Page 8 of Roughing It with the Rancher (Love Along Route 14 #11)

Chapter Eight

REESE

A fter staking the Cadillac in front of the Heirloom Rose’s doors until the cashier rushes out with my winnings in conspicuous bags, I head straight for the bank.

Holding the money like this has my stress levels through the roof.

Of course, a night without sleep, a new wife who hates me, and a car I hate back aren’t helping a thing.

And with my luck, God only knows what could get in the way of me settling my debts. Esmeralda accompanies me inside, carrying one of the bags and frowning. I can tell she’s torn about me dumping every bit of the winnings into the ranch. But I’m out of options.

After the bank visit, Esmeralda and I shuttle down Route 14, love music blaring.

“You won’t believe this,” the blonde says, playing with the dial.

‘Try me.”

“This is the only station we can get.” To prove it, she cycles through static with the occasional distant signal and garbled vocals.

“All we can get is the AM stations, huh? Spose that’s because this sucker came with the original radio. Now, isn’t that something?”

“And apparently, it’s down to this one stupid love song station. This is ridiculous.”

I chuckle. “It is fitting for newlyweds, you know.”

“Okay,” Esmeralda says, laying her Okie accent on thick. “I think you’re taking this whole fake marriage thing a little too seriously.”

“You can never take marriage too seriously, Treasure, especially if we’re aiming for that coveted silver anniversary.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

I chuckle darkly. “You have no idea.”

She crosses her arms, her face sullen.

“Wonder if we can get episodes of Coast to Coast AM on this thing? Remember George Noory? Try five-seventy.”

“I have no idea who you’re talking about,” she says as she dials through the static, stopping at the apparently nonexistent station. At least on this radio.

“That’s a shame,” I counter. “Because he’s your kind of guy, tin-foil-hat-wearing and the whole nine yards.”

“I am not a conspiracy theorist,” she retorts, raising her lovely fine-boned chin in protest. If she really knew how she makes my insides simmer and my heart think extravagant, romantic things …

I would love to share these sentiments, but something tells me they wouldn’t go over so well in her current state.

I hope there’ll come a time in the near future when she’s more receptive to tender overtures.

It’s just like me, on top of everything else, to fall hard for a woman who doesn’t want me.

Grandma always says bad luck has a way of following me.

Needing a change of conversation and mental chatter, I side-eye her, remarking, “I thought you’d be a whole lot more excited for a woman about to reach the destination she’s driven all the way from Oklahoma for. ”

“I am excited,” she counters, eyeing me with a pout.

“Could’ve fooled me. You’ve been downright morose ever since the wedding. It could hurt a cowboy’s heart if I didn’t have such a thick skin.”

She studies me suspiciously, her eyes narrowing.

Like she’s trying to figure out what game I’m playing.

If only she knew the feelings I keep hinting at aren’t fake or ulterior at all.

“I don’t want to hurt your feelings,” she says quickly.

“My mind’s just ruminating on the treasure.

And today … which is a lot to sort out no matter how you put it. ”

“Don’t I know it,” I agree. “But we maybe ought to count our blessings a little, too. At least, that’s what my grandma would suggest.”

Esmeralda shifts in her seat. “Does your grandmother live around here?”

“My no. She’s wiling away her golden years on the beaches of a planned community and golf course along Florida’s Emerald Coast.”

“Smart woman,” my angel remarks, her eyes gazing off into the expansive nothing of the Great Basin.

“Most people would prefer Florida over this,” I agree. “Although I’ve spent my whole life in Nevada, so it feels right to me. Do you want to know what the secret is for falling in love with the Silver State?”

“Sure,” she says, quirking her tantalizing cherry-stained lips.

“If you can fall in love with skies that stretch forever and big, rugged mountain ranges that do the same, then Nevada will beguile you.”

She takes another look, appraising the secluded, vast landscape stretching in all directions. Biting her full bottom lip, she says, “It does remind me a bit of the Great Plains, though punctuated by sagebrush instead of prairie grass.”

I nod as Luke Combs’s “Forever After All” serenades us, putting me in a loving kind of mood. Too bad my sexy companion appears less affected by the music.

Straining her eyes heavenward, as if she’s looking for the paradise she fell from, Esmeralda adds, “Clouds, too. If you like big fluffy white clouds in endless periwinkle skies. You can appreciate this lonely place.”

“One of the loneliest places in the world,” I confess, side-eyeing her. The sentiment hits me to the core, vulnerable and authentic. But she misses the moment completely, her mind still working too hard. I know that look because I used to have the same problem.

“So, if your grandma’s in Florida, what about the rest of your family? It takes a lot of hands to run a ranch, after all.”

I pause for a moment, thinking of the best way to put this.

“I’m an only child because my parents weren’t too especially interested in each other after the honeymoon.

My father ended up running off when I was about four or five.

Can’t remember for sure. Chalk him up as a ranch hand who never wanted to become a rancher.

So, my maternal grandfather took over the ranch once more, which is why I have my mother’s maiden name rather than my deadbeat dad’s.

Grandpa was approaching retirement age at the time, and he worked himself to death in the deal.

Found him stone-cold dead on top of his tractor. ”

“That’s terrible.”

I shrug. “He died doing what he loved, so I don’t feel too bad about it, though I do miss him.

Especially when I’ve got ranching business I wish I could discuss.

I didn’t learn nearly enough from him during his lifetime, but you never figure that out ’til it’s too late.

As for my mom and grandma, they gave me the option to sell the ranch and make something of myself apart from the family tradition.

I couldn’t bring myself to do that, though.

Too stubborn, I spose. But you tell me, how could I abandon five generations of Gunner blood, sweat, and tears buried in this arid soil? ”

“I’m the worst person to ask that question,” she replies with a chuckle.

I raise a questioning eyebrow.

“After all, I’m out here, animated by my grandpa’s dream of treasure. A different kind of family pressure but family pressure nonetheless.”

“Makes me wonder. If I had a family to call my own, you know, a beautiful wife and a mess of bratty kids, would I still feel so compelled to follow my parents and grandparents’ dreams for me?”

“A mess of bratty kids,” she chuckles. “You don’t seem like much of a family man, no offense.”

“No offense taken. After all, you’ve only seen me at my worst. But how about you, Esmeralda, do you have plans for a family someday? Or is it all treasure hunts and tin-foil hats for you?”

“I take offense to the tin-foil hat comment, first and foremost. As for the rest of your question, I wouldn’t say I want a mess of kids.

But I love babies. I’d like as many as I feel like making.

Mama tells me you can never know for sure until you’re in the grip of the pain.

But she also says you can never decide you want kids until you already have them, and I’m okay with that, I guess. ”

“I do have to say. Eve really screwed y’all with that whole painful childbirth thing. It seems unfair, in my opinion. But then, nobody’s asking me.”

“No different than other mammals, right?” she asks, eyeing me. “I’m sure you’ve helped out with your fair share of cow and horse births.”

I laugh. “Goats, llamas, buffalo, and alpacas, too. We’ve tried everything at Gunner Ridge to be viable.”

“And nobody has it harder than us ladies, despite all your experiences?”

He shrugs. “I wouldn’t say that. But I don’t want you to think I’d ever minimize the sacrifices a woman makes to turn a man into a daddy. It’s something I’ll personally never understand, but I do hope, sooner or later, to be a part of that process … with the right woman.”

“Well, I suppose that makes me the thorn in your side. Or the glitch in your program. A happy little mistake that’ll be righted soon enough … I hope.”

“You know, I’m good for the money. There were other forms of collateral you could have asked for.”

Guilt flashes in her eyes, and I want the accompanying verbal explanation. Instead, she observes, “No collateral was as sure.”

“Okay, then,” I answer, not necessarily agreeing with her. But I must concede, “In Nevada, it was the fastest way to bind our future and our finances together.”

“Going back to where we were before. How long ago did your grandmother head to Florida?” she asks, bringing our conversation full circle. I don’t begrudge her for it. But damn, if I wasn’t enjoying skirting a discussion of our future babies. Whether she’ll admit it or not.

“Nearly a decade ago, and I’ve been on my own ever since, apart from a handful of ranch hands and community help on occasion.

Most days, it feels like an uphill battle.

Or better yet, swimming against the current.

I’m honestly not sure how much longer I can do it.

But I’ve reached the point where I can’t tie my own self-worth to the venture anymore.

If my parents had been serious about making a go of it, my father would’ve never left, and they would have had more children to help out.

Same goes for my grandparents. You don’t stop at one daughter and expect things to work out.

It’s almost like Gunner Ridge is cursed, and I’m getting tired of the ceaseless struggle. ”

“Could be the treasure,” my angel murmurs, somberly looking out at the high desert plains stretching before us.

“Wait? You think the treasure is cursed?”

“Could be,” she shrugs. “It was stolen, after all.”

“Sorry, but this is starting to get a little too kookie for me,” I admit, shaking my head as we turn off onto the first in a series of dirt roads that lead to the old homestead. “What else do you believe in? UFOs? Ghosts? Bigfoot?”

She chuckles. “Alright, then, you explain away your bad luck.”

“Bad land, bad water, lack of foresight. You know, when my ancestors settled out here, they actually believed if they plowed the land, it would make it rain? Have you ever heard anything so cockamamie in your whole life?”

“I know about that, coming from Dust Bowl country.”

“That you do. But obviously, they couldn’t have been more wrong, and it’s led to more suffering than progress. At least for the Gunners,” I lament bitterly.

“I imagine you also have federal regulations against you, all sorts of environmental legislation, water rights issues, climate change, wildfires … The West’s land wars are called that for a reason.”

“All of the above. Kind of like a perfect storm of events. Although the cattle deaths were really the icing on the cake.”

“Sounds like we need each other more than we realize,” the Okie says absentmindedly, looking out at the passing landscape.

Her words put a hunger in me that I can’t name. “That we do, Angel.”