By EgmontGrigor2021
Chapter 1
On a frosty morning, Rick McKenzie leaned against the mailbox at the start of the half-mile dirt road to his farmhouse and leafed through the nine assortments deposited the previous day by the twice-weekly district rural mailperson, Ma Reilly.
Only one item merited opening at this stage, a sealed pink (sniff) perfumed envelope.
He grinned and thought oh, not another one.
Rick guessed it would unsigned from a local mother with an unmarried daughter aged 17-40 suggesting that he should get married before he became set in his bachelor-ways.
He admired the handwriting of the sender, rather stylish as was her choice of perfume. The writer used his name, which suggested she knew him or of him, but wrote anonymously.
Dear Rick
My husband and I have a daughter that needs to settle down with a compatible male, as I imagine just as you desire in order to enjoy companionship of the opposite sex in your prime and perhaps to produce descendants.
Check around carefully within a 50-mile radius of your farm Rick and you'll find her. You both need each other.
Enough said.
xxx
Rick screwed up the letter thinking that the mother should have acted more positively by sending her daughter to him with a proposal, or at least state her name so he could find her easily if that was his desire. By contacting him this coy way, she was wasting his time.
Driving home in his pickup that hadn't been cleaned since purchased new 18 months earlier, Rick thought back two years ago when his impatient finance Megan Smith, who'd been assisting him building a replacement farmhouse for five months, had callously dumped him without warning, leaving a note that from memory read:
Rick, thanks for practically nothing. I'd come to learn that you say far too little for any woman to find you adequate, although your very close companionship in bed is good enough to leave any female with high expectations more than satisfied.
I have been sneakily engaging intimately with a guy that I met in town six weeks ago. He and I talk all the time and he's not too bad in bed although as yet we've only had quickies. His wife died more than a year ago and he misses a woman beside him, day and night, he said yesterday. And then he proposed to me.
Initially, I thought I should remain loyal to you as we planned to wed, but yet with no date set. His proposal was solid and still I was ready to reject it until he said awaiting me as his new wife was a near-new house in the city, 189 miles from where I'd been living with you. The line 'new house awaiting me' convinced me to go with him.
And so, thanks for some good memories and may you find a good woman with unbelievable tolerance and patience.
Adios.
Megan
The house mentioned by Megan was replacing the 70-year-old basic farmhouse gutted by fire when Rick and his two farmhands were fencing at the back of his 250-acre farm on prime land he'd inherited from his late father, who 38 years earlier had purchased the 37,658-acre farm from his ailing parents, Scottish immigrants Iain and Judith McKenzie. The much larger hilly and less fertile and therefore far less valuable acreage had been divided equally between Rick's older siblings, Duncan and Kate, both now married with young children.
Initially, Rick ran only cattle on his land but gradually began introducing wild Kaimanawa horses whose origins extend back to released or escaped horses that since the mid-1880s for generations have wildly roamed the vast central volcanic tablelands in herds, originally building up to around 2000. However, these days they were reduced by culling on behalf of the Government that owned that part of the tableland down to around 300, as a ecosystems management policy.
Kaimanawa horses' great endurance, some possessing varying degrees of inbred jumping ability and being herd-raised, are excellent when trained for riding. They exhibit natural skill when used for herding farmed horses, cattle and sheep.
Two weeks after receiving that perfumed pink letter, and doing nothing about it, Rick received an early-evening phone call from a female.
"Have you decided not to reply to mum's letter that she sent without my authority?"
Huh?
"Who's speaking?"
"Julia Winton."
"I don't know you."
"But I know you, Rick. As a schoolgirl, I used to watch you ride fearlessly and at times win horse and bull riding events at rodeos and play as one of the best wingers within a hundred miles in amateur rugby for our district competing from teams from our district and other districts."
"Yeah, well a guy has to keep himself occupied when not working on the farm."
"Rick, I originally regarded you as dashing, but too old for me, but now that I'm in my early twenties I find mum's notion that you might be just right for me, probably makes sense."
"I'm thirty-four Julia, so find a guy closer to your own age."
"Don't be so rude."
Rick laughed and said wasn't she rude calling him out of the blue like this and suggesting romance.
"I haven't suggested romance -- yet."
There was a long silence until she said, "Why haven't you cut my call?"
Rick sighed and said he'd been quietly thinking. But it would only make her mad if he replied to her question truthfully.
"Try me."
"You appear to be rather like the wild, head-strong Kaimanawa horses that I break in, especially the young mares."
"And?"
"I don't mean to suggest that you look horsey."
"I know that, Rick. You need to know that I have a soft and well-modulated voice and..."
He interrupted.
"I believe I may know your mother, now that I know her married name is Winton. In my first year at high school, your mother was in her final year. I can say with certainty that no daughter of the Gwen Malcolm that I knew would be sluttish or allowed to grow fat and lazy."
"Omigod."
"Therefore, I assume that your look rather like your mother in her youth, meaning that you look fetching and possess high ideals."
"That roughly describes me," Julia said, struggling to control her breathing rate.
He caught her excitement and said, "So you think something could develop between us?"
"Yes."
"Julia, feel free to tell your mother anything from this conversation. I remember her as beautifully-bred Gwen Malcolm who could run almost as fast and me and I became high school sprint champion from my first year at that school. In those days, she regarded all boys as morons."