PART 1: The Worst Alarm Clock in the West

At exactly five o’clock on Monday morning, a furious woman kicked open a cowboy’s bedroom door and shouted, “GET UP, YOU OVERGROWN SACK OF POTATOES!”

Jack Bennett fell out of bed, tangled himself in his blanket, and landed face-first on the wooden floor.

“WHAT IN THE DEVIL—”

“The devil has better things to do than wake up a thirty-four-year-old man who sleeps like a hibernating bear!”

Standing in his doorway was a woman in a faded blue dress, holding a frying pan in one hand and a pocket watch in the other.

Her name was Martha Collins.

She was thirty-two, widowed, sharp-tongued, and widely considered the most terrifying woman in all of Willow Creek, Wyoming.

And Jack had hired her himself.

Three days earlier, Jack had made the most embarrassing discovery of his ranching career.

He was losing money because he couldn’t wake up before sunrise.

His cattle wandered through broken fences. His hired hands ate breakfast without him. Twice, the milk wagon had left before he opened his eyes.

And last Thursday, he had slept through an entire livestock auction.

His best friend, Deputy Samuel Reed, had finally offered some advice.

“Jack, you don’t need another alarm clock. You need a woman who’s angry enough to scare you awake.”

Jack laughed.

Samuel didn’t.

“I’m serious. Hire Martha Collins.”

Jack nearly choked on his coffee.

“The widow who made the mayor apologize to a chicken?”

“He kicked the chicken.”

“She chased him three blocks with a broom!”

“And he hasn’t kicked another chicken since.”

That afternoon, Jack visited Martha’s small cottage on the edge of town.

She was chopping firewood when he arrived.

“Mrs. Collins, I’d like to offer you a job.”

She didn’t stop swinging her ax.

“If you’re selling something, keep walking.”

“I’m not selling. I’m hiring.”

That made her pause.

“For what?”

Jack cleared his throat.

“I need someone to come to my ranch every morning at five and insult me until I get out of bed.”

Martha stared at him.

“You want to pay me to yell at you?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“How much?”

“Two dollars a week.”

She leaned against her ax.

“Three.”

“Three?”

“Four if you argue.”

Jack immediately shook her hand.

It was the beginning of the most humiliating month of his life.

On Tuesday, Martha dumped his boots onto his pillow.

“Even your boots are tired of waiting for you!”

On Wednesday, she opened every window in his bedroom while frost still covered the fields.

“Fresh air builds character!”

“It also freezes a man’s backside!” Jack protested.

“Then get that backside out of bed!”

By Friday, the ranch hands had started gathering outside the house at five o’clock just to listen.

One morning, Martha shouted, “I’ve seen newborn calves with more ambition than you!”

Jack yelled back, “I’ve seen rattlesnakes with better manners!”

“Then marry one! At least it’ll wake you up before it bites!”

The ranch hands laughed so hard that one fell into the horse trough.

But something unexpected began happening.

Jack started waking up earlier.

His fences were repaired. His cattle were fed on time. His ranch became profitable again.

And every morning, after Martha finished insulting him, he began making two cups of coffee.

At first, she refused.

“I’m not being paid to socialize.”

“Then consider it a reward for your excellent shouting.”

Eventually, she sat down.

And Jack discovered that beneath Martha’s sharp words was a woman who loved wildflowers, hated thunderstorms, and laughed with her whole face when she forgot to be serious.

He learned that her husband had passed away three winters earlier, leaving her with debts and a cottage that needed repairs.

She learned that Jack had inherited the ranch from a father who never believed he would amount to anything.

For the first time in years, neither of them felt quite so alone.

Then came the morning Jack woke up at four-thirty.

He dressed, fed the horses, and had breakfast waiting when Martha arrived.

She stopped in the doorway.

“You’re awake.”

“Been awake an hour.”

“And dressed.”

“Even washed behind my ears.”

Martha studied him for a long moment.

Then she smiled.

Not her usual sarcastic smile.

A small, genuine one.

“Well, Mr. Bennett. Looks like my work here is finished.”

Jack’s own smile disappeared.

“Finished?”

“You don’t need me anymore.”

She reached into her pocket and placed his spare house key on the kitchen table.

“I’ll be leaving town next week. My sister has offered me work in Cheyenne.”

Jack stared at the key.

For the first time, the thought of waking up in a peaceful house made him miserable.

“Martha, wait.”

She turned.

“What?”

Jack swallowed.

“What if I paid you three dollars a week just to come drink coffee with me?”

Her eyebrows rose.

“Three dollars? For coffee?”

“Four if you argue.”

For a moment, she said nothing.

Then Martha reached into her handbag and placed a folded envelope beside his spare key.

“Jack,” she said quietly, “there’s something you ought to know before you make that offer.”

He opened the envelope.

Inside was a letter from Cheyenne, dated two weeks earlier.

And the first sentence made his heart stop.

“Dear Mrs. Collins, we are pleased to confirm your upcoming marriage…”