Page 2 of Due North
“Sixteen boys?” I asked, setting the cup back in the saucer.
“I’ve got six sons and ten grandsons. Thank goodness we have those three darling granddaughters to keep us sane.”
This time it was my laughter that filled the café. “I can’t even imagine how busy your wife must have been raising six boys.”
He pointed a skinny, tobacco-stained finger at me. “And she did it by herself for the most part. I’ve given more than one young man a ride home over the last thirty years. You can ask Miss Martha. She’ll tell you.”
“I’d appreciate the ride, Pops. My shoulders are sore from the pack. I could use a break.”
Angel set plates in front of us filled to the brim with mashed potatoes and beef, with slices of toast that held the gravy back like a dam. “Oh, Lordy, Miss Angel. This was worth the drive,” Pops said on a yeehaw.
“You know it is every time, Pops.” She gave him a wink before she grabbed two more plates from the window and headed for a booth in the back.
I was already inhaling the hot beef and potatoes like a starving man, and we ate in silence until our hunger was sated. I dragged a piece of toast through the rich, spicy gravy and took a bite. Damn, this was worth every penny I was about to spend on it.
“So, where’s home, Tex?” Pops asked while he sipped at his coffee.
“What direction are you headed?”
“Due north, son.”
“Then that’s where home is.”
One
When the sun rose over the horizon of Heavenly Lane Dude Ranch, it was unlike any sunrise you’d ever seen. Everyone said that about the sunrise from whatever place they called home, but only a handful of people on this earth watched the sun rise over a field of bison swaying their heads through the green pasture grasses. The sun’s rays dried the dew on their backs and glinted off their horns to create a picture-perfect postcard of yesteryear. That was a rarity in our world now. I never took for granted that I was the one to witness it every morning.
I’d seen that sunrise some two thousand times over the seven years I’d lived here. First, as a ranch hand on Heavenly Lane Cattle Ranch and then as the foreman of Heavenly Lane Dude Ranch. A lot had changed on this land over the years, but the sun still came up over it every morning. When I first started working on this dusty ranch, Duane Lane was the owner of Heavenly Lane. When he passed away suddenly, his daughter, Heaven Lane, took it over. By then, the ranch was so far in debt we figured she’d never dig us out of the hole.
We were wrong.
We shouldn’t have counted Heaven out so quickly. As a last-ditch effort, she turned this old cattle ranch into a working dude ranch where city slickers pay good money to pretend to be a cowboy for a week. When she married Blaze McAwley, the owner of Bison Ridge Ranch, she made it a partnership. Heaven holds the controlling interest, but my partner Dawn and I each own a third. The two of us keep the place running like clockwork now.
Heaven was still involved in the ranch, but she had less time now than she used to. Then, about a year ago, she and Blaze welcomed their first little one, so diapers and nursery rhymes suddenly consumed her free time. That said, I’d never seen her happier.
I shivered as I jogged across the hard-packed earth towards the main farmhouse. The chill in the air today reminded me that we were closer to winter than spring. It was forecasted to be sunny but barely above freezing, and I was looking forward to the hot coffee I’d be stealing from Dawn’s pot. Maybe I’d luck out and she’d have breakfast waiting too.
Dawn’s title was guest services manager, but she was more a jack of all trades, in my opinion. She cooked, cleaned, ran seminars, booked guests, and mitigated problems between guests or vendors. She made my job look easy, and my job was hard. I could take care of the barn and horses, but there would be no dude ranch if it weren’t for Dawn.
I stopped at the bottom of the steps to the back door. My hip twitched, and I rubbed it. That was new. I’d never had to take a moment before I climbed these steps. I didn’t like the weakness in my leg either. I kept telling myself I just pinched a nerve, but even I laughed at that excuse.
I climbed them and knocked on the door. There were newlyweds inside, so busting in the back door early on a Sunday morning was a risky endeavor. The chances were good that Dawn’s husband, Beau, was already in the leather shop working on his latest project, though. He saved bison hides all summer long to use in the leather shop over the winter. Beau made some of the most beautiful Stetsons and leather coats from the bison hides. I was extremely jealous every time I saw Blaze wearing his coat and hat.
Maybe this winter, I’d commission Beau to make me a bison leather duster. Now that would be cool. Not many people can say they have one of those. Since Blaze gave him half ownership in Bison Ridge, Beau had learned to delegate the daily chores to the ranch hands. He had to if he wanted to spend time with his new wife. They were a busy couple, which was why I lived in a foreman’s cottage on the back of the property. They deserved a little privacy whenever they had time to spend together.
I inhaled deeply and sighed. I could smell the fresh cinnamon rolls wafting from inside already. Our camp cook, Cecelia Douglas, was the best in all four counties, but Dawn was the best baker. She made a cream puff you’d walk through a herd of bison for, and her cinnamon rolls were equally as worthy. I was aching to sink my teeth into a sweet roll to go with my hot coffee.
“Come in!” a voice called from inside.
I pushed the door open, glad to get out of the cold. “Hey there, partner,” I greeted her, kicking off my boots. “I could smell those rolls all the way out at the foreman’s cottage.”
“Unlikely,” she teased, but she was smirking. Dawn wore her usual flannel lined jeans and a soft flannel shirt over her Heavenly Lane Dude Ranch shirt. Dawn had terrible arthritis in her hands, and I noticed she had her coffee in her travel mug that hooked over her hand, so she didn’t have to grip it.
“If your hands are sore, you shouldn’t be baking,” I scolded her, helping myself to a roll and buttering it before taking a bite. I moaned a little, and I wasn’t even ashamed.
“If I hadn’t baked, what would you have to moan about this morning?”
“The cold.” I washed the bite of roll down with some coffee.
