Feeling fantastic about my first riding lesson, I walk back to the house with Lars. He doesn’t enter with me, but goes his separate way up the road. I open the door, and as usual, it is silent and still. Taking off my muck boots, I pad over to the kitchen. Emma Jean has left a pot of beef stew on the stove and cornbread in a skillet. I’m starving and the smell of the food makes my mouth water as I open the pot and ladle it on to a plate. There is a note stuck on the refrigerator. Emma Jean’s writing is small and neat.

I open the refrigerator and to my great surprise, it’s a dessert that looks exactly like a bear’s paw. While the stew is heating in the microwave, I cut a thick wedge of bread and fill up another plate with a big helping of bear’s paw.

I carry everything out to my patio and eat the delicious meal while watching the sky turn pink and orange. It’s an indescribably beautiful show. The remote setting and the barrenness of the scenery makes me feel as if I have stepped back in time. As if I am looking at exactly what the early settlers coming across the prairie in their covered wagons must have seen. When my food is all gone, I do what I’ve never considered doing in my life. I bring the plate up to my face and lick it clean like some sort of savage.

Mmmm.

I’m too exhausted to sit and watch the stars come out, so I have a hot shower and am asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow. The insistent sound of my phone ringing wakes me. I peer groggily at the screen and come awake with a jolt. Crap! Tamara. I switch on the bedside light, which blinds me for an instant, and tap the green button.

“Where the hell have you been?” Tamara demands furiously, her face contorted and ugly. “I’ve been calling for like hours.”

“I was asleep,” I reply.

Her eyebrows meet, making her look crabby and surly. “Asleep?” she repeats. “Why are you asleep during the day? Aren’t you supposed to be working?”

“It’s two o’clock in the morning here,” I explain tiredly.

“Oh, right. Well, it’s bright and sunny here. Look,” she says, and waves the phone around her so that I can see the blue sea close by and the pristine white sand that she’s lying on.

“Great. You’re on a beach,” I say, injecting as much enthusiasm as I can into my voice.

“So, how’s it going?” she asks casually before taking a sip of champagne. It’s amazing what a selfish creature she is. She didn’t bother to check the time before calling, and even now that she knows it’s two a.m., she just won’t piss off.

“It’s okay, but it’s very hard work,” I say, trying to keep my eyes open.

“What did you expect?” she shoots back.

I groan inwardly. As if I need this in my life. “I’m not complaining.”

“Good. You better not be. You’re getting paid to do this.”

“I know. I know,” I say quickly.

“Have you learned to ride yet?”

“No, I just got here yesterday.”

She stares at me sullenly.

“Uh…I did get on a horse today. Maybe by next week, I’ll be able to ride.”

She scowls. “Next week? Are you sure you’re going to be able to ride properly by the end of the month?”

“I think so, but I’ll call you next week and let you know how I get on.”

“You better learn fast,” she warns. “I’m not staying on this godforsaken island for one day longer than necessary. I’ve got no friends here, there’s nothing to do at night, and I’m already bored out of my head.” Her voice is whiny and petulant.

“Don’t worry. I’ll learn how to ride well enough for Lars to give your father a good report.”

“Remember, you don’t get paid if you don’t learn to ride.”

I sigh inwardly. “I know.”

“So, who’s Lars?” she asks perkily, like she is my best friend and we are having a heart to heart.

For some weird reason, my heart contracts. “He’s just one of the trainers.”

“And?”

“And nothing.”

“Oh,” she says in a disappointed voice, as if she was expecting to me to gossip with her about Lars.

Someone calls to her so she turns away from the screen and shouts, “What?” I wait while she listens to someone say something indistinguishable, then she faces me again and rolls her eyes. “No rest for the wicked. My hairdresser is here. The sun is wrecking my hair.”

“Bye, Tamara,” I say quickly.

The line goes dead.

I blow out a puff of air, switch off the light, curl up with my hands under my pillow, and fall straight back to sleep.

* * *

“Morning, Poppet,” Emma Jean greets, looking up from her pots and pans to smile at me.

“Morning,” I reply and smile brightly even though every muscle in my body is in agony.

“Take a pew. You’ve got a big day ahead, and you’ll be needing some food that’ll stick to your ribs.” Pulling a slip of paper from the notepad on the counter, she walks over and puts it in front of me. I peer down at the page and sigh heavily. Lars has written a specific to-do list to ensure that I don’t slack off on my chores. The list includes disgusting stuff like picking up trash, cigarette butts, and dog poo from around the property, as well as feeding and watering the horses; and of course, shoveling manure.

“Will I not be learning to ride today then?”

She pours coffee into my mug. “Lars is away, so probably not.”

“Oh.”

Disheartened, I curl my hands around the mug and take a sip. While Emma Jean fills the kitchen with mouth-watering smells as she makes veggie browns, bacon, Croquet-Monsieur, and waffles, I ask her about the ranch and its surrounding area. She tells me that the mountain range visible from my patio is the Pryor Mountains and that Bucking Bronco Ranch is located on the east slope of it, right in the heart of the historic Crow Indian Reservation.

I fill my belly with the food that she piles high on my plate and listen to her talk about life on the ranch. It seems to be completely dependent on the seasons. The men drive the cows and horses fifty miles into the ranch in spring, then it’s back to winter pastures all the way in Wyoming during the late fall. Spring, I learn, is also when the mother cows bring forth their calves. The branding of new calves happens in June, and weaning is in September.

“What’s done about now?” I ask, shoveling another mouthful of waffle drenched in huckleberry jam and maple syrup into my mouth.

“This is the season for the arrival of the new foals.”

“Really? Will I get to see a birth?” I ask excitedly.

“I don’t see why not.”

Once I have eaten, I start on my chores and do not stop until it is time for a quick lunch. The work is never ending and I only finish at sundown. I walk through the deserted house and find chicken, a baked potato, and chocolate cake with a gooey center waiting for me in the kitchen. My mouth is watering as I walk to my room. I have never eaten anything like the food Emma Jean serves up. Possibly because everything here is freshly grown, slaughtered, and collected, instead of being frozen and store bought.

I suck it all down like a starving savage, shower, and hit the sack.