Chapter 1
“Oh, no, you don’t, Josiah,”I yell at the orange menace trying to sneak into the goat pen. “You best be leavin’ those goats alone! They’re not doin’ any harm to you, you old bastard. Go on, get outta here.”
I imagine if this cat could talk, he’d be rasping at me in his crotchety old man voice, telling me to mind my own damn business. I swear his eyes narrow at me before he sniffs and scampers toward the back of the house, where his favorite spot is. When no one’s watching him, his favorite activity is to rile up the goats by stalking them like they’re prey. More than once, we’ve had to rescue them from him. He knows good and well he’s not allowed in their pen.
Grabbing the egg basket off the porch, I make my way to the coop. The sun’s starting to peek over the horizon. The farm doesn’t care if it’s too early; chores have to be done, animals have to be fed, and eggs need to be gathered even ifsomeonewas up too late painting the mountains.
It’s almost wildflower season, which means when I have free time, I’ll be up in the hills with my headphones blasting The Chicks, my watercolors on my lap.
I grab the bucket of feed on my way and unlatch the chicken coop, greeted by the clucks and warbles from the hens. They rush over when they hear the rattle of the feed.
Our meanest lady, Eggitha Featherton, runs at me with her wings out like she’s going to attack.
“Now, now, Eggitha, I’m trying to feed you and gather the eggs.” I shove her away gently with my boot. “I’ll make Daddy send you to the butcher next if you don’t behave.”
Hard to say if she understands me, but I chose to believe she does as she bawks at me once and bobs away.
I set my basket down and dump their food into the feeder. Clucks and squawks fill the coop as they flock to their breakfast. While they’re distracted, I hurry around putting eggs in the basket. With fifteen chickens, my egg haul isn’t huge—today I have nine, enough to feed our little family. It’s only me, Mama, and Daddy. We buy eggs in bulk for the chef to cook for guests. Sometimes, city folk get weirded out by farm-fresh eggs.
I was twelve when my dad sat us down and told us we were selling our small farm in Texas to move to Montana. Apparently, one of his great uncles left this ranch to him in his will, and Daddy wanted some new scenery.
My older sister, Briar, fought like hell to get him to change his mind, but when a Calhoun sets their mind to something, there’s a slim chance of getting them to budge.
I cried leaving my childhood home and all the memories I made there, and I sobbed some more when I said goodbye to my friends. It took a while for me to adjust to the elevation in Copper Creek, but in the fourteen years since moving, I’ve fallen in love with this small town, the mountains, and Forget Me Not Ranch. I’ve made some good friends, and I’m happy here, even if being in a small town means my dating pool is smaller than a gallon bucket.
Daddy offered to send me off to college with my best friends, Bea and Shiloh. He wanted me to spread my wings, to find love outside of the fences of the ranch, but I didn’t feel the pull to experience the big city like my friends did. The thought of leaving Copper Creek and being in the city’s hustle and bustle had me breaking out in hives. I chose to stay here and take online classes. I figured Daddy could use someone with a business degree to help him with the paperwork side of the ranch, since that’s the part he hates the most.
Sometimes it feels like Daddy wants me to take a break. I think he worries about me being here all the time, but there’s nowhere else I’d want to be.
Besides, it’s not like Ineverleave. I went to visit Briar in Las Vegas once, where she’s working a hotshot accounting job. I’ve travelled with Daddy to auctions and rodeos, and I visited Shiloh and Bea in Billings when they were there for school. I like going out; I simply prefer to be here where it’s familiar and quiet. I can be myself and stick to my routine. I don’t have to figure out parking or pick something off a fancy menu I might not like. I know everyone by name, and they know me. I don’t worry too much about saying something wrong.
I take my bounty and walk back to the house, mentally going through my to-do list. A few new employees will be here to work during our summer season; Daddy likes to start them in late April so they can get the hang of things before the guests arrive in droves. We’ve got two new ranch hands, a new wrangler who’ll also be teaching riding lessons and leading trail rides, and a new kitchen assistant who’ll be training to take over when our current chef, Landry, retires at the end of the season.
I have a little over two hours before they arrive, enough time to take a few deep breaths and prepare myself for meeting new people.
As the makeshift human resources person, I get to handle employee onboarding paperwork and show them how things operate. One of my favorite parts of running the ranch is hearing stories from the people who come here: people who spend most of their time travelling, working on different ranches all over theworld, and have so many stories that they put the small library we have in the guest house to shame. While socialization can be overwhelming, I still enjoy getting to know our workers. There’s less pressure when I know they’ll be leaving in a few months.
I only have to put on my mask for a little while.
When I walk in through the back door, my parents are speaking in hushed tones while Patsy Cline plays over the old boombox Mama keeps in the kitchen. I toe off my boots and round the corner to find them dancing. Daddy’s whispering the lyrics of the song in Mama’s ear as they sway, and I can’t help but smile.
There’s a running joke in our family that Daddy gave his genes to me, and Mama gave hers to Briar. My sister got Mama’s thick, dark auburn hair and thin, lithe frame, and I got my dad’s dark brown hair and sturdy, ample frame.
My parents are the gold standard for marriage. They rarely fight, but if they do, they always make sure not to involve others. If they ever fought in front of Briar or me, they’d tell us they made up afterward and showed us that arguments are a normal part of a relationship. It’s all about how it’s handled.
Daddy picks up a bouquet for Mama whenever he goes into town and always makes sure he has extra chocolate bars on hand for when she’s sad. He watches her favorite shows with her, even though he thinks they’re predictable and silly, and he never complains.
I want a love like theirs.
How am I supposed to find that when I don’t leave the ranch? No one’s going to magically fall into my lap and fall in love with me.
“Mornin’ Juni,” Mama says when the song ends and they pull apart.
“Morning, Mama. Morning, Daddy.”
“Morning, June-bug. We have our new employees comin’ today, you ready?”
“They should start arriving soon.”
