How To Catch a Cowgirl | Lesbian Western, PT 11: Taking Care Of Business

She might have been trying to help, but in that moment all Tamsan represented was pressure. Pressure to face very unpleasant facts and to do work Anna had no desire to do at all. An urgent rebellion began to rise in Anna’s breast, an uncomfortable tight feeling accompanied by a deep core irritation. Just who the heck did Tamsan think she was? She couldn’t just walk in and take control of her… or the ranch for that matter.

“Listen,” Anna said, trying to be diplomatic, but sounding squeaky and annoyed instead. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate your help, but we just met and…”

“And you don’t want to dig out your budget and bank statements for a stranger you spent the last day and a half fucking.” Tamsan said it better and more bluntly than Anna ever would have.

“Well, yeah.”

“I suppose you can keep going on the way you’ve been going if you think that’s working.”

“It’s not,” Anna admitted. “But…”

“You’re still the owner of the ranch,” Tamsan reassured her. “I’m not going to take anything away from you. I just can’t stand on the edge of the pond and watch you drown, that’s all.”

“Drowning is a bit of a dramatic comparison, don’t you think?”

“I haven’t seen numbers, but I’m thinking the ranch is barely breaking even. I’m thinking if that doesn’t change, you could be out of business come winter. And then you’ll lose the place. You’ll be forced to sell. And then where will you be?”

Tamsan was right. Anna didn’t want to hear it, but she was right. Unfortunately, it only served to make her grumpy.

“I’m not going to lose the ranch,” she snapped. “It’s been in my family for three generations. My great-grandfather stole this land fair and square and we’re going to keep it. I appreciate your offer of help, but I’m fine, okay? The ranch is fine.”

“It’s not, and you know it, but I won’t intrude any more,” Tamsan said. “If you want my help, you know where to find me.”

She turned and left. The spark of life left with her. Anna sank down into her father’s old chair, put her head on her arms and lost the battle against crying. She’d been trying so damn hard to keep it together since getting back to the ranch, and for the most part she’d managed fairly well. Most days it was easy enough to avoid the places that triggered the clearest memories and to pretend as if she was on top of things. But Tamsan ruined all that. Tamsan tore down the delicate veils keeping Anna separate from the pain of loss and she made it impossible to pretend that all was well.

“Fuck,” Anna swore to herself, hating how she was sniveling. “Get a fucking grip already.”

It took a few minutes, but she eventually got a grip, dried her eyes and went out to see how work on the ranch was going. Some of the cattle were being bought in for drenching. She stood on the porch and watched as they poured into the holding pens, complaining with loud mooing cries. Several were being resistant, balking at the gate and generally holding up operations. Anna watched as a ranch hand leaned down from his saddle and applied an electric cattle prod to one such animal’s rear. The bellowing of the cow ignited a rage in Anna which saw her storming down off the porch and right up to the pens.

“You use one of those on my cattle again, and I’ll use it on you,” she growled at the hand.

He was young, arrogant and new. He smirked down at her completely unrepentant. “Had to get her moving.”

“You could have done it without an electric shock,” Anna insisted. “We don’t use shots on this property.”

The hand looked away from her and toward his peers, rolling his eyes as he did. There was a brief silence interrupted only by the complaints of the cattle.

“Give me the prod.” Anna held out her hand.

“It’s mine.”

“Well you can have it back at the end of the day,” she said, knowing she sounded like a school marm, but not caring in the least.

“I ain’t giving you my equipment. This was a hundred bucks.”

Anna reached out and, to the hand’s surprise, and her own, ripped the prod out of his hand. “Nobody carries this sort of shit on my ranch.”

“Bitch,” the hand swore.

Anna’s eyes narrowed. She did not like that word. She did not like that word one little bit. “You’re fired.”