Broken Arrow Ranch

Chapter 1

When I first crossed the stateline into Colorful Colorado, I could hardly believe what I had gotten myself into. Nebraska had been endlessly flat, and the transition into the rolling desert hills was abrupt. The scenery was breathtaking—completely different from the world I knew back East. Crossing the stateline made it feel official: I was out West.

My dad, Brian, was in the car with me. He didn't want me to make the twenty-hour drive alone because he was worried my car might break down, but I knew the real reason was that he was anxious about me driving to an unfamiliar ranch where I was supposed to spend my entire summer.

I'm from Michigan, originally. In fact, I've lived in the same house for all twenty-two years of my life. I'd never been away from home either. My four years of college were spent online, writing papers and doing assignments from home so I could accommodate a full-time job.

After graduating in 2023, I kept thinking about "what's next?" Deciding what I wanted to do for the rest of my life changed day by day. So, when I finally decided to apply for seasonal work on a ranch, it felt like a way to postpone the inevitable decision of locking myself into a career. Straying from the comforts of my life back home—and leaving behind my beloved dogs—didn't exactly make me feel better about the job I was heading toward. Every mile that put more distance between me and home only deepened the doubt.

Brian was a pretty quiet road trip passenger. We had been listening to true-crime podcasts, but we were between episodes at the moment, so we sat in silence, with nothing but the wind blowing through my rolled-down windows. Yeah, I took my car without working air conditioning to live out West for the summer.

My dad must have been thinking the same thing I was, because he broke the silence by asking, "You're sure it was a good idea to take this car, Holly? Your truck would have been much more practical."

"For one, my truck doesn't have working air conditioning either," I replied, a little defensively. That was my only rebuttal, because, truth be told, I would have fit in a lot better with a truck at the ranch. I also wouldn't have had to cram my luggage the way I did in my car.

The car I decided to take on this trip was none other than a 1988 Pontiac Fiero. It was everything you'd expect from an '80s commuter car trying to pass as a sports car: two-door, sleek, and small. So, so small. When you're sitting in the Fiero on the highway, your head sits lower than the tires on a semi truck. The trunk could barely fit a couple of carry-on suitcases, with random small bags shoved into the corners. I had to strap a suitcase to the luggage rack just to make it work. And to top it off, I had packed tools in case the car broke down—it was forty years old, after all.

Regardless of its flaws, I loved my little red car. It was fun to drive and got great gas mileage for such a long road trip. The owners of the ranch had assured me I wouldn't need a personal vehicle for ranch work anyway, so I really didn't need my truck.

"Just don't come crying to me when this car breaks down," my dad said, conceding for the moment.

"Yeah, yeah, I can fix it if it does. I bought Triple-A just for this trip," I retorted.

"I know, but I'm worried it'll break down in a bad spot. Who knows what kind of weirdo might approach a young girl stranded on the side of the road."

"I know. But this car hasn't broken down on me yet in the two years I've had it." Which was partly true. It wasn't 100% reliable, but the few times it had been an inconvenience were at home, where I could just hop in my truck to get to work. I wasn't truly stranded. I didn't want to think about my car breaking down and proving me wrong. The timing worked out perfectly to change topics. As we approached a rise on I-70, the faint outline of the Rocky Mountains came into view.