Page 11 of Roping Her Alien Ranchers

But grit can get a girl a long way.

And so can a deep-rotted need to prove a walking red flag wrong.

I drained my glass and poured another, the whiskey bottle now dangerously lighter.

How long could I survive overdue red notices, empty feed bins, failing machinery, and uncooperative horses? The truth was that reality was running me ragged.

But crawling back to Derek? I'd rather sleep in the stable with Mystery, temperamental diva that he was.

Darkness spilled like ink across the ranch, the last traces of daylight fading into deep blue. One by one, stars began to appear overhead, pinpricks of light that seemed to wink at me with encouragement: “there’s still brightness even in the dead of night”.

The vast sky over this open land had been one of the first things I'd fallen in love with when Derek brought me out here from Kansas City. It was so clear, untainted by city lights. Its wideness felt different these days, stretching above me, indifferent to my troubles, a reminder of how small and insignificant my problems were in the grand scheme of things.

A small woman. Smaller problems. Unimportant when it came to keeping the world turning.

I refilled my glass. Was this my third or fourth? Did it matter? I was going to wreck my liver faster than I wrecked this floundering property.

Placing the bottle down on the second step, I glared at it, then gave it a sharp poke with my index finger.

It fell over, tumbling down the risers to clatter against the craggy ground.

I slid off the top step, wincing when a splinter threatened to push through the worn jeans and embed in my ass. I rocked back and forth, seeing if it was really going to pierce. When it didn’t, I leaned back against the weathered porch step, tilting my face up to the heavens. The wood creaked beneath me, another reminder of all the repairs I couldn't afford to make. This whole place was held together by little prayers and well-placed patches, much like its owner.

A shooting star streaked across the sky, a brief flash of silver against black. An old childhood habit kicked in, and I closed my eyes to make a wish.

Please let Mystery and Sassafras make a baby. Please let me keep this ranch. Please don't let Derek be right.

When I opened my eyes, another meteor was cutting through the darkness, its trail slightly longer than the first. Then another. And another. A meteor shower, unexpected and breathtaking. Under different circumstances, I might have grabbed a blanket and sprawled out in the pasture to watch nature's light show. Instead, I remained with my back pressed against rotting wood slats, the empty whiskey glass cool against my palm, counting falling stars.

Falling like the world around me.

Falling like my bank account balance.

Falling like the pieces of my broken, busted heart.

Among the meteors, one light moved differently than the others. Instead of the quick streak of a falling star, this one seemed to hover, pulsing slightly before changing direction. It was brighter too, with a bluish tinge that stood out against the silvery meteors. Was some once in a century comet supposed to rocket past Earth tonight?

"Weird," I murmured, squinting up at it. Probably a satellite or a plane, my alcohol-fuzzy brain reasoned, though it didn't move quite like either. After a moment, I dismissed it, too lost in my own troubles to give much thought to strange lights in the sky. The universe had bigger problems than Tammy Tucker and her failing horse ranch.

Standing up on wobbly legs, I moved down the rest of the stairs and leaned over to pick up the nearly empty glass bottle. About a half inch of whiskey sloshed inside. The stars kept falling overhead and I lifted the whiskey to my lips. I swallowed it slowly; the wetness no longer burned a path down my throat but instead spread gentle warmth throughout my limbs. My brain grew fuzzy and the depression thoughts faded.

I glanced over at the pasture. Mystery was gone, likely settled to rest in his stall. It was going to be a beautiful night, so maybe I wouldn’t bother gating them inside the stables. Sassafras still stood beneath starlight, looking almost ghostly. My eyes shifted over to Artie, who was almost prancing after a little flock of fireflies. The old guy always seemed to come alive at night, like his ancient bones gained fresh life as soon as the sunlight left.

"What am I going to do?" I asked the universe softly.

Of course, the universe stayed achingly quiet. No response. No easy answer.

Artie nickered happily though, and that sound made me smile despite myself.

Yet, soon after, a fresh wave of melancholy washed over me. What would it be like to have that kind of simplicity? To live without the constant pressure of bills and deadlines and expectations? To exist, eating grass and feeling the sun on your back, with no concept of tomorrow beyond whether it might rain?

I moved inside the house, beelining for a fresh whiskey bottle. Did I need it? No. But tomorrow would come with or without a hangover. The bank would still want its money. Mystery and Sassafras would still hate each other. Derek would still be waiting for me to fail.

Derek. The thought of him once again made my jaw clench. He'd been so certain I'd come crawling back, begging for his help, admitting he was right about me all along. And here I was, so many months later, precisely where he'd predicted I'd be—broke, desperate, and out of options.

Except giving up. I still had that option, didn't I? I could call him tomorrow, swallow my pride along with his smugness, and save what little I had left. He'd take me back—he'd made that clear enough. I could return to a life of financial stability, comfortable furniture, and being told to "just stand there and look pretty."

The very thought made bile rise in my throat. Or maybe that was the whiskey. Too much of a good, numbing thing.