Page 20 of Roughing It with the Rancher

She chuckles. “Alright, then, you explain away your bad luck.”

“Bad land, bad water, lack of foresight. You know, when my ancestors settled out here, they actually believed if they plowed the land, it would make it rain? Have you ever heard anything so cockamamie in your whole life?”

“I know about that, coming from Dust Bowl country.”

“That you do. But obviously, they couldn’t have been more wrong, and it’s led to more suffering than progress. At least for the Gunners,” I lament bitterly.

“I imagine you also have federal regulations against you, all sorts of environmental legislation, water rights issues, climate change, wildfires … The West’s land wars are called that for a reason.”

“All of the above. Kind of like a perfect storm of events. Although the cattle deaths were really the icing on the cake.”

“Sounds like we need each other more than we realize,” the Okie says absentmindedly, looking out at the passing landscape.

Her words put a hunger in me that I can’t name. “That we do, Angel.”

Chapter Nine

ESMERALDA

Sounds like we need each other more than we realize. Did I really just say that to Reese Gunner?

I shake my head, pulling myself out of my reverie. “I mean, we need each other’s wealth.”

“I know what you meant.” Reese winks, the corners of his mouth turning down.

We drive in near silence, accompanied by Johnny Cash’s “Ring of Fire” and the incessant roar of gravel beneath the Cadillac’s tires, traveling one-third of the speed we did on Route 14. Reese slows at another turn, the road more torn up in this direction as he pumps the brakes, taking it easy. It feels like we’re riding on the Cadillac’s original shocks.

At the ranch house, Reese parks, grinning at me as he rounds the Caddy. “I have something I absolutely have to show you before we unload the car or head inside.”

Opening my door, he offers his hand, pulling me impatiently to my feet. “Come on,” he orders, striding towards a massive, dilapidated structure. “This is the biggest, oldest barn on the property. It’s hell of sketchy at this point, thanks to year upon year of weather damage and decay. Expect wild animals andkeep an eye out for impending structural failures. All it’ll take is a right-leaning wind to bring the whole thing down.”

“Not sure I want to go in there,” I declare, crossing my arms as we stand in front of the weathered, gray wooden barn that towers over us despite a distinctive, ominous lean.

“Oh, and watch your step. Last thing you need is a rusty nail through one of your pretty feet. Are you up to date on your tetanus shots?”

I pause, trying to remember but deciding I must be. “Of course.”

Reese approaches the sagging front doors, forcing one back enough for me to shimmy through. Musty, motionless air greets me, illuminated by thick slivers of afternoon sunlight.

“You okay?” he asks. I can hear him struggling to squeeze through the same thin passage.

“As long as this place isn’t filled with hantavirus or something.” I sneeze. I’m going to need an allergy pill after this.

He bursts into the barn behind me, stumbling over me due to his momentum. The wind is knocked out of me as I step forward, about to fall to my knees, except he wraps his big, strong arms around me, squeezing me tightly against his hard frame.

“You still okay?”

“Yeah,” I squeak, feeling far more okay than I care to admit, locked in his safe, secure embrace.

“What in the hell were you doing so close to the door? I nearly ran you over, Angel.” His voice sounds scolding, but he chuckles at the end, holding me even closer. I should pull away, wiggle out of his grip. But the feel of his bare inner arms on my naked outer arms is too delectable to resist. He nuzzles my neck, kissing my cheek tenderly and crooning, “Glad I didn’t smoosh you. Now, why don’t you let me lead? Watch your step.”

Why I feel disappointed by his suggestion and the loosening of his hold, I don’t know. But curiosity overtakes everything asI press back against a fallen overhead beam, letting him pass. He ducks beneath a mound of precariously balanced, wooden debris, and I follow closely, scared to let him out of my sight. Before each step, I scan the ground nervously for rusty nails and other nasty sharp objects.

“Better keep an eye out for rattlers, too,” Reese adds, moving slowly and strategically through the tumult of wood, straw, and old junk.

“Great,” I frown. “You have rattlesnakes out here, too?”

“Nevada has six species of rattlesnakes, to be exact. The most likely around here would be the Great Basin Rattlesnake. Deadly as fuck, so don’t get bit.”

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