[English] AFTER THE RAIN (Sau Cơn Mưa)

Author: Renee Carlino

My middle name is Jesus. Actually it’s Jesús de los Santos. In Spain it means Jesus of the Saints; in America it’s just a really strange middle name to grow up with. My parents came to America from Spain in the early eighties so my father could go to work on his cousin’s cattle ranch in Central California. To my mom and dad, America meant freedom, education, prosperity, and happiness. I was born here in ’85, ten years after my brother Daniel. My mother, being a devout Catholic, continued her family’s tra***ion of giving daughters religious middle names. I was her only daughter, born Avelina Jesús de los Santos Belo, which was quite a mouthful, so on school and medical records my mother shortened it to Avelina Jesús Belo. No pressure there.
Aside from putting up with the occasional jokes from classmates about my middle name, I had an otherwise idyllic childhood living on the ranch and attending the local public schools. Since before I can remember, I was riding horses and moving cattle with my father, brother, and cousins. The work was in my blood and riding horses came to me naturally, unlike making friends or doing other typical girlie things.
We had everything my parents wished for when they came here until I turned sixteen. That’s when my father was diagnosed with lung cancer. He was the first of many whom I loved but wasn’t able to mend. There were no healing powers in my hands; I was just a little girl with too many hard lessons to be learned. After he passed, my mother fell apart. His memory haunted her and made her frail. For months she sat in the ranch house, in front of the window, looking out for someone toe and rescue her—perhaps my father’s spirit, or maybe death.
I resented her for not being stronger, for not seeing...

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CHAPTER 1

Healer

Avelina

FALL 2003

My middle name is Jesus. Actually it’s Jesús de los Santos. In Spain it means Jesus of the Saints; in America it’s just a really strange middle name to grow up with. My parents came to America from Spain in the early eighties so my father could go to work on his cousin’s cattle ranch in Central California. To my mom and dad, America meant freedom, education, prosperity, and happiness. I was born here in ’85, ten years after my brother Daniel. My mother, being a devout Catholic, continued her family’s tra***ion of giving daughters religious middle names. I was her only daughter, born Avelina Jesús de los Santos Belo, which was quite a mouthful, so on school and medical records my mother shortened it to Avelina Jesús Belo. No pressure there.

Aside from putting up with the occasional jokes from classmates about my middle name, I had an otherwise idyllic childhood living on the ranch and attending the local public schools. Since before I can remember, I was riding horses and moving cattle with my father, brother, and cousins. The work was in my blood and riding horses came to me naturally, unlike making friends or doing other typical girlie things.

We had everything my parents wished for when they came here until I turned sixteen. That’s when my father was diagnosed with lung cancer. He was the first of many whom I loved but wasn’t able to mend. There were no healing powers in my hands; I was just a little girl with too many hard lessons to be learned. After he passed, my mother fell apart. His memory haunted her and made her frail. For months she sat in the ranch house, in front of the window, looking out for someone to come and rescue her—perhaps my father’s spirit, or maybe death.

I resented her for not being stronger, for not seeing how blessed she was. After burying my father, my brother dove into his own life, going to college and starting a family in New York City, far away from the ranch. The horses became my friends . . . and family. I started barrel racing in rodeos and competitions to make extra money while I watched my mother wither away in front of my eyes.

In my last year of high school, right after I turned eighteen in October 2003, my brother made the decision to send our mother back to Spain. Daniel promised me it was for her own good as well as mine. He agreed to take me in so I could finish my last year of high school, which meant moving all the way to New York, living in the city with his pretentious wife, starting at a new school, and being without my horses. I had no other options. I knew I would have to go somewhere, and New York sounded like a better option than Spain at that point.

Two weeks before we were to move, wild brush fires began raging in Southern California, sending clouds of smoke and haze into our valley, so I took my mother with me to a rodeo in Northern California to escape the dreadful air. We trailered all four of our horses, stopping periodically and letting them graze in the beautiful, untouched land of California’s Central Valley. During our drive, she spoke few words to me. She stayed hunched in the passenger seat, gazing out the window. When we traveled west to a small stretch of road where the mountains met the ocean, she sighed and said in her heavily accented English, “You are a healer. You have a gift. You’ve brought me home, belleza.” Beautiful, she called me. I looked exactly like her, with brown eyes too big for my head and long, dark, unruly hair.

“I’m not, Mama. I’m just a girl and we’re still in California,” I said to her. She didn’t respond—she was too far gone. Most of the time she was despondent like this. There would be the occasional nonsensical observation and then she would go back to quietly mourning my father. She existed in a grief-filled world that was off limits to the living. She existed in the past, and I knew I would never be able to help her, which made it the second time in my short life that I felt utterly powerless.

She spent most of that weekend in the cab of our truck or the dingy motel room where we were staying while I practiced and competed. I brought her meals and made sure she was okay before I went back to tending to the horses. I was scheduled to race for the last time on Sunday afternoon so I spent the morning watching the other events, sitting atop the corral just outside of the arena. It was a small rodeo composed basically of a main arena and two corrals freckled by a few sets of old, wooden bleachers. There wasn’t much money in the purses at those rodeos, but it was good practice and it wasn’t too far for me to drive.

During the men’s team-roping finals one of the horses, saddled and waiting in the corral, sauntered over to me. She nudged my leg and sniffed at my jeans. I let her smell my shoes and then I pushed back against the front of her face, in the space between her eyes and nose. “Go, get outta here.”

As soon as the words left my lips, I heard a brief whistle. Across the corral stood a man, his face shadowed by the large brim of his black Stetson. The mare left my side abruptly and trotted over to him. I watched as he climbed into the saddle with grace before giving the horse a subtle foot command to move forward into the arena. His team-roping partner entered from the other side. Just before the steer was released, the man looked over to me and nodded, the kind of nod that means something. It’s the quiet cowboy’s version of a wolf whistle. I lost my balance on the top of the corral and wobbled just for a moment before smiling back at him.

Instantly, the steer was out of the chute, followed by the men, one on each side. They roped the speeding creature in 5.5 seconds. It was fast, very fast but not fast enough to win. I fully expected to see two sulking cowboys trot back to the gate but only one looked totally defeated. The other, the man in the black Stetson, was smiling and riding toward me.

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As he approached with the reins and lasso in his left hand, he removed his hat with his right. He was so much younger than I expected and he was grinning emphatically. Two deep dimples appeared on the sides of his boyish cheeks. “Hey there, you distracted me,” he said, still smiling.

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled.

“I’m kidding. I picked me a dragger. We didn’t have a chance.” His voice was smooth and confident. He was referring to the fact that the steer wouldn’t lift his hind legs to be roped.

“Good thing, I thought I blew it for you.”

“It takes more than a gorgeous woman perched on a fence to throw me off my game,” he said, placing his hat back on his head. I never thought of myself as gorgeous or even a woman for that matter. My heart leapt and bounced inside my chest. He maneuvered his horse through the gate, hopped off, and led her into the corral where she came up to me again. “Bonnie likes you.” He laughed. “You’re the only one besides me.”

I stepped down and began helping him remove her saddle and bridle. “She’s a fine horse.”

“She’s a baby—a little too eager, but she’ll learn,” he said, almost to himself.

“Bonnie, huh? Cute name. Are you Clyde?” I asked.

He smiled, removed his hat, and reached his hand out. “Oh, excuse me, ma’am. Where are my manners? I’m Jake McCrea.”

I took his hand and shook it firmly. “Avelina Belo.”

“Beautiful and exotic name. It suits you.” The corner of his mouth turned up into a handsome smirk. His eyes were the most vibrant blue. In the sunlight it looked like little electrical currents circled his pupils.

“Thank you,” I said but found myself at a loss for more words. His compliment awoke a feeling in me I had never experienced. I was never interested in dating, and I never thought of myself as attractive. That tingly feeling girls get long before they’re eighteen finally hit me like a million pulses of light striking my chest and moving south.

“What’s a girl like you hanging around the corrals for?”

I hesitated. “Like me?”

“Yeah, like you?”

“I’m racing.” I pulled my phone from my back pocket and checked the time. “Oh, shoot. I’m going on in twenty minutes. I gotta warm up my horse and change.”

“I can warm up your horse, just point me in the right direction?”

“She’s the Appaloosa, right over there. The one trying to bite that kid.”

He followed my gaze to where Dancer was stretching her neck through the corral slats, trying to bite the arm of a young kid who was leaning back against the fence. Jake whistled to call her over but Dancer ignored him. He glanced over to me with a questioning look.

“Dancer,” I said just above a whisper. She pinned her ears before turning and trotting toward me.

“Huh,” Jake said, shaking his head. “Never seen that before.”

I led her out of the corral to the back of the trailer and began dressing her for the race.

“She has great lines.” He smoothed a hand over her spotted flank.

“Most people think she’s ugly.”

“No, she’s beautiful.” He was stroking the horse but looking right into my eyes when he said it.

My heartbeat spiked. “You can just take her around a couple of times while I change. She tires fast.”

“Okay,” he said as he worked to lengthen the stirrup. He lifted himself into the saddle and Dancer immediately bucked. He sat firm in his seat, clearly a great horseman. Pulling the reins tighter, he caused Dancer to trot back a few steps. She swished her tail and then pricked her ears up with irritation. Jake leaned down and spoke to her in a smooth tone. “Easy now. You’re not gonna embarrass me in front of this pretty lady, are you?”

“She always takes the third barrel too wide. I can’t break her of it, just so you know.”

Dancer trotted in place, anxious to run toward the practice barrels. “How can you win if she’s always making mistakes?” Jake asked, smiling.

“She’s fast enough.”

“We’ll see.” He gave her a tight squeeze with his boot heels and off they went.

I changed quickly into my competition shirt, jeans, and boots, and within five minutes he was back. Dancer was warm but Jake looked downright worn out.

“You okay, cowboy?” I smiled up at him.

There was a glistening stream of sweat dripping down his sideburns. He jumped off and handed me the reins before removing his hat and brushing his dirty-blond hair back. He let out a huge breath. “Man, she’s a mean bitch, full of piss and vinegar, that one. I don’t know how you race that horse, skittering around like that. She didn’t take the third barrel wide, she practically tossed me over it.”

I laughed. “You’ll see.” I took the reins, hopped up into the saddle, and headed toward the arena. “This is no roping horse. She dances on air,” I shouted back to him.

He was right; she was a hard horse to handle but not when I rode her. I got to the gate just as they called my number. The buzzer rang and we were off. I bent low into her body as Dancer raced toward the first barrel. She rounded it with perfect ease and then we were off to the second barrel and then the third, which she took just a bit wider than perfect. It was an improvement. I kicked her hard and smacked the end of the reins back and forth against her shoulders. She picked up and flew home to the gate, barely touching her hooves to the ground.

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As I glanced toward the time clock the announcer called my score. I won.

After collecting my prize, I headed back to the stable where my truck and trailer were parked. Jake was sitting on the tailgate, laughing as I approached.

“You got something good there, honey?” he asked.

I held up my trophy and shook it in the air. “I won three hundred dollars!”

“Are you telling me you’re gonna take me out for a beer to celebrate?”

I swallowed hard as I looked down at him from atop Dancer. I shook my head slightly and then tried desperately to peel my eyes away from him. He had changed into a clean pair of Wranglers and a white button-down shirt. Still wearing a confident grin, he swung his legs back and forth playfully on the edge of the tailgate.

When I jumped down to remove the saddle and bridle, he came around and put his hand over mine. “I was kidding. Not about the beer but about buying. I’d like to take you out for a proper dinner. Can I do that?”

He squeezed my hand, gazing into my eyes, waiting for my answer.

“My mom is at our motel. I’m . . . only eighteen.” My voice shook embarrassingly.

“Oh, well, I only just turned twenty-one.” He smiled again. “I’m far away from my home in Montana, doing the rodeo circuit through California. It’s just me and my roping partner, so it gets kind of lonely.” I could tell he meant lonely in the genuine sense, not in a ***ual way. “Maybe you can bring her along? You both need to eat, right?”

“Okay,” I said to Jake McCrea just three short months before I married him.

CHAPTER 2

Regimented Exercise

Nathanial

SPRING 2005

Flying up and down the rows of a crowded parking lot while my mother screamed in the backseat was not how I pictured the day I would officially become a doctor. My dad, in his token Hawaiian-print dress shirt, sat in the passenger seat, calm as ever, while I anxiously sped up and slowed down, periodically glancing at the clock on the dash. I had ten minutes to be in my seat before the ceremony started. There were no open parking spaces—the lot was littered with graduates hurrying along in their green and black gowns while my dad sat there humming “Yesterday” by the Beatles.

“I’m gonna be late. ****! I’m gonna be late.”

“Christ, Nathanial, you’re going to kill somebody. Calm down!” my mother shouted.

“Mom, please, you’re not helping. And Dad, quit with the ****ing humming.”

“Nathanial, are you really going to call yourself a doctor and use that kind of language?” I looked into the rearview mirror to see my peeved mother with her arms crossed, smirking at me.

“Oh that doesn’t matter, Elaine.” My dad finally awoke from his nostalgic daze. “Our boy here needs to choose his battles. First he needs to find a parking space in this godforsaken hellhole they call a university.”

I zipped through a group of pedestrians and spotted an open space on the other side. When I hit the gas, I could hear my mother whining under her breath.

“Dad, how can you say that about your alma mater and the very hospital you practice in?”

“Times have changed, Nate. That’s all I’m saying.” He stared out the window and went back to humming “Yesterday.”

Graduation day is a turning point for so many, but for me it was just the next box to check off as I followed obediently in my father’s footsteps. The David Geffen School of Medicine at UCLA is a challenge for most, even if your dad is the head of cardiothoracic surgery, but for me medical school was a breeze. It was a party. Half of my courses consisted of a professor spewing information that had been planted in me and nurtured from the time I was able to speak. Courses in anatomy were like reciting the alphabet. The brachiocephalic veins are connected to the superior vena cava. The superior vena cava is connected to the right atrium. The right atrium is separated from the left ventricle by the atrioventricular septum. I knew these things not because my dad was a doctor but because my dad was the most passionate and revered cardiothoracic surgeon in all of Los Angeles. Even with his offbeat and sometimes risky methods, my dad was considered, within the large community of surgeons throughout the country, as the very best in his field.

The three of us jumped out of my beat-up Nissan Altima and started booking it toward the sound of the MC already beginning his speech. I scurried along, carrying my cap in one hand and car keys and cell phone in the other.

“Wait!” my mother yelled. I turned to find her standing at the edge of the parking lot with her hand on the hip of her black pantsuit.

“What is it, Mom?”

“Come on, Elaine,” my father barked.

“Wait, just wait, goddammit!” My mother never cursed. “Come here, Nathanial.” She was a petite woman with childlike features, a black pixie hairdo, and the tiniest elfin nose. Most of the time her timorous posture and gentle smile made her seem soft. I had towered over her five-foot-three frame since I was twelve years old but all she had to do was jerk her head up at me and her glare alone was as powerful as any weapon. My mother was a fearless force to be reckoned with. You know how they say behind every great man there’s a great woman? My mother would say, No, the woman is three steps ahead.

Even though she stood behind my father and me that day, she was three steps ahead of us, and by all accounts, in charge of the situation. I looked down at my feet and back to her face and saw her expression change from anger to pride.

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I walked toward her. She stood up on her tippy-toes and cupped my face.

“You’re my only child. This is the only time I will get to have this moment. Before you walk up on that stage and officially become an MD, I want you to know that I’m proud of you. Even if you take all of this away—the white coat, the degrees—even if you take it all away, that doesn’t matter because I’m proud of who you are in here.” She poked me solidly in the chest, over my heart, and then she grabbed my cell phone from my hand. “And no cell phones today. I’ve already confiscated your father’s.”

I grinned at her and she winked. “Thanks, Mom. I love you.” I leaned down and kissed her cheek.

“I love you, too, and you know if this doctor thing doesn’t pan out I still think you’d make a great model.”

“I think that ship has sailed, Elaine,” my father chimed in.

It wouldn’t be fair to say that my father had pushed me to become a doctor because he didn’t—at least not overtly. I had wanted to follow in my father’s footsteps from the very beginning. But ever since I was a child, he had very carefully nudged me in the specific direction of heart surgery by basically discounting every other profession in the world. He would say, “Son, what’s more important than keeping people’s hearts beating?”

I thought I was so clever that once I had said, “What good is a beating heart without a functioning brain?”

He had, of course, very quickly replied, “It’s as good as any beating heart. The important thing to note is that you can keep even a nonfunctioning brain alive as long as you have a beating heart. Doesn’t work the other way around, does it?”

There had been about five minutes in my junior year of undergrad, when I had come home after reading about the use of power tools in orthopedic surgery, during which I had said to my father, “I think orthopedics is going to be my thing, Dad.” The next day he had brought home a trunk full of items from Home Depot and one extra-large cow femur bone. He then ran the cow bone over with his car in the driveway until it splintered, cracked, and broke in several places, and then he gave me a bag of tiny screws and bolts and a cordless drill.

“Have at it, kid.”

I had spent sixteen hours straight in the garage without so much as a drink of water. By the time I had finished, I was exhausted and thoroughly spent but proud of the fully assembled cow bone, which I paraded through the house. My mother was mortified and told my father he had created a monster. He just laughed from the couch, hollering back to me, “Looks pretty, but will it support sixteen hundred pounds?”

As I studied the bone in my hands, I became frighteningly aware that I knew nothing about orthopedics. I had spent the better part of an entire day meticulously planning and assembling an insanely complicated puzzle only to learn that the purpose of the surgery had nothing to do with how the bone looked but how the bone would function. Moments after that realization, I had another one, almost instantaneously: I didn’t care at all about how bones worked. Orthopedics was not my passion. Sure, I understood the importance of learning the basics in biology, anatomy and physiology, and general medicine, but I had been dreaming about doing heart surgery. In my dreams I would travel inside the heart. I lived in it and inspected every detail in each chamber like the parts were individual rooms. I had become obsessed with the heart and its physical functions. Even now, the only broken hearts I was interested in were ones that required surgery.

Darting between aisles and chairs, I found my seat next to Olivia Green, my lab partner through most of medical school. She had a fiery personality to go with a shock of red hair she often wound into a thick braid over her shoulder. To many of our classmates, Olivia seemed socially awkward because of her literal interpretation of just about everything. She had a certain candor about her, which I liked because occasionally we used each other for other things and she never gave me any emotional bull****.

“You’re late. You missed the walk up.”

“I noticed. I was trapped in the parking lot.”

“Trapped by who?” she whispered in a concerned voice.

My best friend, Frankie, was sitting on the other side of Olivia. He leaned in, shot me a look, and laughed. “Nate meant the parking lot was busy, Olivia.”

“Oh,” Olivia said. Frankie shook his head and then whispered across to me, “And she’s going to be performing heart surgery? That’s a scary thought.”

“Shut up, Frankie,” she said, elbowing him in the side. Frankie and Olivia just barely got along, and I think it was for my sake. Olivia was going to make a better doctor than both of us combined, and I think that got under Frankie’s skin.

The MC, Rod Lohan, who was also a friend and colleague of my father’s, began his speech. He announced the new physicians of the class of 2005, and before I knew it I was being called up to the stage.

“Nathanial Ethan Meyers.”

I thought that would be the last time I would hear my full name without the word “doctor” in front of it, like the rest of my life would be defined completely by my profession.

As I approached Dr. Lohan, whom I’d respected most of my life, I saw a glimmer in his eye. He was proud. I turned and searched for my mother and father in the crowd and found them looking up at me the same way. The long years of hard work paid off in that moment, but just as Dr. Lohan placed the graduation hood on my shoulders, I realized that my work had only just begun.

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After the ceremony, I had dinner with my parents and then met Olivia, Frankie, and a few other rowdy med school grads for drinks. We went to McNally’s, a local Irish pub. A man played the guitar and sang tra***ional pub songs from a tiny stage in the back. Between verses he would shout, “Chug it back, lads!”

I shook my head and wondered how I had been talked into going to a place like this. Olivia sat there bored, nursing a tiny ****tail, while Frankie, the social butterfly, made his rounds through the crowd.

“I’ll just have a water,” I said to the bartender.

“What’s the matter with you, bro? You’re not gonna have a celebratory drink?” Frankie shouted from halfway down the bar.

Olivia looked up at me, shaking her head. “Doesn’t he know you don’t drink?”

I shrugged. “Whatever, he’s just having fun.”

“He’s an imbecile.” She had no expression on her face.

I tugged on her braid. “Now, now, doc. Don’t get all hot.”

By then Frankie had walked up. “Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Boring. Don’t you two have some medical journals to be studying?” Olivia rolled her eyes.

“Actually, I do need to split, Frankie.” I gave him an apologetic look.

“I’m outta here,” Olivia mumbled.

“How about lunch tomorrow?” he asked me as I helped Olivia down from the stool.

“You got it.” Frankie was a good and loyal friend but he could be obnoxious, so I understood Olivia’s lack of patience with him.

I held the door open as Olivia and I headed out onto the street.

“I’ll walk you home,” I said to her. Her apartment was about four blocks from where we were and mine was six blocks in the other direction, but I knew she’d invite me in.

“Why are you staying in L.A. for your residency? I don’t get it,” she said as we walked briskly, shoulder to shoulder, down the sidewalk.

“Not everyone gets the privilege of doing their residency at Stanford.” I bumped my shoulder against hers in a teasing gesture.

“You would have been accepted but you didn’t even try.”

“What’s your point, Olivia?”

“I don’t know. It seems like you’re sticking around here because of your father.”

I could feel the heat spreading across my face. I clenched my jaw, stopped in my tracks, grabbed her shoulders, and turned her so she was facing me. Her large, dark eyes and freckles made her look younger but her lips were always pursed in an act of scrutiny, which sometimes made her look older. “My father has nothing to do with it. And I haven’t been given special treatment, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

She shrugged and one skinny eyebrow darted up. “Okay, whatever you say.”

“You know how hard I’ve worked. It has nothing to do with him. I’m not going to live in his shadow. I can be a better surgeon. It’s what I was born to do and I want to do it here. I like L.A. I’ve been here my whole life. I don’t need to be distracted in a new place.”

She turned and walked away, calling back, “I get it, Nate. You don’t have to walk me the rest of the way. I’m fine. Good night.”

I watched her walk down the block to the front of her building before I started jogging toward her. “Wait up, Olivia.”

She held the door to the lobby open. “What’s up?”

I hesitated. “Can . . . can I come in?” I smiled just enough to let her know I wasn’t mad at her.

She laughed once and then motioned with her hand for me to walk through the door. Once we were alone inside the elevator, I pinned her against the wall and kissed her. Her hair always smelled like tea tree oil. It was kind of a turnoff and I think she knew that. Like me, she wasn’t looking for someone to distract her. I tried not to breathe through my nose. She kissed me back, hard and demanding, and then began tugging at my belt. There was nothing warm or romantic about her.

“Hold on,” I whispered. “Not in here.”

When the elevator doors opened she grabbed my hand and pulled me down the hallway. “Hurry,” she said. “I want to be in bed by nine.”

“I’m getting you into bed right now.”

Unlocking the door to her apartment, she turned and looked at me. Her nose was scrunched up in revulsion. “I don’t want to do it in my bed, Nate.”

We had never had *** lying down. I think, in Olivia’s mind, that was too intimate. It was a miracle I could even get excited enough to be with her. She was gorgeous, but *** with Olivia was like a regimented exercise that was exactly the same every time. She told me where to put my hands and how to move and I would basically follow her directions, close my eyes, and pretend for a few moments that we weren’t just using each other night after night. It wasn’t that I wanted to find love, though. I didn’t have time for a relationship, so my arrangement with Olivia was perfect. It was just hard to overlook her cold nature sometimes.

“Over here.” She moved toward the small dining table in her kitchen. With her back to me, she pulled her tights and panties down to her ankles, lifted her skirt, and looked over her shoulder. “Come on.” She smiled playfully.

I ****ed Olivia like that all the time, against a table with most of my clothes on. When I bent her over farther, I ran my hand up her back, inside of her shirt, and moved my other hand to her front. We were about ten minutes in before she came loudly, screaming, “Oh ****!”

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I finished twelve seconds later and five minutes after that I was back in the elevator heading home.

Olivia was leaving the following week to go to Stanford. I didn’t know if I would ever see her again, but sadly the thought didn’t bother me. It truly felt like the beginning of my life, and all I could think about was becoming the best heart surgeon in the country.

CHAPTER 3

What Breaks Us

Avelina

SPRING 2005

Jake was my first kiss—my first everything. After my mom eventually went back to Spain, he took care of me and made me feel safe. We got married in Las Vegas at one of those quickie chapels, but it didn’t matter to us because we loved each other. We sold my three other horses, my truck, and my trailer, but Jake let me keep Dancer. He knew I would never part with her.

I always thought I would go to nursing school or become a veterinarian, but instead, the moment I met Jake, I dropped out of high school and never bothered getting my GED. The winter we got married, we were hired as wranglers on a ranch a hundred miles northeast of Great Falls, Montana. Ranching was something I knew well but it wouldn’t have mattered what I was doing, as long as I was with Jake.

The owners of the ranch were an older couple, Redman and Bea Walker. They didn’t have any children, just hired help, so we lived there in one of four cabins off the main ranch house. Bea cooked our meals while Redman, who got more ornery by the minute, rode around the ranch on a great big bay horse, barking orders at the rest of us. There was also Dale, who was in his forties—he was a large animal vet—and Trish, his wife, who was once a national rodeo queen. Dale helped out on the ranch but his veterinary practice also extended to other ranches nearby. Trish was a wrangler, like Jake and me, which meant she worked the horses and cattle and handled the general caretaking duties around the ranch. There were no children at the Walker Ranch; Jake and I were the youngest, and sometimes Trish, Bea, and the other ranch hands would call us “the kids.” I’d overheard Trish telling Bea that her con***ion made her barren. I never pried any further to find out what con***ion Trish had, but I knew Bea had struggled to have children herself, which made her very sympathetic to Trish’s situation. Redman and Bea had one child that I knew of who died at birth, so those who lived on the ranch became their family instead. There was history and wisdom inside of Bea and Redman and a lot of old, painful memories that they’d share as lessons whenever the opportunity arose.

Ranching is a dangerous life and not for the faint of heart. Sometimes the pain behind Bea and Trish’s eyes, which I knew was from not being able to have their own children, made the ranch feel like some sort of graveyard of broken dreams, only made beautiful by the breathtaking landscape, the huge, endless dreamlike skies, the millions of stars we saw on clear nights, and of course, Bea and Trish’s strong female drive to carry on and be mothers to us all.

For Jake and me, our hearts and dreams hadn’t been broken yet. We were excited about life and we talked about it all the time. And we wanted kids. Every time Jake would make love to me, he would say, Make a baby with me, Lena. That’s what he called me for short. This time it will work, he would say, though it didn’t for almost a year.

In the meantime, we took refuge in each other. He wasn’t much more experienced in the relationship department than I was, but he was tender and sweet with me and we learned together. We explored each other’s bodies and our own, and we figured out how to feel good while we were tucked under the thick wool blankets in our tiny cabin at the Walker Ranch.

Jake’s parents lived a couple of hours north, near the Canadian border. We didn’t hear from them much except for an occasional phone call from Jake’s mom. Jake didn’t want me to meet them because he said his dad was a mean drunk and his mom had taken the abuse so long that she was just a shell of a woman.

In the summer of 2004 we did the rodeo circuit again, traveling back to California and down to Texas. Neither one of us ever got national attention but it was what we loved doing. In the fall we would drive the cattle back to the ranch and in the spring we would take them out to pasture.

The winters were long and cold in Montana but we had each other and our horses. Jake had bought me a little herding dog. He was an Australian shepherd mix and he hated everyone. He only had one purpose in life and that was to herd the cattle. We named him Pistol.

The following spring Jake and I made a plan to take the cattle out to pasture and then camp for a week or so in the valley before heading back. Once Redman agreed to it, we decided to think of it as a little honeymoon, even though we had been married for more than a year. We would take our time coming back, fish in the streams, and enjoy nature.

“I want to bring Dancer,” I said to Jake as he sat on the steps going up to our cabin.

“No, she’s no good for this type of thing. You know that. She’s got no stamina.”

I sat down next to him. Tucking a strand of my dark hair behind my ear, he squinted his eyes and smiled, revealing his boyish dimples. “We’ll take Bonnie and Elite. They’re good girls. Okay, sweetie?”

He sat there in his tight Wranglers and cowboy hat set low on his head. His legs were spread wide and his chest puffed out, broad and firm. He had such a strong and convincing presence. I could never say no to him. “Okay.”

“Come here, Lena.” He pulled me onto his lap and brushed my hair off my shoulders to fall down my back. The roughness of his jaw tickled my neck as he laid small kisses near my ear. “You’re mine,” he whispered. “No one else can ever have you.”

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I kissed him on the mouth, expressing my agreement. I was the luckiest girl in the whole world. I turned in his embrace and pushed my back against his chest. His hands clasped together over my center, holding me tight against his body. I wondered briefly what his hands would feel like clasped over my pregnant belly. “What are you thinking about, angel?”

“I wonder what our kids will look like.”

“I can only imagine precious little girls as beautiful as their mother.”

Turning to look up at him, I smiled. “You mean you don’t want boys?”

“Oh I do. It’s just hard for me to imagine them.”

“What will you teach them?”

He looked up thoughtfully. “Besides the work and the horses, the cattle, I guess. Maybe I’ll teach them how to find the perfect girl and how to be a man.”

I looked up to the sky and rested the back of my head on his shoulder. “Tell me, Jake McCrea, how does one find the perfect girl?”

“You have to look real hard for that sparkle in her eye.”

I began to giggle and then he tickled me and I fell into fits of laughter. “You’re a silly man,” I shouted. “Stop that right now.”

We were quiet for several moments. He turned me in his lap and kissed me softly, holding my bottom lip between his teeth for a second before letting go and murmuring near my ear, “You’re a ***y woman. Come to bed with me, Lena.”

We packed our things in our saddlebags and rode out at dawn. It was a two-day ride to the pasture and one back without the herd. The skies were clear but it was brisk. I wore a thick down coat and heavy jeans over thermals but I was still cold. Jake wore a T-shirt, Carhartt jacket, jeans, and a baseball cap.

On the first night, we set up camp at dusk near a stream. Jake built a fire so I could warm up some tea. I unwrapped sandwiches Bea had made for us while I watched my silly husband strip down to nothing. He was completely naked, standing outside the tent. “What are you doing?” I asked in amusement.

“Going for a swim.”

“Jake, you’ll freeze.”

“No I won’t. Watch me.” He put his cowboy boots back on and ran down the short embankment toward the stream. I grabbed a blanket and chased after him. Before I could reach him, he tore off his boots and quickly walked into the deepest part of the river, shouting back at me the whole way.

“Oh, baby, this feels great!” he yelled. “You have to get in here! Come on, get naked.”

“No way! You’re crazy!” He only lasted about two minutes and then he came jogging out of the water, cupping his hands over himself. “You don’t want to see this, Mrs. McCrea.” He was shaking but still smiling. His abs and chest and biceps flexed as he squeezed his arms in toward his body.

“You are one ***y cowboy, even freezing.” I threw the blanket around him and he laughed, shivering under the wool.

“You gonna warm me up, sweetheart?” he asked, his eyes glimmering with hope.

“I’d love to warm you up, handsome.”

Back in our tent, Jake never got dressed. He climbed into our sleeping bag and just grinned at me as I undressed. There was one small lantern on the floor of the tent but it gave off enough light for me to see the desire in his eyes.

“Hurry, Lena, I need you to warm me up.”

I got undressed and slipped into the sleeping bag, facing toward him. “Should we turn out the lantern?”

“No one will see us; we’re in the middle of nowhere. Let’s leave it on so I can look at you.” He grinned and then sunk down and kissed his way from the hollow of my neck to my breasts. “Your body is perfect,” he said as he continued to kiss every inch of me. We made love twice that night and then we stayed twisted up in each other for a long time after. Sometime later in the night, he stirred at the sound of the wind rushing through the nearby trees.

The temperature had dropped dramatically once the sun went down, and I thought it would be wise to get dressed again. I reluctantly left the warmth of the sleeping bag.

“It’s just the wind,” I said through chattering teeth as my body trembled uncontrollably.

“You’re freezing, Lena. Just get back in here.”

“But . . .”

“Trust me, I’m warm enough to heat you up throughout the night.”

He was right, as usual. I stripped back down to nothing and pressed myself against his warm, naked body. He threw his muscular leg over me and I ran my hand down it, finding the wiry hair on his thighs and the smooth part where his Wranglers had chafed the skin. His big body enveloped me and made me feel loved and protected.

They say that home is where the heart is. Mine was always right there, tucked between Jake’s big arms.

At sunrise we were back to business, packing up our camp and saddling the horses. There was an eerie calm through the valley, as if it were part of a landscape painting, vivid and bright but frozen in time. The hills looked one-dimensional. No wind rustling the trees, no sounds from nature, and no vocalizations from the herd, which gave me a foreboding feeling.

I looked to Jake, who was cinching the saddle on Elite, our beautiful black-and-tan bay horse. His face was drawn down in a worried expression.

“Calm before the storm?” I asked.

“I don’t think so,” he said quickly. “The horses would be twitchy.” He kneed Elite in the belly so she would inhale, allowing him to cinch tighter. When he yanked up, she spooked, jumped sideways, and began skittering backward. Jake grabbed the reins, pulling them up and in against her neck. “Sit, sit,” he hissed through gritted teeth. It was his command to stop the horse from moving backward. He was trying to get control but Elite was skittish. She sensed something.

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He jumped into the saddle without hesitation and turned her in a circle as she chomped down and tugged at the bit in her mouth. “Get Bonnie ready,” he said to me. “I’m gonna run this one out a bit.”

“There’s a storm coming, right Jake?” I asked in a shaky voice.

He turned the horse once more and stared down at me, gauging my expression. His lips turned up into a self-assured smile. “Don’t worry, baby, everything will be okay.” With that, he let the reins out and gave Elite a little squeeze with his heels. From her back legs, she leapt forward, and they were off.

Horses are beautiful, majestic, and useful, but they’re not intelligent creatures. They have no way of judging a situation—they just react. Jake wanted to tire Elite out so she wouldn’t be so jumpy and endanger us. I would be the one riding her. He was trying to control her so she wouldn’t react to the doom that we all felt looming around us.

Once he was back with Elite, he seemed anxious. He wanted to get going and move the cattle out. He slid off of the saddle and handed me the reins. “She’s good. Let’s go,” he said and then he kissed me on the nose.

We gradually moved through the valley as the weather began to pick up. Jake sat back, relaxed in his saddle as he jogged Bonnie back and forth behind the herd, periodically whistling or clicking commands at her. At times I could hear him growling, “Get, get-up you.” A cow and her calf lagged behind, slowing our progress down. Pistol worked one side, prowling low and keeping the cattle in line while I trotted Elite on the other side. I stole glances at Jake every time I felt the wind pick up. He wore his baseball cap low, shadowing his eyes, but I could see his mouth. Every time I looked back he would flash me his dimpled grin, a piece of straw peeking from the corner of his lips as he chewed on it.

As the sun dropped down in the sky and fell behind the distant mountains, big storm clouds moved in, fast and hauntingly dark. The sky went almost black at three o’clock in the afternoon. I was shivering from the gusty bursts of wind blasting through me. Jake’s expression began to change. His jaw tightened and flexed and he sat upright in the saddle. We found a section of tall grass where the cattle could bunch together.

“We’ll stop here and camp over by the trees,” he shouted to me over the loud, rushing wind. The herd began to react and Elite began jumping nervously. Jake raced Bonnie toward me. “Get down from her!” he yelled.

I tried to pull her in a circle but she only went halfway and then began nervously shifting backward. “Get down!” Jake’s tone was harsher than I had ever heard from him.

Elite sat back on her haunches slightly and pinned her ears back. I slid off the saddle, jumped down, and moved away quickly. Jake was already at her side, grabbing at the reins and pulling her toward the trees. He tied the horses up as I spread the tent out to begin setting up. I was freezing before but then it began snowing. My hands went numb as I fumbled with the tent anchors.

Spring storms were not totally uncommon, but this storm had a fervor and fury to it that I could tell frightened even Jake. The wind was fierce, whipping the tent about as I tried ineffectively to set it up. We weren’t prepared for such a drastic temperature drop or for the several inches of snow. It felt like we were on the top of a mountain in a blizzard.

Jake jammed the last post into the ground and then turned to me. “Get in there, Lena.” He was out of breath.

“No, I’ll wait for you.”

He pulled me toward his chest. “I’m going to check on that calf and bring Pistol back. Just get in there. I’ll be back in a minute.” He touched his freezing lips to my mouth and pressed hard before untying Elite from the tree and jumping into the saddle.

Just as he passed me, one of the tent lines flew off the anchor, forcing the material to fly back and make a sound like a cracking whip. Elite reared right over me, and I saw as fear and panic swept over Jake’s face, almost as if the scene were playing in slow motion. Elite’s hooves fluttered just inches from my head. Stumbling back, I fell on my bottom and looked up to see Jake pulling Elite’s reins tight, forcing her from the reared position to fall backward, on top of him. He was trying to protect me. He had forced a thousand-pound animal to fall backward onto himself, crushing his body, allowing me to escape without a scratch.

“Jake!” I screamed so loudly that Elite immediately rolled over, got to her feet, and took off frantically. My husband, my cowboy, was lying there, nearly lifeless in the snow and the mud. I had seen Jake on a rearing horse and I knew he wouldn’t have pulled her back that way if I hadn’t been standing there.

I ran to him and dropped to my knees. His eyes were closed but he was moaning. “Jake, please, look at me.” For several minutes he stayed that way, moaning as blood began dripping from his nose. Panicking, I quickly secured the loose tent line to the anchor, grabbed him from under the arms, and dragged his six-foot-two massive body into the tent. He moaned and made horrifying guttural sounds as I yanked him across the rough terrain. I had to get him out of the cold or he would die there. After making sure that the tent was stable, I covered him with the sleeping bags.

My mind was racing. What could I do, how could I help, how could I heal him?

I knelt beside him when he began to stir.

“Jake, say something. Are you okay?”

He looked up at me and there were tears in his eyes. “I can’t feel my legs.”

The air rushed from my lungs as if I had been punched in the stomach by a thousand fists. I was gutted and had no words. I could feel myself shaking my head back and forth slowly but I wasn’t making a conscious effort to do so. I was in a state of complete disbelief and shock.

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“No,” I said finally, but the word rushing over my lips barely made a sound. Jake grimaced, clearly pained by the realization he saw on my face. “It can’t be,” I said. He nodded and then closed his eyes, pressing tears to the corners before a steady stream began running down his cheeks. That was the first time I ever saw Jake cry. Even then, he tried to turn his head away.

“No, Jake, I won’t believe it, I promise you, it will all be fine. Look at me.”

I turned his head to face me but he wouldn’t look. “Open your eyes and look at me,” I sobbed, then my own tears began dropping into his hair.

God wouldn’t do this to me, I thought. I tried to convince myself that no God would let this kind of tragedy happen to two people so in love with such a long, hopeful future in front of them. But of course, I knew that wasn’t true. I knew that kind of pain and sadness; I was familiar with it and I knew it didn’t discriminate.

I spent that night holding him, counting his breaths and praying. We were a day’s ride away. We had a cell phone but no service in the valley. In the morning he fell in and out of consciousness as I prepared for the ride back. The weather had calmed but it was still snowing and very cold. I was terrified and every time I looked down at him lying there, the sinking feeling I had in my stomach would fall deeper. During one of his more lucid moments, he mumbled something to me as I sat next to him to put my boots on. I bent close to his face. “Tape your feet,” he said in a low voice, barely audible.

I shook my head up and down quickly and then rifled through his bag until I found a roll of duct tape. I ran the tape over my socks and then taped the outside of my lace-ups.

“Good girl,” he whispered to me.

I grabbed my pack and leaned over to kiss him. When he moved an arm up to touch my face, he winced and sucked air through his teeth. “Don’t move, I’ll be back soon.” I could taste the iron tanginess of blood when I kissed him.

“I love you,” he said.

“I love you, too.” Tears flooded my eyes and dropped onto his face where they mixed with his. “Jake, you’re going to be fine, I promise,” I said slowly, as I took deep, deliberate breaths.

My heart was heavy and thudding along painfully as I watched his expression turn bleak. He swallowed and shook his head. “Get yourself to safety, don’t worry about me. Don’t come back for me. I’m no good,” he said, and then he lost consciousness. I fell apart, sobbing over his chest for several minutes before I could force myself to stand.

Crying hysterically, I stumbled out of the tent and discovered that Bonnie was gone. I fell to my knees again, cursing God and my middle namesake. Both horses were gone. I had no choice but to walk and hope that Redman and Dale would come looking for us. I had little faith that Jake and I would survive.

For the first time in his life, Pistol came up and licked my face, whimpered, and nuzzled his nose into my arm.

“Let’s go, boy.”

I headed back through the familiar snow-covered landscape I had traveled many times before. In parts where the vegetation was dense, the snow had already melted, creating thick, slushy mud. There was water sloshing in my boots, making my feet go numb. I fell several times by midday. On horseback, even at a slow pace, I would have covered twice as much ground.

Pausing near a tree, I hunkered down and called Pistol to me. I tucked him into my chest and tried to use his warmth to heat my body. I dozed off for a minute and dreamt of my horse Dancer coming to me. I woke with a start and realized the weather was getting bad again. To stay warm enough *****rvive, I would have to keep moving. I got up, whistled, and called out, hoping that Bonnie or Elite would turn up to take me home. As I trudged on against the storm, I kept my head down, trying to shield myself from the snow. At one point the wind was so strong that the snow looked like it was coming toward me, not down on me.

Every time I wondered if Jake was still breathing, my heart sank so low in my chest that it physically hurt. I tried to stay focused on getting back to the ranch. In the evening, the snow stopped falling long enough for me to make a shelter with branches and leaves, but it didn’t last long. Everything was saturated with snow, so I found a large rock and lay across it. Pistol jumped up and curled into me. We stayed like that, curled in a ball for hours until I had the strength to move again.

Before light filled the sky I was walking out of the valley, delirious, hungry, thirsty, and hopeless. “Dancer,” I whispered over and over. After hours of wishing, she came to me, as if in a dream. She walked out of the foggy haze, her striking white mane flapping against her neck. “Dancer,” I called, and she came trotting through the snow.

It was the first time in my life I truly surrendered. Dancer could have been a dream or an illusion, but at that point nothing mattered anymore except for my next breath. My body was numb and my eyes burned. Swinging my leg over her bare back, I gripped her firmly, taking a handful of her mane near her ears with one hand and a handful near her neck with the other. I bent low and close to her body and squeezed my legs as tight as I could. “Go home,” I said, and she took off, dancing in a full gallop across the open plain.

When she slowed, she was laboring heavily and foaming at the mouth. Pistol was still following us. We had one large plain to cross and then we would be near a road that led to the ranch.

I dozed off and only came to when I heard Redman shouting at Bea, “Call an ambulance!”

Draped over Dancer’s back, I kept my eyes closed, finally feeling safe after hearing the familiar voices. I let my mind wander to the days when I met Redman and Bea. They made Jake and me feel like we were part of a family again. Redman’s face was handsome, weathered as it was, and his voice was deep and rich. I imagined the younger version of himself as the Sundance Kid. Bea, a skinny, feisty woman, would have made the perfect Etta Place in her day. Now her hair was completely gray, always carefully pinned into a neat bun at the nape of her neck, and she never wore makeup. Like Redman’s, her face was covered in deep lines from many years of working outdoors. Redman’s hair still had some hint of ruddy color streaking through the gray but his eyes were a dull blue, which sometimes happens when the color fades with age, making even the brightest eyes look lifeless over time. He was an intelligent man and a skilled horseman, and he was compassionate and funny around the people he knew well, but he had a short fuse. Bea took a lot of crap from him, so occasionally she would give it right back.