Page 5 of For the First Time
I ran around my apartment, trying to make sure I had everything I’d need for an interview.I didn’t have a physical copy of my resumé or my application to Pink Lady Ranch, so I grabbed my laptop, as well as a notebook and pen, my phone, and made sure my good luck charm was in my purse.It was nothing but a small stuffed toy.
I’d been out eating one day, just a quick meal almost a year ago before I went to check on an omega in her pack’s new home.I’d been sitting in a booth meant for a pack, by myself, and a little girl had given me her toy.She’d thought I was lonely.She’d had a toy and her mom and her brother and her father, and I’d been by myself.It was just a small stuffed animal, the carabiner holding it was plastic, but it was a gift.I carried it with me wherever I went.
I slipped my shoes on by the door and then made my way out of the apartment, down the hall and down the three flights of stairs that were luckily covered to protect the residents from the elements.My car was parked all the way at the end of the lot, something I’d done purposefully.Since I hadn’t had a job to get to, I’d figured I’d allow other people the nearer spots.
The department store I had in mind was just a few minutes’ drive.I almost stopped at the little drink stand inside to get a tea, except I felt too nervous to take the time, as if the short line at the stand would be the deciding factor between being on time and late to the interview.
I grabbed a small wicker basket and filled it with little things.A small stuffed horse from the kids section, a set of two blueberry muffins, a bandana meant to be dipped in water and frozen to help keep someone cool, some cream as close to medical grade as any normal person can buy for chapped hands and lips, and since they were trying to find someone to help them in their home, I also added a little magnetic board to clip to a fridge with the days of the week on it so they could make requests for food or certain chores to be done.
Was that enough?
It would have to be.I sped up my walking to go to the ribbon section and bought a roll—no, two rolls.One with little ten-gallon hats on them and the other with apples.The latter was probably meant for educators, but it didn’t say ‘teacher appreciation’ and the Pink Lady Ranch had a small apple orchard.So I’d bought it.
My steps were quick to the car, and I settled everything into the passenger seat.I had to be quick in making it.I tore off tags, colored over prices I couldn’t rip off, and arranged everything in the basket.Then I got to work on the ribbons, wrapping them around the handle and then making them into bows.It was maybe a little too much with the bows?I would think about it on the way over.
Driving away from the department store, my hands began to sweat on the wheel.I had nearly an hour of a drive, and my nerves were somehow rising with each mile I passed.
I’d lived in the city my whole life.The only time I truly ever left the area was when I was working, following up with a pack.Even then, it was the outskirts of the city, still close enough that you could step outside and see the high rises.About halfway into the trip, the buildings of the city were gone.It was weird.
Pink Lady Ranch wasn’t full agricultural or farming land.According to the website, it had a small apple orchard where people could come and pick the fruit during the season, as well as horseback riding, a small boarding facility for dogs, a romantic bed and breakfast on the property, and it even sold some feed for small animals.It had a lot going on.They also had seasonal events like chicken eggs for sale, training sessions in the spring for starting a small at-home farm, classes in the winter about caring for your animals and gardens, and I was pretty sure I saw a section accepting volunteers and interns to work with the animals.
I wasn’t going to be employed by the ranch, but the owners.A pack that lived on the edge of the property.I knew two of the males’ names—Everett Wilder, since he was the one that handled the application and called me, and Franklyn Oaks who I’d be meeting with.I repeated the names out loud, so I didn’t mess them up.
They weren’t really cowboy names, although I doubted they were named into a profession.
Another ten minutes of driving and the road turned from a paved street, two lanes on either side with median space, into a two-way road, the lines sun bleached and hard to see.A sign on the side of the road boasted that the Pink Lady Ranch was nearing.
Out here, the road wasn’t very smooth.Despite the high speed limit, I found myself slowing down, careful of potholes and dips.Turning off the radio, which had already been low so I could focus on the impending dread of my interview, I focused on not popping a tire.It wasn’t a bad road, just not necessarily as smooth as inside the city.
Until five minutes later when the road itself seemed to just disappear and all that was left was dirt.The flattened path was obviously well-driven over, so I knew I was going the right way.Still, I slowed down even more.Weren’t you supposed to go slow over dirt so you didn’t blind anyone behind you in dust?I didn’t have anyone following me, but rules were rules.I was also pretty sure I was supposed to change the air venting in my car, only I refused to look down at all the buttons to change it.So I inhaled dirt?No big deal.It was dirt.
Another sign pointed in the direction of Pink Lady Ranch and I ignored it, following the directions that should lead me to their private home, not the visitor’s center.
The house finally came into view, along with a wooden fence announcing private property.Several signs indicated that this was not part of Pink Lady Ranch and told people to turn around.
I must have been so enamored with taking in the house that I stopped paying attention to the dirt road.The car dipped sideways, the front right wheel obviously falling into some sort of hole, and then the car stopped moving.
My heart slammed against my chest at the abrupt stop as if the organ didn’t know the difference between a wheel getting stuck and my life being in immediate danger.I blamed part of that on the fact that I’d been distracted with the house.I tried to gently press on the gas, seeing if I could drive myself out of the hole.I felt how crooked my car was because of it, so I’d doubted it.And I was right.I didn’t move.
Just in case, I tried backing up.That didn’t work, either.Not a surprise, really.
The car roared—or made whatever demanding sound it was that cars made—in disapproval.
Well, I didn’t have the time to fix the issue.I was only ten minutes early to my interview.That wasn’t enough time to call out a tow truck, even if I did schedule for them to come out in an hour or two.I’d just have to do that afterward.
Turning on my hazards, I then turned off the car.Usually, I would’ve popped the trunk to ensure someone driving by didn’t mistake my car for having a driver but opening a door while this far into a desert seemed like an open invitation for bugs and little animals to make their way inside.I could handle a lot—a raging alpha, a scared omega, a pack in the midst of jealousy.Not bugs.
Grabbing my basket, I took my time walking up to the gate, unlatching it to let myself through, and then up toward the main house.It was all one story, but it wasn’t what anyone would’ve called small.Made of stone and wood, it was a testament to strength.A large, covered porch wrapped around the whole house, with a few rocking chairs spread out, a small outdoor table along the end, and even a swinging chair dangling from the wooden awning.A few hummingbird feeders were out as well.
The house looked comfy, like the type of place where people spent a lot of time rather than a place created for visitors.While most of the home was built in large dark grey stones, the other features were made from a dark wood, like the front door, the windows, and even the porch.Old style lanterns were set against the stones, the melted wax inside showing that they were used with real flames, and frequently.
I did my best to not look through the windows since the blinds were already opened, showing off the house’s innards.My slight heels thumped against the wooden floorboards, the sound loud in the quiet of this area despite being outside.The house sat on a clearing with a fence quite a distance away, protecting the private property from wanderers.It was all dirt, at least on this side of the house.An old truck was outside, hinting that someone was home.
Did I knock?My phone said I had eight minutes until my interview was to be expected.It would be rude to be too early.
Holding the basket in front of me, I simply waited, enjoying being under the shade of the porch.It was a hot day, making me wish I’d waited the extra few minutes in my car, with the air conditioning on.Carefully, I took off my overcoat, draping it over my forearm.I didn’t want to be sweating for the interview or I’d have to do another spritz of the descenter.
A few minutes later, I looked at my phone again.Five minutes until the interview.I would give it another minute or two so that I was early without being interruptive of their time.Just as I made the mental decision, my heart started to pound harder, the doubts creeping in.Maybe a basket was too weird.It’s something I would have done for an omega I was visiting when working with the OC, but this was a bonded omega.Was that inappropriate?Alphas didn’t tend to be jealous of betas, so I hadn’t considered how this might have appeared like a courting gift.It wasn’t.Omegas loved gifts.Heck, even I would’ve liked to receive it.
