When Megan stepped outside the cabin she stopped and stared in wide-eyed wonderment at the ranch. Dark red clouds filled the morning sky while orange and yellow lit the horizon. With the fence silhouetted against the sky, it reminded her of an oil painting. This was nature, pure and simple. Each minute the sky changed and bits of blue sky peeped through, promising a warm, sunshine-filled day.
Last night still haunted her but in a good way. This man or spirit did not frighten her or come here to harm her. "He's trying to tell me something or he needs my help. Guess I wait…" Megan did not understand her ability to know this, so she chalked it up to the Circle M. "Anything is possible around here, even for me to understand the bizarre and unexplainable." As more blue sky appeared she sighed. "Best get to work before the boss man sees me loafing."
Whistling grabbed her attention. "There he is. Time to work." She ventured to the barn still pondering this new situation. As she mucked the stalls, the door flew open. She turned, pitchfork still in hand and saw the man from last night. "Who are you?" she stammered. He stared with deep, dark eyes but said nothing. Everything became silent like the butterfly's song. While holding her breath, she inched forward, but with her movement he disappeared. She raced outside in hopes of finding this man, in order to learn his identity. Again he vanished, leaving no trace as to his whereabouts. "In his eyes I saw something familiar, as if we have met before. How is that possible? He would have spoken if we knew each other, wouldn't he?"
The shimmering cottonwood leaves captured her attention. "You hold stories of those who lived here before, and you are now collecting our stories. Do you know this man's identity?" It blew harder and then stopped. "Like everything else around here, you're going to make me decipher it." With a shrug, she returned to work.
In pitching straw and mucking the stalls, sweat poured from her body. Tendrils of chestnut-colored hair fell from her braid and stuck to her face and neck. With the last stall cleaned, Megan planted the pitchfork and leaned against it. Her heart beat rapidly but the knots were undone.
Suddenly her body froze. A weighted stare bore a hole through her mid-section. This was not the unidentifiable man from last night. This was a man she had hoped never to see again.
"If I don't turn around, he'll leave," she thought. Moments passed with neither a sound nor movement. With an exaggerated sigh, she turned and saw a sharp looking man in peak physical condition gaze upon her oval face. His charming, magnetic personality shone through his black eyes, which still held mystery. Megan hurried to look away, refusing to be captured by his eyes and taken prisoner again.