Somewhere in the middle of the night the power went out. I woke up at 6:30, cold and shivering. I checked the thermostat in my room and became slightly alarmed when I couldn’t get it or the light switches to work. I took a deep breath, supremely grateful I had showered before bed the night before.
After dressing in three layers of clothes, I stepped out into the hallway and was met by my grandma in her nightgown stepping out of her room.
“How’s Grandpa?” I whispered. “I heard him coughing most of the night. Did he get any sleep?”
She looked guilty. “I drugged him.”
“What?”
“The stubborn lout was coughing most of the night. Neither of us were getting a lick of sleep. So about 2 am I mixed him a glass of juice with an extra-strength Tylenol PM mixed inside. We both finally got some sleep after that.”
“You little vixen.”
“Don’t say a word.”
I laughed. “Good for you. Try to keep him asleep, if you can. Dusty’s still here, and he and I are planning on taking care of everything outside. I’m heading out to meet him now.”
Her pale cheeks grew a spot of color on them. “Bless you, sweet kids. I’m going to start a fire in our bedroom, put my face on, and then I’ll get working on your breakfast.” She stopped short. “Oh no. The power is out. Well, I guess it might be cereal for breakfast this morning.”
“Grandma, this body runs off of cereal. It sounds great.”
“I know you live off cereal, that’s why I was excited to make something more substantial for you, dear.”
“Next time. I’ll go down and grab some wood for your fire.”
I skipped downstairs to grab an armful of firewood before meeting Grandma back in her room. We worked together to quickly build a fire without waking Grandpa. She followed me out into the hallway.
“So how was your night with Dusty?”
I paused on the stairs and turned back to look at her gleefully expectant face. “Oh, is that his name?”
“Lou. Fess up, I’ve been dying all night stuck upstairs.”
“He made sweet, sweet love to me, Grandma.”
Her mouth gaped open while I laughed. “It’s been fun catching up with him. I fed him gross pancakes and bacon.”
Grandma’s face fell, but I got the heck out of there. Decidedlynotmentioning that we also laughed a lot, he touched my leg four times, I definitely came on to him once, and heatethe gross pancakes. To make me feel better. Some things are better left under lock and key.
I raced back downstairs to start another fire in the living room fireplace. I grabbed an armful of Grandpa’s chopped firewood neatly stacked under the window and began arranging a teepee formation with the wood, but my jittery hands refused to cooperate. The fifth time the pile of wood came crashing down, I cursed, left it in a pile, stuffed the cracks full of newspaper, poured lighter fluid over the whole thing, and lit it up. A Boy Scout would probably call that cheating, but I didn’t care. There was something so satisfying about starting a fire on my own—even if Ihadcheated a bit. I stood back and watched the flames begin to spread along the length of the wood, warming my hands and toes as best as I could. Technology was amazing, but I never got this amount of satisfaction starting a gas fire in my apartment. Once sufficiently warmed, I strode toward the back door. I had adorned myself with insulated coveralls, my hoodie, work coat, and waterproof gloves and waddled my way to the door, peering out the windowpane to the side, gaining the courage to open the door to the dark, wet, and cold.
The sun was not yet up this early in January, but even if it were, I doubted the light would be much better. Dark gray clouds had settled low across the valley. It didn’t look like Dusty was out yet. I saw no tracks, but I did see drifts of snow piled everywhere. I figured Dusty would wait until the first light, so I had planned to be out just before that. Which meant it was still dark out, but I couldn’t stomach the idea of him doing so much for me. For us.
The light breeze ruffled at the patch of hair that had come loose as I exited the house, which had been no small feat with the mountain of snow piled high against the doorway. A crack of light from the sunrise burst through the thick fog of gray clouds. The snow had stopped. The glistening white that covered the entire valley combined with the fresh, crisp air and the crunch at my feet, felt almost peaceful. But according to the weatherman, this was quite literally the calm before the storm. I followed the sounds of hungry bellows, trudging through the snow toward their corral and completely biffing it once in the snow.
In the past few years, in my grandpa’s older age, he sold off most of his beef cows. He’d never retire officially, most ranchers don’t have it in them, but at the strong suggestion from my grandma, he had decided to downsize. Or switch from quantity to quality, as he liked to say. He was growing his herd with a newer stock of cows called Piedmontese. They were white, muscular, and looked different than a regular black and white cow, but their meat was top quality and low in fat. But for now, this small corral of strange-looking white cows was all that was left of the old ranch. Sad for my nostalgia, but wonderful for how much less work I had to put into these cows on a cold day.
“What are you doing sneaking out here so early?”
My heart leapt in my throat as Dusty’s voice descended upon me. I turned around. “Strawing cows.”
He was walking toward me, dressed in his winter clothes, but he had that dang cowboy hat on. Slung low across his forehead. Which was fine. Good for him. I could be normal with cowboy Josh Duhamel. Totally normal.
“I told you I’d take care of this. As thanks for letting me stay.”
“You don’t owe me anything. I made you disgusting pancakes last night.”
He laughed as he stopped in front of me. “I’ve had plenty worse.”
