Page 4 of Finding Little Fiera

“Oh! Right.” She spun back toward him, digging into the pocket of her shorts. “I almost forgot. You lost forty-seven nickels today.”

The man blinked. “What nickels?”

“I charge a nickel for every smart-mouth comment a person makes.”

“What the heck are you talking about?”

She slapped folded bills into his hand with a bright grin. “Your tip. You lost forty-seven nickels for your smart-mouth comments. But when I added what I owed you for mine, you came out ahead.”

He stared at the money, then at her. Then he let out a sharp bark of laughter. “You’re somethin’ else, young lady.”

“People keep saying that,” she agreed cheerfully.

She turned back toward the sun and immediately squinted, her face scrunching as the Montana brightness assaulted her eyes. Why was it always so bright? Did the sun have a personal vendetta?

Shading her eyes with one hand, she peered toward the three-story massive log cabin in front of her. Solid wood, with a huge porch and two gigantic doors at the top of the steps. So veryranchy.

The taxi driver heaved the long-suffering sigh of a man who had accepted his fate ten minutes into their hour-long trip from Butte, Montana. He leaned forward, reached up, and tipped the sunglasses from the top of her head down onto her nose.

“Oh,” she said, blinking as the world instantly improved. “There they are.”

“You’re gonna be fine,” he muttered as he climbed back into his taxi. “The people here will take good care of you,” he added before he pulled the door shut.

She waved enthusiastically as the cab rolled away, then turned back to her luggage mountain. Time for an inventory check.

One unicorn suitcase on wheels, complete with horn and tail. She patted it affectionately. Two carry-ons, stacked but sulking. One large duffel bag that absolutely refused to cooperate. And one extra-large backpack strapped to her front. She looked as if she were preparing to summit Mount Everest instead of staying at a luxury resort for a week.

Sniffles swung proudly from the front pack, secured with a strap. “You’re not helping,” she informed him.

Sniffles did not apologize.

She bent, tugged, and nearly tipped herself forward. Her cowboy boots slapped against the gravel as she scrambled to regain her balance and prevent herself from falling.

Bottom lip caught between her teeth, she began stacking again, adjusting angles like the president of the geometry club.

Lift. Shift. Step back. Squint. Nope. Try again.

She was vaguely aware of someone approaching but ignored it until a shadow fell across her luggage.

“Welcome to Rawhide Ranch,” a male voice said gently. “I’m Dax, and I work here. Do you need a hand?”

She straightened instantly. “No.”

The young man looked friendly enough in his yellow staff shirt and faded jeans. Gazing down at her luggage, he paused. “You’ve got… a lot.”

“I am extremely capable,” she informed him. Waving at her pile of suitcases like a game-show Barbie, she added, “This is a system.”

Her unicorn suitcase promptly slid an inch to the left.

He smiled like he’d seen this before. “How about I just help you get them to the steps?”

She opened her mouth to argue, then glanced down at the wheels of her luggage, buried in gravel, and then at the porch with its six steps. That was a long distance to drag her suitcases through unforgiving rocks.

“Fine,” she conceded before pointing a commanding finger at him. “But only to the steps.”

“Deal. Again, I’m Dax.”

Turned out it took both of them to wrestle the bags to the steps. He provided the steady anchor. She provided the narration and the instructions, not to mention the occasional scolding of the duffel bag.