Alona
Ford returned to his job at the Brooks’ ranch last week. And, while the new hires are working out great so far, I miss having him around.
It’s not like we were all buddy-buddy while he was here. I kept my distance from him, mostly. But I enjoyed the moments we had together that weren’t just about ranch needs. He still knows how to make me laugh.
I feel conflicted. Part of me tells me to get over myself, while the other half reminds me to stay pragmatic.
On Friday night, I meet up with Clem and Nattie at the Cowpoke Saloon for a couple of beers. I have, of course, made friends throughout my adult life, but there's something really nice about connecting with hometown friends.
During our second round, Clementine brings up Ford.
“So, he worked out OK for you?”
“Yeah. He was great. My aunt did little upkeep the last few years, so he tackled several projects. And helped me hire my new ranch hands.”
Natalie looks at me above her beer bottle, blowing into it, and then gives me a sly smile.
“You like him, Alona.”
I roll my eyes and take a chug of my beer.
“Nat is right. It’s so obvious, Al.” Clem says.
I sit my beer on the table, a little too hard, and sigh.
“Ford is my past. And, yeah, it wasn’t all awful with him, but I don’t want to be with someone with such a volatile temper.”
“I am telling you, I haven’t seen that temper since before he left for his grandfather’s farm after graduation,” Clem argues. “Don’t close yourself off just because 18-year-old Ford was a mess.”
I lean back in my booth, nursing my beer. Clementine makes sense, but I’m scared. I think she can read the fear on my face, because she gives me an empathetic smile.
“Just don’t fully shut the door unless you’re truly sure, Al.”
I make a run to the local big box hardware store on the last Saturday in April.
Shopping here has become my end of the month prep work for the ranch before the new month begins.
First, I hit customer service to return a package of the wrong type of screws I bought in March.
As the employee refunds my card, I turn around and see a familiar ruggedly handsome face. Frick.
Ford gives me one of his pussy melting smiles and a wave.
My entire body freezes. I am like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car.
I attempt to smile back, but my face feels frozen and weird.
Throwing up my hand, I give a quick wave.
The employee clears her throat, hands me my return receipt, and I bolt out into the sunny parking lot.
Clem and Nattie are right. I am definitely struggling here.
The start of May brings rain and a laboring mama goat. Since it’s raining, I decide to camp out in the barn with her, just to be on the safe side. I have been reading up on birthing goats and what I need to be aware of, but I am still very nervous.
I wake up from an afternoon nap to the crack of thunder, rain pelting down on the barn roof, and an oddly behaving laboring goat. Something seems off, but I don’t know what.
I call Clementine for guidance, but her phone goes to voicemail the few times I try. Crap. Nattie won’t have a clue what to do. I need to talk to someone who is skilled with farm life.
My ex-boyfriend will know what to do. My fear for my mama goat and her kid overshadows my anxiety with having to speak to him. I dial his number.
Ford picks up his phone on the second ring.
“Al? Are you OK?” his voice sounds worried.
“I don’t know. The mama goat is laboring, but something seems wrong. I’m not sure what to do.”
“OK, hold on. I am coming over.”
“Are you sure? The roads can’t be too safe right now with this rain in the low light. Crap, Ford, I am worried about her and the baby.”
“I’m coming. Let me call you in a few minutes when I am in my truck and I can help talk you through a few things.”
As I wait for Ford to call me back, I notice the mama goat appears to be attempting to push. I put the phone on speaker when it rings.
“I think she’s pushing, Ford. But I can’t tell if anything is happening.”
“OK, Al. I am driving to you, but I may arrive too late. I want you to listen to me closely.”
With my speaker on full blast, Ford talks me through helping her when she pushes.
Her cries worry me, but he reminds me to say soft, kind words to her as she labors.
I feel on the verge of tears, but his calm voice helps keep me focused on the mama and baby.
When the feet poke out of the mama, Ford tells me to help pull the kid out as the mama pushes.
Soon after, I help deliver the cutest little goopy kid I have ever seen.
I wipe the newborn and suction it before sliding it on the towel to its mother.
As soon as the mama goat starts cleaning her new baby, I stand up and burst into tears.
Right then, the barn door flies open. Ford stands there, soaked to the bone, with his eyes wide open.
He notices the mama with her kid and gives me a tired, crooked grin.
Without thinking, I run up to him and throw my arms around his broad shoulders, crying into his soaked shirt. He hugs me tight, whispering into my messy hair.
“You did great, babe.”