“I just finished getting rid of the last one,” I admit, wrinkling my nose at the memory. “It was kind of a joke. There’s a twenty-day waiting period before divorce finalizes in the state of Idaho, and we’re officially on day twenty-one. My friend Jess works for the local paper and thought it would be funny to write the ad. I only learned they posted it this morning.”

  A flash of humor reaches his eyes. “And already you have a line at the door.”

  “It’s the benefits package…” I joke, then my voice drifts off as I realize I might have embarrassed him. The benefits are exactly why he’s here.

  Guy’s back to looking at his hands or behind my shoulder, and I don’t know what to say.

  “I wouldn’t actually pay someone to marry me,” I admit. “But for what it’s worth, I appreciate how hard it must have been to show up here. Your daughter is a lucky girl to have a father who loves her so much.”

  Guy’s smart enough to understand I’m trying to let him down easily, and he’s either kind enough or desperate enough not to be a jerk about it. Instead, I see him mentally shift gears.

  “Do you need any help out on your ranch? I’m a carpenter by trade, but I’m a quick learner. I work hard.”

  I believe him. At least I believe the hands in front of me, with all the little cuts and splits fingers get when someone spends a lot of time doing manual labor.

  “I need the help, but most of my cash either whinnies, moos, or is tied up in land I won’t sell.” Certainly not after tearing my life apart to keep it that way. “I can’t pay anyone until the next season of steers are sold, or offer insurance benefits.”

  “I understand.” Guy’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Well, it was worth a shot, right?”

  “You miss all the shots you don’t take.” I hate how embarrassed he looks, so I ask, “Can I see a picture of Emma?”

  Guy pulls a cell phone out of his back pocket and lays it on the table as he scrolls through his photos. He stops on a video of him and a little girl at a petting zoo and offers his phone to me so I can see better. The video is a little shaky, because he’s obviously filming them himself, but his daughter is a cutie-pie, sitting on his shoulders with a beautiful grin on her face that matches the sweet smile on his own and goes straight to my heart. She’s got his blue eyes and dark hair.

  “The next one is my favorite.” Guy indicates I can swipe to a second video, where his daughter is standing by a short fence, giggling as she feeds handfuls of hay to a pair of baby goats in pajamas.

  Sanai returns with his breakfast sandwich and the biscuits, which I’m hoping will help us both choke down the awkwardness of this morning.

  “Are you going to be in town long?” I ask.

  “Not unless I can find work. I was hired on for a kitchen and bathroom remodel down the street, but my job was supposed to be for a month. The general contractor paused it two weeks early because everyone wants time off for Christmas.”

  Clearly, it’s time off Guy can’t afford. I doubt the homeowner is any happier with the contractor than Guy seems to be.

  “I’m guessing taking the holidays off isn’t an option for you?” I say gently.

  He gives me a slight smile. “Not really. And I’m guessing you weren’t expecting to hear a stranger’s life story this morning.”

  “I’ve got a large latte and a biscuit in front of me.” I lift my drink in silent encouragement for him to go on. The man needs a break, or maybe just five minutes of someone caring his life is falling apart.

  Guy glances out the window again, then picks up his breakfast sandwich and sighs.

  “It’s this vicious cycle,” he says in between bites, frustration filling his voice. “The insurance will cover the transplant, but you have to prove you can afford the anti-rejection drugs, and I can’t show that kind of financial stability. I’m able to get work, but Em’s in stage five kidney failure. I can’t not take her when she needs dialysis, and I can’t leave her alone when she’s in the hospital. Emma gets too scared.”

  “That’s awful.”

  Those two words feel so insignificant. If his situation feels awful to me, I can’t fathom what Guy is experiencing. This isn’t a sad story online or in the paper. This is his life. This is his daughter’s life. He finishes the breakfast sandwich and wipes his mouth politely with his napkin. I nudge the basket of biscuits his way, and he caves. Guy has more restraint than most, and he only eats one, albeit slowly.

  “Well, I need to get back to my daughter. Thank you for the breakfast, Sienna. It was nice to meet you.” He almost manages to cover how disappointed he is, but I can see it in his eyes.

  “Where is Emma now?”

  “At the day care across the street. I don’t like to leave her there very often. They’re nice, but I’m always worried someone will give her something she can’t eat or drink by accident.”

  I follow his gaze and suddenly understand why he’s been checking out the window every few moments. I hear what he’s saying and what he isn’t. Childcare is incredibly expensive, even for just an hour or two.

  “You could have brought her in,” I tell him. “I would have bought you both breakfast.”

  “That’s kind of you, but her diet is really strict.” Guy hesitates, then says with quiet dignity, “My daughter’s heard and faced a lot she shouldn’t have had to deal with. I didn’t want to bring her and have her hear…whatever this was going to be.”

  Like her father selling himself for a chance to save her life.

  I’ve never felt so badly for a stranger as I do in this moment, so on impulse, I say, “I know a lot of people in town. I can ask around and see if anyone needs some help. Can I get your number?”

  “Thanks, I really appreciate it. Anything will be great, but I’m better on my tools than most other work.” Guy texts me his number, and I add him into my phone. He pauses and then he looks at me with too much kindness for someone with so much on his shoulders. “Sienna? I’m really sorry about your divorce. I hope you do something nice for yourself today. And I hope whoever your ex is, he’s kicking himself for losing you.”

  Then he leaves, grabbing a worn, heavy tan Carhartt jacket from the hooks by the coffee shop door, hands stuffed in his pockets and head down as he hustles across the street. I watch him through the window, and the grim worry on his face smooths before he reaches the day care. He opens the door and disappears inside. A few minutes later, he walks back out to a white Dodge truck parked on the street with a small child in his arms. I can only see the back of her head and a sparkly rainbow unicorn horn sewn to the knit cap she’s wearing, but the expression on his face as he looks down at her is so full of love, it makes my heart hurt.

  I bet she’s beaming right back at him. With a smile like Guy Maple’s, it would be hard not to.

  Chapter 2

  I can’t stop thinking about Guy and Emma Maple. Even as I arrive back home and find there’s one very important speckled brown head missing from my cattle pen, they’re still on my mind.

  Cattle fencing lines one side of the two-mile-long drive from the main road to my family’s cabin, existing both as a physical barrier for the herd and as a visual cue for when the snowdrifts get too deep to find the gravel road. Usually this time of year, I’ve taken a day to tie large red-and-green-plaid bows on the fencing, but my heart hasn’t been in the decorating spirit this year.

  Besides, knowing Jerkface—my bull—he’d probably try to eat them.

  The cattle have spent the summer up in higher country, and I think Jerkface is resenting his loss of freedom more than most. Cattle are tough, and they can push hard against fencing, taking it down if they want to badly enough. This bull is special because he’s a fence hopper. I’ve never actually caught him at it, but he’s jumped my gate twice since I moved the herd down closer to the cabin, and the sucker is seven feet high.

  I’d be impressed if it weren’t such a massive pain to go find him again.

  Today is mail delivery day, and while I have an actual mailbox on the main road, a lot of folks deep enough in the Frank Church Wilderness can only get their mail dropped by plane. I doubt Jerkface has gotten far, so I dial the tiny airport that services this area of the country. Most of their work is flying white-water rafters or hunting parties deeper into the wilderness, but with the wildfires we’ve been getting these last several years, they fly firefighters in and out a lot too.

  Last summer was bad, with over 130,000 acres to the north of town burning for four months before anyone could successfully put it out. The problem with a place like this is you can’t fight fires on steep mountains, not when the whole countryside is too thick with smoke to see where you’re flying.

  A lot of people lost livestock, including myself. Of the hundred-head herd Micah left on the ranch after we knew how the livestock would be split up, I’m down to sixty-one now. Sixty, since Jerkface decided to take a sightseeing trip.

  I can’t afford to lose my bull.

  When no one at the airport answers my first call, I dial one of the regular delivery pilots directly. Jake answers his cell phone on the third ring, his voice muffled as if he’s doing some sort of repair work in an enclosed space. Probably in one of the planes.

  “Not a good time, Sienna,” he says by way of greeting. The gruff, “don’t bother me when I’m working” tone is normal around these parts, but the fact that Jake did pick up means something to me. When you’re part of a very public breakup in a small town, people don’t just treat your failed marriage as fodder for the gossip mill. They also tend to choose sides. Micah’s got a lot of weight in this town, and he likes to talk. Me? Not so much. I retreated to my ranch, nursing my broken heart in silence and in as much privacy as possible, but I can feel the eyes on me and the quiet when I go into a room in town.

  Another reason the ad in the paper made me smile despite being embarrassed is that Jess is firmly Team Sienna, and they’re not afraid to let everyone know it.

  “It’s not a great time for me either,” I joke tiredly. “Jerkface took another flying leap today while I was in town. I don’t suppose you had eyes on my bull during your morning flight?”

  “Sorry, Sienna, I didn’t notice any strays, but I wasn’t really looking. You know how it gets.”

  I do know. Everyone has a lot on their plates, and one big cow butt is going to look like another.

  “Hold on, let me radio it out. Charley’s making a run right now. He might have seen something.”

  Considering Jake and Charley are two of Micah’s closest friends, I appreciate that they are trying to help me. We might have known each other all our lives, but divorce has a way of forcing people to choose sides. Micah’s not been quiet about how mad he is over our divorce settlement.

  Jake hangs up without saying goodbye, but a couple minutes later, he calls me back. “Sienna, Charley asked if it’s the monster one with the speckled face.”

  “That’s him.” Monster is an understatement. Jerkface is big enough, even I give him some side-eye. He isn’t the best product of years of my and Micah’s careful stock breeding programs, but the bull is incredibly important to my little ranch. He’s not mean per se—at least not more than any other bull—but he’s a fast sucker for how big he is, and I’m always extra careful around him.

  “Charley made an extra loop over your place and spotted him down by the river. South of the bend just past the big rockslide from last year.”

  “Thanks, Jake.” I exhale a sigh of relief. “Tell Charley he’s a lifesaver.”

  It’s the truth, in more ways than one. A sweet guy I’ve known since grade school, Charley’s the first to volunteer when someone needs evacuating or the firefighters need a ride over the mountains. He’s the last out there still looking if someone is hurt or lost in the woods. He’s always been quiet and a little shy, but he’s one of the bravest, most kindhearted people I know.

  “Uh, Charley wants me to ask you if the ad is serious? Jess made a run past the hangar today and posted it to the board.”

  I groan into my hand. “No, but he’ll be on my good list if he throws it in the trash.”

  Jake chuckles, a rare sound from the crabby pilot. “Charley’s had it bad for you since freshman year. You’ll have to tell him yourself because I’m not breaking my buddy’s heart. We’ve got too much to get done today.”

  Charley’s heart will have to wait, even if I’m sure Jake’s just teasing me. My already busy day just got a lot busier. If I grab my truck and stock trailer and drive across the river, it wouldn’t be far to my bull’s last known location. Unfortunately, that would put me on the wrong side of the water, and there’s no way I’m taking a horse or my bull through the partially frozen Salmon River two weeks before Christmas. It’s just far too cold. I’m going to need some help.

  My twelve-year-old golden retriever Barley agrees to rouse himself and accompany me outside today, but he takes two steps in the cold and turns his once-red head to give me a look that speaks volumes.

  “You didn’t complain this much when you were a puppy,” I remind him as we head across the property to the barn. “You’re too young to be this crotchety.”

  Barley abandons me for a bale of hay, but he knows what it means when I pull out a worn, tan Carhartt dog jacket for him. Barley stays on the hay as I grab a saddle and head to the horse pen, but despite staring at me relentlessly with his disappointed eyes, his tail thumps once in acknowledgment. I know he’s ready to work.

  Compared to how full the horse pen used to be, it feels very scarce now. Instead of a small herd of horses, I’ve only got one mare, two donkeys, and one very moody mule, the latter of which is trying his best to remain unnoticed as he lips at the remaining bits of this morning’s hay. Unlike Barley, Legs is refusing to make eye contact. He shuffles a little behind the closest donkey, as if I could possibly avoid seeing the seventeen-hand-tall mule. His extra-long ears flick backward, and he turns again, keeping his rear end pointed my way.

  “That’s too big and handsome of a butt for me not to notice you, buddy.”

  Legs’s ears turn at the sound of my voice before he remembers himself and goes back in hiding mode.

  “Let me guess, you don’t want to ride the fences today and would rather hang out with the ladies?”

  Typical guy, ignoring the hand that feeds him for the pretty sorrel in the corner.

  As mules go, Legs is particularly ugly. He’s also smarter than is technically safe, and I have to keep an eye out when I ride him. Just because a mule of his caliber can walk a razor-edge cliffside trail without a single misstep doesn’t mean he doesn’t find it fun to drop me like a sack of flour if I’m not paying attention.

  I think it’s why I like him so much. I prefer people not to go easy on me, and my mule? He is definitely people.

  “I hate to not disappoint you for once,” I tell Legs, patting his shoulder as I move past him. “But I need Lulu on this one.”

  Unlike Legs, Lulu doesn’t complain as I saddle her up, standing with the docile acceptance that makes her breed such good work horses. Lulu’s a sweetheart of a Quarter Horse, and I appreciate the shorter stretch for my legs as I swing up on her back.

  Barley watches me disconsolately from the barn door, and when I whistle twice, he sighs and rises to his paws.

  The river gurgles beneath its crust of ice as I ride along the shore, Barley following at a slow pace. I hate having to ask him to come out here today; the old retriever has paid his dues and should be in retirement. Like too many things in my life, he’s been dusted off and asked to give a little more. A good cattle dog takes a long time to train, and even though his breed isn’t as commonly used as the shepherds and border collies that work these herds, Barley was one of the best.

  I can’t get the bull in by myself, and since Micah got the rest of the working dogs in the divorce, today I need Barley. I’ll make it up to him tonight with an extra treat and some serious belly-rubbing time. But for now, we have to make the best of what we’ve got.

  Guy and Emma Maple flash through my mind unbidden as I follow the river south, scanning the landscape. Starting over has been tough, but there are worse things than a bull who likes to pretend he’s an Olympic show jumper. Like being desperate enough to reply to a fake marriage ad. Like being four years old and having stage five chronic kidney disease with dialysis not working well.

  I don’t even know exactly what it means, other than Guy’s little girl needs a transplant to live.

  I give Lulu her head and let her pick her way along the snowy ground, weaving in and out of thick brush, thicker snowbanks, and tall evergreens. When people think about Idaho, they think about potatoes, but what most people don’t realize is how much of my home state is wilderness. Take a picture of my backyard, and you’ll see nothing but snow-covered mountains, steep wooded hills, and the Salmon River.

  This river is like a marriage. Sometimes it’s beautiful, glittering in the sunshine as it rushes past, filling your ears with the low, reassuring cadence of water. But one wrong step and you’re in it deep, frozen and drowning, with no one to grab your hand as you reach for help.

  I love this river, but I loved my ex-husband too.

  The Naples Ranch butts up to the Frank Church Wilderness about thirty minutes outside town. The farther north and west you go, the rougher and tougher this country gets. The land isn’t ours, even though there’s a sign hanging over the driveway for the last several generations with the Naples name on it. This is Nez Perce/Nimiipuu land, cruelly stolen from them by white settlers, then passed back and forth for several decades until my great-grandmother won it in a card game.

  She used to say, even back then, this wasn’t ours to own; we were just caretakers of it for a little while. There’ve been a lot of times over the years when it would have been easy to split it up and sell it, but we Naples are a strong-willed lot. In a world of half-acre tract homes, the Naples Ranch is still a thousand acres of wilderness, with just enough cleared for our cabin, our barn, and a paddock to work the horses or sort the herd of cattle we keep.

 

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