Big Sky

Smoothing the last of the viscous detangler into my tall, grey horse’s mane, I attempted to run a comb through it. The overnight rain had left our pastures muddy and a certain silly gelding had decided that a mud bath would be a real treat.

It was a beautiful late-June morning in southwestern Montana. The sky was azure blue, with huge fluffy clouds lazily drifting by as far as the eye could see. The mountains to the east and west were crisply outlined against the sky and still snow-capped despite the warm weather we had been having.

I snagged a knot with the comb, earning a melodramatic sigh from the beast.

“Remi, hush. You did this to yourself,” I chided the animal. He looked at me out of the corner of his eye and shifted his weight to his other hind foot, until something caught his attention out the barn door. Ears deftly swiveling forward to interpret the coming noise, he knickered at what I couldn't see yet.

Thudding footsteps grew louder until Mason, one of my family’s hired ranch hands, stuck his head in the door. He blinked hard a few times, eyes not adjusting to the darker interior of the barn quickly enough. His cattle dog, Baz trotted in and sat on my feet, demanding my attention. I patted his head a few times. Satisfied, the dog turned back and looked for his companion.

“Dammit, Baz, ‘heel’ means heel, not run ahead,” he rumpled the dogs ears lovingly nonetheless. “Oh there you are Eliza,” he grinned. Setting my comb back in the rack of grooming supplies, I turned to see Mason holding a file folder out to me. Dusting my grimy hands off on my jeans, I took it from him.

“Your dad wanted you to sign some stuff,” he explained. I raised my eyebrows and opened the folder.

“Non-disclosure forms?” I muttered, and Mason shrugged at my confused glance.

“Hoss said it was a couple-a hot shot athletes or something,” he replied, using the name long time employees often used for my dad.

I set the folder on the nearest benchtop. “Tell him I’ll sign them and bring ‘em back when I come up to the house.”

Mason shrugged again, “Suit yourself.” He walked out again, in the direction of the cattle pens.

I couldn't help but shout teasingly after him, “Hey, why don’t you clean those while you’re over there!”

With a shit-eating grin and a not-at-all subtle flip of the bird, he jogged off with Baz running right along side.

I picked up my comb again and started pulling it through Remi’s salt and pepper mane absentmindedly. It had been years since we had anyone of note visit our ranch. You see, my family runs a dude ranch, which I help out on in the summer when I’m not away at school. It’s one of those places where yuppies come out and spend a week or so learning to rope and ride and things of that sort. However, the industry had taken a hard hit with the poor economy the last several years. Business was mostly limited to families looking for a kid-friendly vacation experience and retired couples who’ve always wanted to try their hands at the ranch life.

Not exactly a prime destination for young, rich athletes.

I looked towards the napping horse and poked him in the side. “’Bout time we had a little excitement ‘round here, eh?” He snuffled in protest and shifted his weight back to the other foot.


That evening, after I had helped feed the horses, calves and chickens as well as gotten an older couple settled in their cabin, I made my way up to my dad’s large study, hoping to get some explanation as to the big “hot-shots” that were coming into town.

He was absorbed in whatever he was reading on the computer, glasses on his forehead and eyes squinted. I plopped the signed disclosure release forms on his desk and he snapped his attention up to me.

Gesturing to the glasses sitting on his forehead, “You know, those things work a lot better if you put them in front of your eyes.”

He screwed up his face. “Ah, damn things don’t work anyway,” he harrumphed, muttering more about ‘wastes of money’ and ‘eye doctors being quacks’. Rolling my eyes, I bit into my apple.

He smiled at me then, “Hey, honey. I’m guessing you want to know what’s going on with these,” he wiggled the folder of papers as a taunt.

Munching away, I nestled into the plush armchair across the room and stared back expectantly, hoping he wasn’t going to make me work for this information. Fortunately, he seemed too excited to share and blurted out, “A few NHL players are coming for a week and want the full ranch experience!” He was absolutely bursting, no doubt thrilled at what this would do for profit margins for the year.

I smiled at his enthusiasm. We weren’t huge hockey fans by any means, but it was one of the few sports I tolerated watching and I was definitely a little excited. “Who are they?” I asked.

“I believe they’re players from the Chicago Blackhawks, he told me. “I spoke with a…” he glanced back at his paperwork, “Mr. Kane.”

“Wait, like the Blackhawks that literally just won the Stanley Cup?”

“Those very ones!” my dad beamed.

“What on earth are they going to do at a dude ranch?” I probed somewhat incredulously.

Scoffing at my tone, “Well, it’s an excellent adventurous vacation for all sorts, need I remind you,” he retorted matter-of-factly. Changing his tone slightly, he added, “But he said something about a bet if they won the cup…”

I shook my head. It still made no sense to me.

Not having quelled much of my curiosity, I sighed and stood up, stretching out the kinks in my shoulders. “So when do these guys show up?” I asked my again-distracted father.

Without looking back from his reading, he replied, “Monday mid-day. Make sure the cabins are in pristine shape and a couple of good horses are worked this weekend.”

Giving a sarcastically salute to my father, I turned to leave. “Okay, chief.”

“Hey Liza?”

Turning back, my dad looked at me as though he was struggling with what to say.

He rubbed his eyes and sighed. Quietly he said, “Thanks. For coming back home this summer. I know you didn’t want to, but with your mom and…” he trailed off, a little choked up.

My expression softened. “It’s okay dad, I want to be here. Really.”

His pained expression fluidly became a sad smile. I backed out of the room and shut the door softly.

For a moment, I leaned with my back to the door. Reminders of my mom were still hard, the memory of her passing still fresh. Still, knowing it was hard for me meant that it was a million times worse for my dad.

Breathing deeply, and letting out a rattling sigh, I pushed the tears back. I needed to mentally prepare for this coming week. I always dreaded the “celebrities” that used to come in from time to time. My dad would be high strung about every detail, and back then, my mom was here to smooth the wrinkles out. Now, that was my task. To plan and coordinate an entire week for some famous athletes, while keeping my father sane and making the ranch look good.

Heaven help me.