Page 2 of Roping Her Alien Ranchers

I stared down at the pants, worn thin at the knees from abuse, and frowned. Derek would have a conniption if he saw me dressed this way. Heck, the stained clothes would have horrified the old me too. Amazing how quickly "absolutely disgusting" becomes "just another Tuesday" when your life gets turned upside down.

“I’ll figure it out later,” I muttered, praying that whatever the wetness was would magically resolve itself and there’d be nothing to figure out. Don’t problems sometimes mysteriously solve themselves? Sure, that kind of thing totally happens. It was easy to lie to myself these days; sometimes it was the only way I held onto brittle hope. I started walking again, hoping the smelly water on my pants would dry quickly.

As I moved, I could almost hear my ex’s voice, that condescending honey-drawl that had once seemed charming. "Tammy darlin', why don't you go freshen up? Leave the dirty work to the men. Just stand there and give us something pleasant to look at."

A familiar flash of anger burned through my chest. How many times had I heard some version of that? How many times had I swallowed my retort, smiled, and retreated to the air-conditioned house to reapply lipstick while he made decisions about our future? How the hell had I stayed with him so long? Always submitting, always forcing a smile.

Until the day I didn't.

I remembered the exact moment I started feeling like we were over. Truly over, like I couldn’t keep pretending anymore even if I wanted to. We'd been at the tri-county auction, and I'd spotted a magnificent Arabian with potential. When I'd pointed her out, Derek had laughed, patted my hand like I was a child, and said, "Sweetheart, you don't know the first thing about bloodlines. That nag wouldn't be worth the feed."

Eventually, that same mare won the Heartland Heritage Classic. Derek and his buddies congratulated each other for winning big betting on the horse. As they slammed together their beers, sloshing amber liquid all over the living room, the last tether holding me to Derek snapped. The final straw was watching them dump piss water all over the furniture, I guessed. While the men enjoyed their victory lap, I packed my bags. Hell, they didn’t even notice when I walked them out to the garage and loaded up the ridiculously expensive car that he’d bought me the last time he’d cheated. It was in my name, and I’d be damned if I left it. The vehicle was the least I deserved for dealing with his endless macho bullshit for so long.

I was gone the next morning, the princess cut engagement ring I hated left on Derek's pillow with a note: "This nag is breaking free."

I’d always wanted a pear-shaped, golden ring.

And not a diamond.

Emerald, my mother’s birthstone.

Derek had bought the princess cut diamond set into the platinum band because that’s what he preferred.

He’d been passed out on the sofa, long legs stretched out with one arm thrown across his eyes, as I’d moved through the living room that final time. One of his idiot friends had woken long enough to blink and point lazily at me as I opened the garage door.

“Bring us back breakfast and coffee, sweet cheeks,” he’d murmured.

“Get it yourself,” I’d said quietly, not brave enough to raise my voice.

“Ha,” he’d chortled, “good one.” Then the asshole had fallen asleep, his snores rocketing off the high ceiling.

Before I’d closed the door behind me, I had this oh-so-brief moment of anxiety. Was this really the right thing to do? As I’d thought it, my gaze had dropped to the garage floor, to a paint stain. Yellow paint. Derek had been so pissed when I’d decided to paint a bright, joyful accent wall. He’d tossed the open paint can out into the garage, causing it to spill. The happy color suddenly lost all brightness. It made a wound across the once pristine floor.

He’d had painters out by the morning, covering up my “mistake”, but he’d left the garage floor as is, to remind me not to do similar shit again.

In the present, I inhaled deeply. Rich, damp soil and milk chocolate and the clean, almost citrus-laced scent of greenery. Of course, beneath all that was hay and horse and… maybe a pinch of high functioning depression.

The weeks right after leaving him were still a blur. Somewhere along the way, I’d traded the car in for a beat-up truck and a twenty-thousand-dollar check, combined my assets, and bought Sunflower.

I pushed into the barn, my frown deepening.

“Fix one thing, and another thing breaks,” I muttered, slamming one boot after another into the old time-worn flooring to dislodge crusting mud.

Wind gusted, whistling through the gaps in the barn's outer walls. The place was most definitely leaning further. The makeshift supports I’d angled into the left walls were bowing. The ones against the right walls were threatening to dislodge from the floor, the nails no longer fully embedded.

I tucked my hands into my pockets, finding them empty. Surprise, surprise. No wad of Benjamins to solve all my problems. Last night, I'd spread my bills across the kitchen table like a losing hand of poker—mortgage payment, feed supplier, vet bills, property taxes. I wasn’t in the red yet, there weren’t a bunch of final payment notices screaming at me, but I was getting damn close to destitute. I turned around, decisively walking out of the weary barn.

All my hopes now rested on breeding Mystery to Sassafras. A foal with their combined bloodlines could fetch enough to keep this place going properly, maybe even put Sunflower Hills back on the map. If only the damn horses would cooperate. Thanks to a trick of fate, or maybe just my bullshit luck, the two acted like mortal enemies.

A wave of melancholy washed over me as I trudged toward the stables. Dammit, I needed a break. I couldn’t keep piecing this place together with pennies and prayers.

Nearly tripping over a rock half-buried in the uneven ground, I cursed and kept moving. That was the only choice I had really. Keep moving. Keep struggling. Stubbornly try until the end.

An unhappy whinny drew my attention to the paddock connected to the stables. Glancing toward the sound, I found Sassafras nearly pressed against the fence line. Mystery was apparently too close for her comfort. I moved her way, walking over hoofprints hardened by yesterday's sun. I’d taken Artie out for a slow ride. He was such an easy-going horse. Unlike the other two. Sassafras stomped her front hooves, really warning Mystery off this time. They’d end up fighting if I didn’t intervene.

“Come on, guys. I thought we were past this.” I pitched my voice loud enough to travel the distance to Mystery, like either horse could understand my words.

At the fence, I hopped onto the lower rail and reached over, stroking my palm down the mare’s back. She tensed at first, then settled against my touch.