Crumpling the list, she was about to toss it in the waste-basket when she noticed the sharply slanted words. TOILET PAPER. Maddy didn’t recall ringing up any toilet paper for Jeb McKenna. Now, that was a household item no one should be without. Since she was making a trial run out toward Juniper Creek, anyway, she decided to stop by the ranch. She’d bring a package or two of a premium brand, and if Jeb was available, she’d ask him about it.
Earlier that month, Maddy had hired Larry Loomis to work for her part-time during the afternoons. The burly high-school senior was a bit awkward around her, but she was grateful for his help. He’d been around the store often enough for her to feel confident that he could assist customers and handle the cash register for three or four hours. Eventually he’d be stepping in for her when she made her Thursday rounds. In fact, he’d volunteered to deliver groceries himself, if she wanted. Maddy had refused, welcoming the opportunity to get to know people in the surrounding areas.
Jeb McKenna’s was one of the last houses on her route. The day was lovely, with just a hint of cooler weather to come. The huge sky was blue and cloudless. This was a true Indian summer, she thought, something she’d only read about before. Despite the warmth and mellow sunlight, Maddy sensed the weather was about to turn. It was October, after all and she could feel autumn in the wind, slight but constant. It shifted the long, browning grass on either side of the road as she drove by.
Autumn meant winter would make its appearance all too soon. So many people had happily described the horrors of endless days of blizzards and fierce cold, but it was difficult to think about the approach of winter on such a beautiful afternoon.
Maddy carefully checked the directions Jeb had given her to his ranch. She followed the road until she saw Highway Post Three, marking the miles. After a dip in the road, there was a road sign indicating a sharp curve ahead, with a speed limit of twenty-five miles per hour. His driveway was exactly two-tenths of a mile from that sign. His mailbox was on the opposite side of the road.
Maddy reached the entrance to his place and drove down a long dirt driveway, leaving a track of churned up dust behind her. She’d gone almost a mile before the house and barn came into view. The barn was massive and startlingly red against the blue, blue sky. To her disappointment, she didn’t see any bison in the pasture beyond, where large dusty wallows dotted the landscape.
She parked in the yard and noticed a calf in a small pen outside the barn. When she realized it was a buffalo calf, she gave a little cry of excitement and walked directly over to it.
“Well, hello there,” she said as she approached. His woolly coat was a brilliant golden red, with two nubby horns on his forehead. Did that mean this was a male? She decided it probably did.
The calf nervously raised his head as she advanced and she slowed her pace, not wanting to frighten him. His eyes were large, a dark liquid brown. Patiently she moved to the fence, talking softly as she eased her way forward, although she didn’t know how clearly the calf could see her, despite his beautiful eyes. From what she’d read, bison had notoriously bad sight, and she didn’t want to startle the poor creature.
It took a few minutes before the calf accepted her presence. Once he had, she slipped one hand between the slats of the fence and stroked his neck. She’d never been this close to a buffalo and was so intent on what she was doing that she didn’t hear Jeb’s truck until he’d entered the yard.
“Hello,” she said, straightening as he climbed out of the vehicle and walked toward her. He resembled a cowboy straight out of the Wild West, she thought admiringly, complete with a wide-brimmed hat. She shaded her eyes as she stared up at him.
He touched the brim of his hat in greeting and showed no surprise at seeing her.
“I was in the neighborhood,” she said, then laughed at how corny that sounded. “Actually, I was. I did a dry run on the delivery route and I wanted to be sure I knew where your ranch was.”
He nodded.
“I hope you don’t take this wrong, but when you were in the store last week, did you forget to buy toilet paper?”
His eyes narrowed. “I beg your pardon?”
Maddy was feeling more foolish by the minute. “I found a discarded list… I thought it might’ve been yours, and well, I remember packing what you bought and I didn’t think you’d purchased any toilet paper.”
“You mean to say you brought some with you?” he asked.
“I did.” She nodded for emphasis. “It isn’t the type of supply one wants to get low on.”
“True,” he agreed.
Maddy thought she saw a fleeting smile. But then—as if he was reluctant to feel amusement—he turned and headed toward the barn, limping as he went.
“Since I was coming by your place anyway, I thought I’d deliver it—the toilet paper, I mean. If that was your list,” she called out after him, thoroughly embarrassed now.
“It wasn’t,” he assured her.
Maddy watched the calf for a few more minutes. During that time, Jeb walked out of the barn and toward the house.
Gathering her nerve, she asked, “Do you mind if I stay awhile? With him?” She pointed at the calf.
“Suit yourself,” came his brusque response, as though he didn’t care one way or the other. He disappeared into the house.
Maddy didn’t need it spelled out—he didn’t welcome her company. Okay, fine. Standing on the bottom board of the fence, she rested her arms over the top and watched the calf. On such a glorious day, she was in no hurry to get back to the store. This was her first real break since she’d arrived.
Ten minutes later, just as she was about to climb off the fence, Jeb called from the house. “You interested in a cup of coffee?”
“Please,” she said, delighted by the invitation.
“How do you take it?” he asked, standing at the door.
“Sugar,” she said.
“Me, too.” He went back inside.
She walked toward the porch, and he met her there with a mug. He handed it to her and she sank down on the top step. He stood, leaning casually against the railing.
“How long have you raised buffalo?” she asked.
“Bison,” he corrected. “American bison. Even though almost everyone calls them buffalo.” He paused. “I started the herd about three and a half years ago.” He stared straight ahead, obviously uncomfortable making polite conversation.
“Why?” When he frowned, she quickly added, “I don’t mean to be rude. I’m sincere. What made you decide to raise bison instead of cattle?”
He snorted a laugh. “Well, the potential for buffalo is virtually untapped. The meat is better, higher in protein and lower in fat. People have been saying for a long time that buffalo tastes the way beef wished it did.”
“So you sell them for meat?”
“I don’t raise them as pets.”
“No… I suppose not.”
He went on to explain that to date, not a single person had ever had an allergic reaction to buffalo meat, including people who suffer from allergies to other red meat. No one was sure exactly why, but Jeb thought it was because buffalo were “organically” raised. They weren’t subjected to chemicals, hormones or growth drugs, or force-fed in high-density pens.
It was clear from the way he spoke that he knew and respected the buffalo and although it might have been fanciful, Maddy suspected he somehow identified with