The Rancher's Untamed Heart (25 page)

A few weeks later, I couldn’t sleep all night. In the morning, I borrowed the truck and went into town with no particular plan, driving around for half an hour, looking at all of the cute little houses and the children in the yards, the big-box stores that seemed to suddenly be all about children and toys and family togetherness.

What did I want out of life? Really, I was old enough to know whether or not I wanted children. I was old enough to know whether or not I wanted a job. Clint hadn’t said anything again about me not finding another job, or getting married, or not working, but I knew he had meant his offer. Clint meant everything he said.

Why was this idea so scary?

Other boyfriends had brought up children to me and I’d laughed them off. Sure, maybe, maybe children in another decade, but right now I had too much going on. The thought of having more than one child, of making children the focus of my life, was overwhelming.

I was being ridiculous, I kept telling myself. Was I more afraid that I didn’t want to make children the focus of my life, or that I did?

Finally, I found myself parked in the back of a grocery store parking lot with my phone in my hand.

I dialed a number I knew by heart, and on the fourth ring, the line picked up.

“Naomi, what a pleasant surprise. I’ve told people that I have a daughter, but they don’t always believe me.”

I winced.

So much for diving right into whether or not I should have kids.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’ve been all over the place with work lately.”

“You know, I did buy you one of those headsets for your phone,” she said, trailing off sadly.

“They don’t work with my phone,” I said, crossing my fingers behind my back.

Her voice was pleasant, but held just the faintest trace of disbelief. It was the tone she’d used when I was in high school and told her that of course I hadn’t skipped class, my teacher had a sub that day who didn’t count me properly. “I’m sure, dear,” she said.

This was a terrible idea. Why was I calling someone to talk about being an adult when they always made me feel like a teenager?

“So, what’s new with you?” I asked.

She told me about my step-father’s company and her friends for a few minutes.

“What’s new with you?” she asked.

I thought about telling her about losing my job, but I didn’t want to hear the satisfaction in her voice. She’d find out soon enough.

“I changed jobs,” I said. “It was past time for a change from my old position, I didn’t think I’d get promoted there at all. I’m at a smaller place now, but they’re already talking about sending me off for more training and giving me more responsibility.”

Her laugh tinkled through.

“I’m happy for you, darling, but you know that that’s not what I meant,” she said. “I mean, are you seeing anyone? Someone, well, suitable?”

“Actually, yes, I am,” I said. “He’s a rancher, I met him through work. At my last job.”

“He’s educated and successful, then? That would be a nice change,” she said.

I bristled and opened my mouth, but before I could say anything, she continued speaking, her voice as calm as ever.

“I know, I know, I shouldn’t say things like that, but Naomi, I worry. It’s a mother’s job to worry about her daughters.”

“He’s a good guy, Mom, and yes, he’s successful,” I said. “I really like him.”

I hesitated.

“It’s been making me think about the future,” I said. “About what I want out of life. When I was your age, what did you want out of life?”

“Honey, when I was your age, I was married to your father, and let’s not forget, I was already a mother” she said. “We had you when I was twenty-five, you’re twenty-six. More than old enough to be thinking about the future, it’s past time you picked a man and settled down.”

I sighed. Why on earth did I think this conversation would be productive?

I changed the subject back to her, and after a few minutes, got off of the phone with a promise to call more often.

I stared at the phone for a minute and then hit the button for recent calls - Clint was always in there, now.

When he answered, I started right in on my diatribe.

“Why on earth did I think that calling my mother to talk to her about things that were bothering me was a good idea? My father says going within a thousand miles of the woman is a bad idea, and I’m more like him than I am like her. I should have listened to him. I should have called him instead. Maybe I should call him now. Would you mind if I just hung up and called him now?”

I paused, and after a second, Clint spoke up.

“Bad day?” he asked.

"Bad day," I agreed. "Bad talk. Bad mother. Bad daughter."

"Why do you say you're a bad daughter?" he asked.

"I don't write, I don't call, I don't text, I don't e-mail, I don't send smoke signals, and, whenever possible, I don't visit," I listed.

His voice was, like my mother's, calm and steady. Unlike my mother's, it was reassuring, not laced with hidden judgment. Hearing it was helping me calm down, I was no longer twisting the steering wheel angrily in my hands, and I was relaxing into the familiar seat of my car.

"Do you want me to be a housewife?" I asked, suddenly.

"What brought that on?" he asked.

"You said something about a house full of children and home-cooked meals," I said. "That's what you want out of life, right? Do you want me to be a housewife for that house full of children?"

Clint hesitated.

"I want you to be happy," he said. "If you wanted to be a housewife, that would be pretty nice. My mother was a wonderful woman and worked hard every day keeping the ranch in order and feeding us all."

"If I didn't want to be a housewife?" I asked.

"That'd be fine," he said. "Long as we don't have to leave this ranch, the woman I marry can do what she pleases."

That was another thing. I enjoyed travel, and even enjoyed moving. Travel was difficult for ranch owners, who couldn't ever stop hearing what was going on on their ranch and making the important decisions, and keeping up with the paperwork and logistics and other problems. If I married Clint, would I feel trapped on that ranch?

"Including travel? Vacations?" I asked.

"I don't know about that," he said. "Seems that my folks and I always went a few places, and the ranch never fell apart."

"Are we talking about getting married?" I demanded.

"It sounded like you were," he said.

"Well, it sounded like you were a few days ago," I said.

Neither of us sounded particularly accusatory, but it was definitely weird to be talking about marriage with a guy I'd just met.

Of course, it didn’t feel like I had just met Clint. I loved him, and I felt like I knew him so well, and he knew me.

"I think we need to talk in person," Clint said. "Can we have dinner tomorrow?"

"Where?" I asked.

"I don't know if you can come out to the ranch, but there's a place that's about halfway between. A little diner. It isn't much, but on a weekday..." his voice trailed off. Getting off the ranch would be difficult for him, I knew he would be making an effort.

“Okay,” I said. “Yes. Text me the address, and I’ll come out.”

We agreed on a time, Clint grumbled about having to text message me because I wouldn’t just write things down like a normal person, and we got off the phone.

Before we got off, though, I paused, and said “I love you, Clint.”

“I love you too, sweetheart,” he said.

I passed a restless night, wondering what Clint and I would say to each other. I woke up from dreams in which he told me we were through, and from dreams where he proposed to me in a greasy diner.

Sometimes, when I woke up, I wasn’t sure which made me more uncomfortable.

I dragged myself through my shower and to my car on my way to work, and got into the building fifteen minutes early.

Walking past the secretary’s desk, I paused to say hello to the woman on duty.

“Hello, Rhonda,” I said, trying to muster a cheerful smile. “Are you ready for the end of the week?”

“Boy, aren’t I!” she said, running a hand carefully through her greying blonde hair. “My boy is playing in the game on Friday night, and nothing we can say will get him to stop talking about it. I just want this season to be over.”

I laughed.

“I thought sports parents were supposed to be totally invested,” I said.

“Oh, I don’t tell him I’m sick of it,” she said, “Really, though, when you talk about the same little details of the same game non-stop, you’re going to get bored of it.”

“That’s fair,” I said, and waved to her as I headed on down the hall to my office.

When I shut the door, I looked at my stack of paperwork from the previous day and sighed. I slung my purse over the desk chair, sat down, and got to work sorting what I needed to do urgently and what I could put off a little longer while I put the fires out.

There was a piece of paper near the bottom of the stack that I knew I hadn’t seen before. How had it gotten there? Had someone just shoved it in?

It was one more form about the ranch by Clint’s. One more form about the place that made him so uncomfortable and possessive.

It was one more thing for me to deal with today, and I just plain wasn’t up to it.

I put it on the very bottom of my stack and moved on.