MacKenzie Fire(55)

“I guess.” He pulls into the parking space for his truck but doesn’t turn off the engine. Instead he puts the truck into park and takes his seatbelt off. He stares out the window as he rests his arms on the wheel.

“What are we doing?” I ask.

“Just thinking.”

I stare at the flakes of snow that fall lazily to the truck’s windshield. They melt before they can build up, probably because Ian has had the heater blasting all the way here.

“Thinking about what?” I finally ask, almost afraid to hear the answer.

“Just thinking that you turned out different than I thought you would be.” He finally looks at me, but I cannot read his expression at all. The waning light is not helping any.

“How so? I mean, what did you expect?”

He looks down at my clothes and then my shoes before coming back up to meet my gaze. “Not this.” He turns off the truck, opens his door, and jumps out before I can say anything back.

I throw my door open and try to get out, getting tangled up when I realize that I forgot to take my seatbelt off first.

“I wouldn’t look like this if it wasn’t for you!” I shout at his rapidly disappearing back.

“You’re welcome!” he yells over his shoulder.

“I didn’t say thank you!” I yell back.

When I’m finally out of the seatbelt, my feet hit the snow and by some kind of miracle, I don’t fall. I walk with my legs kind of far apart so I have better grip on the ground. Following Ian’s footsteps, I make it all the way to the barn without getting snow on anything but my boots. I’m practically a native now, the way I can negotiate these treacherous grounds. I’m grinning from ear-to-ear when I get in the barn.

“Yeah, yeah,” Ian’s muttering. “I hear ya.”

“Are you talking to me?” I ask as I walk up to the stable box where the calf is. Ian’s around the corner doing something.

My little baby is walking around, sniffing the straw and tossing it around. She’s covered in little bits of it.

I open the door and go in, and she runs to the opposite side and stares at me. When I bend down and talk nonsense to her, she takes a few tentative steps in my direction.

“Here,” Ian says, handing me a bottle over the door.

I take it with my good arm and hold it by my face. “Dinner tiiiime, little Candy girl. Come on over here and eat it up for momma so she can stop worrying about you.”

She walks over like she understands every word I just said and then we play tug-o-war with the bottle again until she sucks it dry. My arm is on fire, but I ignore it. Every bit of pain I have to endure for her is worth it.

When she’s done, she goes off and does her happy milk-belly dance, and I stand in the corner watching. I don’t realize I’ve got happy tears on my cheeks until Ian reaches over and wipes one away.

“You ready for dinner?” he asks softly.

“Yeah. No. Maybe.” I can’t focus on him. I can only stare at this little miniature cow and revel in the miracle that is her. I can’t believe Ian and I actually brought her back to life. If we hadn’t shown up when we did, she’d be frozen solid right now and her real mommy would be mooing while her heart broke. I feel like a superhero.

“Want me to bring it out here?” he asks.

That gets my attention. “Could you?”

He smiles. “Yeah. Be right back.” A second later he’s handing a short stool over the door to me. “Here. Make yourself comfortable.”

I put the stool in the corner of the stall and sit on it. Candy comes over to check things out and lick me with her really rough tongue before I push her away and she goes back to ruffling the straw around. It’s only after I’ve settled in and she’s going back to sleep that I realize how frigging cold it is out here. I wiggle my toes over and over trying to keep the circulation going in my feet.

Ian shows up a few minutes later with a blanket that he throws over the door on top of me and something covered in tin foil. He opens the stall door and comes in, sitting down in the straw next to me as I settle the warm wool on my shoulders.

“What’s this?” I ask as he hands it over. He keeps one for himself and tears the top of the foil off.

“Burrito. Fresh frozen and microwaved by yours truly.”

“Wow,” I say, taking a bite of it, failing miserably at looking like a girl with manners. “You have so many hidden talents.”

“You know it,” he says, eating a third of his burrito in one bite.

I laugh as a bean rolls out of his mouth and sits on his chin.

“What?” he asks, all innocence, even though I know he has to feel it sitting there. “What’s wrong?”

I shake my head. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

“You sure?” he moves his head left and then right, showing off his new bean mole.

“Positive. You’re perfect exactly like that. Best you’ve looked all day.”

He turns his head sideways and in one quick movement flicks the bean off his face. It lands in my hair.

I sigh through my nose and just sit there, chewing my burrito, reviewing the tragedies of the day. I’ve had cow loogies all over my face. I’ve been scratched by a lion and now have stitches and a future scar that will show every time I wear a sundress or a t-shirt. I’ve contributed to the death of said lion. I’ve pissed off my best friend and pretty much her entire family. And now I have a burrito bean in my hair.