The Girl from Big Sky Country Chapter 1

The day I found out I was the long-lost heiress to a fortune, I was herding sheep in Montana.

The fake heiress and my supposed fiancé stepped out of a helicopter, their faces screwing up at the sight of manure-dotted fields.

"Cassie," she said, her voice dripping with pity. "You must have had such a hard life out here. We've come to take you back to the city."

Hard?

I pointed a thumb over my shoulder at the vast, rolling mountains behind me.

"Ever seen this much land, city slicker?"

"Ever seen herds of cattle, bison, and sheep that stretch to the horizon, city slicker?"

"Ever seen a real log lodge or a working ranch, city slicker?"

"This? This is all mine."

I'm no charity case. I wasn't so sure who the rich one was here.

The fake heiress just stared, her mouth hanging open. "City... city slicker... that's such a niche term."

* * *

When we heard the Prescotts were sending someone to get me, my Nana made me put on a new denim shirt she’d bought for me.

"My girl," she said, her hands rough but gentle as she smoothed the collar. "You dress nice. Don't want them thinking we're some backwoods hicks."

A thunderous roar echoed through the valley, and soon a sleek, black helicopter was touching down in our main pasture. A young man and woman emerged, looking wildly out of place. The woman wore a delicate white sundress and stiletto heels; the man was in a trench coat and sunglasses, like a spy on vacation.

I knew who she was. The girl who had been switched with me at birth, Savannah Prescott.

The first thing Savannah did was step directly into a fresh cow pie. The wet, green kind.

She looked down, perplexed, then bent over, holding her dress. She smiled at me brightly. "Cassie, the soil here is so... unique."

"I read online that the earth in the countryside has this wonderfully clean, fresh scent. I'm just going to see what it smells like."

Before I could stop her, she dipped a perfectly manicured finger into the "soil," brought it to her nose, and took a deep whiff. Her expression curdled.

"Oh. Well, that's... a very distinct aroma. Very... novel."

Definitely a city slicker. She'd never seen a real cow pie.

"That's manure," I said flatly.

Savannah was silent for a moment. Then she let out a shriek that would startle a prairie dog, yanking her foot out of her now-ruined shoe. Forgetting the state of her hand, she hopped on one foot over to me and threw her arms around me in a hug.

"Oh, Cassie, your living conditions are just dreadful!" she cried. "You've suffered for so long! I'm taking you home right now."