Page 12 of Wannabe in Wyoming
She sighed heavily, dropped the phone on the counter, and ran her free hand through her hair. “Andrew Phelps is the slime ball I had the misfortune to marry a few years ago. I came home from work one day, happy to be out early for once, to find him doing his level best to fuck Mindy, my best friend, through our mattress. Yes. He was fucking my best friend. In our bed. With no condom, I might add. Not to mention, anytime I ever managed to save some money he pissed it away gambling.”
“You’re fucking kiddin’ me.” He looked equal parts shocked and appalled.
“Wish I was. I kicked his ass out right then and filed for divorce the next day. That was two years ago. And this isn’t the first time he’s called me. I block the numbers he calls from, but he keeps getting new ones. I should just get a new phone number and be done with it.” Picking up the phone again, she hit the appropriate buttons on the screen to select the latest number he’d called her from and blocked it like all the others. “I wish he’d just leave me alone. I came here to start over, to have a life as far away from him and Philly as possible, and here he comes, fucking with me all over again.”
Jeremiah squeezed her arm gently. “Listen, I’m here. If he bothers you again, you let me know, and I’ll track him down and bury his body where it’ll never be found—Marty Olsen’s pig farm. Those things eat everything you toss in their sty and don’t leave a trace of body parts.” She snorted a laugh as he continued, “What? I saw it on the Discovery channel! A couple pigs can eat an entire human body, bones and all, in a matter of minutes, if they’re hungry enough. He’s a bastard and never deserved you anyway.”
That she agreed with. “I know. To be honest, our marriage was already falling apart by the time I caught him cheating, but it doesn’t excuse that he did it. My mother had just died, and I was really struggling, both emotionally and financially. He didn’t get the attention from me he thought he deserved.” She shrugged. “I’ve moved on, honestly.” Her thoughts immediately zinged to Nathan. Oh boy, had she ever moved on. “One of these days he’ll get bored and stop. I mean, it’s not like he’s going to come to the middle of nowhere Wyoming to see me, right?”
“But if he does, I’ve got Marty on my phone’s speed dial.” Putting his arm around her shoulders, he tucked her into his side. “You’re a strong woman, Willow-girl. Don’t let a bastard like that get you down.”
“No worries about that. He doesn’t have power over me anymore.”
Chapter Ten
August 30
Dear PP Extraordinaire,
I hope you have a good day today. My day was half good, half shitty, but before I go down that road, let me tell you about where I am. I’ve taken to sitting outside on one of my porch swings when I write to you. If the weather is nice anyway—if not, I sit at the desk in my bedroom. Tonight is a gorgeous night. Warm but not too hot, and there’s a nice breeze coming through. I think it might rain later, because I can hear thunder pretty far away and see flashes of lighting in the distance. Do you like thunderstorms? I adore them in the summertime. The chickens are quiet this evening too, no doubt sensing the bad weather coming. Do you get thunderstorms where you are? I know it’s hot during the day and gets cold at night in the Middle East, but I admit I don’t know much else beyond that.
My friend Jeremiah just left—he took me target shooting today! Not only was it fun as hell, but I made that target my bitch! I don’t know if I’ll ever be totally comfortable with guns, but now I feel a measure of confidence handling them. My shoulder is a little sore from my father’s shotgun, and my right palm is pink and sore from the kick on the pistols I was firing, but Jeremiah said I did an awesome job. Who knew that a city girl from Philly would be wearing shit kickers and blasting a target with a 12-gauge shotgun? I sure as hell never imagined I would be that person.
After we finished up with my lesson, I cooked him dinner, and we had a great time laughing and getting to know each other better. Did I tell you he owns the neighboring ranch? He’s really nice. If I hadn’t met him, I don’t know what I would be doing right now. Probably running back to Philly with my tail between my legs.
Now, here I am, thinking about getting alpacas and raising chickens. Not to mention Fred and Ethel. If you miss horseback riding, maybe one day you can come see me, and we’ll go riding. The land here is so beautiful. I can see why the Lakota hold it so sacred. It IS sacred land. There’s something holy about sitting here on my porch and looking out across my property. Seeing the sage brush and grasses, smelling the wind and soil. I’m not a very religious person, but this place makes me feel like I’m on holy ground when I step outside. There’s a magic here that’s hard to put into words. I guess what I’m saying is that even though I didn’t know my father, I’m grateful to him. For giving me this place and making it possible for me to find myself here.
I was so sorry to read about the loss of your parents and sister. My heart breaks for you. After losing my mom, I know that kind of pain and wouldn’t wish it on anyone. I’m sure your family is very proud of the man you have become. I know I’m happy to call you my friend.
I’m glad you loved the photos and care package. I’ll have to send you another one soon. Any new requests? That coffee really is the best. It’s the only kind I drink. I was supporting veteran causes before I wrote to you, but now I have even more incentive to do so.
I will admit I blushed like a teenager when you said the other guys asked if I was single when you showed them my picture. The answer is yes and for good reason. I’ll explain, but I’m warning you, it’s not a great story. Speaking of pictures, before I forget to ask again, is that the only photo you have of yourself? Do you have any others where you’re not in uniform? Okay, that sounded like I was asking for naked pictures of you and now I’m blushing again. Since I don’t want to toss this letter in the trash and start from scratch to save myself from embarrassment, let me clarify—what I meant to ask is if you have a photo of you in civilian clothes.
Anyway, back to me being single. This isn’t something I talk about often, but there’s a safety in writing to you that I don’t feel when speaking otherwise. I was married before. I met Andrew six years ago. He was kind and handsome, seemed successful (seemed being the operative word here), and was interested in me. I realize now that I was more flattered by his attention than really in love with him, but sometimes emotions get the better of us, and like most people, I just wanted to be loved.
We dated for a year and when he proposed I said yes. For a while, things were good. Then when my mother got sick, and I devoted more and more time to caring for her, he started coming home later and later. Often, I was so tired from working and being a caretaker for Mom that I didn’t notice. Truthfully, after a while, I didn’t really care either. I was pulling double shifts to try and help Mom with her bills, so I didn’t have a lot of time left over for him or even myself at the end of the day.
I’m sure you’ve figured out where this is going. It reads like a cheesy Lifetime movie. I got out of work early one afternoon and I came home, thinking I would surprise him. Turns out I was the one in for a surprise. I was greeted by the sight of my husband and my (now former) best friend, Mindy, going at it like animals in our own damn bed.
I kicked them both out, filed for divorce, and bought a new bed the next day. Fast forward to today. During dinner this evening, I got a call from none other than Andrew. He was asking if I really did move to Wyoming and tried to give me his condolences about my father. The slimeball. Let’s just say, that conversation was brief, and I’ve blocked his number, yet again.
I was blindsided. Let me be clear. I do not in any way harbor feelings for that bastard. If I never saw or spoke to him again in my life it would be fine with me. He just keeps creeping back in, calling me up, and I don’t understand why. I wasn’t enough for him then, so what the fuck does he want with me now? No offense, but men can be such bastards sometimes.
So, if you’re curious why I’m cursing more, this is why. But I had a great afternoon with Jeremiah, (who offered to feed Andrew to Marty Olsen’s pigs if he ever shows up here—I haven’t met Marty yet, but I might have to some day), and now I’m sitting here, talking to you. Well, sort of. Even though I know you won’t get this letter for a week or two, it still feels like I’m having a full conversation with you. I can pretend that you’re here beside me on this swing. Sorry if that sounds a bit sappy, but I’m feeling a bit sappy today.
All right, I want to end this letter on a few high notes. Drunken Jenga night was a friggin’ BLAST! My head was pounding a bit the next day, but it was so worth it. Maddie is a sweetheart, and she really made me feel welcome in the group. I had them add my name to the list of rotating hosts, but everyone’s schedules are always so crazy, it might be a few months before I get a turn.
My garden is coming along really well. The tomatoes are in flower, and I hope that I’ll have some fresh ones soon. Or green ones. Fried green tomatoes are delicious—one of my favorite summertime treats. What are some of your favorite foods? Beside beef jerky of course. I’ve been thinking of trying my hand at making some. This is beef country, right? I found a few recipes online that look good, and if it comes out right, I’ll send you some to try.
The trip to the alpaca farm was AMAZING! They are so damn cute! The Brodericks, who own the place, were so nice and gave me the grand tour. They gave me all sorts of reading material and websites to look into and told me how I could start off slow with only a few head, a couple females and one male. Their operation is huge now, but they started small way back when. I even got to see the ranch hands shearing the fleece off a few alpacas. The fleece is then sold to companies and individuals to make yarn. Gail Broderick also spins some of it to make her own yarn. I learned how to take care of them, what to feed them, etc. Gail said if I had any more questions (even though I’d asked around a hundred of them already) to call her or shoot her an email. She’s going to check around and see if anyone has any secondhand equipment that might be for sale for me. Thankfully, I don’t need a whole lot beyond a barn, hay storage, corrals, and feeding equipment. They aren’t as much work as cattle can be. Again, she and her husband Mark were awesome. So, it looks like I really might do this! I’m so excited!
It’s getting late, and this letter is so long that I’m probably boring you. As always, I hope this finds you healthy and safe. Stay that way, okay? For me? The thought of something happening to you . . . I don’t even want to think about it.
Yours,
Willow
P.S. Fred and Ethel say hello, and he loves the celery tops just as much as the carrot tops.
