Wrangler Dani

I pulled up in my dusty truck, tired and stiff from five hours in the car on top of a long week of ranch-work.  I was barely in the gate when the dogs were howling and barking excitedly, doing their best to distract me from opening the kitchen door. They clamored around my legs in the late afternoon light, prompting a laugh from within the house.

“Boy, they have missed you,” Jerry said, swinging the door open for me.  A careful, cowboy-smile, the kind that doesn’t show too much but has undeniable warmth lurking below the surface, played around his lips, smile-lines and crow’s feet creased with happiness. “Come on in, coffee’s waitin’.”

I finally shuffled free of the joyful dogs around my feet and came in the house, feeling a rush of cool air, welcome relief from the summer weather, and sniffed the undeniable traces of coffee and fresh-baked cookies. Jerry strode over and had two giant mugs of steaming coffee and a handful of cookies ready for me by the time I’d sat down at his plain pine table.  I sipped gratefully at the coffee and nibbled a cookie, as he sat across from me, smiling contentedly.

To Jerry, a cup of coffee was the greatest hospitality he could offer, and to me it was the greatest gift – those long afternoons talking about horses and ranch goings-on – always with a fragrant cup of coffee in hand and the warmth of friendship between a young woman and a father figure. We were busy, always, and could have spent that time doing countless ranch chores, but instead we relished a moment together with a cup of coffee, long silences and good stories.