High Country Cowgirl

by Joanna Sims

  His love turned over, curled up into a ball and tried to ignore him. He reached over, scooped her up and put her down on the ground, forcing her to stand.

  “I’m in mourning!” she yelled at him.

  “Mourn while you’re standing up, Bonita,” he said calmly but firmly. “And we need to get you cleaned up quick because you are ripe.”

  He marched her into the bathroom and guarded the exit while she stripped out of her silk pajamas with food stains on the front.

  “Your dad is worried about you.”

  “I’m fine,” she grumbled. “Why can’t everyone just leave me alone?”

  “Because we love you.”

  Gabe called George while Bonita took a shower, reassuring him that his daughter was alive and well and he’d have her call later. When he heard the water turn off, Gabe went back into the bathroom and greeted Bonita at the entrance of the shower with a towel. She scowled at him, but she stepped into the towel and wrapped it around her body.

  Gabe looked around and saw a chair in front of a vanity.

  “Sit right there and I’ll brush out your hair for you,” he offered.

  Bonita sat down heavily on the chair, her face unsmiling as she looked at her own image in the mirror.

  He looked around on the counter and found a brush and a bottle of spray-in conditioner.

  “Have you done this before?” she asked, her voice raspier than normal.

  “What? Brushed a woman’s hair?”

  She nodded.

  “No,” he admitted. “But I’ve brushed plenty of horses’ tails and I figure it’s pretty much the same thing.”

  As it turned out, it was pretty much the same thing. He started at the bottom of her waist-length hair and moved upward, section by section, until all the tangles were out and he could comb through the length of it easily. Bonita didn’t thank him for brushing her hair; he didn’t take offense. She wanted to be left alone and he was denying her.

  “Jasmine needs some TLC.” He leaned on her bedroom doorjamb.

  Bonita looked up at him then and he saw the raw guilt on her face. He had learned one thing about her: she was an animal lover. If she thought her actions were causing even the slightest problem for an animal, it upset her terribly.

  Bonita pulled on a pair of jeans, her work cowgirl boots and a plain T-shirt, which she wore untucked.

  “I’m ready.”

  They went down to the stable and he could tell by the look on her face that she was seeing the disarray of the place as if for the first time. The ranch manager was called out of town on a family emergency and she hadn’t wanted to be bothered with training a temporary replacement. In her mourning, she had been able to ignore the mess. There were buckets that needed to be cleaned, the aisle was littered with hay and dirt, and Bonita had been moving Jasmine from one stall to the next instead of mucking the stall out. There was plenty of work to be done, and Gabe was convinced that having her get the blood flowing and cleaning the stable for the benefit of Jasmine would do his love a world of good.

  Bonita started on the buckets and he started on the stalls. It took them an hour to get the stable straightened around, but by the time they were done, there was some color in her cheeks and some life in her pretty brown eyes.

  “I’ll go get Jasmine,” she told him.

  She grabbed the mare’s halter and lead rope and walked to the pasture where they’d put her while they cleaned. He watched as Bonita stood at the gate, whistled and called the mare’s name. It was dinnertime, so the Thoroughbred willingly came running up to the gate from the far end of the pasture.

  After Bonita led the mare into the stable, Gabe picked out the Thoroughbred’s hooves and then they put her into her clean stall. He could plainly see that Bonita’s spirits were lifted knowing that Jasmine was comfortable. They fed her some grain, put enough hay in the stall to get her through the night, and then Bonita lingered in the stall.

  “Good night, my sweet baby.” She wrapped her arms around the mare’s neck and hugged tightly. “I’m sorry I haven’t groomed you or ridden you. I promise to do better tomorrow.”

  Together, with Gabe’s arm draped over her shoulders, they turned off the lights and walked out of the barn into the cool, summer night air. It had turned dark while they had worked and in the sky, there was a round, glowing, full, yellow moon.

  “Oh.” Bonita stopped and stared up at it. “Mom would love to see this moon.”

  There was a moment of silence between them—a reverent moment with Evelyn in their thoughts.

  “What would your mom say to you if she were here now?” he asked her quietly.

  His love breathed in deeply and then let the air out on a long sigh. “She would say get on with it already, Bonita. Go live your life.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Gabe’s visit had snapped Bonita out of her funk and she was grateful for it. It didn’t diminish the pain of the loss of her mother, which felt like a gaping wound that would never truly heal, but it got her moving forward again.

  “What do you think, old girl?” Bonita asked the mare as she brushed the dust and dirt from her coat. “How about we go for a nice run today?”

  Jasmine was older but she still had some bursts of speed in her, and as a Thoroughbred, she had a body built for running.

  Instead of grabbing her English saddle, Bonita hoisted her new, custom Western saddle on her hip. It weighed a lot more and she had a bit of a challenge lugging the thing around—yet she had discovered that it was the more comfortable ride on the Montana terrain. She saddled the horse and then swung onto the Thoroughbred’s back.

  As she walked the horse toward one of the open fields, Bonita breathed in the fresh air and admired the untouched beauty of the land around her. As far as the eye could see was Delafuente land and it gave her a sense of ownership—a sense of pride—that she had never felt for this land before. For the longest time, this was her mother’s dream—this was her mother’s place. Had this land, quietly and without her consent, bored into her heart? Montana had certainly changed her on the outside at the very least.

  She hadn’t worn her breeches for months and her tall English riding boots were collecting dust in the back of her closet. Now her standard uniform was a pair of jeans, albeit designer, her second pair of ornately stitched cowgirl boots, a button-down blouse with the sleeves rolled up and her cream-colored straw cowgirl hat. She was as comfortable with these clothes now as she used to be in high heels and pencil skirts.

  But, if she were truly honest with herself, Montana had done much more than change her appearance on the outside—it had changed her, for the better, on the inside. Montana was where she had grown into her skin as a woman. Montana, in some small way, had become her home.

  She warmed up the mare at a walk and made her neck supple before she worked her at the trot. Jasmine had lost some condition, and Bonita knew, especially for an older horse, that she needed to increase her exercise program. Jasmine was her mom’s pride and joy, a tangible connection to her mother. Bonita planned to honor her mother by caring for her beloved mare for the rest of Jasmine’s life.

  Bonita galloped the mare along the fence line that followed the long, winding driveway leading to the main road.

  “Good girl, Jazz!” She patted the horse on the neck with a laugh. It was exhilarating to gallop a horse in wide-open spaces with the Montana mountains in the background. She had spent her time riding in arenas—this was a whole different experience.

  On her way back, she heard the sound of car tires on the gravel driveway. She spun Jasmine around and saw her father driving toward her. Smiling, she waved her arm in greeting, “Dad!”

  George stopped on the other side of the fence and rolled down the window.

  “Mija! This is how I wanted to see you!”

  “Do you want to race?” Bonita asked her father wi
th a smile. She knew, instinctively, that her father needed to see that she was okay. He had flown in specifically to check on her, even though she told him several times that it was unnecessary.

  “Loser buys lunch,” he said.

  Bonita spun Jasmine around, leaned forward, gave the Thoroughbred her head and signaled for the mare to gallop. Jasmine bolted forward and raced George’s car, neck and neck, all the way up the drive. The wind made her eyes tear, and the horse’s speed made her heart race, and Bonita was laughing harder than she could remember laughing for many, many months. At the last moment, Jasmine pulled ahead and Bonita won the race.

  “Woo-hoo!” Bonita raised both hands in the air triumphantly. “Lunch is on Dad!”

  She swung out of the saddle, loosened the girth and then walked the mare to where her father was waiting for them.

  “Look at you, mija! The vaquero blood is thick in your veins!” Her father hugged her tightly.

  Before she could speak, he tightened his hold on her, squeezing the air out of her lungs. “Don’t disappear on me again, Bonita. I need to know you’re safe. I can’t lose you, too.”

  “I promise.” She had been so deep in her own depression that she hadn’t been able to think how her withdrawal from the world would impact her father.

  George stepped away from her, a smile on his round face. “You look healthy. I was expecting to find a mess.”

  “Thanks, Dad.” She rolled her eyes at him playfully.

  She led the mare into the barn, unsaddled her, rinsed the sweat from her body and then turned her out into the pasture. When she met back up with her father, she asked, “What did you mean by my vaquero blood?”

  “Your great-grandfather and your great-grandmother were both vaqueros. Many of your ancestors were vaqueros. Our people were the first cowboys—the best horsemen in the world.”

  “And horsewomen.”

  “Yes, por supuesto!” her father agreed.

  After going into Bozeman for lunch, they returned to the ranch house. This was the first time since Evelyn’s funeral that they had been in the house together.

  “It’s strange, isn’t it?” Bonita asked her father in a whisper. Whenever she came into her mother’s suite of rooms, she felt compelled to whisper, as if she were in a place of worship.

  George’s eyes were watery with loss. “It is as empty as I feel.”

  She hugged her father in response. Although her mother’s scent had lingered for several days after her passing, that last lingering remnant of her mother was gone now.

  “I’m going to start packing up her clothes. You know how she felt about anything sitting around not being used for six months.”

  “Toss it,” he said with a fond smile.

  “She wanted us to donate the clothing.”

  He nodded his agreement.

  Almost as a natural progression, they left the suite of rooms and walked together to the great room and stood in the spot where Evelyn had spent much of her time. They looked out the wall of windows that provided spectacular views of the ranch.

  “What are you going to do with this place?” she asked her father.

  George didn’t respond right away—he seemed lost in thought.

  “I don’t know,” he said finally. “I thought that I would immediately sell. But...”

  “You feel her here,” Bonita finished his sentence.

  Her father turned his head away and swiped at his eyes quickly. He cleared his throat. “Yes. I feel my Evelyn here. And if my love is here,” George gestured to the house and the land. “I can never sell.”

  * * *

  After her father’s visit, Bonita got down to the business of packing up her mother’s closet. Evelyn had left specific instructions—she did not want her things collecting dust when “someone who was still breathing” could put them to perfectly good use. It was a huge chore, and one that came with frequent emotional breakdowns and tears, but she got it done. Bonita finished taping up the last box of clothes and checked her phone.

  “Shoot!” she said out loud. “I’ve got to go!”

  Gabe had invited her to Sugar Creek Ranch for his family’s Sunday brunch and she had happily accepted. The house was so lonely now; she couldn’t wait to be surrounded by the cowboy’s family. And, in particular, she was looking forward to seeing Liam’s wife, Kate, again.

  She checked her makeup and her hair in the hallway mirror, grabbed her purse and keys and headed out to her SUV. The plan was for her to meet Gabe at Little Sugar Creek and then they would drive over to his family’s main ranch house together. It did occur to her that she was officially meeting the family but she was so hungry for people that she didn’t feel all that nervous. Plus, she already knew Liam and Shane and Kate. If the rest of his family was anything like the first three, she was going to get along with them just fine.

  “Hi!” She jumped out of her Range Rover and waved at Gabe. “I’m sorry I’m late!”

  Gabe was sitting on the porch with Tater on his lap. He stood up, a smile on his handsome face, and greeted her at the top of the stairs.

  She kissed Tater first and then tilted her head back for a kiss from the cowboy.

  “Tater gets the first kiss?” Gabe’s mouth quirked up into a playful smile.

  “That goes without saying.”

  He put his arm around her and pulled her in for a sweet, long kiss.

  “Hi, there,” he said, his blue eyes staring into hers.

  “Hi, there.”

  “Are you ready for a lot of food and a lot of loud talking?”

  “Sounds like heaven.”

  Bonita loved her big family on her father’s side—when they got together with all of the cousins and the aunts and the uncles, there was laughing and dancing, great food and of course, the occasional disagreement. But that was what was so wonderful about it. To be with another big family was exactly what Bonita felt like she needed right now.

  They hopped into Gabe’s truck with Tater sitting in her lap. He drove down his bumpy driveway to the main road, took a left and in a mile turned onto a well-kept paved driveway. The winding road leading up to the main ranch house at Sugar Creek took them through a scenic journey that reminded Bonita of a state park.

  “This is incredible.”

  “Pop spent a lot of years building this ranch.”

  “And all of your siblings live here?”

  “He carved off a piece of Sugar Creek for each one of his kids. Some of us settled here, others didn’t.”

  Along the way, they passed herds of cattle and herds of horses, hay barns and pole barns housing large farm equipment. But Bonita was not prepared for what she saw as they drove up to the main ranch house.

  She looked over at Gabe, a bit perplexed. It had never occurred to her that he came from a wealthy family. By the looks of Little Sugar Creek, she had the opinion that he was a man of modest means and he’d certainly never alluded to a wealthy family. But there was no doubt about it—the Brand family was rolling in it.

  “Your father must do very well for himself.” She stared at Gabe’s profile.

  He shifted into Park and cut off the engine. “He’s picked up a few bucks along the way, that’s for sure.”

  More than a few bucks. The house looked like a small resort with rustic dark brown wood, stone and walls of glass. It had to be at least eight thousand square feet under the main roof and that didn’t include the multiple decks and large gazebo.

  The house manager, Rosario, who obviously had a genuine affection for Gabe, greeted them at the door. When Bonita detected a bit of an accent in Rosario’s English, she introduced herself in Spanish; the house manager’s face lit up with delight and the two of them carried on a quick conversation.

  “I heard my name.” Gabe took his hat off and hung it on the rack near the door. “What did you ask Rosario?”
>
  “I just asked if she thought you were a nice guy, is all.”

  “And?”

  She leaned her head on his shoulder for a brief second. “She told me to run for the hills.”

  The inside of the house was an assault on the senses—everywhere you looked, there was texture and wood and decorations crafted by local artisans. The vertical beams supporting part of the second floor were all actual, massive tree trunks. The decor was heavily influenced by a Western motif, but there were lovely Native American accents throughout.

  Gabe took her hand and they walked together to a banquet room with an enormous table. The family had already gathered, but it appeared that they had waited to serve the food until Bonita and Gabe arrived.

  The moment his family saw them, everyone greeted them loudly and enthusiastically, urging them to sit down and join them. Before they took their seats at the long table, Gabe introduced her to his father, Jock, and his mother, Lilly.

  “Good to know you,” Jock said in a gruff, gravelly voice. He wasn’t a tall man, but he cut an impressive figure with his barrel chest, leathery, wrinkled skin, his hawkish nose and white hair. His eyes were deep set and the same shocking aqua blue as his son’s.

  “Welcome.” Lilly gave her a kind smile. “We are so happy to have you with us.”

  Lilly Hanging Cloud, Gabe’s stepmother, was a full-blooded Chippewa-Cree Native American who had been raised on a Montana reservation. She had a lovely face with prominent cheekbones and she wore her silver-laced, black, bone-straight hair parted down the middle.

  Gabe held out Bonita’s chair for her and then he sat down. While platter after platter of food was served, he introduced her to his younger half brother Colton, a rancher to the core, and his oldest brother, Bruce. Savannah, Bruce’s wife, was a pretty redhead. She held their sweet new baby daughter, Amanda, who appeared to be a ginger as well. Liam and Kate were at the table, so there were some familiar faces. Jessie, the only daughter as well as the youngest sibling, was tall, lanky and undeniably beautiful; she had her mother’s features and coloring, silky long hair and her father’s blue eyes.