Page 9 of Wannabe in Wyoming
I LOVED all the photos—they definitely made me homesick for the good ol’ USA. The guys in my platoon made me pass them around. I might have growled a bit when a few of them asked me if you were single (sorry, not sorry). Your tattoos are awesome—I absolutely love them—although now I feel a bit like a slacker in that department. I’ll have to add some more ink when I get home. Maybe you could give me some ideas on what I should get.
It looks like you had a great time at the parade and bbq, and I got a better idea of what the town and your property look like from the photos. As I suspected, Antelope Rock (I assume that’s the name, since it was on the big banner hanging across the street above the parade) is a lot like the one I grew up in—Foxborough, Colorado. I haven’t been back there in years, so I loved seeing something similar to it.
I got a kick out of the pictures of Fred and Ethel—I know some people have prairie dogs as pets, but I’ve never heard of a wild one being that friendly before, especially with a cat around. I hope they stay friends as Ethel gets bigger.
As for horses, yeah, I know how to ride them. My friend’s family (the one I went camping with) had a bunch of them. They bred them, gave horseback riding lessons, and boarded them for people who needed it. It’s been ages since I’ve been on one, and I really miss it. If you’re sore from the lessons, get some arnica gel. It’ll help with the aching muscles.
I owe you the answers to a few questions that I skipped over last time. It’s kind of hard to write about—or even talk about. My folks and my younger sister were killed in a car accident nine years ago while I was deployed. Shannon was seventeen, a senior in high school, and my only sibling. They’d taken a day trip to check out Colorado State University—it was one of the schools she was interested in going to. On their way back home, a tractor-trailer jack-knifed on the interstate during a freak hailstorm, setting off a chain reaction. Twenty-two cars and trucks ended in a massive pileup that killed eight people. From what I was told, my parents and Shannon died instantly when their car was sandwiched between two semis. The three-pointed Celtic knot I have over my heart, along with the date of their deaths, is in memory of them.
I’d never planned to be in the Army as long as I have been, but after losing my family, I had no one to go home to, so I re-upped the next few times I was asked to. My mom’s best friend, Melinda Jackson, and her family were a godsend during the aftermath. They helped arrange the wakes, funeral, and repast while I was flying home. A week after it was all over, I couldn’t stand being in the house I’d lived in for most of my life all by myself, so I got back on a plane to rejoin my platoon. The Jacksons packed up the house for me, sold what I told them to, and put the rest in storage for me, then put the house on the market. My dad’s lawyer and accountant helped out too, and I was able to handle a lot of the paperwork over the internet. It took a heavy load off my mind when I was back over on this side of the world. I honestly wouldn’t have been up to doing all that, even with their help. I threw myself into work because I didn’t know what else to do without my family. Nine years later, all that stuff is still in storage waiting for me. I have a few pictures of them at my place off-base in the States, and one of all of us that I carry over here. I know there are so many memories in that storage unit—maybe after I’m discharged, I’ll find the courage to finally go through everything.
You would’ve liked my sister. Shannon was one of those people who made friends with everyone she met. She’d walk into a room and bring joy and laughter with her. She wanted to be an elementary school teacher because she’d loved her summer job as a camp counselor. She was great with kids. I always thought she’d grow up and give me a dozen nieces and nephews someday, but it wasn’t meant to be.
My folks were great people too. They gave us a loving, happy, and stable home. I miss them so much, and there are mornings, when I’m in that foggy state between sleep and consciousness, that I think they’re still alive. But then it hits me full force that they’re gone, and I grieve all over again. Anyone who ever says the pain of losing a loved one goes away is lying or they truly don’t get it. The pain is always there—we just have to learn to live with it.
All right, that’s enough sadness for one letter. Tell me, how did the drunken Jenga night go? How’s the garden doing? And fill me in on how things went with the visit to the alpaca farm. Are you still interested in raising them?
Looking forward to your next letter. I was never one to get excited about mail call, since I rarely get anything, but you’ve changed that. Thank you, Willow. You’ve given me something to smile about, and some things to think about other than how much time I have left in this crappy sandbox. You’ll never know how much you’ve brightened my world with your letters. Maybe when I’m stateside again, I can come to Wyoming and we could meet, that is, if you’re okay with that.
Until next time . . .
Yours affectionately,
Nathan
Chapter Nine
Willow foldedthe letter carefully and added it to the stack with the others. She would write back a little later tonight after she got her thoughts and feelings back under control. Her heart broke for him as she’d read about his family. Her mother’s death had been difficult, but she couldn’t imagine what Nathan had gone through, losing both parents and his sister all in the same instant.
Her mind shifted to other parts of his letter. He wanted to meet her? She couldn’t believe it. And he was growling at his buddies who were asking about her? Was she reading too much into it? She didn’t know, but maybe she’d be finding out someday.
For now, she needed to get ready for her shooting lesson with Jeremiah. He’d told her to wear comfortable clothes and a hat. Well, comfortable described all her clothes, because who wanted to wear things that weren’t?
Going downstairs, she opened the hall closet and grabbed the ball cap she’d noticed one day on the top shelf. She shook it out and looked at the patch above the brim. She was surprised to see it was the Philadelphia Flyers logo. Her father had been a hockey fan? Being from Philly, it was hard to escape the constant bombardment of sports teams from the city, and while she didn’t follow the sport, she’d recognized the team’s logo immediately. The cap’s bill was perfectly curved to protect her eyes, and the sweatband was worn from years of use. It was ragged, but well-loved. Settling it on her head, she stepped out onto the porch to wait on the swing for Jeremiah.
Not even five minutes passed before her neighbor’s massive red pickup truck came rolling down her drive, kicking up dust in its wake. Walking down the steps to greet him, she tried to disguise her nerves. Knowing she needed to learn to shoot was one thing, actually doing it was another. The main thing pushing her to follow through with the lessons was the fact she’d spotted a rattlesnake near her mailbox the other day, and it’d scared the crap out of her. Actually, she’d heard it first before seeing it. In a panic, she’d run back into the house and called Jeremiah. Of course, by the time he’d gotten there, the reptile had been long gone. Thankfully, she hadn’t seen it since, but she now carried a spade shovel whenever she went to get her mail. She didn’t want to be some damsel in distress that had to run to her best friend every time something slithered by around here.
“Hey, Jeremiah,” she greeted him as he climbed from the truck. Smiling, he gave her a big hug. As they’d gotten to know each other better, she’d discovered he was a hugger in a genial way. There was nothing sexual about his embraces, just warmth and comfort.
He squeezed her tightly and lifted her clear off her feet. “There’s my Willow-girl! How are ya this fine day? Ready to sling some lead?”
“People actually say that?” she questioned, laughing at his antics. She was so glad she’d met him because he was turning into a close friend—something she hadn’t had in a long time.
“No, not really, but it sounds good, don’t it?” Keeping an arm across her shoulders, he led her to his truck. “Now, seeing as you’re a gun virgin, I brought a couple different choices for you, plus we’ll take that nice Mossberg you got by your door.” Releasing her, he opened the crew cab door of his big rig and waved her forward. “I brought my two-twenty-three hunting rifle, two pistols, and both a pump action and double barrel shotguns. A well-rounded education is ideal, yeah?”
“That’s an awful lot of firepower, Jeremiah.” She didn’t want to admit to him that guns intimidated her. She was a strong and independent woman, right? She was living in the wilds of Wyoming, where guns were commonplace. Shit, most trucks in Antelope Rock had gun racks mounted on the back windows.
“It’s good to be familiar with different types, so even if you’re around one that you’ve never fired before, you’ll know the basics and your way around them. I can tell you’re a bit intimidated, but don’t be. Ain’t nothing to it.”
She wasn’t sure that was true, but she was willing to give it a try. “If you say so. Let me go get the shotgun from inside, and we’ll get going. I don’t have shells or bullets or whatever it uses though.”
“Don’t worry about that—I brought plenty.”
Willow jogged back to the house and returned with the heavy shotgun, holding it awkwardly. She had enough common sense to keep the barrel pointed at the ground, but she didn’t have a clue if it was loaded or how to check.
“Here, take this. I don’t know if it’s loaded or where the safety is.”
A guffaw erupted from him as he took the weapon from her and checked to see if it was loaded, which it was. She should have known, since it made sense if her father had kept the shotgun in the house for protection. “Willow, my girl, shotguns don’t have a safety. You’ve watched too many movies.”
