Rocky Mountain Cowboy by S.A. Monk

with silent gratitude and the ardent hope that she wouldn’t disappoint him.
    Hawk put the truck in gear again and pulled it between the the first two rows of baled hay. With smooth precision, he put the truck in park, but kept the engine running.
    “Drive slowly between the rows, and I’ll toss the bales into the back,” he directed her as he yanked on his work-stained gloves. “I’ll holler when you need to stop so I can hop in to arrange the bales.”
    Jenny stared at him speechlessly. Those bales looked large and heavy; awkward to handle. And he was just going to throw them into the truck bed? He was dressed like she was— in boots and jeans and a long sleeved heavy cambric shirt to protect his arms from the hay chaff. Like her, he wore a t-shirt underneath, only hers was lacy and embroidered. He had a work-worn straw cowboy hat on. Her new one sat on the seat beside her. He looked big and strong and very capable, but didn’t they have machinery that could load these bales? She asked.
    He had hopped out of the truck and stood beside the open door of the cab. “It’s busted.”
    Since that seemed to be all the explanation she was going to get, she looked over, in horror, at the long stick -shift column on the floor. She had never driven a flatbed, but maybe it was like a tractor, she thought. These gear shifts— there were two for heaven’s sake— looked ancient, though.
    “I don’t think I can drive this,” she confessed, embarrassed.
    Hawk gave her a reassuring grin as he motioned her behind the driver’s seat. “Sure you can. It’s easy. Let me show you.” He pulled the brim of his hat down more securely on his head, then leaned into the cab, took her right hand, and placed it over the black ball on top of the gear column. “Hold the brake and press the clutch in. Slip it out of neutral,” he instructed as his gloved hand moved hers into the motion of shifting. “Now slip it into first gear.” She felt the gear slip into place and, thank god, stay there. “Now leave it there. You’ll be going slow enough you won’t need to change gears. Just remember to work the clutch, though.” He gave her a broad smile, obviously confident that she could now handle this monster of a truck. “Don’t forget to brake when I holler.”
    By the end of the first two rows, his confidence had vanished. Through the rear view mirror, Jenny could see his frustration mount. He needed a slow smooth trek down the rows, so he could lift and toss the bales onto the bed of the truck. What he got was a halting series of stops and lurches forward that broke his rhythm and made the job difficult. And when she had to turn into the next row, the truck’s lack of power steering nearly defeated her meager muscle power.
    Gritting her teeth, she strained to make the turn. Her biceps and shoulders grew sore quickly, but she was determined not to let the monster truck defeat her. Two hours later, they had a full load of hay to take back. Jenny guessed the same job would have taken Hawk a lot less time with an experienced hand. She couldn’t help wonder if he wasn’t silently reevaluating exactly how much help she was really going to be.
    By the end of the first day, they had half a field cleared, and it was the small one. The rest of the day hadn’t improved her struggle with the truck much. Her braking was horrid, knocking off bundles of hay when she hit them too hard, which she did frequently. She managed to grind the gears too many times to count. She got a tire stuck in a mud puddle on a turn that was so wide, she collided with a bale of hay. And she nearly ran Hawk over when she put the damn gear column into reverse by accident. Through it all, though, he had only cussed at her once, and that had been when she had almost flattened him underneath the rear wheels of the truck.
    She was so exhausted by dark that she could barely keep her eyes open at dinner. As soon as she finished eating, she excused herself and went