Page 33 of Saddles

But I can hear him.

“Yea, I know.” The memories of the last few days of misery try to fight their way up. It’s a struggle to focus on the luxury of my first bath in a week.

“Ford? Tell me about the ranch you work at?” I need something to distract me.

“It’s pretty boring. We run about six thousand head or so. We have pasture contracts across most of northwest Montana. My boss, Mason, and his brother, Dixon, run it.” There’s a creaking sound, then I see his boots prop on the wooden stool near the stove. “I grew up there. Mason and I have been thick as thieves since we were kids.”

I’m finally able to lean back and soak.

God, this feels good. “That sounds like a dream, getting to live on a ranch your whole life.”

He snorts. “It’s not like on TV. It’s long ass hours riding an ornery horse through every kinda weather. Then getting back up the next day and doing it again.”

“My dad is a lawyer. I grew up in the suburbs among bratty neighbors and HOA’s. I’d have given anything to just be off on my own like that.” The bar of soap has a nutmeg smell to it. I like it.

“That’s why I’m majoring in animal nutrition, so I can go work at a place like a ranch. Maybe a big dairy.”

“Char’s friend’s family owns a big dairy just south of here. You’d like Libby, she’s a spitfire.” He sighs. “I bet if Mason talked to you, he’d learn a thing or two. He’s a stubborn cuss, but a lot more likeable now that he remarried.”

I hope that Mason guy has a better wife than my dad does.

Scrubbing my hair might be a lost cause, yet I know I need to try.

I spend the next little while asking him about the feed mixes on the ranch, until the water grows so tepid I start to shiver.

“Ford? Can I ask you a favor?” There’s a brown tinge to the bath. I don’t want that scum sticking to me when I get out.

“Sure, April. Whatcha need?” His boots drop out of sight with a thud.

“Can you dump that pot on the stove over me? This is gross.” I feel like I need to wash twenty more times before I’ll ever be clean.

There’s a long pause. “Um. If that’s what you want?”

I glance over my body, riddled with bumps, scrapes, and bruises.

My voice drops. “Ford, if I could tear my skin off and leave it behind I would. I just…please…I have to get at least a layer of this grime off of me. I don’t care if Santa and all of his reindeer get to watch, I need to rinse.”

He gives a short laugh. “Okay.”

I can hear him stand, then catch sight of him digging in his dresser.

Fresh clothes appear on the stool that he slides close enough to me I can reach them.

“Ready?” He sticks a finger in the pot. “It’s on the chilly side still, I’m sorry ahead of time.”

“I don’t care, it’s not a snowbank.” My legs feel like jelly when I stand and face away from him. “Go for it.”

It isn’t exactly freezing, but it’s cold.

“Oh fuck,” I croak.

My nipples feel like they’re made of ice as the frigid water pours over me. I try to wipe as much of it from my goosebumpy skin as I can.

The clang of the pan hitting the stove echoes just before a warm fuzzy towel is draped over my shoulders.

“Thank you.” When I turn, he’s already stepping behind the narrow wall.

I swear he’s more shy than I am.

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