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Cowgirl to teach riding, roping and wrangling.

Branding experience a plus.

Contact Rose Grant, personally, at the 120mi Ranch.

Rose tossed the paper down on the kitchen table and got up to get herself another cup of coffee. She looked out the kitchen window, she had already been up for hours milking cows, feeding chickens, gassing up trucks and tractors and feeding the workhorses. The sky was just now beginning to lighten in the east as the sun made its way up, bringing another day to the ranch. She sighed and walked back to the table where the Grant’s Pass Daily News laid folded. Rose picked up the paper again and tapped it against the Formica tabletop. The kitchen’s door opened and in walked Champ Broody, her Ranch foreman  “Have you seen this?” She asked tossing the paper at Champ.

Champ fumbled with the paper then held it out at arms length so he could focus on the small writing. “Old man Finch is looking for a tractor, his ‘53 Ferguson must have finally crapped out.” He said barely holding the chuckle that threatened to bubble up as his eyes raked over the circled ad that was the obvious cause of Rose’s mood.

Rose growled as she stood and reached across the table jerking the paper from Champ’s hands, “To hell with Ricky Finch and his Ferguson! I want to know who placed this ad!” She roughly tapped the middle of the red circle causing the paper to tear slightly.

Champ gently took the paper back and once again extended his arm as he took in a deep breath, “Ah. Well it certainly seems like a personal ad, doesn’t it? Did you get to drinking and called up the paper in one of those reflective ‘I don’t want to be alone on a desolate Wyoming ranch forever’ moments?” Champ asked with a fatherly tone and raised eyebrow.

“I did not!” Rose said defensively and grabbed the paper back. She wadded up the six- page report on the local coming and goings and threw it in the trash bin next to the refrigerator. “I don’t need anyone for anything other than to help me run this ranch, and I’m about to be another hand short as soon as I find out who placed that ad!”  She stomped out of the kitchen and down the hall where she entered the office and slammed the door.

Champ walked to the coffee pot and poured himself a half a cup of the dark brew that Rose was so fond of, and then he went to the fridge and filled the rest of the cup with milk. He sat down at the table and smiled to himself. It was going to be quite the week at the One Two Oh.

He remembered the day about six months back when Rose showed up. He had called the girl to inform her that her father had passed away. The old man, Forrest Grant, had gone quietly on a summer night, one year to the day of his wife Vera’s passing. Rose had come back for her mother’s funeral and had been so ill treated by her father that she had vowed to not return until she had to put the old man in the grave. What Rose hadn’t expected was to inherit the seventy-seven thousand acre ranch. After the first three months of trying to manage the historic range of cattle, sheep, and horses she had confided in Champ that she was sure it was her father’s ultimate punishment for not being what he wanted in his only child. He looked over at the trash bin and smiled, one of the boys had gotten up to some mischief, he made a mental note to tell ‘em to lay low for a week or two.


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