Page 1 of Roping Her Alien Ranchers

1

TAMMY DARLENE TUCKER

Aren’t sunflowers supposed to make the world seem… sunny?

“Shit,” I muttered, “maybe Derek’s right. Maybe I am only good at look’n pretty.”

As if I could forget the state of the property, dawn highlighted every flaw of Sunflower Hills Ranch. I’d poured my sweat, blood, and freaking life savings into this damn place, yet each new day made it a mission to point out fresh problems. Like right now, the sun seemed to be rising directly over the supply barn—which I was pretty sure was tilting further to the right, like Kansas’s own leaning tower of Pisa, minus the cultural value and aesthetic charm—even though the building’s location was due North.

I stood on the creaking porch studying the endless peeling paint and sagging fence sections. This place hadn't seemed quite so desperate when I'd signed the papers all those months ago. Back then, I'd been riding high on a diet of spite and heartbreak. Sunflower's price tag was bloated, but I’d covered it with the money I'd squirreled away from selling my condo in the city. Derek hadn’t known about that; he’d assumed I was penniless when I’d bolted. How could I leave him? No money. No skills. No hope. I’d be back in a matter of days, tail between my legs, ready to be his arm candy again.

Joke was on me. If my son of a bitch Alpha ex rolled up to my house right now, he’d find I was dangerously close to proving him right.

What did I have to show for myself?

An empty bank and a hefty seven-year farm operating loan.

The house roof leaked every storm, so the upstairs was littered with old buckets to catch the rain. My fridge sounded like the compressor was on its last leg. The well pump had just broken down for the millionth time, costing a mint. The supply barn was perilously tilting. I’d stepped into the machinery building, full of random crap and two rusty tractors, about four times. It was just more than I could mentally handle. So many flaws, too many to list. If I tried, I might die of desperation on the spot.

How had I ever thought I could make this a thriving horse ranch?

Exactly three horses on the property, one of them an ancient Appaloosa that came with Sunflower Hills, and the other two the expensive as hell Selle Français broodmare and the Quarter Horse stud. The latter two hated one another, and if I didn’t figure that shit out, how was I supposed to presale a foal and save this sinking enterprise?

I clutched my favorite chipped coffee mug between both hands, the liquid inside long gone cold. I had several hilarious mugs I loved, but this one was special. My ex hated it, said it was childish. Maybe it was, but I’d keep using my beaver mug that said, ‘I don’t give a dam’ until I either died or the ceramic crumbled.

I could hear Derek’s voice in my head right now. Why couldn’t I shake his influence yet? Why couldn’t I get him out of my body?

Taking a hand off my mug, I rubbed the old mark on my neck. Nearly faded. What do they say about our bodies? Every seven years, we’re new people. Every cell’s been replaced. I knew that wasn’t exactly true, and that different cells have different life spans—days or even a lifetime. The skin, though, only takes a matter of months to fully be replaced. Which means, even right now, I’m walking around in a body with skin Derek never touched.

“Told you so, TamTam. You’re too pretty to be work’n anyways. Sell this place. Come back where you belong,” I pitched my voice low, a ridiculous impression of him. “Let me take care of you, darl’n. Ain’t I good to you? Don’t I make you happy?”

I shivered. Even pretending Derek was here talking to me made tears prick my stupid eyes. His words, the ones he’d actually said to me and the ones I made up as a form of self-torture, were like a swarm of bees. Always there, buzzing around in my brain, waiting to sting.

A breeze kicked up, carrying the scent of sunflowers. I inhaled deeply, trying to find comfort in the one thing about this place that still matched its name. The previous owners had laboriously grown a variety that smelled like chocolate when they bloomed. Early summer now, and the property’s perfume could rival Wonka’s factory. The fields were positively bursting with them, and the horses couldn’t be happier. Especially my old man Artie, an Appaloosa who ate them with vigor though he still preferred an apple.

Sunflower Hills was once the crown jewel of Junction City's horse-breeding community. It was a reputation I'd staked everything on resurrecting. Though, the snickers and looks I got when I went into town were hard to ignore. Me buying the place had been hot town gossip for a couple months. I’d gotten popular—in the wrong way—fast. Apparently, nobody other than me thought this place was worth saving.

I adjusted my worn cowboy hat, pushing back a strand of red hair that had escaped its confines. When I lowered my hand to wrap around the mug again, I found myself studying the state of my fingers. I missed having manicured nails. I missed heading to the salon for a blow-out or summery highlights. I rubbed my thumb and pointer together, frowning at how calloused and rough my skin had become. The hands of a stranger, hardness replacing pampered softness. Maybe if I could scrape together enough cash, I’d go get something simple. Not full acrylics or tips. Just a coat of pink maybe. I’d enjoy it for the fleeting moment it looked good, before my cuticles once again cracked and my nail beds crusted with dirt.

A lot of times, I’d wake up in the morning, walk into the bathroom—with its cracked tiles and fractured mirror and yellowing porcelain—and get a shock from the large, dusty mirror in my bedroom. I wasn’t the beauty queen anymore. My freckles had deepened to rich brown; my skin was less fair and far ruddier. Yes, I still had highlights, but they weren’t expertly placed now, instead ribboning through my hair wherever the sun decided they should be.

"Just what you wanted, Tucker," I muttered to myself, draining the last bitter dregs of my cold coffee. "Proof positive you're not just decorative. Not that it matters. You’ve accomplished fuck all with this place.”

Setting the empty mug down on the splintered porch railing, I steeled myself to face another day. The wooden steps groaned under my weight as I descended to the yard and began striding toward the barn.

The early morning sun was warm against the hat as I left the shade of the porch. I tipped it back and my face upward, letting the rays kiss across my skin. There were still beautiful moments here, ones that made me feel like maybe things would turn out okay.

After tilting the cowboy hat back in place, I pushed my glasses up my nose. Derek hated when I wore the oversized specs. He insisted I wear contacts all the time. I loathed sticking my finger in my eyes, and every morning I faced a battle in the bathroom trying to insert the damn things. I loved waking up and shoving on glasses. I blinked quickly and focused ahead.

I’d spent my first month here stuck in depression. Once I’d pulled myself out of misery enough to function, I’d made a list of everything that needed fixing... which was such an exhausting list that I’d spent the week after making it stuck in a fog of executive dysfunction.

But then I’d yanked up my big girl panties, and I’d gotten down to business, because there was zero way I would let Derek be right.

Striding slowly, boots crunching against gravel, I stretched, letting out a loud yawn. My arms were thicker, body slowly getting used to real labor, and I was pretty sure I was now the proud owner of actual thunder thighs. I used to be self-conscious about my legs because of Derek’s comments. Looking back, I think he was trying to make me insecure. And I’d fallen for it, thinking I was lucky to have him at my side, lucky to have someone accept me despite my many flaws.

Even if Sunflower Hills went belly-up, trading that Grade-A Asshole for a property on the brink of being condemned was still the right decision. This place was something I might be able to make livable. Derek I couldn’t have lived with another second.

When I was nearly to the barn, my boots squelched through mud that smelled like it belonged in a portable toilet and murky water splashed onto the legs of my jeans. It had rained a little yesterday, but not nearly enough to create a giant puddle, so the dampness caught me by surprise. God, if something was wrong with the septic field, that would be the last nail in the coffin. Was it right around here? I tried to think back to what the realtor had said when she’d shown me the place. I should have gotten a damn inspection, but the place had seemed like such a steal, and was listed as-is, so getting one seemed like a moot point.