So it was Brock’s great-great-great grandfather that set up Pleasant Glen, not yours.” Her face enflamed. She glanced around uncomfortably, unable to believe someone like Rhonda Bellamy even existed, much less that she’d attacked Hope in the market. People up and down the aisle looked on with a great deal of interest.

  “I believe, Mrs. Camden, that it is women like you that Paul thought shouldn’t be allowed to speak in church!” With that, Rhonda shoved her cart forward with her nose high in the air.

  Shaken from the encounter, Hope’s stomach twisted uncomfortably. That ridiculous stupid woman! Don’t let her get to you. Between the poodles and Mrs. Bellamy, she was tempted to head back to the library and forget her dinner altogether.

  Trying to summon resolve from the nearby shampoo bottle display, her eyes trailed over area where the condoms were shelved. She’d been on the pill for years. She was put on it as a teen to help with her irregular and horribly painful periods. There were no more refills available on her prescription, and she only had a few left.

  The one other man she’d slept with before she and Brock had fallen in love had worn a condom. Hope hadn’t cared for it. She also hadn’t cared for the guy. Brock certainly wouldn’t complain about her going off of the pill and switching to condoms, but she doubted that he would be overly thrilled, either. Besides, she loved the way he felt inside of her with nothing between them. Hope glanced back at Rhonda Bellamy, who was simpering near the toothpaste and glaring at her. As if she needed yet another reason not to purchase condoms, Rhonda seemed like the kind of woman that would share her opinion on Hope’s purchase with most of the town.

  Hope used what was left of her withering resolve to order herself to make an appointment at the town clinic and get the prescription refilled. Maybe Dr. Moore will just refill the prescription and not feel the need to do an examination. Dr. Moore was the one and only doctor in Pleasant Glen. There were certainly an endless number of other options in Lincoln, but that was almost two hours away. You’re a married woma,n and even if you weren’t there is absolutely no shame in birth control.

  Dr. Moore had delivered Brock and all of his cousins. Certainly, he must write prescriptions for women often. It was just that Dr. Harrison, back in Gypsy Beach, was a woman. Hope preferred that. And then there was Mindy, Dr. Moore’s niece, who served as his receptionist. According to Holly, Mindy held a very loose interpretation of HIPPA laws. She didn’t see the need for discretion once she was outside of the clinic. Who cares if someone finds out you’re on the pill? It’s the twenty-first century, for crying out loud. When a cowboy bustled Hope out of his way to access the condoms, she made a quick getaway.

  “You’re Brock Camden’s wife, aren’t you?” A pinched-face woman glared haughtily at Hope as she unloaded her cart on the conveyer belt.

  What now? Hope fought not to sigh audibly. “Uh, yes, ma’am.” She attempted some semblance of a smile.

  The woman turned to the cashier. “His daddy got run out of town by his own blood, and now his son’s come back with some Beach Barbie like the girls right here in Pleasant Glen aren’t good enough for the Camdens.”

  Hope accepted the sympathetic eye roll from the cashier. Brock’s father was an abusive alcoholic that had indeed been run out by Ev and Brock’s grandfather. That, coupled with the fact that Camden Ranch was the largest ranch in the county and they were the founding family, made the Camden’s ripe for gossip. Hope had never in her life been referred to as a Barbie, however. She didn’t even wear makeup most days, and she was barely 5’2. Leggy and well-endowed were not adjectives anyone would ever use to describe her. Did all of the town bitches shop on the same day or something? Hope made a mental note never to grocery on Tuesdays.

  “And how is Sheila doing in reform school, Mrs. Zekeman?” The cashier offered a discreet wink to Hope.

  When Mrs. Zekeman bustled out of the store with a haughty huff, Hope forced a smile. “Thanks for saying that to her. I’m not very good at comebacks.”

  “Ah, don’t worry about it, honey, I swear to ya, only half the town is crazy. You’ll settle in. I’m Kara Seeton. I live out on Seeton Ranch, my husband’s family ranch. We’re just a few miles the opposite direction of your place. Drop by anytime. We’ll have coffee and chat. Brock and my husband were in riding club together in school. It’d be fun to get together.”

  “That sounds nice. Thank you. I’ll mention it to Brock.”

  Kara’s warm smile and caring concern helped a little to console Hope’s irritated mood. Maybe she would get used to this town … eventually.

  Chapter Three

  “Hope doin’ all right, son? She’s been awful quiet at dinner the past few nights,” Uncle Ev pressed as they barreled down the road heading towards the Wyoming line. Austin and Grant were in the truck behind them, pulling the trailer. Luke and Natalie had stayed behind to mend a fence and watch the herds.

  Not really in the mood to discuss his wife with his uncle, Brock offered a shrug. “She keeps saying she is.”

  Nodding, Ev seemed to get the message. Brock was sure his uncle was also aware it was a lie.

  “Sure as hell ain’t any of my nevermind, but if your Aunt Jess or I can help her settle in, we want to.”

  Feeling his icy defensiveness begin to melt, Brock sighed. “I know, Uncle Ev. Thank you. She keeps insisting she’s fine, but she’s not okay. I just can’t seem to get her to talk to me like she used to. She wants us to have dinner alone tonight. I’m gonna try then. I’m pretty sure she’d jump at the chance to go back to Gypsy Beach. This life is just different, and I’m the asshole she moved up here for.” Defeat had set up shop in his gut a week before when he’d overheard Hope asking Holly if there was a season when ranchers were actually at home. She hadn’t meant for him to hear her. That only made it worse. She needed him there, and
he just had too much work to do to be around more.

  In his customary quiet way, Ev offered Brock a sympathetic smile. “I’m sure she is homesick. No reason you can’t take her back for a little while if you want. We can look after your herds for a few days, but I doubt that’ll really help. She might not be talking ‘cuz she ain’t quite sure what she wants to say. Don’t push her too hard. Just let her know you’re there if she needs you. She’ll come around.”

  Yeah, well, she seems miserable to me. How the hell long did you want me to wait? And I’m not there when she needs me because of this damn snow. “Yeah, I know.”

  “You done anything about the insulation or the heater in that cottage? I worry about you two freezing in that house. She’s probably not feeling real at home if she’s cold all the time.”

  “I’ll get to it when we have the money, and I can get a little time. I just can’t right now.”

  Brock didn’t miss his uncle’s discreet sigh. “You know, when we get the bulls back to the ranch we’ll quarter ‘um off. Let ‘um have their own space ‘til they’re acclimated. Let ‘um get settled in long before we turn ‘um out with the heifers and cows.”

  Fed up with most everything and worried sick about Hope, Brock’s temper flared. “Would you please stop comparing my wife to breed cows? What do you want me to do, stick her in a pen by herself ‘til she’s in a better mood? Or maybe we should break her like a fucking horse. Docile her right up ‘til she stops being miserable and hating living here.” He shook his head and stared out the window in disgust. There was no way to make this better. No one would buy off his large portion of the ranch and his stock in the middle of winter. They were stuck. They had a little savings left over, but not enough to get them a house back in North Carolina until they could both secure jobs again. Until the cattle were ready for sale, they were low on cash and high on stress. He’d really hoped that Hope would fall in love with the quirky little town of Pleasant Glen. He’d gotten it in his head that she’d want to go out with him in the mornings for feeding and hang out with him during the day.