Storm and Rein

Chapter 2

"Alright Bomber, what are we seeing today?" I asked my steed.

The giant beneath me flickered his black ears back towards me. Bomber had not been my first choice all those years ago. In fact, Bomber was probably one of my last choices from the auction mart he came from. He was over sixteen hands – bigger than I had been looking for – and a splatter of black and white. With a bald face and one blue eye, he was something to look at for sure, but not necessarily in the way I wanted him to be, not in the way Versailles was with her gleaming coat and smooth movements.

But sometimes what we wanted and what we needed were not the same.

Sure, Bomber's hooves were massive, sure he had the feathers from his Percheron sire, but there was no denying that he was a damn good cow horse. At eight years old, he was calmer and steadier than Versailles could ever be in the fields working cattle. He seldom spooked and had been instinct with the cows than I did sometimes. Most days, if he plodded by the herd without pausing then I could trust that nothing was wrong with my beasts. Today, his ears only flickered when I let out a huff of breath or when the cattle dog, Arrow, got a little too close to him or upset some of his cows.

We circled the herd a couple of times, checking on the calves and the cows. No mucus, no weird looking eyes, no one was lying down for too long, looking troubled. It seemed that all was well.

Now was the time to tug on the reins and spin my horse back around. Maybe I could slacken my reins and let Bomber take the lead on the way home, carrying us back at a brisk trot or a gentle lope. But I eased Bomber to a stop on the top of one of the many rolling hills that rippled over the land and studied the small farm house that I had spent almost as much time in as my own. It looked so cozy from here, like the entire scene had been dipped in icing with a plume of smoke billowing from the chimney.

Just as easily as I could push Bomber into a trot to take me home, I could squeeze his sides and we would plod to a gate and cross a road together. I could dismount and tie Bomber to the fence post, or just ground tie him for two seconds. I could knock on the front door and say that I heard the awful news and... Christ, what did someone even say to console those who lost someone? Even after I lost my own father, I still didn't know. And what was worse is that I hadn't seen any of them in years. The rift that had been intimidating three years ago now seemed entirely impassible.

I clucked my tongue and drew my reins. Bomber turned away from the Wright's ranch and we trotted back home, like it was every other day.

I hated that I had allowed my mind to ruin my morning outing, but I couldn't shake my foul mood when I untacked and turned-out Bomber. Something ugly was crawling out of a dark hole that I kept it in. And it was only made worse when I entered the home that I shared with my mother. I knew she was having one of her anxious episodes when I saw the way she was hugging her knees to her chest. The awful creature in me debated how likely it was that I could sneak passed the door way that led to the living room without her hearing me.

Instead, I said, "What's going on?" as I sat down on the leather couch beside her.

With a sniff, my mom dabbed the tips of her fingers beneath her eyes, swiping away tears. "Oh, nothing Sierra. It's just a hard day, that's all. You know how I am. Somedays, I'm fine. Somedays, I miss your father so much I can hardly bear it." Her chilled hand settled on top of mine, a quaking smile on her lips. "I'm so grateful that you're here with me. After your brothers left, I wasn't sure I would be able to take it. but we're doing alright together, aren't we?"

I flipped my hand and squeezed her fingers. "We are doing wonderfully."

The front door groaned open again. A stocky grey-haired man popped off his hat, settling it on a hook.

"Morning Bart," I greeted.

Bart had been an integral part of the family for what felt like forever. My family had hired him shortly after we purchased the cattle from the Wrights after the fire that tore their ranch to shreds. With the third herd, we needed more bodies on the ranch and he had the knowledge and the work ethic that made him the obvious choice. The ranch life wasn't for everyone. When the sun shone and a gentle breeze blew, it could seem like heaven. But feeding cows before opening Christmas presents was less wonderful. Watching an animal take its last breaths, helping a cow birth a calf that would never breathe, those were the awful things.

"Morning Sierra," Bart rumbled, his voice revealing the result of smoking for decades.

"How were the girls out in the north pasture?"

"Healthy as ever, I think. Heard the neighbors talking about cougars being around though. Thought it was bad enough that we had a wolf pack in the area, but I guess we needed a couple more challenges this year. I was heading in to town and was wondering if you gals needed anything."

"I think I'm alright," I replied.

"Oh, I had a couple things if you wouldn't mind," my mom said, her cheeks already less red.

"I'll leave you to it then," I said, feeling a little bad that I was so ready to dismiss myself. But not bad enough that I checked the pace of my walk as I zoomed from the living room to the kitchen, snagged my homemade muffins, then darted upstairs to my bedroom.

My bedroom was supposed to be my haven. Being over twenty and still living at home – and staying for the foreseeable future – having my own space was a requirement to help me maintain my sanity. But since that letter had arrived, every time I came into my bedroom, I stared at the pretty parchment letter that sat folded up on my old desk. The awful burning sensation in my chest was even worse today when I saw it. Because that letter was my chance to get out. Because that letter could be the reason that I left my mom behind, just like my brothers had.

I had been raised to be a rancher, not a baker who wore pristine aprons and competed on live television for prize money. This morning, staring at Rhett's childhood home, envy lurking in my mind. He had left, he had taken the opportunity to leave. I had thought that I could too.

Now, I snarled at the letter, crinkling the paper, and ripping open a drawer.

Rhett's face stared up at me from a clipped newspaper article. Blonde hair that curled at the ends, blue eyes that sung, and a smile that shone like the early morning sun. back when we still purchased newspapers while in town, I had snuck them back to my room like a teen boy sneaking porn. I cut out each photo and every article detailing his goals, his assists, his penalties. When a farm boy from a town of less than two thousand made the NHL, the local newspaper spared no details.

With a disgruntled hiss, I slapped the letter on top of the stack of faded cutouts and slammed the drawer shut. If only it was so easy to ignore the two things that were haunting me. 

~~~Distraction Section~~~

Hello Everyone. For those of you who haven't read my other books, this is the fun part when I put out a question and highlight announcements. So, to begin, happy Victoria Day! If you are one of my werewolf book readers, I have a lil announcement on my main page that may interest you.

Question of the Day: What topic do you get really upset about?