“No. Some powerful people are backing me on this. Life on the ranch is mighty rough, especially for a city girl like you.”
Whoa. That was a name I hadn’t been called. Ever. “City girl?” I repeated.
“Yeah, you ain’t cut out for this life. Never were. Wyatt kept you in the dark about what it really takes to run a ranch this size. Neither you nor your sister has the guts to do it. ’Sides, you never know what can happen around these parts. Accidents and the like.” Kit lifted his hand and casually studied his fingernails.
Oh. My. God. I could hardly keep a straight face. Talk about him acting like a caped villain in a bad melodrama. He should’ve been cackling evilly while he twirled his mustache. Was he secretly imagining tying me to a railroad track as I cried for help?
Screw that. Screw him.
“Don’t got nothing to say?”
“You threatening me?”
“Consider it a fair warning. You may act tough, but when it comes down to it, the years away made you soft. With the right kinda pressure, I suspect you’ll give way like a marshmallow in the sun.”
Soft. With that suggestion my humor vanished. My gun arm lifted of its own accord. I fired at the right headlight on his truck. Metal chinked. Glass exploded. Gun smoke hung in the air. I didn’t flinch, although Hiram hit the ground pretty damn fast.
Kit screeched, “What in the hell are you doing?”
“My way of warning you that I don’t deal well with any kind of threats, Kit.”
“You’re just as crazy as your sister and the rest of the women in your family.”
“Maybe.”
“You just made a big mistake.” He shook his finger at me. “You’re gonna pay for that.”
“Yeah? Then go ahead and put this one on my bill, too.” I shot out the other headlight just for fun.
Hiram crawled away.
Chicken.
Kit’s face matched the color of his rig. “You just bought yourself a whole passel of trouble, Missy.”
I swung the barrel away from his front tire and aimed at his sweat-covered brow. “Wrong. You breathe one word of my little misfire to anyone and I’ll come for you.” I inched closer, and he backed up. “When you’re all alone, Kit. I’ll have you pissing yourself in the dark before I shoot off your worthless dick. Then we’ll see who’s tough and who’s soft.” I pointed at the driver’s-side door. “Now get the hell off my land.”
Hiram scrambled to his feet. “Come on, Kit. Let’s go.”
“Next time I see you trespassing I’ll shoot you-or anyone else-on sight. Feel free to pass that around.”
I fully expected Kit to crank down the window to shout out something lame and ominous like, “This ain’t over.” But he hauled ass away as fast as his ten-cylinder allowed.
After they’d gone, I slumped against a hay bale. This was the first confrontation, but I knew it wouldn’t be the last. And I couldn’t get rid of all my problems by shooting them.
Pity.
FOUR
Sophie gave up trying to get me to wear a dress to the community dance. If boots and jeans were good enough for the guys, they were good enough for me.
Instead of showing up in my beloved Viper, I drove my dad’s truck down County Road 11, country music on KICK 104 my companion.
Despite the dust and bugs, I rolled the windows down. I slowed for a baler taking up half the gravel road. I waved at Tim Lohstroh as I passed, inhaling the deliciously sweet scent of yellow clover.
The breath-stealing heat had abated, leaving a perfect summer evening, where the air is velvety soft. I glanced across the horizon at the myriad of colors: a swirl of sapphire, salmon, and scarlet, indicating the sky’s magical transformation from day to night. I’d seen sunsets all over the world. Nothing beats a summer sunset on the high prairie. Nothing.
I parked in the dusty field at the Viewfield Community Center. The knee-high bromegrasses were dead in places from lack of moisture and flattened from Buicks, pickups, and ATVs leaving skid marks on the concretelike ground.
I slid the beer cooler across the truck bed. Alcohol wasn’t allowed inside these family events, so we all snuck out for a nip between songs. Or we tucked a flask in our boots. The Wild Turkey in my ropers sloshed with every step.
It was hard to believe that barn dances were still the summer highlight in Eagle River County. Was it because country and ranch people clung to traditions, rejecting anything new or different on principle?
Nah. These gatherings were actually fun. As a kid I’d loved dances, even when Dad-as sheriff-kept an eye on every cowboy who asked me to two-step.
Tonight’s festivities weren’t taking place in a barn, but in a steel building a few enterprising souls had remodeled from an abandoned wool-shearing shack into a much-needed community center. As it was the biggest building in the county, we’d held the finger sandwiches and sympathy assembly here after my father’s funeral. At the time I hadn’t paid much attention to the surroundings.
The interior owed more to function than decor. A big, open kitchen, lined with assorted old stoves and refrigerators and a huge concrete dance floor with a wooden platform serving as a stage. Flags hung from the metal rafters: Old Glory, the pale blue South Dakota state flag, local chapters of FFA, 4-H, Stockgrowers Association, SD Beef Council, SD Pork Producers, VFW-banners that meant something and were hung with pride.
In the far back corner chipped white Formica folding tables were piled high with sweets. Crisp, sugary cookies covered in sprinkles, drenched with powdered sugar, and bursting with nuts and chunks of chocolate. Pans of bars coated with frosting in every color of the rainbow. Thick, gooey brownies and rows of fruit pies with perfectly browned crusts-all homemade goodies, not a Keebler bag in sight.
Four watercoolers abutted the wall between the men and women’s bathrooms. Six industrial-sized coffee urns were set up beside the dessert station. Each pot would be emptied and refilled at least three times before the evening’s festivities concluded. My mother used to say, “Those Lutherans sure love their coffee.” Not all the attendees were Lutheran. Methodists, Catholics, Presbyterians, and Episcopalians were welcome, too. We do have some religious diversity in South Dakota.
Coffee was one thing we all agreed on: black. The rage for lattes, espresso, cappuccino, and confections topped with whipped cream and flavored syrups hadn’t caught on. A few people preferred cream and sugar, but mention a half-caf, sugar-free, caramel macchaito with light foam, and you’d get a blank-eyed stare like you were speaking Farsi.
I’d barely stepped foot inside when people descended on me like a pack of locusts. Most everyone in the county felt entitled to grill me on my plans for the ranch. When I hedged, they gave me a suspicious look usually reserved for outsiders. Then they left me standing alone like I’d developed mad cow disease. In that moment I missed my father with an ache so painful I almost turned and ran out.
A Gunderson never runs.
As I debated ignoring Dad’s phantom words of wisdom, Hope materialized by my side.
She looked worse than dog crap. Makeup didn’t mask her waxy complexion, and the thick black mascara accentuated the hollowness in her eyes. Why couldn’t Doc Canaday figure out what was wrong with her? “You sure you should be here, sis?”
“I’m sick of being at home. I want to have some fun and dance.”
A hairy head the size of a moose popped between us. “Did someone say dance?” Tubby Tidwell wrapped a flabby arm around each of our shoulders. “You’re in luck tonight, ladies, because ‘Tubby the Texas Two-Step Master’ is here. Who’s first?”
Hope giggled and leaned into him.
I resisted pulling out my flask right then.
Without warning the lights dimmed and the band launched into “Whiskey River.”
“Mind if I steal this gorgeous young thing for a while, Mercy?” Tubby yelled over the music.