Page 21 of Chasing the Wild
My heart is thudding triple time inside my chest. There’s got to be a catch here somewhere, but I can’t go looking a gift horse in the mouth.
His jaw tics. “Didn’t think so.”
With that, he stomps out of the kitchen, and I trail after him like an obedient puppy.
Colt Wilder is short-tempered,growly, and impossible to please.
No wonder he can’t find any fucking help to work this ranch.
After spending a whole day trying to make myself useful, acting as his personal shadow in an effort to learn the ropes around here, I’ve discovered that it’s like trying to read a book while the cover and pages are glued together.
Everything I need to know that would allow me to be more helpful is locked away behind a surly demeanor and a smattering of occasional grunts.
But even though I spend most of the day biting my tongue, I can’t help but feel overwhelmed with the beauty of this place. The air is crisp and biting, with a thick layer of soft snow covering the ranch several feet deep in places.
I’m guessing there are more tasks to do today than usual, with the snowfall overnight, including things like shoveling the yard, salting it, and clearing pathways between the house and the stables.
The horses need fed and watered and I’m secretly already in love with a glossy black mare, Winnie, who has a white spot over one flank. She searched my jacket pockets with nibbling, velvetylips as soon as I came near her stall, and I make a mental note to bring treats on my return visits.
From what I understand, I’ll be spending a lot of time here looking after the twenty or so horses. They’re the lifeblood of the ranch. Providing transport to the places up here that vehicles can’t reach, along with herding cattle. Some are mostly used when tourists come during summer to go on treks and trail rides around the property. Apparently, that is what occupies a big portion of Colt’s time over the warmer months.
I’m also going to be somewhat of an odd-job laborer, cook, cleaner, and basically all-round ranch-bitch.
I honestly can’t stop grinning to myself like I’ve won the lottery. If I’m getting my vet training hours ticked off, and I’m getting paid the equivalent of what I’d earn serving drinks in a scummy strip joint at one in the morning, I’ll happily shovel manure all night long.
Sweat clings to my lower back beneath the multiple layers safeguarding me against the cold. Shirt, sweater, heavy jacket, the thickest and warmest items I own bundle me up to keep toasty while working outside. It’s late in the day, and we’ve barely stopped. I’ve shoveled snow, hay, horse shit, and now we’re heading down to some of the further paddocks to feed out the cattle.
Colt drives us down there in his truck, with the powdery snow apparently not too thick to prevent taking his giant vehicle.
The wide black heads and matching noses of the cattle all turn to greet us as we draw close to the gate, and I can see their hot breath on the crisp afternoon air, along with the steam rising off their backs. Their fluffy ear tips are speckled with white flakes, and a few of them let out bellows, looking mighty interested in what we have to offer.
They’ve got snow piled on top of their thick coats, a great sign that this herd is in optimal condition.
“Feed’s over there. I’ll usually handle this on my own, but it doesn't hurt for you to know the drill.” Colt jumps out of the truck and goes about firing up the tractor and loading a giant round bale from the stack lined up outside the fence.
When I see him start to head toward their paddock with the feed, I head over ahead of the machine and unlatch the gate. The cows are eager to see him and it makes me smile. He obviously doesn’t have a huge herd here, so I wonder if he’s got more of a farm-to-table type operation going on. Maybe organic? This place certainly isn’t massive in comparison to the sizable ranches in other parts of the country.
I lean on the wooden rail, with clouds of white forming on each breath, as he feeds out the stock in a wide arc until the bale has been distributed across the snow. The hay is still tinged with green on the inside and creates a stark contrast against the thick coat of white covering their paddock. The animals dig in quickly, enjoying having something to eat until a time when there’s enough snow melt for their grazing pasture to be exposed once more.
The sight of Devil’s Peak sits prominent in the backdrop and as I take a deep inhale through my nose, for just a moment I feel like this might actually work out ok.
Colt parks up the tractor and trailer unit. I’m expecting us to carry on our way, but as he walks toward where I’m making my way back to the cab of the truck, he’s got a thundercloud hanging over his expression.
My stomach does a little flip, but not in a good way. This is anoh, shit, what did I do wrongkind of feeling.
“Latch the fucking gate properly. If you’re going to be here, you need to be attentive, or there’s going to be hell to pay if you leave a gate open and my cattle escape during the night.”
I’m standing beside the cab with one hand on the door handle, stunned at his outburst.
Now I’m the puppy who’s just been spanked and has no idea what for.
With my heart in the back of my throat, I make my way on numb feet over to the gate. Something as simple as being told off about a latch shouldn’t make me embarrassed, because I’ve been on plenty of rural properties. I know the basics and I’m not stupid. It’s ranch-life and livestock 101.Always shut a gate behind youkind of common sense.
I reach the offending gate and see that he’s right, of course the grumpy prick is. Straight away it’s clear the latch hasn’t caught properly, even though I was certain it had done so. It’s hanging a little loose, and all it would take is for a curious beast to nudge against it, and the thing would pop open. Only, it’s not my fault because the damn gate is heavy, and I see now how it has gotten caught in the snow and pugged up mud turned to ice on the ground. Under normal circumstances, I’m sure it closes easily, but in this weather, it’s clearly got a trick to it—one that I don’t know because I’ve been here all of five minutes.
Silently, I wrestle with the gate and curse Colton Wilder under my breath until the latch finally slots firmly in position.
Once I’ve triple-checked the damn thing, I stomp my way back to the idling truck, doing my best to rein in my desire to breathe fire all over the insanely hot, brooding cowboy behind the wheel. I need to focus on being a good worker and keep my eyes on the task at hand.
