by Sloan Archer
Shrieking, she jumped back and looked around frantically, as if to seek commiseration from a bystander—Did you see what just happened!?
She let out an animalistic grunt as she tilted her head back toward the sky. Was it asking too much of the universe to give her a break? Was it? Framed at work, betrayed by her lover, conned by her mother . . . And now this depraved beast just had to come along dropping its dung at the bottom of her porch stairs like a barnyard version of a drive-by shooting?
“Well, that’s just fantastic,” she muttered.
What exactly was the protocol for finding a stray cow in Montana? Was she supposed to check its tag for the owner’s name and phone number? Hang up flyers around the neighborhood? She could just imagine how that would go down. FOUND COW: On the search for the owner of one very large and very stinky cow found on the Jeanie Paul farm in Dunblair Ridge. Animal has black and white spots and a propensity toward dropping patties the size of hubcaps. If you are the owner, you owe me a pair of suede ballet flats, beige, size seven. Pay up, or this cow is hamburger!
Probably not the best approach.
But where had it come from? It wasn’t one of Jeanie’s. During the several phone calls she’d exchanged with Gary Hinkle before her move, they’d discussed selling the animals on the farm. And Gary had sold them all off a couple days prior. Which meant there could be only one place the cow had strayed from.
Vanessa narrowed her eyes at the farmhouse across the field and was once again zinged with an odd sense of familiarity. Shaking it off—now was no time to be nostalgic, with her foot immersed up to the ankle in cow manure—she went inside and scrubbed both her feet clean in scalding water and dish soap. (It didn’t feel right to clean only the dirty one.) Temper flaring, she forced her damp feet into a pair of running shoes, which she was now realizing too late was exactly what she should have been wearing in the first place.
No, she thought, angry. She would not blame the victim. She could hardly see how the mishap was her fault—was she expected to anticipate encountering a rogue cow on her front porch? Steaming landmines? And what kind of irresponsible idiot loses track of a cow? It wasn’t like a pair of keys. The thing was as big as a mid-sized sedan.
A woman on a mission, Vanessa skulked across the field. When she reached the edge of the property, she navigated her way through a tall, maze-like grouping of hay bales. On the other side, she saw a few cattle grazing. They had purple ear tags that matched the one she’d seen in the cow on the porch. She was in the right place.
At the center of the property was an old farmhouse that appeared to be in no better shape than Jeanie’s. She stomped up the porch stairs, whipped open the screen door, and banged on the door.
No answer.
“Great! What am I supposed to do now?” she griped loud enough that anyone nearby would overhear her, which had been her intention. The property remained as motionless as a painting, except for the cows over by the hay, who were now examining her with bland interest.
Vanessa was once again feeling out of her element. In Montana, she didn’t know what to wear, where to go, or even who to call in case of a farmyard emergency. She was as vulnerable as a child. It was a powerless feeling that she didn’t want to grow accustomed to.
She took a moment to calm herself. There was no use in getting riled over a situation she had no control over. A hard thing to do when only minutes ago she’d felt the warm sensation of manure squishing through her toes, never mind the expensive shoes that had been destroyed.
In the distance, she heard the unmistakable growl of heavy machinery firing up. Turning on a heel, she stomped back down the stairs and followed the sound, which was coming from inside a large barn that sat at the back of the house.
Vanessa saw that the barn’s doors were open, a billow of grey smog floating out from within. She made a move to enter, but then the sound grew louder as a tractor came chugging through the doors backwards. She scrambled quickly to get out of the way. Had she not been paying attention, she would have been squished like a bug.
From her vantage point, she could only make out the top of a man’s head, which was topped by a dusty cowboy hat. She flapped her arms in a wide X shape to get his attention. When that didn’t work, she put her thumb and forefinger in her mouth and let out a sharp whistle.
That managed to get his attention. A few seconds later, the machine went silent and the cowboy leapt down onto the ground.
Vanessa’s mouth fell open when she got a look at her very tall and very shirtless neighbor, who was handsome enough to grace any cologne ad inside GQ. This was not at all what she’d been expecting, which had been something closer to an overalls-wearing hick with a piece of straw drooping out his lips. But this guy . . .
He is, Vanessa thought, stupid-hot. It was a term she’d learned from Margo, which applied to any man so good-looking that any woman who cast eyes upon him would be instantly robbed of coherent thought—just plain stupid. Her eyes traveled down the cowboy’s taut torso, which she couldn’t help noticing was glistening with sweat despite the chill in the morning air. Slowly, he removed his cowboy hat and gazed up at her with blazing emerald eyes. A smile played at the corners of his lips, as if he was delighted.
Stupid-hot, indeed.
Vanessa felt as if her insides had been turned into sweet caramel. Focus, she commanded herself. Don’t go getting all soft on me now. She was there for a reason, and that reason was that she’d stepped in poo—his cow’s poo. And she was severely pissed off because of it.
She cleared her throat. Despite her outrage, she couldn’t quite shake the faraway feeling of déjà vu. Why?
Well, never mind. She had other business at hand.
“Your cow is on my porch,” she blurted.
“Do you recognize me?” he said, as if something was funny.
Vanessa scowled. Nothing was funny about what she’d stepped in. “No. Should I?”
He seemed surprised. “You really don’t know who I am?”
Geez, what was this guy’s deal? He clearly fancied himself some kind of local celebrity. Did he think that just because he was handsome that he could weasel his way out of his responsibility?
She clasped her hands primly. “Look, I have no idea who you are—and congratulations if you’re a big deal around Dunblair Ridge—but, like I’ve already said, your cow is on my porch.”
For an instant, he looked as if she’d insulted him. Which, she supposed, she kind of did. So sorry to wound your ego, buddy, she thought acerbically.
He recovered quickly. “Is it?” The look was back on his face, the one that made him appear as if he was having a private laugh with himself.
Or laughing at her, which is what Vanessa was more inclined to think. “Yes, it is,” she said, placing a hand on her hip. How dare this backwoods redneck make fun of her. He probably thought women had no business owning a farm and was wondering what she was doing out of the kitchen. “And I ruined a pair of shoes because of it.”
Another grin. “You did?”
“Yah,” Vanessa wanted to say more but couldn’t find the words. She folded her arms across her chest, feeling exposed and vulnerable, dissected. Which was funny. Back when she’d been on top of her game in New York and overseeing millions of dollars, she would have put this jackass in his place with a single gaze.
But now, demoralized as she was over the recent events that had taken place, she was having a hard time conjuring her . . . Sass, she decided.
She needed to find her sass.
The cowboy shrugged, as if to say, What’s the big drama? “Oh.”
“Nice ones, too. All suede.”
“Suede?” He chuckled softly. “You’ll learn real fast that farming and suede shoes don’t mix.”
Oh, like he’d know, Vanessa thought bitterly. Her chest tightened unpleasantly, her feeling of helplessness returning.
Maybe he was right in mocking her. What had she been thinking, rushing off to Montana like this? She didn’t know th
e first thing about running a farm. And she had no job, no friends in town, and no lover to speak of—the whole thing was just ridiculous. She was ridiculous.
“Look, I’m sorry about the cow,” the cowboy said. “I do my best to keep them in, but there’s a couple sneaky ones who sometimes find a way around the fencing. I’m a little shorthanded because my ranch hand is off with the rodeo, so I’ve been scrambling to pick up the slack. I’ve got someone to help in his place, but he has another job that he has to go to . . . Hey, are you okay?”
Vanessa looked up and saw that the cowboy was peering down at her with what seemed like genuine concern. He reached out to place a hand on her shoulder, but seemed to reconsider guess his decision to touch her and let his hand fall at his side.
“Am I okay?” she sneered. “Is that a joke?
He seemed leery of her anger. “No. Not at all.”
“Well, let’s see, then, shall we?” Vanessa spat. She took in a deep breath, priming herself for a long one. “I’ve been here less than twenty-four hours and I’ve already stepped in it. And I mean that literally—I literally stepped in your cow’s . . . feces in a pair of shoes that I’ve worn a grand total of three times. Suede shoes, which, apparently, everyone in Montana but me knows is the wrong kind of footwear for country living. I’m out here in the sticks completely on my own, and I don’t know a single person in town. Which probably doesn’t matter, anyway, since I’ll be spending most of my time making repairs to a broken-down farmhouse that’s filled to the brim with hoarder gems like shot glasses from all fifty states and about a zillion knitting magazines from the nineteen-eighties. Of course, none of this would be a problem, if I had even the slightest clue where to begin, which, you might have guessed, I don’t. But, hey, I’ll have plenty of time to learn the construction trade, since I’m currently without a job!” She swallowed hard. “So, no, cowboy, I think I’m pretty damn far away from okay, don’t you think?”
And then she burst into tears.
What. Is. Happening? Vanessa thought frantically. She bowed her head and let out a jagged hiccup. It’s like I’m trapped into a never-ending nightmare.
And did I actually say feces?
“Hey there,” the cowboy said. “Looks like you’re having a rough day. Why don’t you come inside and we can talk about it over a cup of coffee?”
The concern in his voice only incensed her further. How dare he feel sorry for her. He didn’t know a thing about her! Only she was allowed to think of herself as pathetic—nobody else. “Look, guy, I’m not some delicate little flower who needs your sympathy,” she powered on, despite her understanding of exactly how ridiculous she was being. The poor guy was only trying to help.
“Delicate flower?” He shook his head. “No, that’s not what—”
“It’s fine,” she said, dismissing him with a wave. She swiped a hand under her eyes, her fingers instantly wet with tears. No wonder he thought she was nuts, which he obviously did.
There was only so much humiliation she could endure in a single morning. She needed to leave. Immediately. Pushing her chest out, she spun around and marched toward home. “Just come get your cow, alright?” she called over a shoulder.
She was too far away to hear his reply by the time he found the nerve to mutter it. He needn’t have bothered anyway. After she cleared the hay bales, she saw the rogue cow leaving her porch and heading back toward the cowboy’s property. The little bugger.
Vanessa quickened her step, the fiery sting of embarrassment scolding her face. And here she’d been priding herself for her ability to remain calm and classy in the face of adversity! And, sure, she might have even been feeling a trifle smug over the strong face she’d managed to put on in front of others. She could trainwreck all she wanted in the privacy of her own company, but as far as anyone else was concerned, she was holding it together just fine, thank you very much.
Had she made a scene at the office when Jersaw, Melane, and Morris wrongfully accused her of stealing? No, she hadn’t. Had she clawed Greg’s face off upon discovering him and his pregnant mistress lathering each other up in her place of residence? Nope. And had she lost her temper and aired her family’s dirty laundry to Gary Hinkle upon discovering that her mother had hidden Jeanie’s passing from her? Again, a big negative.
But now, she just had to go nuclear in front of what could easily be one of the sexiest men she’d ever seen? Her neighbor, of all people, who was nice enough to offer her coffee even after she’d ranted and raved like a lunatic. Why did she have to go and lose it like that? Was this what happened when people kept their emotions bottled up—everything appears fine and dandy on the surface until one day a tornado of fury comes whirling out, aimed at nobody in particular except whichever poor sod happens to be nearest?
Maybe instead of being so smug, she should have been cautious. Instead of trying to numb herself to the pain, maybe she should have embraced it. Which had always been hard for her to do. She blamed her tumultuous upbringing for this, the constant drama she’d faced as a child. Her life choices had been made for her back when she was at her mother’s mercy, but as an adult, she was the one running the show. She had to be in control, always, always in control.
Vanessa slowed her pace to a walk.
Still, she realized, she was feeling a lot better now that she’d exploded. Her stomach was unclenching, the knots at her neck going slack, her eyes drying. Perhaps she could afford to lose it more often.
She was even feeling peaceful and clear-headed enough to develop a plan for the day. She rolled her shoulders a couple times, breathed deeply. Right. So, here’s what she was going to do: go home, finish her INSIDE / OUTSIDE list of repairs, shower, get some groceries, nap. Then, she’d come back across the field and apologize to the cowboy.
Apologizing was the least she could do, given that they’d be living next door to each other for a few months. Things would become awkward fast if he kept going out of his way to avoid her, which he’d probably want to do after the way she’d behaved.
But what, she wondered, was his deal about insisting that she should know him? Weird.
She fell into the answer moments later.
It was like a glitch in time; one second she been upright, the next she was flat on her face. Cursing, Vanessa rolled over and sat up, peering down at her shoe to find out what she’d caught her toe on. She’d expected to see an ugly snarl of weeds, but instead discovered a patch of indigo flowers. She’d been too angry before to notice them as she’d stomped past. They were actually kind of pretty, but what were they called?
She dusted her front as she got back to her feet, muttering, “I’m already down, Universe. You really don’t need to keep kicking.” She peered surreptitiously at the barn to see if the cowboy had witnessed her embarrassing nose dive. Thankfully, he was busy on his tractor, chugging toward the field at the back of his property. The morning sun kissed his back, giving his bronzed skin an ethereal glow, and she was once again struck by his handsomeness.
Vanessa herself was not looking so pretty. She’d stained the knees on her jeans during her fall, two nearly perfect circles of green-brown. Her chin was also starting to sting, so she imagined she would have some lovely skid marks to show off once her injuries set. Imagining her list, she let a sharp laugh as she thought: Find makeup that hides skid marks.
“Forget-me-nots!” she suddenly exclaimed with a snap of her finger. She kneeled before the flowers and examined the blooms. They’d look lovely bunched together in one of her aunt’s old Mason jars. It seemed only fair that she should get to pick them, given that they’d tried to murder her.
Vanessa’s skin broke out in goosebumps as she plucked a single flower from the dirt. Like an invisible bolt of lightning from above, a long-forgotten memory zinged through her, vibrating her to the core.
You’re not supposed to give me flowers!
Why not?
‘Cause I’m a boy.
These aren’t regular flowers, Cash. They’re forget-m
e-nots. As long as you keep them, you’ll never forget me. They’re magic.
Tears filling her eyes, Vanessa gazed at the cowboy.
I’m going to marry you . . .
The memories were coming back in jolts. Cash and Vanessa, two peas in a pod! Aunt Jeanie used to say, because it seemed that the pair had spent every waking minute together after the chores around home had been completed.
Cash, the same kind, handsome man who’d stood before her only moments ago. She wondered how could she have forgotten him, the only best friend she’d had as a child?
Yet, she knew how. Her childhood had been turbulent (and that was putting it lightly), so forcing herself to forget sad and unfair incidents had been one of the ways she’d coped. And being torn away from Cash and her aunt had hurt her a lot. It had been, she could now recall, almost too agonizing for her young mind to bear. Perhaps walling up painful memories at the back of her mind was the only reason she hadn’t turned out like her mother—drug addicted, penniless, always jumping from one boyfriend to the next, void of any kind of responsibility for her actions yet so full of self-pity and claims that the world was out to get her. Perhaps, she thought with a shudder, her adult life would have turned out horribly if she’d allowed herself to dwell on the past as a child.
Such thoughts were giving her a new perspective on her current standing. Her situation was far from ideal, of course, but things could be a lot worse. She had plenty of good things going for herself, so instead of focusing on everything that was wrong with her life, she needed to keep her chin up and start counting her blessings.
Along with Vanessa’s newfound positivity came a high wind that blew through her mind and cleared out the fog. All at once, she was remembering all those sweet summer days she’d spent with her neighbor as a young girl. Cash, her best friend.
She peered across the field and watched as the handsome cowboy chugged across the horizon on his tractor, her heart feeling as if it might burst. Somehow, she was going to make things right.