He was tall, just a tad over 6ft 2inches. He was broad across the shoulders and weighed 105 kg. With a mop of dark hair always falling over his eyes he had just turned 19 years of age.
His darker features were a combination of an ancestral Cherokee infusion in the family tree.
Which was not surprising as the family history harked back to the settler days in the early 1800's in Colorado and the gradual migration of his own family to his present location in Wyoming.
The family had 600 head of cattle on a large spread of land just south of Drummond along the Mullan Road.
It was a pleasant bit of grassland with Flint Creek and a couple of other creeks running from South to North, providing year round water. Except when they froze in winter. And it felt like it was on the way. The nearby mountains were already showing patches of white in the shadier areas.
Brady Bent dismounted from his horse and led it across the forecourt of the farm house towards the stables. The last mob of cattle had been moved across Flint Creek to better pasture in the South paddock and it had been tiring work.
As he reached the stable he could hear the extension phone ringing.
His Mum and Dad had left yesterday for a family reunion in Butte so he figured this was a courtesy call from them to let him know how the function was progressing. No doubt they would regale him with names of people he had never met, or pass on the regards of his older sister Becky who was at University in Butte.
There weren't ever many other callers so his approach was casual. "Hi, this is Brent. The folks are away so may I take a message for them?"
The caller sounded a bit flustered but was able to say "Oh Brent, sorry to bother you. This is Sylvia Marshall from over Grassland's way. I was hoping your Dad was there as I have a cow trapped in a bog and I can't get the tractor going to pull it out."
Brent wasn't the brightest nail in the box but he had an uncanny knack with mechanical devices. He vaguely remembered meeting Mrs Marshall and her daughter Caroline at the funeral of her husband nearly 3 years ago.
"Well ma'am why don't I come over and see if we can get that tractor going for you? It will take me an hour or so to ride over on my horse because the folks have gone to Butte in the van."
"Would you mind Brent? It is getting late and colder. Caroline is away and I could do with a hand to get the cow out before the rain arrives. And with your folks away I can fix you some supper."
"That will be fine Mrs Marshall, my horse is already saddled so I'll just grab some tools and head over straight away."
"Thank you Brent, you are a lifesaver if there ever was one."
He said the perfunctory farewells then went to his toolbox and selected a range of tools he would need. Quickly stuffing them into a saddle bag he apologised to his horse for taking him away from a warm stall and headed out westward to the Marshall farm.
He started at an easy canter but soon broke into a gallop. Harsh flurries of rain and some snow were beginning to fall so he grabbed his all weather coat from behind the saddle and put it on. Crossing the second creek left his jeans soaking wet and as he rode his legs got colder and colder.
However he made good time to the Marshall farm and pulled up inside the stable so that his horse was out of the biting wind. Sylvia Marshall had heard him arrive and went to the stable to greet him.
He could barely remember her from their one and only previous meeting. She was tall with smiling eyes and longish sandy coloured hair falling from below the Stetson she was wearing. He guessed she was mid 40's in age.
She led him to the shed next to the stable where the tractor was parked. He checked it had petrol which it did, then looked at the outside of the engine for any signs of malfunction. Sure enough there was the problem. The ignition lead had come free from the coil so it took only a few seconds to reconnect it. He switched on the ignition and it fired up immediately.
"OK Mrs Marshall -- where is the cow?"
"Brady that was a quick fix but I would prefer if you called me Sylvia. Mrs Marshall is far too formal."
"Sure ma'am, I mean Sylvia, I'll try and do that. Now we better go get that cow before it gets dark."
So they took off; she driving the tractor and he riding his horse to where the cow was stuck in a boggy section of a creek.
He lassoed the cow around the horn poll while she took out a long canvas harness and looped it over the cow's rear. She attached this to the tractors tow bar and then together they managed to pull the cow out of the muddy bog.
"You go on ahead Sylvia. I will take this cow through the ford to wash some of the mud off and then I will drive it back to the stable for a hosing down." Brady said.
Within ½ hour he had the cow slowly being guided by his horse to the farm house. He got it into a pen where he used a hose to wash it clean. Then he transferred it to another pen full of hay where it could recover overnight. He unsaddled his tired horse, gave it a quick rub down and shut it in a warm pen full of hay.
He realised his legs were still wet and his jeans covered in mud as he made his way to the house. It was really blowing hard, with sleet in the air too, and he didn't fancy the long ride back to his place either.
Sylvia met him at the door and seeing the state of his clothes suggested he take a hot shower while she put his jeans into the washing machine.
He followed her directions to the bathroom and she waited outside while he took off his boots and stripped off his jeans. He handed them to her through the partly open door then turned on the shower and undressed.
He was in the shower for about 5 minutes when Sylvia entered and placed a large pair of jeans on the stool next to his other clothes. She picked up his shorts and said "These could do with a wash too." Then she turned to look through the steamed up glass door of the shower.
"My, how you have grown Brady since I last saw you. You were a big boy then but you have grown into a very handsome and large man since then."
He wasn't aware that his profile was being carefully studied, nor did he feel any embarrassment. He had no experience of male/female relationships, outside of the natural coupling of farm animals. His parents were cordial to each other in an almost platonic way and it had been fairly natural with his sister to be seen in various degrees of nakedness as they grew up.
In effect Brady was almost totally sexually ignorant. His manner around older women had always been deferential without any sexual overtones. So Sylvia's presence in the bathroom created no concern. He switched off the shower, stepped out and grabbed a handy towel to start drying himself.
Sylvia, on the other hand was treated to a vision of manhood that she could understand but hardly comprehend. This strong, muscular body she was looking at was taut and trim. His buttocks were narrow and hard from riding so much, the stomach was flat with ridges of abdominal muscle. And the glimpse of his manhood below a curly haired pubic thatch was circumcised, long and thick, even in repose.
Her heart began to flutter and long, almost forgotten , feelings began to stir in her loins and stomach. She excused herself muttering something about supper being nearly ready and left hurriedly. Brady had a momentary inkling that something unusual had happened, but it was beyond his knowledge, so he calmly got dressed and entered the combined kitchen/dining area.
"These jeans are a good fit" he said, turning around to show Sylvia. "They belonged to my husband." she replied calmly. "He was about your size until his sickness took hold and they became too big for him. You can keep them because no-one around here could ever wear them."
