Three years ago …
Trix was pleased with himself for impulsively stopping, when he’d crossed the state line, to buy what he assumed would be appropriate clothing for a drive through Montana: black wrangler jeans - tighter than he preferred - adorned with a belt buckle big enough to double as a satellite dish. He finished it off with a pressed, button-up white cotton dress shirt, an honest to god bolo tie, and some brand-new alligator hide cowboy boots. Now that he was wandering around an auction with a bunch of actual cowboys, he was pleased his wardrobe fit in.
Trix waltzed around the grounds taking in what he could only describe as slightly ordered pandemonium. Everything seemed to be well organized, but the addition of several hundred cows and horses gave it a chaotic vibe. While perusing, his eyes were caught by an older woman who appeared to think staring him down was her afternoon’s mission. She was at least 70 or 75, with a long grey braid and a cliché version of ‘mom’ jeans, including a zipper that must have been at least ten inches long before it disappeared under the hem of a short sleeve floral blouse.
Every time Trix allowed himself to glance over, the woman was looking at him with unapologetic consideration. She didn’t smile when he smiled. She didn’t even acknowledge the weird wave he gave her. Trix decided it was in his best interest to head the opposite direction. He loved him some Kathy Bates, but he wasn’t about to star in a remake of Misery just because his gut and groin had convinced him to leave the highway in the middle of nowhere.
Less than an hour later Trix physically ran into the same woman while walking into the tent to watch the band. It was as if she had positioned herself directly in his path.
“Not sure what you’re trying to say with that get up, son, but I guarantee it’s missed the mark,” the woman said while her eyes traveled up and down his frame.
For one of the rare times in his life, Trix was genuinely at a loss for words.
Who is this crazy lady? he thought. Trix looked around. He was dressed the same as a significant percentage of the other men.
The odd woman watched him observe the crowd and continued as if she’d heard his thoughts. “Half the people here are pretending. Are you pretending?”
“Pretending to what?” he asked.
“Pretending to have the grit that comes with a country heart.”
“I… Uh… I’m not from the country,” he stuttered.
“Doesn’t matter where you’re from,” she said simply.
“What’s a country heart, then?”
“A want to wander but a demanding need to put down roots. A flame in the belly that won’t ignite if you can’t see the horizon. Foolish arrogance that may get you kicked in the teeth and pride that makes you get back up anyway.”
“You’ve practiced that line?” Trix asked with a cocked eyebrow.
The woman shrugged. “I’ve had a need to say it before.”
He saw past his astonishment enough to ask, “who are you?”
She reached out her hand. “Mae Becker, owner of Crooked Brook Ranch.”
Trix took and shook Mae’s hand and was shocked at the strength and roughness of it.
“Jacob Doyle, but I go by Trix. Are you the official city-boy spotter and kicker outer?” he asked through a light laugh.
Her face stayed solemn. “Actually, I’m good at spotting the ones that have a need to stay.”
“Your radar’s off, ma’am. I’m just passing through.”
“That so?” A smile finally played at the edge of her mouth.
“Yes,” he said, though he was far less sure than he would have been three minutes earlier.
“Where are you headed?” she asked.
“I… Well… That’s yet to be determined, but west. The plan was as far west as I could go.”
“Was?”
“Is,” he corrected.
“If you say so, kiddo.”
Trix crossed his arms to somehow protect himself from what was beginning to feel like her ability to see right into him.
“I don’t live here,” he said with a tinge of obstinance.
“Seems an easy thing to rectify.”
“You have a need for a horse trainer from out of state?”
“No,” she said simply, then allowed the silence to fill with his disappointment and embarrassment for even asking.
“Oh,” he managed.
She smiled at him, like someone smiles at a young child who correctly identified an airplane but mispronounced the word. “You’re a horse trainer by trade?” she asked. Her tone made it clear that she already knew he wasn’t.
“No, but I’m good with horses and it was the only thing I could come up with that may be of value to someone who runs a…?”
“Cattle ranch,” she provided.
“Someone who runs a cattle ranch.”
“Lots of things are of value. Seems like maybe you don’t know what those could be though.” When she said it, it sounded like a dismissal.
“Okay then. It was nice meeting you,” Trix said, trying to make as graceful an exit as he could manage after that bizarre trip down the redneck rabbit hole.
“I may have the need for a temporary ranch hand, though,” Mae ventured before he could fully turn away. He faced back towards her and narrowed his eyes.
“I may be interested,” he said, still trying to wrap his head around this peculiar impulse to follow a lead on a job in the middle of nowhere.
She brought her arm up and pointed at a group of semi-trucks about a hundred yards away.
“Over there, ‘round the back of those trucks, will be a man named Matt. Look for glasses. Tell him Mae said you need a change of clothes and that you’re going to help load up the stock we bought today. If you don’t maim yourself, or piss off Matt, you can have the temp job. It’s six weeks of work guaranteed.”
“Okay. Thanks?” he said, but Mae was already walking away from him.
What the hell?
Still confused by his own actions, Trix followed her instructions and made his way toward the trucks. His eyes immediately landed on a middle-aged guy who wore the thickest pair of glasses Trix had ever seen in real life.
“Hey, Matt?” he called, and the guy looked up, a quick splash of surprise showing on his face.
“Yeah?” Matt answered, looking him up and down.
“Mae sent me over here…”
“She say you need new clothes and to try out for a job?”
Surprised, Trix closed his mouth and nodded. Matt gave a slow shake of his head and then turned away, dipping his chin slightly, indicating Trix was to follow.
Trix trailed behind Matt all the way into a parking lot where he stopped and popped open the door to an old orange pickup truck.
“Running out of clothes to put on ridiculous looking strays,” Matt mumbled to himself as he picked through a pile of t-shirts behind the driver’s seat. He pulled one up to inspect, took a sniff and then tossed it to Trix.
“Can’t do nothing about those expensive shoes though, friend. And you should lose the belt, so you don’t hurt yourself. Or someone else.”
Trix fought past his embarrassment and pulled off his shirt and tie to pull on the t-shirt and then took the advice to remove the exaggerated belt and buckle. He held out his discarded clothes and looked questioningly at Matt, who shrugged. “Burn them?”
Not sure if the glasses guy was joking or not, Trix folded the shirt and set it on the side of the truck bed and then hung the belt over the top of it.
“You ever seen a cow before?” Matt asked as he started back towards the semitrucks.
“Petting zoo count?” Trix joked.
Matt sighed and then mumbled, “Either she’s getting battier or I’m getting more cynical.”
“Yes, I’ve seen a cow before.” Trix let defensiveness creep into his tone. Then he had to check his own ego to ensure he didn’t receive the maiming Mae mentioned. “But I’ve never worked with them, so I’m happy to follow directions.”
Matt studied him for a long moment and then nodded, appearing to accept his fate as the babysitter.
***