same as her mom.
Sniffing again, she picked at her black nail polish. It was stupid anyway. It wasn’t as if she had those fake nails that made your hands look cool. The school didn’t allow them any longer, not after Bethany Wilcox had stabbed herself at basketball practice last year. Everybody was mad at Bethany for a while after that, but no one stayed mad at the really, really popular girls, no matter what they do.
Her dad marched to their tent and Reid’s sister returned to the mess tent. Neither of them seemed very happy.
Kittie’s stomach rumbled.
The food smelled good, but she couldn’t go in there. She might see Reid and he didn’t like her, no matter what Mariah said about him protecting the horses. Besides, she wasn’t that odd to a horse, was she? Her friends thought she looked totally awesome—why wouldn’t a horse agree? They weren’t dumb.
Her dad hadn’t come back by the time everyone was done eating; he must be really pissed. Well, she was pissed, too. Nobody had asked if she wanted to come a gazillion miles from home and what was left of her life. Her dad had said they were going and that was that. So what if she’d set fire to a trash can and it got out of control? Big deal. Not that much got burned, and she didn’t mean to do it anyhow.
Someone began playing a harmonica and she heard some dorky singing—“Home on the Range” and junk. Kittie rested her chin on her knees. She didn’t want to be a dork like everybody else, even if they were having a good time.
There was a noise and she saw an old man coming toward her.
“Hello, young lady. May I sit down?”
Kittie started to say “Whatever” as usual, then stopped. “Okay.”
He sat and put a paper sack between them. She smelled chicken and other stuff. “I brought you supper in case you’re hungry,” he explained. He opened the sack and took out a foil-covered plate. “Simple outdoor cooking—that’s what we specialize in at the U-2. It’ll stick to your ribs.”
For a second Kittie considered refusing, but her stomach rumbled again. She pulled the foil back on the plate—it was barbecued chicken and beans and coleslaw and corn bread. The corn bread was buttery and drizzled with honey. She ate until she was ready to burst and washed it down with a bottle of cold root beer, which normally she’d say was for babies, but somehow tasted awfully good with the chicken and beans. It was the best food ever.
Mariah came out of the mess tent and glanced in their direction. She was kind of pretty. Dad hadn’t hit on her or anything, though he’d definitely checked her out...especially her chest.
Kittie wrinkled her nose.
Her dad acted as if she didn’t know about sex, but she was fourteen, not four. She knew all about it. Not that boys would notice her unless she had real boobs.
As if.
“I also put a plate in for your father. I hope he has a taste for medium steak,” said the old guy. He had deep creases in his skin and looked, like, ancient. “Would you do me a favor and take it to him?”
“Uh, sure.”
“Much obliged.” He took a piece of straw from his pocket and stuck it between his teeth. “My name is Benjamin Weston, by the way. And my granddaughter says you’re Caitlin.”
“Mariah is your granddaughter?”
“Yup.”
Kittie wiggled her toes. “Um, how does this ranch thing work?”
“It isn’t complicated. You’ll work with a wrangler and mostly do what he does.”
“So you can fix me,” she said resentfully.
Benjamin raised an eyebrow. “Do you need fixing?”
“My dad thinks so.”
“Fathers worry. That’s their job. But we just want you to have fun finding out about ranching and what we do round here. That’s our job.”
“Oh,” Kittie said, still vaguely suspicious.
The sun was getting low in the sky and she felt tired all at once. It was hard work pretending everything was okay when nothing was okay. Some things were so broken they could never be fixed.
“I gotta go.” Kittie picked up the sack with the extra food in it. “Dad must be in our tent phoning Japan or something. What should I do with that?” She pointed to her empty plate and pop bottle.
“I’ll take care of it,” he said. “You go ahead.”
Kittie didn’t know what to expect when she got to the tent, most likely her dad talking business on his cell phone. He worked an awful lot, but she’d bet he was still upset with her. Dreading another argument, she peeked around the partition.
He’d fallen asleep with his legs extended on the ground and his suitcase open on the bed. She tiptoed over, put the food down and tiptoed out. There wasn’t any TV and he’d taken away her MP3 player, so she curled up on her mattress and chewed her fingernails as it got dark.
Benjamin and Mariah were nice, and if they weren’t going to try to fix her, the ranch wouldn’t be so bad.
For a while.
* * *
MARIAH ROSE BEFORE DAWN the next morning. A lifetime of getting up to do chores had made it impossible to sleep longer. Her city life at college hadn’t changed her; it just made it obvious she didn’t fit in there.
“Hi, Grams,” she said, walking into the kitchen.
“Hi, dear. Are you in a better mood today?” Elizabeth asked as she mixed a pot on the stove.
“Working on it.” Mariah pulled the newspaper away from her grandfather’s face and kissed his forehead. “What’s new, Granddad?”
He grinned his irrepressible grin and waved the paper. “What do you think of this? It came in yesterday’s Pony Express delivery—last year’s ball scores!”
“Imagine that.”
The family had been getting the New York Times as long as the newspaper had been mailing out editions. It wasn’t necessary with the internet available, but Granddad said there was no substitute for the smell of newsprint.
He folded the paper and put it on the sideboard. “By the way, Luke phoned. If you have time, he’ll come by later so you can go for a ride together.”
Mariah smiled. “I didn’t think I’d see him before the barn dance next Saturday. I’ll call him. He can come with me when I go out to check on the greenhorns.”
Luke Branson was the U-2’s closest neighbor, but she’d hardly seen him for weeks, spring being one of the busiest seasons on their respective ranches. It would be better once they were able to get married. Not that they were formally engaged; it was more a mutual understanding for the future.
“When are you two going to set a date?”
