Alec

I let out a deep sigh as I hang up the phone, not sure if I feel better after talking to Mom or not. I still haven't talked to Dad, even though I know I should. I'm just not ready to deal with him just yet.

I make my way into the kitchen, where Jill has a kettle on the stove. She looks up when I come in, a concerned expression on her face. "Your mother's worried about you."

"I know."

"Your father probably is, too."

"I'm sure he is." I tell her more sharply than I intended, and I immediately regret it.

"You two don't get along." It's a statement, not a question.

"It's not that." I try to explain. "We just don't agree on much anymore."

"Seems to be the way it goes between fathers and sons." Jill replies quietly.

I think back to the pictures on the mantle, of the son Jill and Earl lost. I wonder if Earl and his son went through the same thing.

The piercing whistle of the tea kettle startles me, and Jill rushes to turn it off. "Goodness, that thing does make a racket."

She drops two tea bags into a pair of mugs, pouring hot water over each and bringing them to the table, setting one in front of me. I'm immediately reminded of times at home after school, when Mom and I would talk about my day over cookies and coffee for her and milk for me.

Life was a hell of a lot easier then, for sure. Long before that shipwreck, long before the Black had upended our lives. It had been no easy thing, making the decision to go upstate to start the farm. All we had then was the Black, Satan, and a couple of mares.

But it had been exciting back then, the start of another new adventure. And we'd been successful, mostly. The last couple of years have been harder, no doubt. The competition had gotten tougher, the prize money harder and harder to come by. We couldn't race the Black forever, Henry and I both knew that. But retiring him without others in the pipeline would leave us in a more precarious position financially, a situation I was only recently becoming more aware of.

The more I thought about it, the more those memories came forward. The previous year had been especially difficult, and I knew the farm was facing harder times than it had been. Henry and I had been going and going without much downtime, and it was wearing on both of us.

Was it worth it? It was a question I'd been asking myself more and more. Sitting here at this table, at a ranch in the middle of nowhere, busted up from an accident, I was no closer to an answer than I had been at any other time.

"You think any harder and smoke's gonna come out of your ears." Jill observed casually.

I shake my head to clear it. "Just more stuff coming back to me, that's all."

Jill nods. "Doctor Parker's coming out here in a couple days to look you over. Then we'll see about getting you home."

I swallow hard. "I'm not sure if I want to."

Jill's eyebrows shoot straight up. "Well, that'll be your choice. But you might find life out here a little harder than back in New York."

I'm not so sure. Out here, I don't feel as if I'm carrying the fate of an entire farm on my shoulders. Even when I do fully recover and start working alongside the rest of the ranch crew, I'll just be another ranch hand. Would that be so bad?

"Have you ever worked a ranch?" Jill asks me.

"I spent some time in Arizona working with quarter horses."

Jill nods. "Well, I suppose we'll cross that bridge when we get to it. In the meantime, you've got a place with us. I can always use another hand in the kitchen."

We spend the afternoon talking, and I find it oddly comforting to unload on this stranger. Except she's not quite a stranger anymore, and as we get started on supper, she's showing me some basic cooking skills, things I've never had a chance to learn.

Miranda breezes by as we're working and pokes her head into the kitchen. "I see you've found yourself another helper." She comments casually.

"We can always use another." Jill answers with a smile.

Miranda smiles a little in response and disappears briefly before returning, the sleeves on her Western shirt rolled to the elbows. I can just make out marks on the inside of her arms.

She catches me looking and quickly tugs on her sleeves to cover the marks before moving around me to pull a bowl out of the oven. On the other side of the stove, she tosses a bit of flour on to the counter before dumping out the bowl and beginning to knead the dough.

She pulls and pushes, face set in determination until she seems satisfied with the result. I glance over from time to time as I cut up potatoes, trying not to stare. But there's something about those hands working the dough that attract me.

"You'd better get to work on those potatoes." Miranda comments as she catches me looking at her again. "You still have carrots to cut up."

I feel my face heat up as Miranda lets out what I swear is a giggle. I glance over to see her pressing her lips together, that spark of amusement still in her eyes.

"So, Miranda," Jill is suddenly right between us at the stove. "Did you find what you were looking for in town?"

"Yes, ma'am." Miranda nods. "I got some more blank sheet music paper, sheet music for a couple songs I've been trying to learn, and a new album that Cassie's been holding for me."

"Wonderful." Jill answers. "I look forward to hearing that album later."

"I don't know how much you'll like it." Miranda responds. "It's Led Zeppelin."

"I'm sure I'll enjoy it." Jill assures her.

I don't know enough to chime in and instead continue cutting up potatoes. Jill sets a bag of carrots in front of me. "I'll need these peeled, scrubbed, and cut up, just like the potatoes."

"Yes ma'am." I finish the potatoes and open the bag of carrots. "The whole bag?"

"Oh yes." Jill answers with a laugh. "Those boys will be good and hungry tonight. They've been working on those fences all day."

Miranda divides the bread into two loaves, placing them on a cookie sheet and handing it off to Jill. "Those still need to rise for 45 minutes." She tells Jill.

"You got it." Jill beams before turning to me. "If you thought Miranda's biscuits were good, wait until you have her bread. You'll think you've died and gone to heaven."

I spot the color rise in Miranda's cheeks, and hear her murmur something.

"Of course it's a big deal." Jill asserts. "Bread baking is a skill that not everyone has the patience to develop."

"Can't wait." I finally find my words as I start peeling carrots.

"I think I'll go put on that album." Miranda quickly speaks. "That is, if you don't mind."

"Certainly." Jill replies cheerfully. "Put it on the record player in the living room."

Soon the room fills with howling vocals, the likes of which I've never heard. "Hey hey mama, said the way you move, gonna make you sweat, gonna make you groove.". It was followed by a crashing guitar solo that seemed to shake the whole house.

"Well, that certainly wasn't what I was expecting." Jill laughs nervously.

"I can change it." Miranda offered.

"Don't be silly." Jill answered. "It's just what we need around here. Reminds me of some of the music Eddie used to listen to."

"What's all that damn racket?" Earl's voice rings out as he enters the kitchen to plant a noisy kiss on Jill's cheek.

"Miranda bought a new album today." Jill told him. "What's the name of it again?"

"Led Zeppelin." Miranda answers, dusting off her hands and moving over next to me.

"Nothing but noise." Earl grumbles.

"Oh, go get yourself cleaned up." Jill scolds him. "You've still got a couple hours until supper's ready."

I hear Miranda let out a little sigh. She's taken over the cutting up now, and it's all I can do to keep up with her, passing her carrots as I peel them.

"For what it's worth, I like the album." I tell her.

She doesn't respond, just keeps cutting the carrots into chunks. I spot other marks on the inside of her arms, but considering her response earlier, I don't think I should ask.

"They're needle tracks." She finally tells me, a sharp tone in her voice.

"What?"

"The marks you keep staring at." Miranda replies. "I used to shoot up."

Maybe it's because my head's a little fuzzy, but I definitely don't understand. "Shoot up?"

"Jesus, Alec." Miranda huffs, cutting up the carrots with a little more force than necessary. "Heroin. I used to shoot up heroin. I'm a fucking junkie."

"You used to be." I tell her quietly, feeling like an idiot for not catching on. "You're not now."

She stops to tug at her sleeve, and I find myself reaching across to stop her. Her eyes flick up to meet mine, light brown, a shine of tears ready to fall.

"It doesn't matter what you did before." I tell her. "I'm sure you're not that person anymore."

"Don't be so sure." She responds quietly, turning back to the carrots. "It's really easy to slip back into that life."

I don't know what to say to that. Instead, I place a hand between her shoulder blades, and I can feel her tense up under my touch. I pull my hand away as quickly as I placed it, and we fall into silence as we return to our work.

She moves to open the oven door, then closes it and turns on the oven. Soon the kitchen warms up, the scent of fresh bread filling the air, and I find it feels just a little bit like home.

The record moves to a slower song, the sounds of acoustic guitar seeming to calm Miranda, and she starts humming along.

"…took my chances on a big jet plane, never let them tell you that they're all the same…"

"I'm going to go to California." Miranda says out of nowhere. "There's this place called the Troubadour in Los Angeles, where they have these open mic nights. Anyone can get up and play a song or two."

"And then what?"

"We'll see, I guess." Miranda shrugs. "I've been working on some of my own songs. Maybe I can meet up with other songwriters, make them even better."

A little twinge of sadness goes through me, the thought that Miranda might leave before I really get to know her. It's the same thing that happened with Pam.

The thought catches me off guard, the memory rushing in. Pam, the free-spirited girl that had come to Hopeful Farm one day in that painted up VW Bug, just one stop on her great adventure, an adventure that had ended on a mountainside in Switzerland.

"Are you okay?" Miranda's voice breaks through.

I'm suddenly aware that I'm clutching the counter, leaning over the sink, shaking. "Yeah, fine."

"You don't look fine." Miranda sounds skeptical. "Do you need me to get Jill?"

"No." I answer firmly, straightening myself up. "I just…just remembered something, that's all."

"Mm, that smells wonderful." Jill suddenly returns. "You kids have the vegetables done?"

"Almost." Miranda answers. "I had to take over for Alec. He's kind of slow."

"Hey." I laugh, grateful the mood has shifted. "Give me a break. I've never done this before."

"I'm sure you did just fine, Alec." Jill assures me, finding a large pot and placing a giant hunk of beef in it, seasoning it before having Miranda put in the potatoes and carrots. Miranda cuts up a couple of onions and throws those in, too.

"Okay, everyone out." Jill tells us firmly, shooing us out of the kitchen just as Earl comes in. Miranda and I make our way out to the living room just as the record's ending.

"I can find something else to play if you want." Miranda offers.

"I'd like that."

She leaves the room briefly, and I take a seat on the couch. I spot a few jigsaw puzzles on the shelf underneath the coffee table and pick one, opening the box and dumping out the puzzle pieces on the coffee table, sorting them out.

"Oh, I must have done every one of those puzzles when I first got here." Miranda has returned, a couple of albums in her hand. "It was the only thing I could concentrate on for any length of time."

"My mom bought me some when I was little." I tell her, fitting a few pieces together. "And whenever I got injured riding, if it was bad enough that I was laid up for a while, she'd buy me more to keep me from going stir-crazy."

Miranda puts the album on and sits down on the floor in front of me. "Did it work?"

"Sometimes." I give her a little smile. "I'm not very good at doing nothing."

"I've noticed that." Miranda laughs a little, almost a giggle.

The gentle sounds of guitar fill the room, followed by a soft, warbling voice. It's slightly familiar, though I can't place it immediately.

"Joni Mitchell." Miranda tells me.

"I like it." I tell her. "Reminds me of some of the music that Pam used to listen to."

I see Miranda's face fall a little, and I scold myself for even bringing Pam up. Surely Miranda doesn't want to hear about her. I'm not even sure how much there is to say about her, considering that not so long ago, I thought Pam had been in the truck with me when I crashed.

"Sorry." I tell Miranda. "I don't mean to keep bringing her up."

"It's okay." She assures me. "She was obviously important to you."

I take in a deep breath. "I'm not so sure I was that important to her."

Miranda looks baffled, and to be honest, I'm puzzled too. I have no idea where that thought came from.

We fall into silence as we work on the puzzle, listening to the album. I suddenly catch the lyrics of the song that's playing. "Oh I could drink a case of you, my darling, and I'd still be on my feet…"

I lift my eyes as I listen. "Weren't you playing this last night?"

"I was trying." Miranda answers, fitting together another puzzle piece. "I don't quite have it down yet."

"You have a nice voice." I tell her.

She seems to ignore me, and I suddenly hear her humming at first before singing along softly before trailing off, an expression I can't quite decipher crossing her face.

The album ends, and Miranda quickly jumps up to turn it over. Her hair is down now, falling all the way down to her waist, fine and smooth. Other than the color, it reminds me of Pam's, and I can't help but remember the nights we spent together in that apartment over the barn.

"You're staring again." Miranda's voice breaks into my reverie.

"Sorry, I don't mean to." I tell her. "I was just thinking."

"About what?" She's returned to sit next to me on the couch.

"I'd rather not say." I answer quietly.

I feel distinctly conflicted, having Miranda next to me while I still have Pam on my mind. Not that I'm not attracted to Miranda. I'm definitely attracted to her. But I also know that there's no point in pursuing anything. She's planning on going to California, and eventually I'll be well enough to travel, and somehow I'll make it home.

But I'm still not sure I want to go home.

"I get it, you know." Miranda tells me.

"Get what?"

She sighs, fitting another piece into place with her slender hand. "Being stuck on someone."

I wonder who that person is for Miranda. It isn't long before she tells me. "Eric. We started dating in high school, and left the reservation for Billings not long after."

I finally put it together. "You're an American Indian."

"Crow, specifically." Miranda answers, bristling a little. "Grew up on the Crow reservation in this little town. My grandfather raised me, mostly."

"What about your parents?"

Miranda snorts. "Never knew my dad, my mom…died. She died when I was young. Drank herself to death, they say."

"I'm sorry."

"Why? You didn't do it." Her voice takes on a harsher tone. "Anyway, Eric convinced me to leave the rez and go to Billings. He knew a high school buddy that could get us started in business, he said. We'd have a better life. Turns out the business was drugs. And things just got worse from there."

"But you got out." I tell her quietly. "You made it here."

"Yeah, but without Eric." She answers with a resigned sigh. "I have no idea what he's up to these days. Cassie at the record store told me he did some jail time and had just gotten out."

"Do you think he'll try to find you?"

"Maybe." Miranda looks conflicted. "I kind of want him to, kind of don't. Stupid, right?"

"Not stupid." I reply softly.

"I know he's trouble." Miranda's voice goes a little rough. "But I still love him. I just wish he'd get his shit together."

"Maybe he will." I suggest, not entirely sure I want that to be the case.

Miranda laughs a little. "Jason would probably shoot him as soon as he saw him. He's very protective of me."

"He seems like a good guy." I respond, fitting a piece in next to the one Miranda just placed.

"He is." Miranda nods. "I don't know where I'd be without him."

Something occurs to me. "So, what you were saying about him last night. How he's not into women?"

Miranda's smile grows. "Yeah, I think him and Brice have something going on. I'm not completely sure what, but…"

I shake my head, still not sure what to think. I suppose it doesn't really matter what I think.

The door bangs open, and a cold wind blows in Brice and Jason. Brice regards us with a wide grin. "Well, well, what have we got going on here?"

"Just working on a puzzle while supper's cooking." Miranda tells him firmly. "It was Alec's idea."

Brice smirks while Jason shakes his head, and before long we're all seated at the table, and Earl begins the blessing. I feel Miranda's hand take mine, squeezing lightly. I squeeze back in return, something going through me at the move.

I know it's probably not going to go anywhere, and suddenly I don't feel so bad about that. Maybe Miranda and I can be something like friends in the meantime.