Finally Home to Yellowstone: Yellowstone Ranch Series

16

Rips cabin held a special place in my heart.

When growing up it was just a spare cabin on the ranch. All of us kids would go and play on the front porch and sometimes sneak in even when we weren't allowed it. I would walk up to it when I got in fights with Dad or my brothers and sit on the front porch steps, watching the world in front of it. It was peaceful and gave me a sense of freedom. I would let my imagination go and pretend it was my own cabin and I was drinking coffee on the front porch like an adult would. Or I was off work for the day and drinking a beer like I watched my father do.

Maybe it's special because it's my safe place now not just when I was a child and ran off to hide when I was upset or in trouble. It's where I go now when I'm feeling alone. And whether Rip is the person I want to be around or not, he was a person. And that's all I really needed to feel okay sometimes. I spent so much time alone in Afghanistan, that any person that spoke English and looked safe, was all I needed to feel better.

So when I saw someone creeping around in the cabin, I felt personally attacked. I spent so many years killing people in their own homestead that it was uncomfortable to see someone in mine. Not uncomfortable, it was pissing me off.

I pushed open the cabin door slowly. It didn't creak. Thank god it didn't, when it always does. Especially when I come in late from the bars and Rip is asleep on the couch.

I heard the person in the bedroom, throwing things around, rummaging through papers. What the hell were these people looking for?

I checked behind the door. Nothing. Nothing behind the island in the kitchen. I slowly started for the bedroom. I checked the bathroom quickly. Nothing.

I silently thanked my grandfather for building a cabin with such a simple layout.

I turned the corner to the bedroom. There stood a man, average height. Leather gloves, black cowboy boots, black jeans, dark green long sleeves and a leather black vest. A terrible sense in fashion obviously. He had a trunk that I had never seen before dumped onto the bed. He didn't hear me come in.

"Who the fuck are you?" I asked, my pistol drawn towards him.

He didn't jumped. He just stopped looking and turned his head to look at me.

"Does it matter? You're gonna kill me anyways." The man huffed. His hair was unkempt and long. A dirty brown color.

I shook my head,"I don't wanna shoot you. Just wanna know why y'all are here."

He sighed,"You don't wanna shoot someone? The infamous Mary Dutton, doesn't wanna kill. Isn't that your job?" He asked hatefully.

I swallowed hard. How does he know me. Who the fuck is this. "My job was to keep Afghan people safe against the Taliban. That was my job. Now who the hell are you and what do you want?" I spoke up.

He shook his head. "To keep them safe, huh? That didn't go well, right?"

I let out a small breath. Trying to keep myself calm. I knew his was trying to get under my skin. I just didn't know why.

"Is there a fucking point you wanna make? Yeah our government is fucked up and pulled out troops too soon. And a bunch of people we tried to protect lost their lives. Now who the fuck are you?!" I yelled and pointed my pistol harshly at him. Keeping calm was apparently out of the question now.

He chuckled. "That's the Mary I remember. You don't remember me?" I tried to think hard. I shook my head. There was no one. "Ah, how sad. Your father definitely remembers me. And what he stole from me!" The man yelled.

I was shocked. But even more shocked when I felt my knee being kicked in from the back.

"Ah!" I yelled in pain but turned quickly. A flash of a people stood behind me. I swung my pistol and hit the person in the head.

They returned a punch to my face. I glanced to check the other man but he was out of my sight. A new man came running down the hall way, weapon drawn. Without thinking, I aimed my pistol and shot a few rounds while the man I was fighting grabbed my head and threw me into the picture frame hanging up. I watched the hallway man fall back. I tackled the man treating me like a rag doll and knocked him onto his back. I lifted his shoulder and smashed his head onto the ground. He fought to roll over onto me and won. He was much bigger and heavier than me. I didn't want to shoot another person but I was going to lose this fight.

He wrapped his hands around my neck and squeezed. I reached by my leg to grab a knife but realized I wasn't in combat. I didn't have my gear on. I didn't have back up in the way. I was alone and I had to live. I couldn't let Rip walk into his own cabin and see me laying dead on the floor because I gave up a fight.

I reached in my coat pocket and grabbed the clip for my M16 and slammed it into the mans head. He groaned and fell sideways. I grabbed my pistol and aimed it to him. I started to squeeze the trigger but stopped.

"Please. I don't wanna kill anymore people." I beg the man, blood pooling in the corners of my mouth.

He put his hands up. I breathed heavily and glanced around me. Just then I heard someone yelling.

"Mary!" Then someone running onto the porch. It was Rip.

"I'm okay!" I yelled back as he turned the corner and looked down the hallway. First at the dead man laying in his floor. Then at the man I was holding at gun point. Then at me. His eyes were full of worry. He looked worse than I assumed I looked. A busted eyebrow and bloody mouth. Blood pooling from his hands and down the front of his jeans. It was a blood bath.

"Rip, what happened?" My voice cracked.