Page 8 of Wannabe in Wyoming

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I also got a kick out of the 4H club’s competitions for best cow, chicken, and pig (not the ones on the spits). Too bad I’m too old to enter one of my chickens to win a blue ribbon—you had to be under sixteen.

My neighbor, Jeremiah, introduced me to some people, most of whom are all from their late-twenties to their mid-forties. One of them, Maddie, who’s my age, invited me to a wine & Jenga girl’s night at her house this weekend. That should be an interesting combo! The others were all really nice too, even though some other people in town still gave me the evil eye. I can’t figure out if it’s because of who my father was or if it’s because I’m an outsider with pink hair, tattoos, and a tiny nose stud. Either way, I’m not going to let them bother me.

I have a new addition to the ranch since I last wrote to you—a kitten I’ve named Ethel (I figured that was a good name since my “dog” is named Fred). Someone was giving away their cat’s kittens when I went to the store the other day, and this little gray one wormed her way into my heart. (Her picture is included too—did I mention I got a little crazy with the new camera?) I’ve never had a cat before, or a dog for that matter, but always wanted one. Jeremiah said it’s good to have one here because she’ll keep the field mice and other rodents away. Surprisingly, or maybe not, Fred doesn’t seem to be afraid of her. There was a little hesitancy when they first met on the back porch, but now they seem to be fine with each other. Ethel wants to play, but Fred is more interested in getting his daily seeds into his cheeks to carry them back to his family. Oh, and I finally followed him to his home, and I counted ten others in his little group or coterie as it’s called (thank you again, Google). They didn’t seem as trusting as Fred, so I stayed far enough away so I wouldn’t scare them.

You’ll be happy to hear I started a garden (thanks to your question). I’m growing green beans, zucchini, cherry tomatoes, carrots, and green peppers. I didn’t go crazy planting a huge amount of each one, since it’s only me here and it was a little late in the season to start them. Next year, I’ll start earlier.

I’ve done a LOT of research on animals for the ranch, and I think I’m going to raise alpacas. There’s an alpaca ranch about an hour from me, and I emailed them through their website and asked if I could go visit and talk to them about it. They were really nice, and I have an appointment with them set up for next week. I’ll tell you all about it in my next letter.

Oh, one more update and then I’ll let you go. I start horseback riding lessons next week too! One of the women I met at the bbq has a horse ranch and gives lessons. I figure if I’m going to be a rancher, I need to learn to ride a horse, right? Do you know how to ride one?

Well, I guess that catches you up on everything happening in Wyoming. Looking forward to your next letter. I’m counting the days until you’re back on US soil. Stay safe.

Yours truly,

Wannabe

P.S. I am NOT keeping any sort of tally, Nathan. The things I sent are a gift—accept it with good grace. I don’t want to hear another word about you “paying me back.” As far as I’m concerned, we’re square. You’re fighting for our country, for our freedoms, and the safety of the men beside you. A box of goodies is the least I can do. Understand?

* * *

Willow tuckedthe letter to Nathan into its envelope before sealing it inside the care package she had all set to go out with the mail in the morning. Sitting at her desk by the window in her bedroom, she looked out over the fields. The blinking glow of lighting bugs appeared as dusk settled, in even greater numbers than there’d been a month ago. Fall would be approaching before she knew it though, and she’d been warned that winter came early there, and seemingly all at once. The picture Nathan had sent her was propped against the growing stack of letters from him. Picking it up, she studied it closer, as she’d already done hundreds of times. If she wasn’t careful the edges were going to start to wear.

He was handsome, incredibly so. It was a photo of him from the knees up but still close enough she could make out his facial features—those not hidden by his helmet anyway. He wore camo and cradled some kind of rifle in his arms. A thigh holster held another gun. She didn’t know much about guns, including how to tell one caliber weapon from another, but Jeremiah was taking her shooting soon, deeming it a basic skill she needed to have, which she agreed with. While she was nervous, he was obviously very comfortable with them, considering he often openly carried a handgun on his right hip, which was legal in Wyoming.

In the photo, Nathan was standing between a pair of Humvees, which gave her an idea of how tall he was. Even under his layers of clothing and armor, his strong build was apparent. A sharp jaw was lightly dusted with dark stubble. She was guessing his hair was equally dark, but none showed from under his helmet. Did he keep it buzzed short or shaved completely? She wanted to ask him to send her a more casual picture, one where he wore civilian clothes and looked relaxed, not so tense and gruff.

His eyes were what grabbed her attention the most. His gaze was piercing, boring into hers even through the inanimate photograph. She couldn’t make out their color. It was hard to admit it to herself, but she kept dreaming about him, his big, calloused hands cradling her face as he devoured her mouth. He wasn’t smiling in the photo, but even in its indifferent state, his mouth looked sexy as hell. Would he kiss her roughly and hard or softly and sweet? A bit of both? Light bites and slow drags of his tongue along her lips?

Her face heated at the thought. She patted her cheeks, grateful there was no one around to see her blushing like a schoolgirl fantasizing about a cute boy in her class. Though there was nothing boyish about Nathan, not in his posture, his profession, or his attitude. He was all man. She shivered. They didn’t have men like him in Philly, that was for damn sure—at least not that she’d ever run into. These corn-fed mid-west boys were something special.

She could kick herself for sending so many pictures. The box was already sealed, and she wasn’t going to waste the tape by reopening it now. Would he like them? Was she being too forward, sending shots of her tattoos the way she did? What if he thought she was weird and stopped writing her? Why did that thought sink a stone of disappointment into her belly? She knew she’d be spending the next couple weeks, tied in knots of nerves, waiting for his reaction.

“Don’t be an idiot. He’s writing you because no one else does. He writes back for something to do, not because he has any sort of feelings for you. No doubt a man like him has women throwing themselves at him every chance they can get. Sure, he’s a nice guy and sweet, and seems to care, but people are very different on paper than they are in person. And now you’re talking to yourself like a lunatic.”

Shaking her head, she tried to force her thoughts to her upcoming riding lesson and the renovations she was still dealing with. Nothing good could come from pining after Nathan. He was half a world away and even when he was back on US soil, she’d probably never hear from him again. She highly doubted he’d want anything to do with her in a romantic way. Her ex-husband certainly had preferred the company of other women to her. Logically, she knew that wasn’t her fault, but doubts and insecurities still lingered.

Speaking of her ex-husband, her phone vibrated, showing yet another incoming call from a Philadelphia area code. She let it go to voicemail, knowing it was probably him again. He’d been trying to get in touch with her for the past week, calling from different numbers which she blocked without remorse. When the phone signaled the person had left a voicemail, she raised it to her ear, and listened to the message, just in case it wasn’t him.

“Willow, baby, it’s Andrew. Is it really true? Did you inherit a ranch in Wyoming? I’ve been trying to get ahold of you. When you wouldn’t answer your phone or call me back, I went to your apartment and your landlady said you’d moved out. She had this address for some hick town called Antelope Rock to forward your mail and security deposit to. Where the fuck is that? Call me back, please, baby. I miss you.”

Rolling her eyes, she deleted the message, blocked the number, and made a mental note to call her former landlady tomorrow and remind her not to give her personal information out to anyone. Shuddering, she wished she could block Andrew from her life as easily as she did his number, but like a swarm of mosquitoes, he kept bugging the hell out of her. Marrying that man had been such a huge goddamn mistake. Granted, he hadn’t turned into an asshole until after they’d been married a few months, so it wasn’t like she had any warning things would go downhill so fast. Andrew had done a good job of hiding his gambling and recreational drug use until after Willow had said, “I do.” She’d felt like such a fool when she’d finally found out.

She hadn’t dated since her divorce, beyond meeting someone for drinks a few times, being too gun-shy to commit to anything more since the fiasco that’d been Hurricane Andrew. None of those men had ever made it past her front door, and now that she thought about it, she realized she hadn’t even been kissed in years. How long did one have to go without sex to be an honorary virgin?

Even as she prepared for bed and turned off the light, her mind kept unwillingly shifting back to Nathan. He was already beginning to haunt her dreams, and now it seemed he was going to star in her waking thoughts as well. She was determined to keep her romantic notions to herself though, chalking them up to going too long without sex and nothing more. Of course, the first guy in years that treated her with respect and care was going to lead to a crush. It was only normal.

Right?

Chapter Eight

August 13

Dear Wannabe,

Thanks so much for the care package! Everything you included is greatly appreciated. I’m sitting here with the best cup of coffee I’ve had in ages. I love that you got a brand that’s veteran owned. It was a tough decision which flavor to have, but I went with the dark roast since it’s an eye-opener. I didn’t get much sleep last night. There was stuff going down a few klicks (which is short for kilometers) away from the base, and we saw some action. No casualties on our side, which is always a good thing. Can’t tell you much about it, just that I’m glad it’s over and we’re all in one piece.

As for your P.S. in the last letter, yes, ma’am, whatever you say, ma’am! I’ll accept your care package in good grace as ordered. On one condition—you accept this bracelet I got for you. The local kids make them. I try to give them candy when I have it, but buying from them is better sometimes. I know the little boy I bought it from will eat today. I hope you like it.