The Cottonwood Stud Ranch
Part One
The summer sky was clear but for a few scudding wisps of cirrus clouds and sun-kissed fields of wheat swayed in a warm breeze. Everything was pretty and picturesque as a postcard, Liam had to admit.
...and he was lost as hell in the middle of bumblefuck nowhere.
In hindsight, the optimism with which he began the road trip from Los Angeles to Detroit was outright foolhardy. The prospect of a thirty-four-hour slog across the nation in his eleven-year-old Prius had seemed like small beans relative to the chance of pressing the reset button on an otherwise unremarkable existence in a new city with considerably lower property prices.
The glamor of LA had waned long ago for the middle-aged freelance app developer.
Toiling over reams of code all day and night--hunting for that next elusive Play Store hit--left no time for himself or any semblance of a personal life. He was barely scraping by on rent (which increased at every lease renewal) and the hellish traffic...
No, the City of Angels could kiss Liam's butt goodbye as he rode off into the sunset towards a brighter tomorrow.
Well, drove off, actually, with depressingly few belongings tumbling off the rear seat. The badly rutted backroads were punishing his hybrid's suspension.
He had tried to shave some distance off the interstate journey by traveling a more scenic route, taking the opportunity to explore less traveled paths and avoid the mind-numbing drudgery of navigating the busy highways.
Except now, Liam was prodding at his phone uselessly while dodging potholes somewhere on the ass-end of Kansas.
Cell service had dropped out several miles back, and in a final stroke of blind injustice, the GPS lost its signal with an informative
blip.
"You've got to be shitting me. How do you lose a satellite connection?"
Swiping away the notification, he poked at the display map, not watching the road or noticing the sharp turn before it was too late.
________________
An hour later, Liam sat on the ground, nursing a goose egg swelling on his bruised temple.
His car was crumpled against a tree, the lightweight aluminum hood accordioned in on itself, and radiator leaking. At least nothing was on fire. No Hollywood eruption of flames consumed the last of his worldly possessions in a dramatic conflagration.
Just the spirit-crushing epiphany that he was well and truly fucked.
The screen on his phone was shattered, but it still functioned. Mostly. Zero bars of reception and not a soul for miles around. Was that why they called them "country miles?" Vast and empty except for the endless sea of grain and nary a sign of civilization beyond the strip of cracked asphalt winding through it.
"You really screwed the pooch this time, Liam"
Staggering to his feet with a groan, the rumble of an approaching engine cut through the funk of self-loathing as an olive green pick-up truck rounded the same corner he had missed, rolling to a stop a few feet away.
It was a classic dentside Ford, complete with a split grill, windshield visor, and the racing eagle stripe on the side. Slightly battered but serviceable. Bales of hay were tied down in the bed, and a decal of steer horns peeled in flakes off the bonnet.
A head of long blonde hair eased out the driver's side window, and brilliant blue eyes drank him in from under the brim of a white Stetson hat.
"You alright over there? Looks like you're in a spot of bother, stranger."
Liam almost wept with relief. Salvation had arrived in the form of a beautiful country girl, cowboy hat and all. He stumbled over to her, waving his busted phone like a signal beacon.
"Please, help me! I got lost on my way to Detroit and ran off the road. May I borrow your phone to call a tow?"
"Gee, Mister, I can see that. Detroit, you say? You've been blown well off course to wind up in these parts." She replied, glancing past Liam to his wrecked vehicle. "Don't have a fancy phone or nothing. They don't work too well out here anyhow."
"I--I think I learned that the hard way." His stomach dropped at the news. "Can you tell me how far is the nearest town?"
"That'd be Stockton in Rooks County. It's a three-hour drive away. Are you sure you ain't hurt? There's a doozy of a bump on your noggin."
Leaning against the truck for support, Liam got a closer view of his rescuer. She was startlingly pretty in a girl-next-door fashion. Definitely young with wide cerulean eyes, a cute button nose, and rosy cheeks framed by honey-colored locks flowing from beneath her wide-brimmed hat.
However, his attention was drawn to a droplet of summer sweat on the girl's neck. Fixating on it as it grew slowly larger, sliding down her slender neck and into the generous swell of cleavage constrained by a tied-off red flannel shirt.
"I, um... I'm fine... I think." He mumbled, suddenly tongue-tied and a little dizzy. "I need to get to Detroit... or to a phone at least. It's very important."
"You look paler than a sheet, Mister. Tell you what, I'll give you a lift to the homestead. It's only a short way off, and Miss Lily can take a gander at your melon." The blonde tapped at her temple, indicating the injured region. "She'll make sure you didn't knock any marbles loose in the crash. We'll get some hot grub in you, then decide where to go from there. That's the best I can offer."
Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Liam nodded and climbed in the passenger side. The bench seat was surprisingly well-maintained, and the girl grinned merrily as he settled in with a boot-scooting squeak of ancient vinyl.
"Goodness, where are my manners?" she said, extending a small hand. "A girl shouldn't ride with strangers. The name's Gabriella. Put it there, Mister..."
She let the sentence dangle from her smiling lips until he took the obvious cue.
"Liam. Call me Liam, and thank you." They shook then Gabriella put the truck in gear. "Did I say that already? I wouldn't have lasted another hour if you hadn't found me."
"Pleased to meet you, Liam and don't mention it. Folks look out for each other around here. Real friendly-like, you'll see. We'll have you back on your feet in no time."
