Another Monday, come too soon after a horrendous week of taxes, fraud, iPad cracks. I drove down Channel Islands Boulevard to get a few hours of work in at the Giant Franchise coffee shop, the only option in my area to get coffee, wifi — and away from John.

As I came to a stop before turning right into the parking lot, I saw the back end of a horse — of horses?? — crossing the boulevard and heading towards the coffee shop as well.

As you can see, there were three horses, cuties who nibbled on the landscaping before the coffee shop audience began to bring waters and apples, cameras and kids.

The cowboy was inside — and I mean cowboy, the real deal. Compact and leathery, adorned in mustache, hat, vest, chaps, and spurs, he could have stepped right out of 1830. With a soft drawl, I overheard him say he was a long rider from Montana, and that he was on a “journey”.

At the counter, I ordered coffee and a sandwich — then promptly realized I forgot my wallet. As I embarrassedly told the employee I’d have to run home, I heard a quiet voice:

Please let me pay for that, ma’am. It’d be my pleasure.

Blushing furiously, I surprised myself by accepting. The cowboy paid the balance, tipped generously, and moved on.

On my way out, I thanked him again.

You’re welcome, ma’am — it’s my joy. 

It’s not often I accept the kindness of a stranger, my cynical self wouldn’t even consider it (and most people don’t offer it), most times. But to be the recipient of the gallantry of a cowboy? Chance of a lifetime.

It was the best day.