CARA COLTER

       shares ten acres in the wild Kootenay region of British Columbia with the man of her dreams, three children, two horses, a cat with no tail and a golden retriever who answers best to “bad dog.” She loves reading, writing and the woods in winter (no bears). She says life’s delights include an automatic garage door opener and the skylight over the bed that allows her to see the stars at night.

      She also says, “I have not lived a neat and tidy life, and used to envy those who did. Now I see my struggles as having given me a deep appreciation of life, and of love, that I hope I succeed in passing on through the stories that I tell.”

      Dear Nick,

      I’m not a man too good with words. Or with babies, either. I can turn an honest day’s work, though, and I’m a fair hand with a horse.

      I guess I’m trying to tell you I’m a cowboy, plain and simple. I can face down a ton or so of raging, red-eyed Brahma bull without turning a hair. But babies—and women—scare the heck out of me.

      The first time I saw you, I knew you belonged out on the ranch. You may be only three, but it was still there. In your eyes, in the way you stand, in the way you hold yourself.

      Being a cowboy is more than puttin’ on a hat and riding a bull. It’s more than rodeos and wranglers. It’s something in the soul.

      Nicky, I don’t want you growing up in the middle of a city, living in some cramped apartment, playing on concrete playgrounds. You’re a boy who needs to run where there are no fences. You’re a boy who needs to lasso sawhorse steers. You’re a boy who needs to get bucked off old barrels rigged up with ropes.

      How do I know? I look at you and see your daddy. And myself.

      So I will teach you about this thing deep inside cowboys that needs blue skies and wide open spaces, that needs a good horse, and a herd of cattle, that needs to be strong.

      And you will teach me about the most important thing of all.

      Love. You will teach me about love.

      Your uncle,