Falling for a Cowboy

I stood at my patio window, eyeing the beautiful mountains of Mount McKinley with a mug of hot chocolate pressed against my lips.

Then I diverted my gaze from the snow-covered hills to the white stuff falling in front of me, and I sighed.

Seeing how the snow was falling immensely and piling heavily onto my deck made me realize how much I hated where I was living and how badly I wanted and needed a change of scenery.

I turned toward Spencer and groaned.

He was still in his suit, his feet resting on the coffee table, his hands folded together while lying along his chest, and his head tilted back against the couch while he snored—loudly.

I rolled my eyes and sighed.

Two years ago I’d gone through a rough patch after breaking up with a guy I had met in nursing school.

When we met, I’d thought he was a dream. He was sexy, intelligent, and funny. And he always knew how to cheer me up. But I was always jealous of him, since I felt he dressed better than me.

My father had hated him and would always say there was something wrong or odd about him.

So once he’d found out we had broken up, he thought it would be a good idea for me to meet his business partner’s son.

Having deep pockets had never impressed me. I’d grown up in a wealthy family and had always hated it because of how the kids in school would treat me.

They always gave me a hard time for being well-off. And those who didn’t took advantage of me, thinking it would be cool to hang out with me because I was rich.

So I didn’t have many friends. The only person I’d ever considered a true friend—a best friend and sister—was Selena. And I missed her terribly.

Selena had been killed in a car accident two years earlier, after colliding with a moose. I’d lost my best and only friend that day.

But not only had I lost her, I’d also lost my will to live, and I attempted suicide, which landed me in the hospital for quite some time.

At the time, I’d felt everything was going sour for me. First, my boyfriend left me for another man. Second, Selena was killed.

And third, I hated how my family treated me, and I felt the need to start rebelling, doing things I usually wouldn’t do.

I experimented with drugs, went to wild parties, and destroyed property, because I thought that’s what the cool people did.

I wanted to fit in with the in-crowd and show everyone I was not this rich, snobby girl that everyone thought I was.

However, those bad choices only landed me in more trouble and caused heartache for my family.

So, to teach me a lesson, my father decided he wouldn’t bail me out or pay my fines anymore, deciding that it would be best to put me through treatment.

I was in the treatment center for no more than two days when I finally realized what I was doing was wrong.

I realized that the new people I thought were my friends were nothing more than my enemies and that they were causing me to have a breakdown.

They weren’t bringing me to a perfect life. They were bringing me down to their level—the wrong path, the path of destruction.

When I finally got out of treatment, my father suggested I meet Spencer. At first I didn’t want to meet the guy, thinking he would look like Rowan Atkinson.

So I quarreled with my father, reminding him that I was twenty-two years old and could find my own boyfriend.

Finally, after days of protesting, my father introduced me to him anyway, and I was shocked.

He was no Rowan Atkinson. Instead he was more like Liam Hemsworth.

After moving in with Spencer and getting to know him, my feelings for him dwindled. He was nothing more than a preppy, snobby, rich person. Just like all the others I knew.

Spencer gave me no challenges or arguments. All he did was provide me with everything I wanted. He was boring, no fun to be around, and someone I considered only to be a roommate.

I turned back toward the window, looked at the mountains, and thought about what to do, while finishing my hot chocolate.

Then, when it came to me that I needed to talk with my father and tell him how I felt—that I was depressed and needed a change in my life—I set my empty mug on the counter and headed to my room.

I dressed in winter attire, grabbed my keys, and got into my SUV. Then, not caring how bad it was snowing, I began driving to my parents, without telling Spencer where I was going.

…Scaring myself along the way, since the snowplows hadn’t been out yet, and the roads were still covered in two feet of snow, with plenty of ice resting underneath.

Driving up the steep hill to get to my parents’ house was nerve-racking.

Even with the four-wheel drive on, I was slipping, sliding, and spinning, white-knuckling the steering wheel until I finally reached my parents’ driveway.

Instead of knocking, I walked right in. And the second I entered and saw the inside of my parents’ home, the same house I grew up in, I couldn’t wait to tell them what was on my mind.

“Hello?” I called out.

My mother peeked her head out of the kitchen, and when she saw it was me, she started walking toward me with a scowling look.

“Josie, what on earth are you doing here? Why in the world would you drive here during a blizzard?” She looked around me, asking, “Where’s Spencer?”

Feeling nervous, I bit my bottom lip as she helped remove my snow-covered jacket. Then, finally, I said, “I left Spencer at home, since I needed to talk to you and Father privately. Is he home?”

“He’s home. But I can tell you he won’t be happy once he hears you drove alone in this blizzard.”

I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t care,” I muttered as I followed my mother down the hallway.

The instant I entered the kitchen and my senses got a whiff of garlic and spaghetti sauce, my stomach instantly growled.

“Have you had dinner yet?”

I walked over to the stove, lifted the lid from the pot, and lowered my nose to take in the scents of tomatoes, garlic, and other spices. Then I set the top on the counter and began stirring it.

“No, I haven’t had dinner. There’s been too much on my mind to even think about eating.”

However, I felt hungry after smelling and seeing that she was making her famous homemade spaghetti sauce. So I turned around, asking, “Is it okay if I stay for dinner?”

“Of course you can,” my mother said in a tone implying it was wrong of me to ask. Then she walked over to me, rested the palms of her hands on either side of my face, and looked me in the eye.

I may have always been a daddy’s girl, but my mother knew me best, always knowing when something was on my mind.

It made me more and more nervous the longer she stared into my eyes.

Finally I gulped, and she sighed, “I know that look on your face. And it tells me you’ve come here to tell us you’re not happy with something.”

She tilted her head to the side. “Is that why you’re here? You’re unhappy with something?”

My mom was always the one I could never lie to. She always knew what I was doing or was up to before I knew myself.

“You know me so well,” I said sadly. “Where’s Dad?”

“Your father is where he always is. Sitting in his chair, watching the news, and yelling at the TV at whatever’s happening in the world.”

I laughed.

“Go bug him. I’m sick of hearing him yelling about politics.”

I smiled, then left the kitchen to talk to my father. But the closer I got to the living room and heard him yelling, disagreeing with whatever was on the TV, the more my heart started racing.

Not only was my heart acting like it was on crack, but the palms of my hands were becoming sweaty, as were my armpits.

To let him know I was there, I cleared my throat as I entered the living room. He turned his head, but when he saw me looking at him, instead of saying hello, he looked back at the TV.

“Dad?”

He raised his hand. I knew what that meant: be quiet—for the next five minutes, I stood still, becoming more anxious as I thought about how to bring up what I wanted to say to him.

Finally a commercial came on, and he muted the TV before looking my way. “What brings you here, Josie?” he asked, then focused his gaze out the window.

He sat tall, then snapped his head back at me, pointing at the window. “You drove here in this shit?”

“Yes,” I groaned. “I had to. I needed to tell you and Mom what’s been on my mind lately.”

“And what’s so important that it couldn’t wait?”

I held his stare for a minute. He didn’t look happy, which made it harder for me to tell him what I needed to say.

“Don’t tell me you’re in trouble again,” he groaned, raising the remote, aiming it at the TV, and turning it off.

“No, no. I’m not in trouble,” I responded, nervously smiling.

He laughed and shook his head. “Josie, you’re twenty-four years old. What do you mean, new beginnings and a new life? What’s wrong?”

“I hate my life,” I started saying, then paused when I heard my mother walk up behind me. I looked at her, then at my father, trying to refrain from crying.

“I need a new life. What I’m trying to tell you is that I would like to move out of this state, somewhere far away from here. I’m unhappy and feel like I don’t belong here.

“Something tells me I can find the happiness I’m looking for elsewhere.”

He furrowed his brows while scratching the side of his face, causing my stomach to do somersaults. I was afraid to hear his response.

“What makes you think you need a different lifestyle?” he asked.

“I hate it here, Dad. Everyone treats me differently because they know I’m your daughter. And the only ones who treat me with any respect are tourists.

“I need a new challenge in life, one in a different state, where nobody knows you or me.”

“What does Spencer have to say about this?” he asked, looking more concerned.

“I haven’t brought it up to him, and the reason is…” I paused and looked down at my fingers playing with the seam of my jeans.

“I haven’t told him because I’m leaving him as well,” I admitted, slowly rolling my eyes up to see what his reaction was.