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October in Wyoming
A LIGHT SNOWFALL overnight had left a dusting of white on the autumn grass. I stepped, coffee cup in hand, onto the porch of the bunkhouse where I stay when I’m on the ranch. Sounds from the corral floated through the still morning air like a well-rehearsed orchestra—the whinny of horses welcoming the ranch manager to the barn, the squeak of the gate, the rustle of the few remaining leaves too stubborn to fall from twisted branches of the cottonwood trees.
A month after returning to the ranch from Montana, I’d begun seeing a counselor. He’d given me tools to deal with what I’d experienced, and every day I felt more healed. Nancy and I had talked about my future as an author. Surprisingly, she hadn’t pressed me for details of what had happened on the mountain, and I hadn’t offered any. We had agreed the start of the new year would be soon enough to revisit my career. A Thanksgiving plan to visit my mother and aunt in Arizona was put on hold indefinitely—it turned out they were wintering in summery Australia and New Zealand. Upon hearing my story, Mother had scolded me for putting myself in danger for some Hollywood type who wouldn’t appreciate it. For once I didn’t disagree with her.
Yesterday I had called FBI Special Agent Donna Sorenson to inquire about Max Ryan, and her answer was less than satisfactory. “He’s on administrative leave.”
Last night the horse wrangler, David, had visited me in an erotic dream, and I was still unsettled about it this morning. The distinct rattle of a horse trailer brought me out of my musings. It was probably a neighbor coming to help gather cattle. The ranch manager had told me yesterday they were weaning the first bunch of calves today and planned to ride out at ten. Curious to see who it was, I wandered toward the corrals. Badger, the ranch dog, raced barking toward a white pickup with a bumper pull horse trailer. I didn’t recognize the pickup, and no one I knew had a bumper pull trailer.
“Badger, it’s okay,” I hollered and raised my hand to signal the border collie to come to me. He obliged, and I ran my hand down the white stripe on his face. The driver’s door of the pickup squeaked open. Badger perked his ears as the driver walked around the front of the pickup.
FBI Special Agent Max Ryan asked, “In those famous words of Peter Sellers in the Pink Panther movie, ‘Does your dog bite?’”
I grinned and replied, “That is not my dog.”
A unique whinny ending with a hew-haw sounded from the trailer.
Bonnie!
I ran past Max to the trailer and jumped onto the running board. Bonnie’s prickly nose twitched against the opening between the slats. I stepped down as Max made his way to the back of the trailer. I noticed he walked with a pronounced limp. He released the door latch, and I was surprised to see the rump of a grullo horse standing next to Bonnie. Max backed Bonnie out and handed me her lead rope. I hugged her, and she nuzzled the back of my neck. Max bumped my shoulder, “Should I leave you two alone?”
“Funny ha-ha. I see you haven’t read the Mars/Venus book, or you would know sista bonding when you see it.” Draping an arm across Bonnie’s back, comforted by the feel of her, I said, “I went to the TRO, and Skeeter said Bonnie had been sold. It was you?”
“Yup.”
“And the grullo gelding?”
Max shrugged his shoulders. “I like a challenge. I’d made arrangements to buy Bonnie and the gelding before we went on the campout. My surprise for you got messed up, what with being shot and all. My plan was for the transport trailer to be there the last day we were on the ranch. I’d already arranged with your ranch manager for delivery.”
I was overwhelmed with emotion at what he had done, and it took me a minute to find my voice. “Why would you do that?”
“Because I could tell you’d fallen in love with that stubborn mule.”
Fallen in love. The mule wasn’t the only thing I’d fallen in love with out in Montana.
The gelding, tired of standing in the trailer, began to paw. Max backed him out, and we stood there in awkward silence until I finally thought of something neutral to say. “So, what did you name the gelding?”
“Clyde.”
I snorted. “Seriously? Bonnie and Clyde?”
“I had a lot of time on my hands after I went back to California to recover. You wouldn’t happen to have any artery-clogging biscuits and gravy, would you? I missed breakfast.”
“I think I have a can of baked beans.” The earlier tension dissolved like frost on a windshield in the sun. I motioned toward the corral. “Let’s put these two up and then I’ll make some breakfast.”
I mixed up a batch of biscuits and made the sausage gravy. Max volunteered to make the hash browns, and we worked silently, cooking side by side. After we’d eaten our fill, we refilled our coffee cups and took them out to sit on the porch.
“I called Special Agent Sorenson,” I said, “but she wouldn’t give me any information about how you were doing. She said she couldn’t give me your telephone number. All she said was you were on administrative leave.”
“There are lots of privacy policies in place in my line of work.”
“Oh, you mean so some crazy doesn’t find you and try to kill you? How did that work out for you?”
Max didn’t say anything, so I pressed on. “Well it drove me crazy not knowing how you were. And it ticked me off a little. After what we had shared—I mean I dumped your pee out of a bean can, for Chrissakes—and no one would tell me how you were.” I grabbed our cups and said, “I’ll get some fresh coffee.”
I returned with a cooled-off temper and two steaming cups. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. I mean, you were up-front with me that you had a girlfriend. And I saw her with you at the hospital.”
“You came to see me in the hospital?”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.
“I was pretty out of it. Lots of painkillers.”
“Sure.”
“But?” Max asked.
“But what?”
“Oh, just seems like you have more to say.”
“It’s silly, really. I thought I was over getting my feelings hurt, but seeing you now brings it back. Even though I saw your girlfriend with you at the hospital, I thought you might at least contact me and let me know you were okay. I mean, after what we had experienced together.”
“Courtney, I have a lot to say to you. Delivering Bonnie gave me an excuse to see you again.”
“It’s okay. You don’t owe me any explanation.”
“But I want to ... I need to. After we got off the mountain, everything moved pretty fast—surgery to repair my broken collarbone, heavy antibiotics to treat the infected gunshot wound. I was pretty doped up in the hospital. Then recovering took me longer than I’d planned. I went back to my buddy’s ranch in California for rehab and by then so much time had passed I didn’t know what I would say to you. Plus, I was dealing with unfamiliar feelings. All I could think about was you and the time in the cabin. Even under those crazy circumstances, I hadn’t felt that kind of peace for a long time. And I’d never had feelings for a woman like I was having for you. Ever.”
I squirmed in my chair, embarrassed. I knew I should say something but didn’t trust that I wouldn’t blurt out I love you.
After an awkward silence, Max asked, “What’s Serena been up to?”
“Serena?”
“I did a little reading in my down time.”
“Honestly, Serena is working through some stuff,” I said, air quoting Serena.
“I wonder what she would do trapped in the path of a lava flow from an erupting volcano. Maybe with an undercover FBI man by her side.”
“That would be Mr. FBI Man, wouldn’t it?”
Max grinned. “Turns out my boss thinks maybe a little time out of the forty-eight would be a good idea. That means either Alaska or Hawaii, and I couldn’t help but picture Serena loping bareback along a beach, scantily dressed, maybe even in a teeny-weeny yellow polka dot bikini.”
“Are you nuts? Have you ever ridden bareback in your tighty-whities? Heard of the term itchy as a horsehair blanket?”
“Hey, I’m willing to suffer a bit,” Max said, pulling me out of my chair and into his arms. “Maybe even try some good old-fashioned knockin’ boots.”
