Page 2 of Wrangling Nash

He made a slow nod, tipping his cowboy hat as he continued to stare at me with a mixture of curiosity and amusement.

Heading to my small Honda CRV, I tossed the bag next to my suitcase in the back and headed down the windy road. My GPS said there were only five miles to go until I reached my grandfather's ranch, but the entrance was practically right across from the store I'd just exited. I had to remind myself that these old Texas ranches had extremely long driveways that could wrap for miles from the road, providing both privacy and a pain in the ass drive when you finally left.

I turned right off the road once I saw the small familiar sign nailed to an old piece of wood that floated in the slightest breeze, ‘Ashwood Ranch.’

It had been twenty years since I last set foot here, the last time being when I was only ten years old and had returned for my grandmother's funeral. The memory of the journey back then was hazy, but now, as I navigated the winding road, it felt longer and more twisted than I recalled. I carefully drove slowly over the gravel, mindful not to accelerate too much and risk kicking up rocks that could damage my car or obscure my view with a cloud of dust.

Around the second mile, I glanced in my rearview mirror and noticed a truck approaching from behind. As it got closer, I realized it looked just like the one I'd seen parked at the store I had just left, and it was now coming up fast.

What the hell?

I increased my speed, trying to go faster while still driving cautiously. However, the truck kept advancing until it practically hit my bumper. I glanced in the mirror again and noticed the unmistakable piercing green eyes and dark blonde shaggy hair of the stranger I’d just met.

Shit.

I started to panic, and my palms began to sweat. My GPS chirped at me that reception had been lost, and I began worrying if I didn’t make it to my grandfather’s place soon, this ax murderer was going to run me off the road and kill me before I could explain to Rig Cameron what was going on.

I knew the ranch had to be close and had a feeling I was about 1 mile out, but the windy road concealed the home from my vision. Suddenly, the imposing truck veered off the road, passed me in a cloud of dust and then kept driving again at full speed.

What the hell?

I continued driving at my slower pace, the ranch finally coming into view where I noticed the big red truck was already parked and the handsome stranger was outside of it, leaning up against the door. I pulled up cautiously and then hopped out, determined to confront my stalker.

“Who the hell are you, and why are you following me?” I demanded; my arms crossed.

He smirked down at me, which only fueled my anger.

“I think I should be the one asking questions. Who are you?” he asked.

Just then, a familiar face I’d seen two weeks earlier exited my grandfather’s home.

“Nash, what the hell are you doing?” he demanded, yelling at the handsome stranger still leaning up against his car.

Nash?

“Dad, this city slicker seems to be lost and found her way to Clarence’s ranch. I figured I’d warn her before you brought out the hounds and the shotgun.” He said, pointing his thumb at me.

Dad?

Rig’s eyes shifted to me as he observed what I was wearing, and suddenly I became very self-conscious of my attire.

It was mid-July in Texas and well over 100 degrees still, even though it was approaching evening, but both Rig and Nash were dressed in jeans, long sleeved button ups and cowboy hats.

“That sure is a city slicker, son, but that city slicker is Clarence’s granddaughter and our new ranch hand, Jovie,” he said grinning. “Come on inside, Jovie, and let me give you the grand tour where you’ll be living and working for the next year.”

Chapter 2: Jovie

Two weeks earlier…

“Clarence Ashwood was the proud owner and operator of his ranch in Lonestar Junction, Texas, for almost 50 years. A husband to his late wife Iris, a son, a father to his only child, Marianne, and a grandfather to his two adored granddaughters, Stevie, and Jovie Vector. He’ll be greatly missed, but we know the legacy he’s left behind will carry on into generations to come,” the funeral officiator spoke, as I dabbed at my eyes and cast a glance at my mother. She sat stoically, a strong reminder of how she had been at my father’s unexpected funeral twenty years ago.

My sister Stevie reached for my hand, squeezed it, and offered a reassuring smile.

"Folks, Clarence wished to be laid to rest on his ranch, where he shared 40 years of life with his beloved Iris. As there is no body present today, if you wish to stay, the family has arranged some light refreshments and an opportunity for you to offer your condolences."

Stevie and I stood as the rest of the funeral attendees filed into the back of the church where we had set refreshments up prior to the start of the day.

“Hey, Stevie, I’m going to run to the restroom to fix my makeup,” I called to my sister, who nodded and continued to walk ahead.

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