Slipped my mind.
But if she can drive a tractor, she can take care of the cow herself. And maybe that’s what she needs.
Maybe she needs to try this life, drive that tractor into the creek again, realize here isn’t the fit she wants it to be, and then she’ll leave.
And, yes, I’m well aware I’ll be the one pulling the tractor out of the creek.
But if it makes her leave so she’s not one more thing that I have to take care of this winter?
I will happily pull her out of the creek.
All of Hell’s Bells knows this is a temporary thing for Maisey Spencer, until she gets over her divorce. There’s actually a pool going about if she’ll last through the winter.
Not because we don’t like outsiders. We’re a welcoming bunch.
But more because as far as any of us can tell, she has no plans, no clue, and we’ve all seen her show.
Maisey Spencer seems like a nice enough person. Never said a bad word about anyone on that show. I’ll give her that.
But a Wyoming-winter person? A ranch person? A competent person?
I couldn’t even begin to count the number of times she didn’t shut off the electricity or the water on a project she was working on that required shutting off the electricity or the water, and how many times she got zapped or sprayed because of it.
She does not belong here, and I am not up for being the person who saves her ass every time she can’t deal with a bear or a cow or her kid.
So maybe it’s good that she’s here. Once she realizes she’s bitten off more than she can chew, she’ll sell the ranch to the town, and everything can go back to normal.
“Looks like you got this cow under control, then.” I tip my hat to her. “Welcome to ranching, Mrs. Spencer.”
“Wait.” Maisey shakes her head, and that TV-show smile slips off her lips as I turn Parsnip to leave. “Are there other cows we should worry about? If we’re doing a funeral for one . . .”
Probably not. If Kory had more jailbreaks, someone would’ve found them by now. “No idea. You’d have to ask Kory next door. He took in all of Tony’s cows. If anyone other than Gingersnap might’ve escaped, he’d be the one who knows.”
“Gingersnap? You know this cow? By name?”
“You know the cow?” Junie—no, June, she said—pops up in the window behind us, pulling earbuds out of her ears. “This specific cow? That’s really her name? You knew her?”
She’s practically her mother’s clone except for the dark-brown eyes and hair. Same round, white, freckled cheeks, same Cupid’s bow mouth, same pointy chin. “Yeah. Tony—your great-uncle—told me she was born here before I met him. Spent a lot of time with Gingersnap over the years.”
“So you could do her eulogy?” June asks.
Parsnip snorts. Probably because I jerk in my saddle at the request.
If Maisey had asked, I’d be snorting right along with my horse.
But a teenage kid completely out of her element, without friends nearby, who woke up on her first day at her new home to this?
Fuck.
“Sure.”
Chapter 3
Maisey
I’m not dressed for a funeral.
But then, I can’t recall the last time I went to a funeral for an animal I didn’t know under the baking-hot noon sun with a cranky teenager and a surly high school teacher–slash–ranch hand who’s renting a building at the entrance to Uncle Tony’s land.
“Can you at least show some respect and cover your shoulders?” Junie mutters to me as she, Flint, and I make our way to the burial site, which is a lovely patch of dirt that will be in the shade once the sun drops below the trees along the creek bank that borders the western edge of the ranch’s property.
We’re about a football field’s length from the bunkhouse, which is as far as we can get from the rest of the buildings scattered about Uncle Tony’s fifty acres without having to dig up ground that’s as solid as concrete in order to get Gingersnap deep enough to prevent further investigation by the local wildlife.
“The cow’s not wearing clothing at all, so I’m totally appropriate,” I whisper back to Junie. “Also, shoulders are natural. Who’s telling you it’s your responsibility to cover them up? I need to have a talk with them.”
Flint heaves a heavy sigh.
With the number of times I’ve heard that sound since he took over digging the hole and transporting the cow—If we want this done before we all burn to a crisp, I’ll do it, and then you can spend some time reeducating yourself on the operation of this tractor later—I’m renaming him.
He’s now Sir Sighs-a-Lot, which I won’t be sharing with Junie because she seems to adore him.
Probably because he took the time to put a tarp over what was left of Gingersnap’s body so as to pay some respect to the dead before transporting it over here in the tractor’s bucket.
Also because he’s a total stranger who’s going to a cow funeral with us.
And that’s after he rode back to the house to get a few knickknacks that Junie insisted the cow should be buried with but that she needed Flint’s advice on picking out from among the eclectic collection of Uncle Tony’s things that weren’t sold at the estate sale or donated to charity by a few of the ladies in town who went through his clothing for me.
Lovely people here. I adore them already.
Mostly.
“If I die and you show up to my funeral with your shoulders bare, I’ll haunt you forever,” Junie tells me. “I just think it’s respectful to wear something nicer than a sweaty tank top showing off your screw you divorce tattoo to a funeral.”
My screw you divorce tattoo is a hummingbird. There’s nothing offensive about it beyond the fact that Dean always said tattoos were crude and he thought I was dumb for liking hummingbirds.
Clearly, we know who the problem was here.
But I have an opportunity to make a point without arguing about my tattoo, so I smile at her with what I hope is a respectful enough smile. “If you died, I’d miss you. You’re welcome to haunt me. I’d like that, actually.”
Sir Sighs-a-Lot does it again.
Please note, he hasn’t once sighed at a single thing Junie’s said. Not when she asked him to show her what would mean the most to the cow, since I never really knew my great-uncle or the cow, but I feel this connection to both, and I want to honor them right. Not when she asked him if he’d please use the best tablecloth still left in the house as the tarp for the cow. And not when she asked him to do a eulogy for Gingersnap either.
“Did you at least put on sunscreen?” Junie asks.
“Of course I did.”
I didn’t.
Totally forgot when we got busy picking a burial plot and roping my uncle’s way younger than I thought he was tenant and best friend into helping us put everything to rights.
And when I was trying to not ogle Flint’s biceps. Or the way his jeans fit. And when I was trying to remind myself that I very much get the impression he’s not happy I’m here.
Join the club, buddy. Nobody wanted us back in Cedar Rapids either.
A shiver slinks through my body as I realize there’s a possibility he knows everything. The tabloids never picked up the other half of the story of why Junie and I had to move, but that doesn’t mean someone who’s determined couldn’t figure it out.