Vesta stood on the porch of the ranch home of Grant Stone with a cup of coffee in her hands. After being discharged from the hospital, she realized she didn’t want to necessarily just sit in a hotel room for the rest of her time in Montana. She was never good at being stationary. Moving from one job to the next was her thing, and she would normally have her cell phone in her hand right now, booking the next show. Felix, had been a no show, and that wasn’t like him. Vinny actually insisted that they go and see what the ranch was all about.
The wonderstruck look on her twin’s face screamed seven-year old and not their thirty-seven years of age. She couldn’t resist. Honestly, she was a little curious herself, the closest she’d been to a horse were the occasional mounted police on the Strip, but in her line of work, fireworks and animals don’t mix.
Brighton insisted on driving them over, and it was two against one. She had to admit, after a steak dinner surrounded by women she felt a kindred spirit with, she was glad she came. Hearing the stories about how Samara and Layla came to the town captivated her. They weren’t just some stay at home, kept women. Samara, had been a top-notch financial analyst, but was the first to fall when cuts had to be made at her brokerage firm. Layla’s tale of being a detective in one of America’s most dirty and corrupt cities reminded her so much of her own glass ceiling, wall, floor, door and every damn barrier she could think of when she went out for bids. Although times have gotten better, it is indeed a grueling and slow climb to gain some measure of equality in what is deemed a typically male role.
However, here, it is almost as is this town was in some type of vortex. The men, Chase, Grant, Brighton, Bradford all took care of the home, or the ranch, welcoming guests, and even cooking the meals while taking tours of the mountains. Meanwhile, Samara was elected to the town treasury not to mention advises the accounts of most of the stores in town. Layla quickly became a deputy sheriff in town, and even the snarly Katrina, whose nickname “Wildcat” fit to a tee, was quickly escalating the ranks in the ATF.
Continue Reading – Click Here Burning Down Montana, Chapter Six