Page 3 of Snowed in with the Cowboy

I open the door to the tractor supply store and make my way through the throngs of people, tipping my head at a few, saying hello to some, and keeping my eyes off the other shit they have in the store. I’m a simple man. Frills and thrills don’t much excite me. The displays do nothing to sway my decision on needing another piece of equipment or lights that will make my skid steer more festive.

“Hey, Clay, what brings you into town?” Hank asks once I make it up to the clerk desk. He knows this is the last place I wanna be. The mountain is where I prefer. The solace, no one wanting or needing something out of me. Instead, I’m here getting shit I shouldn’t fuckin’ need yet.

“Hi, Hank. Same shit, different day. How’s it going?” I reply before we get down to brass tacks.

“Stayin’ busy, so I can’t complain.”

“I sure could. You all ever have problems with my side of the mountain and people plowing through guard rails, hitting the damn rock, or breaking down?” I’ve yet to ask Winston, mainly because I haven’t called him, and since he’s a realtor and busy as shit, I haven’t seen him either.

“Not that I know of, but the weather’s been a bitch this year. Usually, we don’t see this kind of weather until further on in the season.” Makes sense. Still don’t gotta like it.

“That’ll do it. I need a hydraulic filter, fluid, and hoses. I swear I’ve spent more time helping people out than I have working on my place.” Hank plugs whatever it is he needs to into the computer. Meanwhile, I’m hoping on a wing and a damn prayer the parts don’t have to be ordered. That’d set me back even further. I may have quit the breeding side for profit, but I’ve still got animals of my own: a couple of horses, five cows,two goats, and three chickens. Nothing like I had back in Texas. Of course, I was trying to make a living back then, too. Here in Alpha Mountain, I’m looking for a slower pace of life. I’m too damn tired, too damn ornery, and too damn old to be traipsing all over the country and getting my ass kicked because an animal doesn’t want to be loaded in a trailer.

Shit, that could still happen now, though it’s a hell of a lot less likely. My animals are just about domesticated with me being around them so much. One of my heifers can hear me opening the back door and rushes toward me, nudging at my hand until I give her the appropriate number of pets she wants. As for the chickens, well, they do whatever the hell they want. They have a coop they go in at night if they want; don’t have too much to worry about critters going after them. My girl, Nala, a Great Pyrenees, has been with me forever, and while Texas doesn’t have the cold weather Colorado does, at least where we lived, she had a place with air conditioning to cool down whenever needed. Then there’s the barn cat, Jasmine, who came with the house and has wrapped herself around me every chance she can get. Hell, she’s more like an inside cat than anything, even uses the dog door that’s really Nala’s.

“Got good news for you,” Hank says. My mind is in the damn clouds, where it shouldn’t be, except since I’m in town, I make a list of everything else I can get done.

“Yeah?”

“Yep, got everything you need in stock. Give me a minute. I’ll go grab everything, then ring you up and send you on your way.” Hank moves from his place on his stool, a paper in hand, and walks toward the back. I stay where I am, again going over everything I can get in town. There’s feed to stock up on, extra supplies for fencing, and salt blocks, and then a trip to the grocery store is in order. The list is never-ending.

“Here you go.” Hank places everything on the tabletop. This is going to cost a whack, but it’s needed if I’m going to have a new pasture for the animals to graze on come spring.

“Thanks again. Glad you had it in stock. The way the past couple of weeks have gone, I’d figure it’d be out of stock and on back order.”

“You better knock on some wood. Don’t be jinxing yourself now.” He’s not wrong, which is why I rap my knuckles on the counter. We go through the exchange of money, say our goodbyes, and then I head out the door.

My truck isn’t parked too far away, and I make my way toward it. Still won’t be able to drop off my parts and walk to my next place of business. Especially with all the damn supplies I’m going to need at the next store.

“Damn.” I pop open the tailgate, looking at the back and seeing all the shit I haven’t off-loaded from working in the pastures yesterday. I knew I should have grabbed the horse trailer on my way out. Now it looks like I’m gonna have to either head back up to the mountain or deal with putting everything on top and driving really fucking slowly. Seeing as how if I go home, I won’t be coming back, it looks like I’ll be driving like most of the Sunday drivers and piss off everyone on the way.

CHAPTER 3

Minnie

Imay not have wanted to make too many stops in Nebraska, but I sure can appreciate its beauty. The farmland, the sky, and the snow-covered areas. My experience wasn’t bad, not at all, but it did make me realize that December may be entirely too brutal for van life. I have a feeling January will be even worse, which means visiting anything in this state will have to happen another time. There’s no way I’d want to view everything from the inside of a car or hotel, and I just bet come summer or fall, it’ll be a totally different story. The ground will be lush and green, or the trees will be a nice burnt orange and red, leaves falling slowly. Yeah, another time when I’m able to go on another road trip. Too bad that’ll probably be no sooner than in ten years.

Hopefully, today is better than yesterday. I didn’t expect my dash to light up like a Christmas tree with a low tire pressure and a check engine light. Double homicide for sure when it comes to taking a long-distance road trip. It was probably a good thing they came on, though, because it made me pull over during the heaviest of snowfalls, and while Nebraska is known for this type of weather and the streets are kept fairly clean, at the end of the day, I’m still a novice behind the wheel when it comes to thewhite powdery stuff. I pulled off the highway and found the first available gas station with an awning to shield me from the wind as well as the cold stuff dropping from the sky rapidly.

Lennon saved my ass again. God, how I love my big sister. The basket of goodies she sent with me had a rechargeable air compressor that also works as a jumper cable of sorts. That meant while I aired up two of my tires, I was able to stay out of the weather. Well, somewhat. I’d like to say the low-pressure light on my dash was abnormal, but truth be told, even in Florida when there’s a drastic change in temperature, my car would do the same. After airing them up, I checked to make sure the light was off but also at the right number. Then, because I’m a glutton for punishment, I looked up what could make the check engine light come on when the van is practically brand new. Talk about a domino effect. It could literally have been anything. I checked under the hood; not like I knew what I was looking for, but it was worth a shot. All the hoses looked good, so walking around the van seemed to be the next viable option. And since I found nothing out of the ordinary, I was at a complete and total loss. Luckily, I happened to be at a gas station, so I went ahead and filled my tank up, and what a freaking surprise… when I opened the fuel tank thing, I saw the lid hanging on the plastic contraption to keep it from dropping on the ground.

All I could do was laugh at myself. How ridiculous, not thinking or being too wrapped inside my own head to screw the freaking cap on. I made sure after re-fueling that the cap was secured and then got back on the road. If I thought Missouri was cold, Nebraska said, ‘Hold my beer, let me show you the real deal.’

The wind kept whipping my van around, and the snow never let up, so I white-knuckled the steering wheel until I finally made it to the border of Nebraska and Colorado. Which was a good thing because after hightailing it the whole day, trying tobeat the intensity of the snow and sleet, this girl was tired. I put the name of my gym into the GPS, which meant I got to enjoy all the creature comforts. A hot shower was exactly what the doctor ordered. I scrubbed, shaved, buffed, then shampooed and conditioned my hair. The end result had me feeling like a brand-new woman. I slept like a baby even with the howling wind hitting my van all night.

“Hello, sister dear,” I answer my vibrating phone that’s lying next to my pillow. Lennon would yell at me until she was as red as a tomato. She’d tell me there’s a chance of getting the “c” word and to be more careful. Except that’s exactly what I was doing in case I needed to call for a rescue or to move in the heat of the moment.

“Hi, there, and aren’t you chipper this morning,” Lennie replies. She’s right. A solid night of sleep really helped relax me. My shoulders are no longer to my ears, and my muscles aren’t in a tight clench at the moment.

“I am, though yesterday was rough, rougher than I care to admit, but this way, I can head to Colorado, spend a few days before I continue to Wyoming.” I hit the speakerphone button, needing to stretch, which is already hard in the small area where my bed is located. I hop down and land on my feet, then go through a few of my daily routine stretches.

“That’s why I didn’t call or text very much. I saw where you were and checked the weather. Thank God you’re okay.” Lennon is in a constant state of worry when it comes to me. There’s a good reason for that. We’re the last family we have. She’s been through it all, so much, and even when I text her when I’m on the road and when I’m tucked in for the night, Lennie still hasn’t cut the proverbial apron strings; you’ll never see me calling her out on it, though.

“Well, that wasn’t even the worst of it. I forgot to screw the fuel cap back on, so the van threw a code.” She lets out a heartylaugh. I join her. There’s no way not to after the fact. “How many times have you reminded me what will happen? I even did this to your car not long ago.” We can laugh now, but when I came home in a tizzy after borrowing her car, neither of us so much as smiled. Lennon, the independent penny pincher, took matters into her own hands. She fine-tooth combed the car until she had an ah-ha moment.

“Some things will never change. Gosh, I love you, Minnie. Never change.” I snort. There’s no way I’ll be able to. What you see is what you get—the good, the bad, and the ugly. Though, the only time I feel ugly on the outside is when I’m bawling over those commercials that show animals in need of help. Yep, those get me down to my gut and have me leaking tears, chest heaving, ready to give them my whole paycheck. Lennon witnessed it start to happen one day and immediately turned the television off, told me there was no way I’d be donating my bank account, and encouraged me to volunteer instead. Which is what I do on my days off now: walking the dogs, petting the cats, and cleaning up whatever I can to help. It’s the perfect solution since my then rental house wouldn’t let me adopt a pet. My next place is definitely going to have a different policy.

“You either, yeah,” I state more than ask. “Speaking of, are you doing okay?” We’ve yet to have an in-depth conversation since I’ve been on the road, and with her going through all kinds of rollercoasters of emotions, she has to be spinning.

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