miss Ӝ bonnie

The wooden chair on her porch was her favorite spot. She could sit there, after a whole day of herding, making sure the men working her ranch didn't do too many stupid things, resting her feet and letting herself be. It was a peaceful little place, all creaking and homely, comforting in ways people couldn't dare dream of being.

For Bonnie, this was happiness. This was satisfaction to the absolute tee.

"Ms. MacFarlane!" It was Ronnie, a new boy, ripened and rotting at twenty with a hole where sense should have been. "The coyotes are at the hen shed again!"

"Well, what are you doing, flailing around over here? Why aren't you over there?" she said.

Ronnie blanched. "I – I'll scare 'em off, Miss Bonnie, just you wait! I'll do it and I won't let anyone else!" At her unimpressed features he took off at a sprinting start, making people turn heads and the ranch heads laugh.

She glared and called out, "What do you think you boys are laughing at?" They silenced abruptly. "I don't see any a' you boys near them coyotes, now do I?"

Most seemed embarrassed to be in the spotlight of her vexation – even though most were always at her vexation. There was never any praise from Bonnie, but when they fed the cows well and brushed down the horses coats into immaculate, shining armor, they would get a –

"Well, this herd's eating better than all of us."

And,

"I guess these mustangs can get dolled up too, can't they? Little beauties."

For Bonnie was the cliché – a woman in a man's world. It was formulaic knowledge throughout the ranch, and maybe even to the nearby communities – she was a lady dressed up in a suit and tie, and if anyone had the gall of condescension, she'd cock a gun right up to whatever manhood they had.

And, that was why, when Bonnie watched from her favorite oak chair – sturdy, mindless, and never really caring – she understood that a woman was not meant to wait. She'd be sitting pretty, up high, as superior as she, herself, would allow her to be. She'd carefully place a rifle across her lap with warning and diffuse all doubts with a toss of her bangs and the twirl of her bun.

She was aware of the chair on the opposite side of her – a plainly carved bench meant for two – backed up with a proud beaming as new as the day her daddy made it. It always had been for convenience, and sometimes, when the moon was right above her house and nobody was around to feel judged underneath her, she wondered whether or not a man would only be for convenience, too. She wondered, maybe, if she could have done something different. She didn't have to be alone – she still didn't have to be.

In those moments, those silly, frightful moments, her mind strayed far, far, and as far as it strayed, to a different world, a different place, she thought of John. He would be having a seat on the bench, slipping a midnight smoke she had caught him having all those days before he went on his way. He would be smiling at her as she reprimanded him for such a disgusting, boyish habit. She would tell him; didn't he know it just made him reek like a filthy dog?

But in the mornings, he wouldn't be there. The bench, with all its filmy sunshine and dirt and undamaged surface, magnified her resolve. Walking by the two sides, seeing how worn down the chair had become, she hitched her lasso on her belt, and her heart hummed with broken certainty and hope.

Bonnie MacFarlane was Bonnie MacFarlane, and if a man wanted to challenge that, he'd be the one to get hogtied first.

It…it never had a different way.

an; tough!Bonnie; hope it seemed alright!
thanks for reading~