His Ranch Or Hers

They reached the foothills where her stock huddled in a cut between the hills that blocked the windblown snow. Myra rode past them, uncoiled her rope, swung it around and yelled “Hi yi yi” several times. Startled, the animals bolted away from the noise.

“What do you want me to do?” Zeke called.

“Watch for stragglers. Make noise to bring ʼem back into the fold. I see some have my neighbor’s brand. We’ll take them in. He can collect them when it’s convenient. Hank Watson runs the Bar W. He’s kindly volunteered to truck my yearlings—uh, your yearlings—to market shortly. If you see the slant R brand, that’s Dave Ralston, your other neighbor. He’s a good guy to know. He rents out his baler. A ranch this size can’t afford to buy one.”

Zeke bobbed his head.

Myra noticed he rode well, and he brought in a number of strays as they rode down the hillside and made their way to the large enclosure. Subconsciously she’d hoped he’d screw up.

As the ranch came into sight through falling snowflakes, Myra raced ahead, hopped off Cayenne and opened the gate.

Without asking, Zeke hung back and drove the cattle through.

“Phew,” he said, swinging down to help Myra shut the gate. “I see they’re pawing up the snow to get to grass. Good they know to do that.”

“Yep. The snow is slacking some, but we still have to take hay out to the main herd. We’ll go put our horses up, hook the big tractor to the flatbed and load up twenty or so bales.”

“Okay.”

Myra couldn’t help but notice he sounded unsure. Maybe she should let him stop for coffee. On the other hand, if she kept the pressure on, by nightfall he could give up.

“Just unsaddle Ember. I’ll brush both horses down and feed them later. We need to get the hay distributed while it’s light.”

Again Zeke followed orders.

Myra fetched the tractor and hooked up the flatbed. Backing the trailer into the barn, she climbed a ladder to the hayloft and began tossing down large bales.

“Do you need assistance?” Zeke asked, squinting up at her.

“You could straighten them on the trailer. If I don’t have to do it at the end of pitching off twenty bales, it’ll save us time.”

He stepped up on the trailer and that was the first time Myra noticed he greatly favored his left arm. She heard him grunt as he hefted the heavy bales one-handed. For someone her size—and at five-seven she wasn’t petite—moving bales took knowing how to leverage the weight. Obviously it was the same for a man with an injured arm. She debated telling him to leave the stacking for her, after all. But she didn’t want to insult him. When she left, the work would all fall on him unless he hired help. Maybe he had a disability pension that would help cover costs. She and Gramps hadn’t had extra money to work with.

“I’ll drive the tractor this time because I know the route,” she said once they were ready. “You can sit on the bales. See, I’ve fitted one like a chair so you won’t bounce off.” She’d thought Zeke might laugh, but he had begun to look weary. And a dense fog had settled down, covering the mountains.

“Feels like we’ve landed on an alien planet,” Zeke hollered after she fired up the tractor and drove into the whirling mist.

So he did have a sense of humor. Myra tossed him a smile over her shoulder.

It took about half an hour to reach the pasture where the Angus heifers milled about on either side of a coulee. A bull stood in the brush beyond the fence. Stopping, Myra took her cutters out of the toolbox welded onto the tractor. Crawling back across hay bales, she cut one open, stood and spread hay into the draw. Big, snorting, drooling cows immediately jockeyed for access to the new hay and began to eat.

Taking his cue, Zeke snipped open the next bale and manhandled it farther along the natural trough. “Listen, this will go quicker if you drive the tractor and I do the bales.”

Taking pity on him, because Myra saw it wasn’t easy for him to do the lion’s share while favoring one arm, she said, “We can take turns. I’ll drive the length of this coulee. There’s another like it a few hundred yards over nearer the stream. We’ll catch it on the return trip. Oh, wait. Can you drive a tractor?”

“I learned to drive anything with a gas pedal and a steering wheel in the army, and we had to improvise if either of those pieces got shot out.”

She hid a grimace but nodded. It’d been over a year since her grandfather had been able to help her with any of the heavy chores. Working in tandem with Zeke cut the time by more than half what she’d thought it would take to attend to the herd.

“How many cattle did we just feed?” he asked as she broke apart the last bale.

“A hundred fifty, plus or minus any that wandered off or were taken down by coyotes. There are close to a hundred moms with yearlings that we put in the grassy pen by the barn. Those youngsters will be sold before true winter sets in. You calve in the spring, sell in the fall.”

Zeke looked around at the snow falling in earnest. “This isn’t winter?”

She rolled her eyes. “Far from it. For a Montana winter you’re talking snow too deep to trek through. Once the calves are shipped, you’ll bring the main herd down to pastures around the barn. Even then it can snow so hard you’ll have to take grain out on a sled. Every day you’ll break the ice on the water troughs.”

He hunched over the steering wheel and followed their earlier tracks back to the barn. Parking, he let the motor idle. “What next?”

“I’ll store the tractor and see to the horses. Then I’ll go in and start supper. Why don’t you go on to the house and get settled. I cleared out Gramps’s bedroom and put fresh sheets on the bed and towels in the bathroom. It’s the room to the right of the living room. My bedroom is at the back of the house. I could pack up and head out tonight, but with this storm I’d rather wait until morning.”

Zeke studied her as he took his ball cap off. “I thought maybe you’d spend a few days showing me the ropes. But we can discuss that later. Tell you what, I’ll take KP duty tonight while you finish up out here. Then we can talk, and maybe you’ll go over the ranch accounts. Your dad said you kept the books and your mom jumped in to tell me you’re a high school math teacher.”

“I was. I won’t turn down your offer to cook. It’s my least favorite chore. The kitchen is old and small, but at least everything is functional and stocked.”

“Your father mentioned the house might need some work. He said not much has been changed since he was born and raised here.”

“I like it as is. The roof doesn’t leak and the fireplace works. So do the showers.”

“Uh-huh. It’s snowing harder. How much time do you need, so I know when to have supper on the table?”

“An hour should do it.”

He tipped his cap and made tracks for his pickup.

Myra climbed onto the tractor, ratcheted up the engine and backed the trailer into its spot in the shed. She watched Zeke take two duffel bags from under his pickup’s canopy and hike on to the house.

Sighing, she went in to take care of the horses, dialing her brother on the way to inform him that due to the snow she wasn’t leaving the ranch just yet. She contacted Eric instead of her parents because she still resented how they had given away a ranch they should have known she loved.

* * *

HIS EARS STUNG from the cold as he walked into a warm house he now owned. It all still felt surreal to Zeke. Particularly since he hadn’t realized the house would be occupied by Eric’s sister. He’d spent half a day with her, but as yet couldn’t pigeonhole her. Figuring her out became more difficult once he entered this home. At his first glance around the living room, on nearly every flat surface in the living room sat dollhouses. A grown woman had dollhouses? They were all so elaborate. On closer inspection he saw not all of them were complete. Several had walls but no roofs. A few were unpainted. Taking care not to knock into any of them with his duffels, he located the bedroom Myra had mentioned. He flipped on a light switch that lit two bedside lamps. The big bed, covered with a thick quilt, looked inviting. Thankfully, the decor was neutral. No frills. Having noted ruffled curtains on some of the dollhouse windows, he hadn’t known what to expect.

Since he’d promised to cook, he dropped the bags and found the kitchen. Vintage didn’t begin to describe the space. Outdated but spotless. He didn’t see a microwave, and the stove and fridge were surely older than his thirty-one years. He opened cupboards and took stock, then peered inside the fridge. A clicking sound, like dog toenails striking the linoleum, had Zeke straightening and looking around. The noise was coming from the corner where the back door was, behind a dinette set with four chairs. A pen fashioned by baby gates held a quilt, plastic toys, metal dishes of water, lettuce and some kind of pellets. Therein roamed a pig. A pig. Small and white with gray spots. A door with a doggie flap opened onto what looked like a screened porch.

He was still shaking his head in disbelief when his cell phone rang. Plucking it from his pocket he saw his twin’s number. “Seth, buddy, where are you this month?”

“I’m back in Afghanistan. My gem contact phoned to say his men found an area of pure lapis. I flew in yesterday to have a look. He was right, and it’s rare to find lapis without occlusions, so we’re dickering on price. I got your text saying you were going to Montana. The family of one of the guys you saved gave you a ranch? Is that true, or did you injure your head as well as your shoulder?”

“It’s true. In fact, I’m there now. I spent my first afternoon hauling hay to cattle in a snowstorm.”

“You’re kidding! What do you know about ranching, dude?”

“Nothing. But Eric Odell’s sister—his folks are the ones who gave me the ranch—she’s been running the ranch. Their grandfather owned it before he died. She’s a teacher, and Eric’s parents told me she wants to get back to her career. But I had to admit, trekking after her today I saw how much I don’t know. I had hoped she might stay awhile to give me pointers.”

“But?”

“But...then I came in the house. She’s got dollhouses everywhere. Like, is it a fetish? And, Seth, I discovered she keeps a pig as a house pet. Now I wonder if she’s been tucked away in this remote spot to hide the fact she’s eccentric, to put it mildly.”

His brother laughed loudly. “If you have the deed, kick her out. Hire an old cowboy to teach you what you need to know. Seems to me you’ve stepped into a sweetheart deal. I’m envious that you get to live in wide-open spaces. Sometimes I’m so tired of eating and sleeping in hotels.”

“Take a break and come visit me. We can learn how to run a ranch together.”

“Maybe. Not for a while. I have this lapis I want, then I’m off to Tanzania. Tanzanite is getting scarce. I’ve got a friend who has staked a claim that he’s sure will yield a vein. I haven’t actually done any digging in months. It’ll be fun.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ve heard this song and dance from you for years. You don’t want to set down roots. You’ve got the wanderlust, bro.”

“Hmm. We’ll see. It gets to be a hard-knock life. Email me pictures of your ranch. It’ll remind me what it’s like to have a home.”

“Sure. I’ll take some after this snowstorm passes. You take care. Especially in the Hindu Kush. Our forces have drawn down. It’s less safe than when you visited me there.”

“So I hear. We’ll keep in touch. Good luck with Pet-Pig Woman.”

Zeke grimaced, gave the round little pig a last glance then started fixing supper. Midway through preparations, he heard the front door open and close, and then footsteps going toward the back of the house. Then he heard water running and figured Myra had opted to take a shower. It was probably something he should have done, he thought as he found dishes and set the table. Were they really going to eat next to a penned pig? Apparently so.

It wasn’t long before Myra appeared in the doorway. She wore slippers, clean jeans and a checked flannel shirt, and her shoulder-length, tawny-gold hair fell in damp waves around a face scrubbed clean of makeup. Zeke hadn’t paid such close attention before. Framed in the doorway, she seemed younger and prettier than he recalled while she’d dragged him through a snowstorm.

“Wow, something smells good. Can I help? Oh, I see you’ve even set the table. Sorry I was so long. I took time to oil the tack. Saddles and bridles are expensive. Oiled, they hold up better in the weather.”

Zeke shook himself loose from eyeing her. “Your timing is great. Go on and choose where you normally sit. I’ll bring everything to the table.”

Myra crossed the room and pulled out a chair. Like magic, steaming dishes began to fill up the table. Her mouth dropped open. “You made scalloped potatoes and green beans with almonds?” She blinked up at Zeke as he set a basket of homemade biscuits in front of her, followed by a slice of sirloin steak he pulled out from under the broiler.

“Dig in while everything’s hot,” he said. “Oh, wait.” He snapped his fingers and turned to rummage in the fridge. “I saw butter somewhere.”

“In the top compartment on the fridge door.”

He carried the butter dish to the table even as Myra broke open a hot biscuit. “These are as flaky as my gram used to make. Mine are like lead weights. Everything looks scrumptious. Where did you learn to cook like this?”

“Before I joined the military, I worked in restaurants. I also pulled my share of KP duty prior to getting into a Green Beret unit.”

“I’ll do dishes tonight, but I draft you to fix breakfast.” Her mouth was full when he shot a deliberate glance toward her pet pig.

“I’ve never had bacon or ham on the hoof, but I guess I can make do.” He smiled crookedly as he cut a slice of steak.

Her fierce glare made plain that Myra wasn’t amused.

Chapter Two

“Orion is a hundred percent pet.” Myra’s tone was challenging. “Our local vet found him when she responded to a tip about a family who skipped town in the middle of the night leaving a goat, a donkey and a young indoor pig to fend for themselves. Some call him a potbellied pig, but he’s really a micromini. Jewell knew I didn’t have a dog or cat, so she talked me into adopting him.”

“Jewell?” Zeke looked blank.

“Our vet. You’ll meet her. She takes care of animals large and small, plus she heads the committee trying to obtain a habitat for our snowy owls.”

“I see. In the developing world, I got used to seeing animals in people’s homes that you never see in the US. Really, the quilt and squeaky toys in his pen tipped me off that you weren’t raising him for food.”

“Teacup pigs and microminis are intelligent, curious, funny, affectionate, clean animals. Orion was good company for Gramps, and now me.” She paused, her fork in the air. “I expect Mom will pitch a fit when I show up at their house with him.” Myra’s agitation showed in the short, stabbing cuts she made to her steak.

“Uh, hey, I forgot to pour coffee.” Zeke rose, went to the counter and picked up the pot. “Do you take cream or sugar?”

“No.”

“Look, I was teasing about the pig. I didn’t mean to upset you.” Zeke poured their coffee and returned the pot to the burner.

She dropped her utensils and picked up her cup. But when their eyes met over the rim, Myra hurriedly averted her gaze. “Nothing to do with the Flying Owl is a joke.”

He gestured with his cup. “I...ah...don’t know a lot about cattle ranching.”

“No kidding.”

Leaning back, Zeke studied her, his expression pensive. “It strikes me you weren’t prepared to have me show up today to take over.”

Her eyes flashed. “Take over? Listen, you fixed a great meal. I want to enjoy it.”

“No problem.” He took a second helping. “I’m just getting way different vibes from you than I got from your family. Your mom went on and on about how anxious you are to get back to teaching in the city.”

Myra took more green beans, knowing she was being uncharacteristically surly. “My parents think I should be anxious. Especially Mom.” She couldn’t seem to stop resenting Zeke. But soon the only noise in the kitchen was the ticktock of the old wall clock and Orion rooting in his dish.

Zeke drained his cup and got up for more coffee. Retaking his seat, he said, “Is it safe to ask you about the ranch finances? I don’t want to cast aspersions on your dad, because he and your mother treated me really well. But did he give me an albatross? I can see the house needs work, but my brother said the land must be worth a lot.”

Myra’s heart gave a kick. She hunched forward. Had he given her an opening to lay it on thick and convince him the ranch was a dud? She couldn’t lie. It wasn’t in her. She took her time before looking him in the eye. “To my dad, who left here at twenty-five when he got married and began to build his own spread on a ranch that belonged to my mom’s parents, this has always been the old home place. As Gramps aged, he set up a trust with my dad, his only child. Were you insinuating you might want to sell?” Trying for casual, Myra took a drink.

When Zeke continued his silent regard of her, she gestured with her free hand. “I’d be willing to go to the bank and see what they’d allow me for a loan to buy you out.”

“You? I thought you couldn’t wait to get back to your teaching career.”

She shrugged lightly, not wanting to give away how badly she wanted to own this ranch. “Having lived here three and a half years, I’ve discovered I have a knack for ranching. It’s probably too late to get a teaching spot. Schools start soon.”

“I wasn’t thinking of selling. But if not teaching, what will you do?”

Myra shrugged again. “Maybe one of the bigger ranches needs a cowhand.”

Zeke toyed with his cup, then grinned. “On my drive here, on the other side of a town called Miles City, I saw a sign on a fence post. At the time it made me laugh. ‘Housekeeper wanted. Must be able to drive a tractor and work cattle.’ Maybe you’d do.”

She got up and started gathering their dirty dishes.

“So, no comment?”

“Miles City isn’t Snowy Owl Crossing. And I’d be leery of a job with that description. The term housekeeper could entail more side activities than I’d care to take on.”

“Like what? Oh...oh! I get you.” He blushed. “I’m not usually that slow on the uptake.”

It was her turn to stammer in embarrassment. “Uh, I actually meant it might mean the rancher also needed a nanny to take care of his kids.”

“Yikes! Are you kidding me?”

“No. At the grange hall it’s not uncommon to hear of some cowboy-rancher’s wife he met on the rodeo circuit finding ranch life not so glamorous after they have a couple of kids.”

“It does seem life out here might be lonely. How close is the nearest neighbor?” he asked, sliding from his chair to bring his dishes to where she stood loading the dishwasher.

“A...a mile or so from here.” Myra straightened. Their arms brushed, surprising her because she hadn’t realized he’d gotten so close. She stepped back and almost fell over the open dishwasher door.

“Hey, hey. Careful.” Zeke grabbed her upper arm to keep her from taking a spill.

Caught between his close, warm body and the dishwasher, her breath hitched and her pulse quickened. She breathed a sigh of relief when he let go of her arm and moved aside.

Her cell phone rang. Myra recognized her neighboring rancher’s number. “Hank, hi,” she said, stepping away from the sink. “Is everything okay at the Bar W?”

“It’s good. I thought I’d check on you. I was in town picking up supplies and I heard a rumor you were leaving. I’m running trucks to market in a few days if the snow melts—and the weathermen predict it will. Do you still need space for your stock?”

Myra pinched the bridge of her nose. She should’ve known her business would be all over town. The café wasn’t empty when she talked to her friends. And gossip was a mainstay of any small town. “I... We still need a truck. I helped the ranch’s new owner trail cow-calf pairs down to our grass pasture today. Are any of the Jarvis boys home? Lieutenant Maxwell is going to need help sorting, and certainly help sending cows through chutes for vaccinating, parasite treatment and pregnancy testing.”

“Lieutenant Maxwell? Is that the soldier hero who saved Eric’s life? Your grandpa Cal mentioned him.”

“He’s one and the same. Dad gave him the Flying Owl.” She made an effort to not sound distressed.

“Hot damn! Where does that leave you, Myra?”

“I’m still figuring that out. About the Jarvis boys...?”

“Two are off at college, and I guess you didn’t hear that Gordy, the high school junior, broke his leg playing football. He’s in a cast.”

“Damn.” Myra frowned at Zeke, who’d finished loading the dishwasher and leaned against the sink cabinet watching her.

“The yearlings have to be weaned for market,” she went on. “I can do that since some of the money from the sale is slated to pay off the last of Gramps’s banknote. When will you have room on a semi?”

“Day after tomorrow. I can be there to load up by nine.”

“Okay. Oh, and Hank, I drove down a couple of Bar W heifers and calves, and a few of Ralston’s that mixed in with my herd. Working in snow I figured it’d be easiest to bring them all in.”

“Dave rented my truck for tomorrow. I’ll ask if he’ll send a cowhand over while you’re cutting.”

They reiterated a time for loading and said goodbye. Myra tossed her phone on the counter. “What was that all about?” Zeke asked.

Myra put soap in the dishwasher and started it running. “It means you’re stuck with me for a few more days at least. Unless you can pull a cowboy out of your hat. There are calves to get to market and bills to pay. Hank only charges for the gas it costs to drive from here to the stockyards. You won’t get a better deal in your lifetime. Plus, greenhorn that you are, you need to see and help with a process that gets done every year.”

“Okay. But does that mean you have to forgo finding a teaching job?”

“I told you, it’s probably too late now to secure a fall opening.”

“You did. You also offered to buy me out. Greenhorn I may be, but I’m not ready to sell. Not until I know if I have what it takes to be a rancher. Just so we’re clear, I had what it took to be a Green Beret.”

“Touché.” She opened the fridge and pulled out some fresh lettuce from the keeper, crossed the room and set it in Orion’s bowl. She rubbed his ears and the pig all but smiled.

“Is he full grown?” Zeke asked.

Myra shook her head. “He weighs about fourteen pounds. Jewell says the full-grown micromini probably ends up twenty pounds.”

“Do you have a dog to help herd cattle and the like?”

“Not now. Gramps had a beautiful border collie. Lucy gave out before he did, and he’d had her for so many years he couldn’t fathom loving another dog. He made fun of Orion when I brought him home. But it wasn’t long before I noticed him talking to the pig. And Orion liked to sit with Gramps in his recliner.” She smiled at the memory.

Zeke smiled back. “Look, if you’re not champing at the bit to get to bed, can we talk bookkeeping? I already know from listening to you speak with the neighbor that I have a lot to absorb about what goes on outside. But if I don’t understand the economics I’ll be sunk before I start.”

“It’s a boring subject, but if we brew another pot of strong coffee I’ll give you some hard facts and walk you through the software I use.”

“We’ll have to load that onto my laptop, I guess.”

“Good idea,” Myra said, dumping what little coffee remained in the old pot. Then she prepared a new one. “In the meantime, I’ll get my laptop. We can work at the kitchen table. There’s a desk in the third bedroom, but it shares space with all of my dollhouse materials and jigsaws and stuff.”

“About those dollhouses...?” Zeke’s voice trailed off, but his question hung between them.

Myra sifted a hand through her hair. “I’ll deliver the finished ones to another member of the Artsy Ladies before I leave. I don’t know what I’ll do with the half-completed projects, or the unused material and equipment. But never fear, I’ll clear everything of mine out.”