My Unexpected Hero (Cowboys of Sunnydale)

Chapter 1-3

The door slammed shut behind me, causing me to jump. I kicked off my sodden boots on the rubber mat sitting next to the door. Little rivers of water ran down my bare calves and pooled on the floor. It was almost three in the morning and still raining. Everyone knew the bar closed at two o'clock sharp, but I still had to call for rides home for some of the cowboys.

"Mom," I called.

Reaching up, I twisted my hair into a bun on the top of my head. It felt nice to get the wet strands off the back of my neck. It was a long night waitressing in wet boots, a soaked shirt, and a little jean skirt that never stayed down. Time to get rid of that piece of clothing. The heat in the trailer house blew up from the vent by my feet, ruffling the edge of my skirt.

"Mom," I called again. Concern growing within me.

All the lights were on, which was unusual. Normally, she left the porch and hall light on for me before heading to bed. Wandering through the kitchen, living area, and down the hall to the last bedroom, my feet squished on the linoleum floor. My fingertips pushed open the bedroom door and I stuck my head inside.

"Mom?"

The old quilt sat on the made bed. Clothes folded in the closet, and the drapes pulled open to give a view of the front pasture. A full moon peeked between the rain clouds as they drifted through the night sky. A yard light flooded the area from the house to the barn.

Making my way to the window, I watched my old horse eating the tall grass. My friend, Delilah Allen, kept her horses here for a couple of months, but now that she had her own place, my horse was by herself again. The rain and wind whipped at her tail and mane. She grazed on the grass, ignoring the pelting rain. There was only one other place Mom would be if she wasn't in our trailer house.

I slipped my feet into the rubber boots by the door and grabbed a raincoat. I shoved a flashlight in the pocket as the electricity in the barn didn’t always work.

Puddles sat in the deep ruts that tracked to the dilapidated barn behind the house. The barn leaned precariously to the side where it came to rest against an oak tree. Gaps showed between the loose boards and grass covered the bottom foot of it. I pushed aside the vines that climbed up the frame and hung over the doorway.

It was dark inside. My wet rubber boots slipped on the packed dirt as I made my way to the back. The flashlight flitted around the empty barn, landing on rusted farming equipment in the corner, an old saddle sitting on a barrel, and empty horse stalls. The scent of dirt and mold prevailed. I covered my nose with my sleeve and sneezed. A loud crash sounded from ahead of me. I gasped and swung the flashlight toward the noise. A fat raccoon stuck his masked face out from the fallen barrel and wiggled his nose at me. My heart pounded. I tried to breathe for a few moments.

“You go back to what you’re doing, and I’ll hurry along like nothing happened. I didn’t see a thing,” I said to the masked bandit before hurrying through the rest of the desolate barn.

A sliding glass door separated the new addition from the rest of the barn. My fingers gripped the handhold and the door silently slid open. Candy, my mom, sat in her wheelchair in front of a large canvas. Her fingers danced a brush around on the canvas as a watery scene took shape. A charm bracelet dangled from her wrist. The large lamp next to her shed light over the room, forming a halo on her graying golden hair and reflecting off the crystals set in the largest charm. The rain pounded on the large windows behind the canvas.

"Mom? Can we talk?"

She startled, dropping her paintbrush. The wheels of the chair squeaked on the wooden board as she turned toward me.

"What is it, honey?" She nodded to a small couch and table.

I sunk into the thick cushions and sighed. I rubbed my forehead and rested my head against the back of the second-hand couch. I ran my fingers over the flower appliqué of the armrest as I thought about where to begin.

Mom rolled her wheelchair over to the farm sink in the corner. She filled an electric tea pot, set it on the counter, and turned it on. She wore a flowing shirt and skirt that covered her atrophied legs. Her gray-streaked blonde hair was tied back with a pink ribbon. I smiled to myself. Pink for breast cancer. All her paintings had a streak of pink in them; it was one of the causes that she championed. The kettle whistled, and she rummaged in the little cupboard above the counter.

"I've oolong, Earl Grey, or chai tea." She pulled a packet of chai tea for herself.

"Earl grey is fine."

I stood from the couch to take both chipped mugs from her and walked back. She followed behind me. I settled in, folding my legs under me. Mom set the brakes on her wheelchair across from me. The steam from the hot tea rose from the cup between my hands. I inhaled the scent and sighed again.

"Do you know how late it is?" I asked.

"I lost track of time." She shrugged and gestured with her free hand. The charms on the bracelet clinked together with the motion. “My muse was activated, and I just had to come and paint.” The painting was half done with billowing storm clouds over a turbulent ocean.

"You've been doing that a lot lately." I watched her expression through the steam of my tea.

She sipped her tea, never breaking eye contact with me. Her blue eyes lost the sparkle that made her seem like she was always laughing. The wrinkles in the corners were more pronounced than ever before. I dropped my gaze, not feeling up to challenging her on her insomnia and painting. The rain tapped on the windowpane. The lamplight flickered as a bolt of lightning streaked across the sky.

"Do you want to tell me what is bothering you or should I guess?" She smiled faintly over her cup at me.

I rolled my head back and forth along the top of the couch. My eyes tracked to the water stains circling the light fixture. Mold grew in spots and cobwebs clung in the corner. My head swung around to catch my mother smiling at me.

"So...” I sighed. “I met with Mr. Philips today."

"About the will?"

I nodded. "It was all the normal stuff." I waved my hand around. "His things, Auntie's stuff, etc."

"So, what's the big deal?" She set her cup on the table

"Well...he wrote me a letter." I covered my eyes with my hands.

"What did it say?" She prompted in the soothing voice she used when I hurt myself playing as a child.

"The ranch is for sale." I peeked between my fingers. Her face was impassive, but her eyes brimmed with concern. "Or I can get married within the next fourteen days and keep the ranch."

She raised an eyebrow at me, studying me.

"Mom, I don't know what to do!" Tears filled the corners of my eyes. I blinked the tears back as best as I could. "I don't want the ranch to be sold, but I don't even have a boyfriend!"

"It's okay, honey. Everything is going to be fine." She rolled her chair over to me and patted my knee.

"What do you think I should do?" I searched her eyes for an answer.

Sadness filled them and a tear rolled down her cheek.

"Honey, you need to do what is best for you. I will support you no matter what you decide." She wiped at her cheek.

“But we can’t lose the ranch. It’s been in our family for generations. It’s our home!”

She smiled softly at me. “Change isn’t always bad, honey. I want my baby girl to be happy. I think you should maybe go for a night ride to clear your mind."

"But it's raining cats and dogs out there." I motioned to the large windows with water streaming down the panes. “Wait, did you know about this?”

She shook her head as another tear fell. “No, I didn’t. But obviously, Clarence wanted you to make the decision. Otherwise, he would’ve just sold it and told us.

“Well, he didn’t give me much choice. Marry or move out.” I snorted. “And in two weeks at that.”

“Honey, anger isn’t getting you anywhere. Why don’t you paint with me for a while?" She grabbed a brush off the table, setting it into my hand.

"I haven't painted in a long time." I stroked the bristles against the palm of my hand.

"Maybe, it'll help clear your mind. It always does for me." She rolled her chair back to the easel.

I smiled to myself. I loved painting and maybe I would find the answer I was seeking in the brush and paint. Settling in next to my mom, I dabbed my brush into the paint and swiped it onto a fresh canvas until the sun peaked over the horizon. Thoughts of how I was going to save the ranch spun around in my head. How was I going save the ranch? Who would marry me within the next two weeks? What if I couldn’t save the ranch? What would happen to Mom and me?