A Family For Rose
Nadia Nichols
She’s the prodigal daughter…But can she truly go home?Shannon McTavish returns to her father’s Wyoming ranch with her child, Rose, but it’s hardly the haven she expected. Her father and rancher Billy Mac are embroiled in a battle with a powerful wind company. Billy wants Shannon to stay.But is he asking because he needs her help to save the land—or because he wants to give Shannon and Rose a home?
She’s the prodigal daughter...
But can she truly go home?
Shannon McTavish returns to her father’s Wyoming ranch with her child, Rose, but it’s hardly the haven she expected. Her father and rancher Billy Mac are embroiled in a battle with a powerful wind company. Billy wants Shannon to stay. But is he asking because he needs her help to save the land—or because he wants to give Shannon and Rose a home?
NADIA NICHOLS went to the dogs at the age of twenty-nine and currently operates a kennel of twenty-eight Alaskan huskies. She has raced her sled dogs in northern New England and Canada, works at the family-owned Harraseeket Inn in Freeport, Maine, and is also a registered Master Maine Guide.
She began her writing career at the age of five, when she made her first sale, a short story called “The Bear” to her mother for twenty-five cents. This story was such a blockbuster that her mother bought every other story she wrote and kept her in ice-cream money throughout much of her childhood.
Now all her royalties go toward buying dog food. She lives on a remote solar-powered northern Maine homestead with her sled dogs, a Belgian draft horse named Dan, several cats, two goats and a flock of chickens. She can be reached at nadianichols@aol.com.
Also By Nadia Nichols (#u016d6581-a197-56d9-91d8-b6f9288ea8ab)
Across a Thousand Miles
Montana Dreaming
Buffalo Summer
A Full House
Montana Standoff
Sharing Spaces
Everything to Prove
From Out of the Blue
A Soldier’s Pledge
Montana Unbranded
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
A Family for Rose
Nadia Nichols
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-08587-8
A FAMILY FOR ROSE
© 2018 Penny R. Gray
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
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Version: 2018-08-31
“You think me and Rose would be happy here. I think you’re crazy, cowboy.”
“Crazy about you, Shannon, that’s for sure, even if you are way out of my league.”
“I wish you’d quit saying that.” Shannon rose to her feet. “I have to tuck Rose into bed.”
“You could come back afterward,” Billy said. “Watch the stars shine down.”
She smiled, a sweet curve of her lips in the gathering twilight. “You really need to get some rest.”
“What I really need to do is kiss you.”
For a moment he thought she was going to leave. Just turn and walk away and leave him sitting there, like a rejected fool. Just as she had ten years earlier. But she didn’t. She bent over him, her fingertips touching his shoulders, her lips barely touching his. The gentlest of kisses, and far too brief.
Dear Reader (#u016d6581-a197-56d9-91d8-b6f9288ea8ab),
This was a tough story to write. I left my home in western Maine seven years ago when the mountain where my father’s ashes were scattered was leveled to make way for twelve industrial-scale wind turbines. Several years later I went back to visit my old mountain haunts, but nothing was the same, and I didn’t stay long. John Muir said, “Going to the mountains is going home,” but I’ve since learned that mountains are not renewable, and going home can be a painful thing.
The characters in this story share many of the same experiences I did, viewed from opposite sides of the fence. Shannon McTavish believes wind power is green and good for the planet. Billy Mac sees it as an environmental disaster. To complicate matters, Billy works for Shannon’s father, who’s the only holdout among the major landowners who stand to make big bucks leasing their land to the wind power company. Battle lines are drawn, but there’s a whole lot more at stake than the outcome of a wind project. Hearts are on the line, as well as the future of Shannon’s little girl. Shannon has to decide whether to walk away, or try harder to protect what turns out to be the two most important things to all of them: home and family.
I love to hear from my readers. Contact me at nadianichols@aol.com and check out my author’s page on Amazon.com (https://www.amazon.com/Nadia-Nichols/e/B001H6ULT6/).
Nadia Nichols
For my father, who once told me that one of the hardest decisions we ever face in life is choosing whether to walk away or try harder.
Contents
Cover (#u90d06d8c-4167-521d-ba72-ed10102b52d8)
Back Cover Text (#ue209ac9a-1074-53b1-aef8-feb86c0c7ce7)
About the Author (#u63eec710-f850-52f5-a019-4939afb3038c)
Booklist (#uc9a2d22a-f1e1-5896-8156-62d54e346b9f)
Title Page (#u1750c52d-5592-56db-9636-1ab3b4052db7)
Copyright (#ubb6c073d-b3db-5aca-8c6a-61764acf3714)
Introduction (#u7ff6f11c-bc3e-5337-a2da-af9bc1abe1ea)
Dear Reader (#ua5a09d4d-4822-5982-a646-d8ec5912869b)
Dedication (#ue194b616-dceb-5b60-b1fa-d85d71681ae6)
CHAPTER ONE (#u095de426-173e-5942-87be-787cc4142950)
CHAPTER TWO (#u3d3d9ed6-c35f-507e-b2a3-c614da493db3)
CHAPTER THREE (#u4a5be9cb-6588-5a4b-ad32-3326b3b2f0ea)
CHAPTER FOUR (#u15bbbf1a-854f-5272-9f04-b4d12f1acfa9)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#u016d6581-a197-56d9-91d8-b6f9288ea8ab)
WYOMING WAS A far stretch from Nashville, but Shannon McTavish hadn’t forgotten the way home. Ten years had passed since she last drove down this long, lonesome stretch of road, but she remembered every curve, every hill and every gully. She knew the names of the mountains she was driving toward—Whiskey and Wolverine, Wolf Butte and Wind River. She knew the names of the creeks she crossed and how sweet the wind would taste when she rolled her window down to fill her lungs. She remembered the sound of the soul-deep thunder that the wind made when it blew across the wild wide open.
This was a big, empty land that looked as if nothing had changed, yet everything had. When Shannon left, her future had seemed so bright and she’d been so in love. Ten years ago she’d vowed never to return to the lonesome place on the edge of nowhere, yet now she couldn’t wait to get there.
Each mile brought her closer, but there were two more obstacles to overcome—and they had nothing to do with the miles or the mountains in between. Her father didn’t know she was coming home, and he was unlikely to welcome her.
Shannon glanced in the rearview mirror. “How’re you doing back there, Rose?”
“Good, Momma. I’m counting cows, like you told me to.”
“How many so far?”
“So many I can’t go that high,” Rose said, all blue eyes, fair skin and sweetness.
“We must be in Wyoming, then,” Shannon said.
“Are we almost there?”
“Almost, sweetheart. I’m going to stop for gas at this little store up ahead, and then it’ll be just a few more miles and we’ll be home.”
“Will there be horses there?”
“I don’t know, Rose. There used to be lots of them, and I hope there still are.”
Hope. The word mocked her. She’d done nothing but hope this whole long drive. Hope her father would be glad to see them. Hope he’d sell her that little piece of land she coveted, so she could build a house and haven for herself and Rose on that little pine-clad knoll above the creek near the ranch gate. Hope she could make a new life for herself and her daughter, and mend fences with her father.
Hope and pray Travis wouldn’t follow them here.
Shannon pulled alongside the gas pumps out in front of Willard’s General Store. The sign was a little more faded after ten years, but the store’s facade looked the same. The weathered bench in front of the store was empty, but it would be at four o’clock on a summer afternoon during haying time. She unbuckled her seat belt and got out, stretching cramped muscles. The air was warm and clean and smelled of sweetgrass and sage. She drew it into her lungs, remembering past summers, other times. The screen door opened with the familiar tinkling of the brass shop bell and Willard Jackson emerged, pulling on a pair of leather work gloves. Same old Willard. Gray hair and beard, wiry and spry, eyes bright behind gold-rimmed glasses. He started down the steps as the screen door banged shut behind him and then came to an abrupt stop when he spotted her.
“Shannon?” he said. “Shannon McTavish! Well I’ll be hanged. How are you, girl? It’s been a dog’s age since you went and got famous on us. Good to see you!”
Shannon had to restrain herself from hugging him, her reaction was that acute. She shook the hand he offered with a glad smile. “It’s good to see you, too, Willard. It’s been a while, for sure. I’ve come back to visit Daddy and my gas tank’s about empty. I’d appreciate if you’d fill it with regular. How are things with you? How’s Wilma?”
Willard began pumping the gas. “Oh, things around the store are the same as ever. Wilma’s fine. Not much has changed since you left.” He canted his head as if reconsidering what he’d just said. “Your daddy know you’re coming?”
Shannon shook her head. “I wanted to surprise him. Why? Is everything all right?”
“Well...” Willard began reluctantly, then stopped. His jaw dropped as he looked through the open car window at Rose. “By the sweet ever lovin’. Is that little’un yours?”
“She sure is. Rose turned six last month. Say hi to Mr. Jackson, Rose.”
“Hi, Mr. Jackson,” Rose said.
“Hello, Rose. You’re as pretty as your mother, you know that? You planning on staying awhile?”
“Momma says we’re gonna live here, and I’m going to ride horses every day,” Rose said.
Willard nodded. “Glad to hear it. Your momma sure could ride, before she got herself famous in Nashville.” He topped off the tank and replaced the gas cap. “You planning on moving back here for real?” he asked, that same cautious look in his eyes.
Shannon reached inside the car for her purse. “Willard, to tell the truth, right now I can’t say whether I’m coming or going. It’s been a long journey and I’m really tired.”
He nodded his understanding. “The ranch road’s gotten pretty rough since you been gone. There’re some washouts that fancy car of yours might not like. Things at your daddy’s ranch might look a little different now from what you remember.”
Shannon wondered what he was trying to tell her, then shrugged off her fears. “Everything changes, Willard. I’m just glad to be home.”
“We’re glad to have you. If you need any supplies out there, anything at all, just give me a holler. I’ll drive ’em out myself after closing time.”
“That’s kind of you, but I’m sure we’ll be okay.” Shannon counted off the bills for the gas and gave them to Willard. “Give Wilma my love.”
The ranch turnoff was less than a mile from the store, and the entrance to the ranch road looked pretty much the same. Same massive cedar poles set on either side, two feet in diameter and twelve feet tall, with the ranch sign up high, spanning the distance between them.
The sign was painted steel, rusting gracefully, with a cutout of a running horse. McTavish Ranch was lettered in gold against the dark red painted steel. Her mother had made the sign, using an arc welder to cut out the big silhouette of the running horse. When it first went up, folks had come from miles around to admire it, and after all these years it was still a handsome sign, welcoming her home and making her feel as though everything was going to be all right.
That feeling lasted until she saw the new house that was being built not a stone’s throw from the ranch turnoff, on the banks of the Bear Paw, smack-dab on the spot where she used to wait for the school bus.
She braked abruptly, her fingers tightening around the wheel, and for a moment she couldn’t believe her eyes. It was as if someone had found her childhood diary with the drawing of her little dream house in it, the house she’d planned to build in this very same spot one day. Only nobody knew what her dream house looked like. She hadn’t told a soul she was coming back. Nobody would’ve built that house for her on the little knoll overlooking the creek.
“I don’t believe it,” she said aloud.
The building was a small, story-and-a-half ranch with a wide porch across the side facing the creek. Simple and pleasing to the eye. The structure was framed up and closed in, sheathed in house wrap, but the roof was only half shingled and the siding wasn’t on yet. No windows had been installed in the framed-out openings. No doors. She could see a generator under a lean-to near the house. Stacks of roof shingles and lumber were neatly arranged in the yard.
“Are we there, Momma?” Rose asked from the back seat, perking up.
“No, honey, not yet.”
“Why’re we stopped?”
“I’m looking at a house.”
Rose hitched up in her seat to see out the side window. “Who lives here?”
“Nobody...yet. It isn’t finished.” Shannon was still trying to process it all. Was it possible that her father was building this place for her and Rose? Was it possible that, all along, he’d been waiting for her to come home? Hoping that she would? Awaiting the day? Had she been wrong about him, thinking that all these years he was still angry with her, that he never wanted to see her again? Could this little house be proof that he really loved her and hoped she’d come back?
“No,” Shannon concluded with a shake of her head. “Never in a million years would Daddy be building that house for me.”
The final stretch of road to the ranch was worse than rough. One of the first things she’d have to do would be to trade her Mercedes for a pickup truck. If her father let her stay, that was.
But she might have destroyed all chances of that ten years ago. Daddy’d warned her about quitting school and running off with Travis Roy. The day she’d left home they’d had a terrible fight, said terrible things to each other, things they could never take back. Shannon figured he’d get over his big mad, but he hadn’t, not even after ten years. Hadn’t answered any of her letters, hadn’t asked her to come visit or expressed any interest at all in his granddaughter. Worst of all, every single thing he’d warned her about had come to pass. He might not have spoken to her in forever, but for sure he’d say these four words to her when she came crawling home. He’d say, “I told you so,” and he’d be right.
“Momma, I have to pee,” Rose said from the back seat.
“Hold on, sweetheart, we’re almost there.”
Shannon crested the height of the land where she could see the ranch spread out in the valley below, surrounded by mountains that looked close enough to touch and were crowned with sailing-ship clouds scudding across the wide-open July sky. She stopped the Mercedes. “See, Rose? Down below us in that valley? That’s the McTavish Ranch. That ranch has been in our family for a long, long time.”
Rose’s face scrunched up in pain. “Momma, I really have to pee.”
Shannon got out, freed Rose from her seatbelt and helped her from the back seat.
“Go behind those bushes. I’ll wait right here.”
Rose obediently walked to the side of the road and looked behind the bushes. “Momma, there’s no bathroom here.”
“If you want fancy indoor plumbing, you’ll have to hold it till we reach the ranch.”
“I’ll wait,” Rose said with a pained look and turned toward the car.
Shannon leaned against the car door. It seemed as if the wind was clearing away the weary fog that muddled her thoughts and sapped her energy. Wyoming wind was a yondering wind. She’d always loved its wild, far-flung power, and right at this moment, standing in the shadow of those rugged mountains, she felt young again, as if her dreams were still within reach and life was just beginning.
“Momma?”
Rose’s plaintive voice interrupted her reverie, reminding her that ten years had passed and she was now the mother of a six-year-old girl who really had to pee.
The rutted dirt road serpentined a slow descent into the valley and their car kicked up a plume of dust that would announce their arrival minutes before they pulled in to the yard, assuming anyone was looking.
Shannon noted the sad condition of the fences and gates on the ranch road. Willard had warned her, but it looked like Daddy hadn’t done any maintenance since she’d left. It was ominous that the gates were ajar, all three of them, including the main gate just off the black road. The cattle and horses could wander clear to the Missouri River if they had a mind—unless there weren’t any left to wander. Maybe Daddy had sold all the livestock. Maybe he planned to sell the land off in ten-acre parcels. Mini ranchettes. Maybe that little house being built on the Bear Paw River was the first of many.
She closed the gates, one after the other, two sagging on broken hinges, the last hanging from a rotting fence post. Her parents had taught her always to close the gates and keep them closed, so she did. It would’ve felt wrong to leave them open.
She parked in front of the house beside the faded blue pickup that was her father’s, the same pickup he’d had when she left. Ford half ton. It had been starting to rust then and it was a whole lot rustier now.
The house looked weather-beaten. Shabby. The roof needed shingling, the windows needed a good cleaning. There were a couple of soda cans under the wall bench on the porch, an oily rag on the bench itself next to a greasy jug of winter-weight chain saw oil.
She did a quick assessment of the rest. Porch could use a good sweeping. House needed a fresh coat of paint. Gardens were gone. Her mother’s beautiful roses and peonies had long since succumbed to years of neglect in a harsh land. Barns and outbuildings were desolate. Corrals were empty. It looked as if nobody had ever cared about the place and nothing good had ever happened here.
But Shannon knew better. The ghosts of the past weren’t all dead. She and her parents had had good times here. Until her mother died.
She cut the ignition. “You wait right here, Rose.”
The wind lifted a dust devil as she climbed the porch steps. “Daddy?” She rapped her knuckles on the doorjamb and peered through the screen door into the kitchen. “Daddy, you home?”
She heard the slow click of approaching paws and she peered through the screening. An ancient border collie crossed the kitchen linoleum toward her in a stiff arthritic gait. For the second time that day, Shannon felt a jolt of shock down to the soles of her feet.
“Tess?” She stared in disbelief, then opened the screen door as the dog approached, blue eyes milky with cataracts. The border collie sniffed her outstretched hand and after a moment her tail wagged and her blind eyes lifted, searching. Shannon dropped to her knees and enclosed the frail dog in her arms, overcome with emotion.
“Tess,” she choked out as her throat cramped up.
“She waited a long time for you to come back,” a man’s voice said.
Shannon knew that gruff voice as well as she knew the old dog she held in her arms. She looked up, blinking through her tears. Her father stood in the doorway, folded-up newspaper in one hand. She rose to her feet and swiped her palms across her cheeks to blot her tears.
“Hello, Daddy.”
His expression was chiseled in stone. For the longest moment Shannon thought he wasn’t going to respond, but then he gave a curt nod. “Fool dog still looks for you every afternoon, about the time the school bus used to drop you at the end of the road. She never stopped waiting for you to come home.”
His words were like a knife twisting in her guts, but of course, that had been his intention. To hurt her. Shannon would’ve dropped down beside the old dog and bawled her heart out if he hadn’t been standing there.
He was thinner, older, but still tough. A couple days’ worth of stubble on his lean jaw. His hair had gone completely gray and was cut short, like he’d always kept it. Neatly trimmed mustache. Sharp blue eyes that could still make Shannon feel guilty about things she hadn’t done and never would. Blue jeans, worn boots and a reasonably clean white undershirt. Handsome in a steely-eyed, weathered way.
“You might’ve let me know you were coming. Phone still works,” he said.
Shannon shoved her hands into her pockets and lifted her shoulders in an apologetic shrug. “I’m sorry. It was a spur-of-the-moment trip. I brought Rose with me, Daddy. I thought you might like to meet her.” She raised her voice and turned toward the car before her father could send them both packing. “Rose, come on and meet your grampy.” The car door opened. Rose stepped out and stood in the dust of the yard, staring up at them. To her father, Shannon said, “She’s a little shy with strangers, but it doesn’t last long. C’mon up here, honey. It’s all right.”
Rose just stood there, watching them.
“Where’s Travis?” her father asked in that same flat, hard voice, eyeing the car.
“I left him, Daddy. I should’ve done it a long time ago. We’re divorced. It’s over. I guess that’s why I’m here. I didn’t know where else to go. Come on, Rose. It’s okay.”
Rose climbed the porch steps one at a time, holding on to the railing. She stared gravely at her grandfather with her dark blue eyes. Peaches-and-cream face. Tawny curls. How could he not fall in love with her? Shannon thought. How could this sweet little girl, his own flesh and blood, not melt his heart?
“Hello, Grampy, I’m Rose,” she said, and, like they’d rehearsed, she held out her small hand to him.
He took it in his strong, calloused one after a startled pause. “Hello, Rose,” he said, and released her hand awkwardly. Shannon was relieved to see his expression had softened.
“Is this your dog?” Rose asked him.
“That used to be your momma’s dog. Her name’s Tess.”
“Her eyes look funny.”
“She’s blind,” her father said bluntly. “That happens sometimes with old animals.”
“Do you have horses?”
“A few.”
“Are they blind, too?”
“No, but they oughta be. They’re old enough.”
Rose’s expression became pained. She looked at her mother. “Momma, I really have to go pee.”
“The bathroom’s inside, up the stairs and on your right. Go on. And don’t forget to wash your hands after.”
The screen door banged behind her and light footsteps raced up the stairs.
“Been a long time since there were any kids in this place,” her father said.
“I passed a house being built on the way in,” Shannon said, figuring it was best to get it out of the way. “In that pretty spot where I used to wait for the school bus.”
Her father nodded, rubbed the bristle of gray stubble on his chin and carefully studied the distant mountains. “I sold ten acres out by the black road to someone you used to know. Billy Mac, from the rez,” he said. “He paid some cash up front and he’s paying cash for half of each month’s mortgage payment, giving me the balance in work. I charged him interest just like a bank would. Seemed fair.”
For a few moments Shannon struggled to process what he’d just said. Billy Mac! Then the blood rushed to her head and her Scots/Irish spirit took over.
“You sold ten acres of land along the Bear Paw to Billy Mac? A guy you wouldn’t even let me date in high school?”
“Property taxes were due and the town...”
“Billy Mac?”
“I needed the money to pay back taxes, and you left, Shannon. I didn’t drive you off, you left of your own free will.”
Shannon pressed her fingertips to her temples. “You’re taking half the mortgage payment in labor?” Shannon glanced around at the neglected slump of the place. “Doesn’t look like he’s in any danger of drowning in his own sweat from all the work he’s doing around here. How much did you sell him the land for? Two hundred an acre?”
Her father never flinched. “He’s working hard and doing all right by me. I got no complaints,” he said. He shoved his hands deep in his pockets and rounded his shoulders. He refused to look at her, just gazed across the valley. The silence between them stretched out, long and awkward.
“I’d have bought that piece of land from you, Daddy,” Shannon said quietly. The anger drained out of her and, with it, the hopes and dreams of her fairy-tale homecoming. “You know how much I loved that spot.”
“Too late for that, isn’t it?”
“Too late for a lot of things, I guess.” Shannon felt empty inside. She’d been a fool to think that coming home would make life better. If it weren’t for Rose, she’d get back into her car and leave this place for good.
“How long were the two of you planning to stay?” he said, still not looking at her.
“I was hoping you might let us stay for a night or two,” Shannon said. “If it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”
They heard Rose’s footsteps descending the stairs at a gallop. “You can stay as long as you need to,” he said. Curt, clipped, brusque. He wasn’t going to bend. Wasn’t going to soften. Wasn’t going to cut her any slack. Never had, never would.
“Thanks, Daddy,” Shannon said, biting back the angry words that burned on her tongue. “We won’t be much bother. We might even be of some help. I still remember how to do chores, how to drive the mowing machine and how to pitch bales of hay. I noticed the fields hadn’t been hayed yet. It’s getting late for the first cut and there can never be too many hands at haying time.”
Rose pushed the screen door open and rejoined them on the porch. She dropped to her knees beside the old border collie. “Hello, Tess. I’m sorry you’re blind.”
“Be gentle with her. She’s very old,” Shannon said. “Fifteen years, anyway.”
“I’ll be gentle, Momma. Do you think she’s hungry?”
“Maybe.”
“I’m hungry, too. We haven’t eaten since forever.”
“That’s not true, we ate lunch. You didn’t finish yours, remember? I said, ‘If you don’t finish your sandwich, Rose Chesney Roy, you’re gonna get hungry real quick.’ And now you’re hungry and we don’t even know if your grampy can feed us.”
Her father bristled at her words. “You like beans and franks?” he asked Rose, gruff as a bear.
Rose nodded up at him, wide-eyed. “And I like burgers and french fries.”
“You’ll have to settle for cowboy fare tonight.”
“Okay,” she said eagerly, scrambling to her feet. “Can you teach me to ride tomorrow, Grampy?”
He matched Rose’s intense blue gaze with one of his own and fingered his mustache. “This is a real busy time of year. I doubt I’ll have a chance.” They heard a vehicle approaching and Shannon turned to see a dark pickup truck bouncing down the last rutted stretch of ranch road, kicking up dust. “That’ll be Billy Mac. He’s been staying here while he builds his house.”
The anger that had drained from Shannon returned with a vengeance and heat rushed back into her face. “Billy Mac’s living here? With you?”
Her father nodded. “Bunks in the old cook’s cabin. Likes his privacy.”
The truck pulled up next to Shannon’s car and the engine cut out. Door opened. Driver emerged. Stood. Looked up at them. Shannon stared back. It had been ten years and people changed, but the changes in Billy Mac were the result of more than just the years. He stood just as tall, with those same broad shoulders and the lean cowboy build that had made him a star quarterback and rodeo rider. But he wasn’t a kid anymore. Whatever he’d been through in the past ten years had turned him into a man. He reached his fingers to the brim of his hat and gave her a formal nod.
“Hello, Shannon,” he said. “This is quite a surprise.”
“Hello, Billy. You sure got that part right,” Shannon replied. Her face burned as she remembered like it was yesterday his passionate and unexpected kiss, and how she’d slapped him afterward. “This is my daughter, Rose.”
Billy nodded again. “Nice to meet you, Rose.”
Rose skipped down the porch steps and stuck her hand out. “Momma told me it’s polite to shake hands when you meet people,” she said.
Billy took her little hand in his own for a brief shake. “Your momma’s teaching you good manners.”
“Supper’s about ready,” her father said. “Come on in.”
Billy hesitated. “The two of you have some catching up to do. I don’t want to intrude.”
“You’re not intruding,” her father said, then turned before Billy could respond. The screen door banged shut behind him.
“Nobody argues with Ben McTavish,” Shannon said. “You should know that by now. You’re working for him, aren’t you? Come on in.” As much as Shannon dreaded sharing supper with Billy Mac, she dreaded sharing it alone with her father even more.
Billy’d gained a limp—probably from getting thrown off some snuffy bronc or bull. The injury made climbing the steps slow.
“Are you a real cowboy?” Rose asked when he reached the top step.
“Not anymore, Rose, but I used to be a fair hand at rodeo.”
“What’s rodeo?”
Billy glanced at Shannon. “Your momma hasn’t told you what rodeo is?”
Shannon smiled and tousled Rose’s curls. “I’ve been remiss.”
Billy gave Rose a solemn look. “Better ask her to bring you to the next rodeo, so you can experience it firsthand.”
“Can we go, Momma?” Rose asked, excited.
“We’ll see. Come on, supper’s ready and we need to get washed up.”
Billy opened the screen door and held it while Shannon, Rose and Tess went inside. Shannon had envisioned dirty dishes stacked in the sink, counters crowded with empty cans of food and trash everywhere, but the kitchen looked much the same as it had when she’d left. More tired and worn after ten years, but surprisingly neat. Her father was adding another can of generic pork and beans to the pot on the old propane cookstove.
“Won’t take long to heat,” he said.
“I thought Rose and I could share my old room,” Shannon said. When he didn’t respond except to nod, she took her daughter’s hand and led her up the stairs, remembering the feel of each worn tread, the creak of the floorboards, the way the late afternoon sunlight beamed through the west-facing hall window and splintered through the railings at the top of the stairs.
“Is this where we’ll be living, Momma?” Rose asked as they stood in the open doorway of the small room at the top of the kitchen stairs. The room was just as Shannon remembered. Just as she’d left it. Bed neatly made. Braided rug on the floor beside it. Posters of country-and-western singers pinned to the walls. High school text books stacked on the battered pine desk, as if waiting for her to return and finish up her senior year, as if she could step back in time and magically erase that unforgivable mistake she’d made, running off to Nashville with the slick-talking Travis Roy.
“I don’t know, Rose,” Shannon said, because in all honesty, she didn’t. “We’ll be staying here for a few days, anyway.” She felt a little dizzy, standing in this musty-smelling time capsule. A little sick at heart and a little uncertain. Coming back home hadn’t been such a good idea, after all, but she was here. The only thing she could do was try to make the best of it. She had to get beyond the little house Billy Mac was building on the very spot she’d coveted—and the fact that Billy Mac was downstairs in her father’s kitchen.
Billy’d had a tough-guy reputation in high school, maybe because being born on the rez had left him with a chip on his shoulder the size of Texas. But he’d been a wonderful athlete, and handsome enough to make all the girls swoon. He’d had his pick of them, too.
He’d asked Shannon out a couple of times, but even her father had heard that Billy was a player and warned her away from him. Though she’d heeded his warning, that hadn’t stopped her from being attracted to him, and it hadn’t stopped Billy from trying.
Though she’d been a year younger, Billy’d been her lab partner, and they’d shared an edgy class fraught with a different kind of chemistry that could have taken her down a completely different path and very nearly did. But along about then, Travis Roy moved to town, asked her to sing with his country-and-western band and then dazzled her with promises of a life of fame and fortune in Nashville.
Billy had asked her to his senior prom, but she’d gone with Travis, instead, and not just because of Billy’s reputation with the girls. Travis’s band was playing at the prom, and she’d written a song for him to sing. He was going to dedicate it to the graduating class as well as the song they’d recently recorded for an agent from Nashville. The song that was about to pave their way to fame and fortune. But Billy’d been at the high school dance, and he and Travis had gotten into it out in the parking lot. Billy’d flattened Travis in a fit of jealousy, busted his nose, then had the audacity to tell her he loved her.
As if that wasn’t enough, he’d showed up at the ranch a few weeks later under the guise of apologizing and found her crying on the porch after yet another argument with her father about her wanting to head to Nashville with Travis. He attempted to comfort her and one thing lead to another, culminating in The Kiss.
It was a kiss she’d never forgotten, a kiss that ignited enough passion to make her momentarily forget she was with Travis, but she’d come to her senses, slapped Billy and stuck with Travis, believing her life would be far more rewarding in Nashville with a country music star than with a guy whose sole aspirations were to win a rodeo belt buckle and to have his own ranch someday.
Shannon already knew about ranch life. She’d lived it for seventeen years and wanted something a whole lot more glamorous for the next seventy.
Shannon didn’t dwell on the fact that, had things turned out a little differently, if Travis hadn’t come to town, she might have ended up being a rancher’s wife. She’d never tell Rose about any of this, because there were some things a mother didn’t talk to her daughter about, but she still remembered that kiss and how it had made her feel. Ten years hadn’t dimmed the memory.
Rose fidgeted. “I’m hungry, Momma.”
“Me, too,” Shannon said. “I’ll let the room air out while we eat supper. We can share the bed tonight, so long as you promise not to thrash around too much. You kick like a little mule.”
“I won’t kick tonight, Momma. I promise.”
Shannon raised the window and leaned out on the sill, looking across the valley toward the craggy bluffs lining Wolf Butte, hazy and grayish blue in the afternoon sunlight. She drew a deep breath of the clear, cool air and let the wind draw it from her lungs.
She felt like weeping, but couldn’t. Not with Rose watching. She was still an outcast, unwanted and unloved. Daddy’d been happier to see Billy Mac than he had been to see his own daughter after ten long years. He’d let them stay as long as they needed, but they weren’t welcome here. He’d made that plain enough.
“Momma?” Rose’s hand slipped into hers. “Can we go eat now?”
“Yes,” Shannon murmured past the painful cramp in her throat and turned away from the window to accompany her daughter downstairs.
CHAPTER TWO (#u016d6581-a197-56d9-91d8-b6f9288ea8ab)
BILLY WAS SETTING the food on the kitchen table, cowboy style: pot of beans next to the pot of franks next to the plate of sliced white bread. Stack of mismatched plates, a coffee can full of silverware. Plastic tub of generic margarine. Plastic salt and pepper shakers. Roll of paper towels. Jug of milk. Four chipped cups that would do double duty for milk or coffee. Shannon smelled the sharp aroma of coffee as it started to perk.
Her dad was nowhere in sight.
“Your father went to the tractor shed,” Billy said, reading her questioning expression. “Said not to wait on him. He didn’t know how long he’d be.”
Shannon felt another bitter stab. He’d gone to find one of his bottles of whiskey. He used to have them stashed all over the place, hiding bottles the way squirrels hide their nuts. He was sitting out there somewhere, drinking cheap hooch to avoid his daughter and granddaughter.
“Come wash your hands in the sink first, Rose,” she said as her daughter started to sit at the table. They shared the soap, warm water and towel. Billy removed his hat before sitting, revealing a short haircut that didn’t quite hide a nasty six-inch scar on the left side of his head above his ear.
Rose stared at it as she climbed into her chair. “Does that hurt?”
Billy shook his head. “Looks worse than it is. The doctors had to put a metal plate in my skull. Here, Rose, have some beans.” He dished some out for her, adding a hotdog and a slice of bread.
“Thank you,” she said. “Why did they put metal in your head?”
“Rose, it’s not polite to ask questions like that,” Shannon said as she took her own seat. She tried unsuccessfully to catch her daughter’s eye, but Rose was still staring unabashedly at Billy.
“It’s all right,” Billy said. “I got hurt when the vehicle I was riding in hit a roadside bomb when I was in Iraq. The doctors had to put me back together again the best way they could.”
Shannon wondered how many more ugly surprises the day could throw at her. “You joined the military? I always thought you were going to be a big rodeo star or the highest paid quarterback ever for the Dallas Cowboys.”
“That might be a first for an Indian off the rez.” Billy’s grin was sardonic. “Signing up with the Marines seemed like a good idea at the time. The recruiter made it sound like an opportunity I’d be crazy to pass up. I’m glad things worked out better for you in Nashville, Shannon. A lot of talented musicians go there hoping to make a name for themselves, but not many do. You did real good.”
Shannon served herself up some beans and franks, avoiding his eyes. “Thanks.”
“Bet your next song tops the charts, same as all the others.”
“There aren’t going to be any more songs. For ten years I lived mostly on a bus and never knew when I woke up what state or town I was in.” Shannon concentrated on cutting up her hotdog into precise segments. “I’m done with that life.”
Billy had the good sense not to pursue the subject. He helped himself to the beans and took two slices of bread, laying them carefully on the edge of his plate, then hesitated, his fork poised. “Your father probably told you I bought that piece of land by the creek.”
Shannon studied her hotdog segments. “Yes, he did.”
“He put a for-sale sign out on the road about the same time I came back home. I didn’t have much money saved—the military doesn’t make a man rich—but I didn’t want anyone else buying a piece of the McTavish ranch, so I went to talk to him about a job. He ended up selling me the land and hiring me on at the same time.”
“Lucky for you,” Shannon said drily, poking at a piece of hotdog.
“I work at Willard’s part-time, too. Your father can’t pay me, but he’s letting me work off my mortgage.”
There was an awkward silence. Shannon forked her beans and hotdog segments together in a pile in the center of her plate and stared at them. She’d never faced a more unappetizing meal.
“I guess my father isn’t gentling mustangs anymore,” she said. “I don’t see any horses down in the corrals.”
“We shipped five out to auction last week. The Bureau of Land Management’s due to bring another batch in any day now, but McTavish doesn’t make much money taming wild horses for their adoption program. Barely enough to buy groceries, really.”
“What about horse training for the film studios?”
“He had some sort of falling-out with a studio over a dog being killed on location maybe five, six years back. He blamed them for it and quit. I don’t know the details.”
Shannon prodded her beans with the fork. The bread was stale and the swelled-up franks were downright suspicious. Who knew what they were made of? She pushed her plate away and reached for her glass of milk, taking a tentative sniff to make sure it hadn’t soured.
She gazed across the room to another time. “My mother was the mover and shaker around here. She trained the horses and the dogs. Daddy learned from her after he got busted up in that horse wreck and couldn’t work as a stuntman anymore. He did all right with it, but my mother was the best of the best.”
“She was a legend around these parts,” Billy said.
Shannon was surprised he remembered the strong-willed, independent-minded woman who had been her mother. She caught his eye and felt herself flush. “Finish your beans, Rose.”
“But, Momma...”
“Clean your plate and I’ll take you out to the barn to see the horses.”
Rose dutifully lifted her fork while Billy scraped his chair back and pushed to his feet.
“Coffee’s done,” Billy said. “I’ll pour.”
Shannon downed her milk in four big swallows and held her stained Bear Paw Bank and Trust cup out. He filled it with hot strong coffee. “Thanks,” she said. “How many hours are you putting in a week to work off your mortgage? What’re you doing, exactly?”
Billy set the coffeepot back onto the stove and returned to his seat with his own mug. “I work at Willard’s store, stocking shelves, mostly at night. For your father, I help with the mustangs and other odd jobs. Right now I’m working on the fence line down along the black road. It’s slow going. Most of the posts are rotted off and need replacing.”
“I don’t doubt that, but what difference does a good fence make if the gates are left wide open for the livestock to wander through?” Shannon was aware her voice was sharp but the question needed to be asked.
He pulled his chipped John Deere Dealership mug close to his chest. “There’s no livestock on the place. We’re planning on picking up some young stuff together at the fall auction, but the fences have to be repaired before we can do that.”
We? Shannon thought. “Daddy told me there were horses.”
“The only two horses he kept were Sparky and Old Joe. He gives them the run of the place, and they never roam too far from the barn.”
Shannon took a quick swallow of coffee, which burned her mouth. The pain helped her gain control of her emotions. Sparky and Old Joe had to be twenty-five years old if they were a day. She’d practically grown up astride Sparky, and Old Joe had been her mother’s favorite horse. She set down her mug, deeply shaken yet again. As gruff as her father acted, he still had a heart. For the animals, at least.
“I won’t beat around the bush, Billy. This place is falling down. It’s a shambles. My father may be broke but I’m not. Not completely, anyhow. I can pay whatever it takes to hire you on full-time. That is, if you think you can do the work, and I understand if you can’t, with your injuries. It’s a big job, a lot harder than stocking shelves at the store, but you’ll pay your mortgage off all the sooner.”
Billy’s eyes locked with hers and the heat in his gaze hit her like a forceful blow. He pushed out of his chair so abruptly that he lost his balance and had to grab for the edge of the table. He straightened, carried his plate and cup to the sink, then limped to the door, took his hat from the wall peg, pushed through the screen door with a squeak and a bang, and was gone.
“Is he mad, Momma?” Rose said in the silence that filled the room.
“I think so, honey.” Shannon sighed. “Finish your supper, Rose, and we’ll go find Sparky and Old Joe down in one of the barns.”
* * *
BILLY WAS ON his way to the cook’s cabin when he spotted McTavish down by the machinery shed, working on the tractor. Billy pulled his truck up beside the old red Moline tractor and cut the ignition. He and McTavish had been working on the tractor for a week now, every evening after supper. Robbing parts from three other tractors in various stages of decay to build one that could take on the job of haying. Robbing Peter to pay Paul, McTavish called it. The first mowing was already three weeks late. The grass was tall and going to seed. The neighboring ranchers already had their first cutting stored away in their barns.
McTavish wiped his hands on a greasy shop rag. “Thought I might try to fire her up tonight, see how she goes.”
Billy adjusted his hat, glanced toward the ranch house then back at the tractor. “Those plug wires look bad. I should’ve picked up another set today.”
“She’s got new plugs, new oil filter, new oil, fresh gas, good hydraulic lines. Tires are old but they’ll do. She might go, cracked plug wires and all.”
“If so, we could start haying first thing tomorrow,” Billy said.
McTavish nodded. “Be good to make an early start. We’re a little late this year.” McTavish hauled himself up onto the metal seat, pulled the primer knob and kicked her over. The Moline sounded as tired as the both of them put together. The tractor’s engine turned over but wouldn’t fire. McTavish’s shoulders slumped. “If just one damn thing would go right around here,” he muttered.
“I’ll go to town first thing and pick up a new set of plug wires at Schuyler’s,” Billy offered. “He opens early. We could still be haying by seven. Get the top field done, anyhow, maybe half of the lower.”
McTavish nodded again. “Save the slip. I’ll deduct it from your monthly payment.”
A killdeer flew across the front of the tractor and landed near the corral. Billy watched it hunt for insects in the weeds along the fence line. He plucked a stem of tall grass and nibbled on it. “Been thinkin’. Maybe I could cut my hours at Willard’s so’s I can work more hours here, when it’s busy times, like haying. And the fencing needs to be done before we buy the stock.”
“I can’t pay you, Billy. We talked about that before.”
“I don’t need much to get by.”
McTavish looked at him. “You’re building a house. That takes cash.”
“I got what I need to close it in for the winter,” Billy said softly. “There’s lots that needs doing around here if we’re bound to get this ranch back on its feet. Part-time won’t cut it. I’ll stock shelves at the store if I need spending money. Working full-time for you, I’ll pay off my mortgage all the quicker.”
He paused. Hearing the words aloud, he realized they made sense, and the humiliation and anger Shannon’s words had triggered started to bleed away. She hadn’t been attacking him personally, merely telling him she could afford to hire full-time help, and if he couldn’t do it, she’d hire someone who could. It was his job to prove to her he was up to the task, in spite of his injuries. “Must feel good, having your daughter back.”
“She shouldn’t have left.” McTavish climbed down from the tractor, his movements stiff. “But she’s come to her senses. She finally divorced Travis Roy.”
Billy tossed the grass stem away to hide his surprise. “She plan on staying?”
McTavish shook his head. “Doubt it. Willard showed me a picture of her house in one of those entertainment magazines. Looks like the White House, pillars and all, ten times as big as all the buildings on this ranch put together. After living that fancy life for ten years she’ll never be able to live here again.”
“I can’t think of any better place to raise that daughter of hers.”
McTavish gave him a jaded look. “I dunno about that. Shannon couldn’t wait to get out of here.”
“She came back, didn’t she?” Billy plucked another blade of grass. “With all her money she could have gone anywhere, but she came home. That says a lot. She still cares about you and she cares about this place, that’s as plain as a summer day is long. Speaking of which, it’s getting late. I’ll see you in the morning, bright and early. We got some hay to cut.”
* * *
SHANNON TOOK ROSE to the horse barn after cleaning up the kitchen. They walked down in the golden light of early evening. She tried to focus on the beauty of the setting, the rugged mountains and the fertile McTavish Valley, but all she could see were the broken fences, the missing shingles, the sagging roofline of the barn. A land empty of horses and cattle and young dogs. A land devoid of hope.
She pulled open one half of the big barn door and stepped into the dimness, holding Rose’s hand in hers. “This barn used to be full of horses and sweet-smelling hay, barn cats and cow dogs. I always loved coming in here.”
“Where are the horses, Momma?”
She gazed down the row of stalls. “Looks like nobody’s home at the moment.” She raised her eyes to the empty hay mow. Dropped them to the wide aisle, littered with dried manure and straw, not neatly swept and raked, the way she’d kept it. She sighed. “Sparky and Old Joe must be outside somewhere, maybe down by the creek.”
“Can we go find them?”
“Sure. It’s a nice evening for a walk.”
They were walking past the tractor shed when Shannon saw her father sitting on an upended bucket, working on the guts of an old red tractor. She changed direction and headed toward him, leading Rose along.
“We missed you at supper. I set aside a plate,” she said when he finally paused to acknowledge their approach. Shannon let her eyes flicker over the old machine and shook her head. “Can’t believe this old relic still runs.”
“It don’t. That’s why we haven’t hayed yet.”
Rose spotted Tess lying beside the old shed. “Can I pet her?”
Shannon nodded. “Just be gentle and remember she’s old and frail.” When Rose was out of earshot, Shannon shoved her hands in her pockets and rounded her shoulders. “Daddy, can we talk?”
He fitted a socket wrench onto a nut and torqued on it hard. It didn’t budge. He glanced up at her for a few moments, then said, “I’m listening.”
“Rose has been through an awful lot. The past two years, things got pretty bad between me and Travis, and toward the end she was old enough to understand what was going on.”
Her father’s expression hardened. “She see Travis hit you?”
The carefully applied makeup clearly hadn’t hidden the evidence of Travis’s last fit of drunken rage. “Yes,” Shannon said. “Travis got mean when he was drunk, and these past few years he was mean and drunk most of the time.”
Her father laid the socket wrench down at his feet and pulled a rag out of his hip pocket. Wiped his brow and his neck, shoved it back in his pocket, picked up the socket wrench, and tackled the job again, all without ever looking at her. “You don’t have to worry about me. I haven’t touched a drop since you left, and I sure as heck ain’t going to hit either of you.”
Shannon flinched inwardly. Her father clearly remembered the last heated words they’d hurled at each other, ten years ago when she was about to leave home. “You walk out of here right now and I no longer have a daughter!” he’d hollered.
She’d whirled around and shot back, just as mad, “You haven’t been a father to me since Momma died. You’re nothing but a useless drunk!” Then she’d walked out to Travis’s truck, climbed in and driven away, bound for Nashville, fame and fortune. That was the last time they’d seen each other, and those were the words that had festered between them for the past ten years.
Her father had stopped working to look directly at her. “You left one useless drunk behind and ran off with another,” he said. “I’m sorry about that.”
“I’m sorry I said what I did, Daddy,” she said. “We both said things we shouldn’t have. I’m hoping you’ll forgive me and I’m hoping we can make a fresh start. Rose needs to get to know her grandfather.”
He dropped his eyes and didn’t say anything for a long time, long enough for Shannon to draw a deep breath and square her shoulders. “It’s okay if you don’t want us. I have friends in California, and I’ve always wanted to see the big redwoods.”
Her father stared at the wrench in his hand and shook his head, still not meeting her gaze. He looked old and beaten. “I couldn’t make anything work after your mother died. Losing her wrecked me.”
Shannon was surprised by his admission. She felt her eyes sting at the defeat in his voice. She wanted to reach out to him but didn’t know how. “I guess maybe when she died, the heart just went out of both of us. I’m going to walk down to the creek with Rose and look for Sparky and Old Joe.”
“They’ll be by the swimming hole,” he said, still staring at the wrench as if it was the sorriest thing he’d ever seen. “They come up to the barn near dark, looking for their grain.”
“I’m glad you didn’t sell them, Daddy.”
He sat back down on the bucket and started working on the tractor. “Nobody’d want ’em,” he said gruffly. “They’re so old they’re no good for anything, not even dog food.”
Shannon knew that’s not why he’d kept them, but he’d never admit he loved a horse, not in a million years. Crusty old bastard. “C’mon, Rose,” she said, reaching for her daughter’s hand. “Let’s go find us a couple of useless old hay burners.”
CHAPTER THREE (#u016d6581-a197-56d9-91d8-b6f9288ea8ab)
DAWN CAME AND Billy was halfway to town before the first slanting rays spangled through the big cottonwoods along the far side of the creek. The parts store wasn’t open yet, so he had to roust Schuyler out of bed. The older man cussed and coughed up thirty years of a bad habit as he came to the door, pulling on a pair of greasy old jeans.
“What the hell you doin’ here this time of night, Billy?” he said, blinking red-rimmed eyes and scratching his whiskers.
“Need a set of plug wires for McTavish’s Moline. We’re making hay today. And it’s morning, Schuyler, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“Do tell. Been a while since McTavish did much of anything out to his place. This have something to do with that rich and famous daughter of his coming back home?” He already had a pack of cigarettes in his hand and was tapping one out. “I heard she might be plannin’ on stickin’ around for a while. That right? Seems kind of funny, a famous singer wanting to stick around a place like this.”
“I need those plug wires, Schuyler. The day’s half wasted.”
After he’d gotten what he came to town for, Billy stopped by Willard’s and asked for the day off, told him about his new work schedule and drove back to the ranch through the three open gates. He thought about how they really should be closed, how the horses never should’ve gone from this place, or the beef cows...or Shannon. McTavish said she wouldn’t stick around for long, and he was probably right, but she’d come back here looking for something, and he hoped she found it. He hoped she’d make up her mind to stay and raise her little girl here. It was a good place to raise a kid, and Rose seemed like a good kid.
McTavish was up and waiting, and the coffee was hot and strong.
“Been thinkin’,” Billy said after he’d poured himself a steaming mugful. He stood at the kitchen door and looked out across the valley, watching as long fingers of golden sunlight stretched across the land. “Maybe we could fix up that old windmill, the one that used to pump water to your upper pasture. Might make the grass grow better. We’ll need a lot of hay to winter the stock we buy this fall.” McTavish said nothing in reply, just pulled on his jacket. Billy took a swallow of coffee. “I got the plug wires installed and the tractor’s ready to go whenever you are.”
“Don’t know what difference any of it’ll make in the long run,” McTavish said.
Billy set his mug in the sink.
“We’ll find out,” he said. “Let’s make us some hay.”
* * *
SHANNON SLEPT SOUNDLY and awoke with a start, surprised that the day was already in full swing. She glanced at her watch but didn’t need to. She could still measure the morning hours of ranch life by the sounds and smells and the sunlight. It was 8:00 a.m., the day half gone.
“Rose, honey, it’s time to get up.” She nudged the small bundle curled beside her in the bed, smoothed her palm over the warm curve of her daughter’s cheek. Rose made a soft mewling and burrowed deeper beneath the quilt, never quite awakening.
Shannon tucked the quilt around Rose and left the warmth of the bed, moving to the window. The air still held the cool of the night but was rapidly warming. She could hear the distant guttural growl of a tractor.
Her bedroom window overlooked the barns, the molten shine of the creek, the roof of the cook’s cabin and the old bunkhouse. The lower fields were out of sight, on the other side of the creek, but she suspected the sound came from there. If Billy was helping her father, there really wasn’t much she could do in the fields until the hay was baled tomorrow. Today she’d go to Willard’s, buy some decent groceries and cook them a decent meal.
She could wash the windows and cut down the weeds growing around the sides of the house. She could sweep off the porch and pick up the trash. Brush the burrs out of Sparky’s and Old Joe’s manes and tails. Take Rose for a ride. There was no end of chores to keep her busy, and certainly no excuse for her to be lying abed when so much needed doing.
She showered in the small, drab bathroom with the peeling wallpaper and wiped the steam from the mirror afterward, staring at the thin face with the blackened left eye.
The swelling was almost gone and the colors around her eye had morphed, gradually, from dark purple to a mottled greenish yellow. Makeup helped to hide the bruises, but there was no forgetting, especially when she looked in the mirror, how awful the last few years of her life had been. Travis’s last visit had come after the divorce was finalized, and he’d left her lying on the foyer floor. The very next day she’d filed for a restraining order, packed her things and left with Rose.
Shannon dried and brushed her hair, dressed swiftly in jeans, a T-shirt and a fleece sweatshirt, and carried her shoes down the kitchen stairs. The coffeepot on the gas stove was still warm. She poured herself a cup and carried it out onto the porch. Tess was sleeping at the top of the porch steps, letting the morning sun warm her old bones.
Shannon sat beside Tess, drinking her coffee and letting the sun warm her bones, too, while she gently stroked the old dog. Yesterday she’d wondered if it had been a mistake to come back. Today she felt a little better about things. She had no idea how long she and Rose would stay, but right now she wasn’t going to worry about the future. She was going to fix breakfast for her little girl and then go to town and get some groceries.
There was hay to make...and she had her own fences to mend.
* * *
THEY QUIT AT NOON, not because they wanted to, but because the cutter bar broke. The field was almost finished when the bolt sheared off. McTavish had gone back to the barn to get more gas when it happened. Billy heard the sudden disjointed clatter and disengaged the cutter bar. Diagnosing the problem was easy. The fix would be, too, as soon as he picked up a new bolt, but that meant another trip to town if he couldn’t find a replacement in the tractor shed.
By the time he’d removed the sheared-off bolt, McTavish had returned with the gas. He climbed out of the cab, slammed the door of the truck, lifted the gas can from the back and turned to face Billy.
“Shannon’s gone,” he said bluntly. “Took Rose and left. No note, nothing. I knew she wouldn’t be able to settle for this place.”
Billy shook his head. “She’d have told you if she was leaving.”
McTavish took his hat off and whipped it against his pant leg. His eyes narrowed as he looked across the vast expanse of newly cut grass. “Didn’t make a damn bit of difference, this morning’s work.”
Billy didn’t know what to say. The wind had picked up and the sweet smell of fresh-cut hay filled the air. It had been a good start to a good day, but suddenly the sky didn’t look quite so blue. “We need a new bolt for the cutter bar,” he said, holding up the shorn piece.
McTavish was still gazing across the big hay field. “I never could talk to her.” He shook his head. “Never could.”
“There might be a spare bolt up in the tractor shed,” Billy said.
McTavish didn’t respond. Just stood there, holding the gas can and staring off into the distance. Billy started walking back toward the ranch. He was about to duck inside the tractor shed when he heard a vehicle coming down the road. A rooster tail of dust plumed behind the dark-colored Mercedes as it emerged at the bottom of the steep grade and headed toward the ranch, pulling to a stop up by the house.
Shannon was in the process of unloading boxes from the car when Billy reached her. She stopped at the bottom of the porch steps with a box in her arms and gave him a wide open smile. It was so beautiful and unexpected that he stopped and struggled to catch his breath while his heart did backflips.
“Morning,” he said.
“Good morning,” she said. “Rose and I went to town and picked up some real food, or as real as food gets at Willard’s. I’ll fix some sandwiches, so’s you and Daddy can eat quick and get at it again. Rose, honey, Tess’ll live without you for a few more minutes. Can you come here and give your momma a hand with these groceries?”
The little girl jumped up from where she’d been crouched beside Tess on the shaded porch and raced to her mother’s side even as Billy closed the distance between them.
“Here,” he said. “Better let me take that one, that looks heavy.” He lifted the big cardboard box from Shannon’s arms.
“Thanks. I picked up enough to get us through the haying. No more canned beans and franks with stale bread, thank you very much. My mother was a good cook and she taught me a few things.”
“Your father came back to get some gas for the tractor, saw your car was gone and figured you’d left for good.”
Shannon was gathering another box of groceries into her arms. She glanced up with an exasperated expression. “I pinned a note beside the screen door. The wind must’ve blown it off. If he’d checked my room he’d have seen my things. He was probably happy to think I’d left so soon.”
Billy climbed the steps one at a time, slowly, but he climbed them, carrying the heavy box of groceries. He set the box on the table and she set hers right beside it. Rose added the five-pound bag of russets she’d lugged up.
“He’s hoping you stick around.”
“Be nice if he showed it.” Shannon turned away to unpack the box she’d carried up from the car. “Thank you, Rose,” she said. “Why don’t you bring that bowl of water out for Tess, in case she’s thirsty.”
When Rose had left the kitchen, carefully balancing the water bowl, Shannon continued unpacking. “I’ll get the last box,” Billy said, and descended the porch steps, wondering how Shannon and her father had ever drifted so far apart. Shannon was organizing the groceries as he reentered. Her expression had become introverted. Thoughtful.
“Tuna sandwiches okay?” she asked.
Billy nodded. “Sounds great. I came back to find another bolt for the cutter bar. I’ll go look for one in the shed, then get your father. He’s still out with the tractor.”
The wall phone rang as he was heading for the kitchen door and Shannon set the cans of tuna on the counter and reached for it. “McTavish Ranch, Shannon speaking,” she said, and then Billy watched as her expression changed and her entire body went rigid. She listened in silence for a few moments before interrupting.
“Don’t you dare come here, you hear me?” Her voice was low, taut with emotion. “I’ll have you arrested if you violate that restraining order. I mean it. You stay away from me, and you stay away from Rose.” She hung up without waiting for a reply. Her face was pale, and when she raised a hand to smooth the hair off her forehead, the tremble was noticeable. She cast a quick glance out the kitchen door to where Rose crouched beside the old dog, coaxing her to drink, then drew a shaky breath and crossed her arms around herself. “I’ll have lunch ready by the time you get back.”
Billy paused with one hand on the doorknob. “Your father told me about your divorce.”
“I bet he did,” she said bitterly.
“You’re safe here, Shannon,” he said, ignoring her reaction. “If Travis Roy is stupid enough to show up, there won’t be much left for the sheriff to arrest.”
* * *
AFTER THE PHONE call from Travis, Shannon could barely focus on the simple task of making a stack of sandwiches and heating a pot of soup. She told herself that Travis wouldn’t come here, he wouldn’t dare, but he still had family in Lander. Lander was a ways from their valley, but it was still too close as far as Shannon was concerned. He’d said he just wanted to talk to her, to see Rose. Said he had something for her and swore he’d quit the drinking and the drugs, but he’d made every promise in the book these past few years and broken them all, over and over again. She was through believing his lies and living in fear. The divorce was final. She was done with him. The only thing left for the courts to decide was the custody of Rose, and she was confident she’d win that battle.
She stirred the soup as it came to a simmer, cut the sandwiches and put them on a platter. Poured some tortilla chips into a bowl and put that on the table along with a pitcher of milk and four glasses. Finding four soup bowls proved a challenge, but she came up with three mismatched bowls and washed out the bowl she’d mixed the tuna in, filled an old mixing bowl with the fruit she’d bought, and put that on the table as well, dead center.
The screen door squeaked open, banged shut and Rose burst into the kitchen. “Momma, can we go riding now?”
“No, honey, it’s lunchtime. Go get washed up.”
“Can we go riding after?”
“Maybe.”
Rose studied her for a moment, her expression becoming fearful. “Did Daddy find us?”
Shannon felt her heart wrench. She was still too emotionally raw to hide the effects of Travis’s phone call from her daughter. “Go wash up, Rose. It’s all right, we’re safe here.”
“Are we going to stay with Grampy forever?”
“For now. I don’t know about forever. Nobody does. Go wash up.”
After Rose had gone upstairs she heard boots climbing the porch steps and moved to the door. Billy had returned, alone.
“Your father’s truck was gone when I got back to the tractor,” Billy explained as he came into the kitchen. “I went ahead and fixed the cutter bar on the mower. I’ll finish that field after lunch and start on the second. Ought to be able to turn the hay once before dark.” He hung his hat on a peg by the door and eyed the table. “That looks mighty good.”
“It’s just a stack of sandwiches,” Shannon said.
“You haven’t seen the chow we normally eat around here.”
“Oh, I got a pretty good taste of it last night,” Shannon said, ladling out the soup while Billy washed at the sink. She filled three bowls and set the remainder on the stove for when her father got home.
“You probably got used to eating pretty fancy while you were living in Nashville,” Billy commented, dropping into the same chair he’d used at supper the night before. Rose thundered down the stairs and claimed her own seat, eying the food expectantly.
“We were pretty spoiled,” Shannon admitted as she joined them at the table, passing the platter of sandwiches. “Rose especially loved our cook, didn’t you, Rose?”
Rose shook her head vehemently and made a face. “She made me eat yucky things.”
Shannon laughed. “Rose doesn’t like fancy food.”
“Neither do I,” Billy confided to Rose. “Give me plain and simple any day.”
“Plain and simple’s all they shell out at Willard’s, so the both of you should be very happy,” Shannon said. “Napkin in your lap, Rose.”
“It’s not a napkin, it’s a paper towel, Momma.”
“Pretend it’s fine linen and remember your manners, young lady.”
Rose heaved an exaggerated sigh as she put the paper towel in her lap. “Are you always going to have a plate in your head?” she asked Billy.
“Rose!” Shannon chastised her.
“Yup,” Billy said. “The docs told me the plate was permanent. I asked if they could throw in a fork, knife and spoon but they couldn’t fit ’em in there.”
Rose giggled until Shannon caught her eye. “How long were you in the military, Billy?”
“Eight years. After four tours of duty I thought my life was pretty much over when I was wounded. That little piece of land and the house I’m building beside the Bear Paw is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I owe a lot to your father for making that possible.”
Shannon felt a twinge of resentment. It was noble of Billy to have served his country, and terrible that he’d been so horribly wounded in action, but he’d stolen her dream. That was her little house he was building in her special spot. Billy and her father had stolen her dream and it was hard not to resent them both for slamming the door on the future she’d planned for herself and Rose here at the ranch.
Billy wolfed down two sandwiches and dispatched his soup with equal enthusiasm. Rose matched him, mouthful for mouthful. For a six-year-old, she ate like a horse. Shannon took a bite of her sandwich and played with her soup. The phone call from Travis had effectively destroyed any appetite she might have had, and she was brooding about her future. Where was she going to raise her daughter if there was no place for her here?
“Not hungry?” Billy said, already finished.
“I ate a big breakfast,” Shannon lied. “Wonder where my father’s at.”
Billy shook his head. “We talked about fixing the windmill. Maybe he decided to make a start on it. He lost all interest in haying when he thought you’d left.”
Shannon shook her head with a frustrated sigh. “Soon as I get all the groceries put away, I’ll pack him a lunch and walk up there.”
“But you said we could go riding,” Rose protested.
“We will, after we make sure your grampy’s fed.”
Billy pushed away from the table and reached for his hat. “I’ll get back to haying. Thanks for lunch.” He paused with his hand on the door. “Cell phones don’t work all the time out here, Shannon. If anyone unwelcome should show up, call the police on the landline right away, then call my cell. The number’s written on the wall beside the phone.”
Shannon felt an unexpected twinge of gratitude. “Thanks, Billy, but we’ll be okay.”
He held her gaze a moment longer, then turned and went out the screen door with a squeak and a bang. She watched him walk down toward the bridge over the creek. Watched him until he walked out of sight, grudgingly admiring the strong set of his shoulders and the quiet, solid competence of him.
Eight years of soldiering had given him the kind of masculinity that only came from encountering and surviving adversity and hardship day after day, year after year. The years since high school had changed them both in ways they’d never anticipated.
She’d come back home bruised and battered from a failed relationship, spooked as a deer and afraid of her own shadow. Billy’d been through different fires and was scorched around the edges by his years in the military, but those fires had given him a depth and substance that many men would never achieve.
True, she resented him for buying the piece of land she’d dreamed of building her little house on, but after Travis’s phone call, she was glad Billy was here. Keeping Rose safe from harm was her top priority, and Billy had as much as promised that no harm would come to them here.
“Do you think Billy could teach me to ride?” Rose asked, coming to stand beside her.
“If anyone could, it’d be Billy. He was a rodeo champ before he was eighteen. Just a kid, but he beat ’em all, even the best of the best.”
“Momma, what’s rodeo?”
Shannon looked down at her daughter and gave a rueful laugh as she reached to tousle Rose’s tawny curls. “Rodeo’s a crazy part of the wild spirit of the West, Rose, and I promise I’ll take you to see one, first chance we get. Now let’s pack up a lunch for your grampy and find him, if we can.”
* * *
BILLY FINISHED CUTTING and turning both fields by sundown. He wanted to make good on the day because of Shannon. Not only because she doubted he could physically handle the full-time work, but also because of how vulnerable she was right now. She was nursing wounds from a failed marriage, she’d given up her singing career, returned home with Rose and was looking for a safe place to rebuild her life. Billy was hoping she’d realize her father’s ranch was the place. He was hoping she’d want to stay.
Shannon had always been different from the other girls, even back in high school. Strong willed, with a self-confidence that went way beyond her years. She was smart as a whip, prettier than an October sunset and she could sing. Man, could she sing.
Billy had been used to having his pick of pretty girls. That territory came with the rodeo championships and being a winning quarterback. But Shannon was the kind of girl who intimidated most guys.
It was alphabetical luck that paired them as lab partners in chemistry class, and he got to know Shannon pretty well. She had a quick, wry sense of humor and an opinion about everything that left nobody wondering where she stood. There was a reason she was president of the debate club. Shy she was not. He looked forward to every moment of their lab time together and tested the waters very carefully before asking her if she wanted to go along with him to his next rodeo.
But still, when he asked her out, she’d very politely and coolly told him, “No, thank you,” without so much as a pause, adding, “My father says I should stay away from guys with only one thing on their minds, and I agree.”
“Have I made a move once during chem class? Come on, give me a chance.”
“Billy Mac, you’ve dated every pretty girl in this high school and then some. I’m reasonably sure you’ll find half a dozen fans to go with you to your next rodeo and they’ll jump up and down and wave pom-poms when you win that fancy belt buckle.”
Billy hadn’t given up. He’d done his best to win Shannon over, figuring that she must surely feel the chemistry simmering between them, chemistry that had nothing to do with the lab work they shared. After all, every time their hands touched, Shannon blushed. Their conversations ran the gamut from world affairs to the gossip heard at Willard’s General Store, and Billy began to hope that, in spite of the differences between them, in spite of the fact that he was just a half-breed off the rez and she was on track to be a country-and-western star, she might realize that she was falling in love with him.
But it was not meant to be, because that was the year Travis Roy’s family arrived in Bear Paw. Travis was a city boy and a slick talker. He could sing and play guitar. He started a country-and-western band and Shannon was his first recruit.
Before long, they were playing gigs at all the local watering holes. Then they were playing gigs in the big towns. Cities. The band entered a regional contest and won. Went to Nashville to enter a bigger contest and won there, too, handily. They were televised on a national star-search TV show just a few months later, which they also won.
They were young and on fire, and in retrospect, Billy couldn’t believe he’d had the nerve to ask her out that second time, to his senior prom, no less, knowing full well she’d turn him down once again and cut him off at the knees. But he asked her anyway, figuring he had nothing to lose, and she’d politely thanked him and said she already had a date.
Travis, of course.
So Billy took the head of the cheerleading squad to the prom and had to watch Shannon and Travis having too good a time together on the dance floor. That was the same night he blew any chance he might have had with Shannon by breaking Travis’s nose in the parking lot.
As soon as he could screw up the nerve he’d gone over to her ranch to apologize and he’d found her crying on the porch, her arms clutched around Tess. She’d had a fight with her dad about wanting to leave for Nashville, one of an endless string back then. Billy understood wanting something different than what you had. He’d gone to Shannon and held her for a long while...and then he’d kissed her.
He hadn’t meant to, hadn’t planned it, but Shannon’s body instantly melted against his, and she’d kissed him back with all the passion he knew lived within her. For a few brief, glorious seconds, Billy thought he’d finally won her heart...until she froze in his embrace as she realized what she was doing, wrenched herself out of his arms and slapped him, accusation in her eyes. “What happened to not making a move, Billy?” she’d said. “My father was right about you!”
Hurt and ashamed, he’d lashed out: “What’s the matter? A half-breed off the rez isn’t good enough for a McTavish?”
“I don’t care about that, Billy. Never have. I wish you could say the same.” Then she’d disappeared into the house, slamming the door on Billy’s hopes and dreams.
Shortly thereafter, with the promise of a recording contract with a big producer, Shannon and Travis left Wyoming and headed for Tennessee to cut their first single.
It was a smash hit.
Billy had wondered about her often in the years that followed. He kept up with her life through the songs on the radio, the tabloids at the grocery store and through letters from friends back home.
So he knew she’d married Travis. Had a baby girl. Gotten famous. But in spite of all that fame and fortune, her marriage had failed. As far as Billy was concerned, her coming back home was good. She needed to mend fences with her father, and McTavish needed Shannon and his granddaughter in his life more than he’d ever admit.
And her being home gave Billy a chance to prove two things to Shannon: that this was the perfect place to raise her daughter, and that Billy, in spite of his injuries, wasn’t just some half-breed Indian off the rez riding a dead-end horse.
What wasn’t good was that Travis Roy knew where she was. Travis had hurt her, and Billy could think of few forms of life lower than a man who would abuse his woman. If Travis showed up here, there’d be hell to pay.
Billy felt uneasy leaving Shannon alone at the house while he hayed, but he could watch the road from some of the fields, and even where he couldn’t, he’d be able to see the cloud of dust a vehicle kicked up when it approached the ranch.
He kept his eyes peeled all afternoon, sitting on the old Moline, driving back and forth, back and forth, across the fields, making hay.
* * *
SHANNON WALKED UP to the old windmill after lunch. She carried a hamper containing sandwiches and a thermos of hot coffee in one hand and held Rose’s hand in the other. The windmill wasn’t too far from the ranch, but after they’d hiked half an hour Rose began to complain.
“Momma, I’m tired.”
“Almost there, sweetie, just a little farther. Maybe we’ll see some horses up there, or a cow that might have escaped the roundup.”
The trail followed the creek, and Shannon scanned for tracks. There were some old hoofprints left by horses and cattle, and she thought she saw the impression of a bear paw in a soft patch of mud alongside its namesake creek, but nothing really fresh and no boot tracks. This didn’t surprise her. Her father would’ve driven the truck to the site using one of the old ranch roads. The windmill hadn’t worked in many years. After her mother died, everything had started to slide downhill.
“My legs are tired,” Rose said. “Can you carry me?”
“No, honey. You’re big enough to walk.”
“Why couldn’t we ride?”
“Because you don’t know how to ride yet.”
“But you said you’d teach me.”
“I will, but first we have to find your grampy.” Shannon was worried, though she tried to keep that from Rose. Her father thought she’d left the ranch and taken Rose. Billy said he’d been upset. Would he be angry to see them or pleased? Or would he be just his old stoic self and show no emotion at all? If only she could have left Rose back at the ranch. But with no one to watch Rose, she’d had no choice but to bring her along.
Should she tell her father about Travis’s phone call or would that just make things worse?
They crested the last stretch of steep climb and stopped for a breather. “There’s the windmill,” Shannon said, “and there’s your grampy’s truck.” She was relieved to see it, and Rose tugged at her hand, forgetting how tired she was.
“Come on, Momma. Let’s bring Grampy his food.”
Her father was sitting inside the cab of the truck. The windows were rolled down. The truck was facing the windmill, so he didn’t see them until he noticed movement in his side-view mirror. He turned his head and Shannon could tell instantly from his red-rimmed eyes that he’d been drinking. She pulled Rose to a stop beside her, her stomach churning. She wished she hadn’t come, but it was too late.
“I went to town after breakfast to get some groceries,” she said. She held up the hamper. “We brought you some lunch.”
“Do you like tuna sandwiches, Grampy?” Rose asked.
He dragged his forearm across his face and cleared his throat. “I do, yes,” he said roughly.
“We brought you some,” Rose said. “And Momma made you some coffee.”
“Thank you.” He nodded, not meeting Shannon’s eyes. “I’ll get back to work right after I’ve et.”
“Then I guess we’ll see you at supper.” Shannon set the hamper on the hood of the truck and tightened her grip on Rose’s hand. “C’mon, Rose. You can help me get Old Joe and Sparky into the barn. We should give them a good brushing.”
“But, Momma...” Rose protested as Shannon tugged her down the path away from the windmill.
“You said you wanted to go riding, didn’t you?”
“But, Momma...!” Rose was struggling to keep up with Shannon’s brisk pace.
“We can’t go riding until the horses have been groomed, and we need to check the saddles and bridles, too, and clean them so they’re nice and shiny.”
“But...!”
“It’ll be easier going back down the trail than it was hiking up. Come on, we’ve got a lot to do before suppertime.”
Rose dug her heels in and brought her mother to a halt. “Why was Grampy crying?”
Crying? Shannon had just assumed, when she saw his red-rimmed eyes, that he’d been drinking. Had she been wrong? Was Rose right? Was that why he’d wiped his face? Filled with self-doubt, Shannon turned, knelt down and met her daughter’s somber gaze.
“Maybe because he thought we’d left him, and he was feeling sad. But he’ll be okay now that he knows we’re still here. He’ll eat his lunch and work on the windmill and we’ll see him at suppertime. Don’t worry, your grampy’ll be fine.” She gave her daughter an encouraging smile. “Let’s go get Old Joe and Sparky all dolled up so we can show Grampy how good they look when he comes home.”
Rose’s face brightened. “Okay,” she said. “Maybe then Grampy’ll teach me to ride.”
Shannon glanced over Rose’s shoulder toward the old pickup truck. She’d seen her father cry only once, the day her mother died. Maybe Billy had been right. Maybe he really was glad she’d come back home. Maybe he’d even missed her a little bit all these years and just couldn’t show it.
Or maybe he just had.
“Maybe,” she said softly, hoping with all her heart it was so.
CHAPTER FOUR (#u016d6581-a197-56d9-91d8-b6f9288ea8ab)
THEY BROUGHT THE horses up to the barn and Shannon showed Rose how to hold the brush and currycomb, how to use a firm, gentle pressure and make the geldings’ eyes half close with the glorious pleasure of being groomed. Then she worked on getting the old burrs out of their manes and tails. Lord knows how long it’d been since they’d last had a good grooming, but the two old geldings clearly enjoyed every moment of it.
Sparky remembered her. She’d half thought he wouldn’t, but the way he lipped her jacket pocket, figuring she’d have a treat secreted there for him, was a dead giveaway. She gave him a piece of carrot, showing Rose how to present it on the flat of her palm so her fingers wouldn’t get mistaken for the treat.
“Hey, old Spark, I bet you still like to run, don’t you?” she said, rubbing his withers as he crunched on the carrot.
“Does he run fast?” Rose asked.
“He used to, and he could jump a four-foot fence. He’s too old for that now, but when he was young we competed in the barrel racing, and he’d always win for me. Always. He might not be pretty, but he sure could move.”
“I think he’s pretty,” Rose said, stepping up beside Shannon to stroke the gelding’s shoulder.
“I’m with you. I think he’s handsome and smart and talented. Now, let’s give Old Joe a treat. He’s a retired movie star. Your grandmother trained him, and he’s starred in more horse movies than any other. He’s a thoroughbred. See how much taller he is than Sparky? Sparky’s a quarter horse. Quarter horses can run really fast for a quarter of a mile, but thoroughbreds can run really fast for a lot farther.”
“Was Old Joe a racehorse?”
“He was a racehorse in most of his movies but not in real life,” Shannon began, then stopped when she heard the distant rumble of a vehicle approaching. Her heart rate trebled and she snatched Rose’s hand and pulled her out of the barn to find out who it was. Travis wouldn’t dare come here. He wouldn’t dare!
She craned to see up the valley, then felt the tension rush out of her when she noticed a big truck hauling a gooseneck stock trailer. “I bet it’s that new shipment of government mustangs for your grampy to train,” she said, light-headed with relief. “Let’s open up the corral gate for them.”
Ten minutes later the driver of the truck thanked her and departed, leaving behind six wild-eyed, scruffy-looking mustangs. Shannon kept Rose pulled tight beside her as they watched the horses circling the corral, the whites of their eyes flashing with fear. They were caked with dust and mud and sweat, and their manes and tails were tangled, yet they were wild and beautiful. “You stay away from these horses, Rose,” Shannon warned. “They’re wild and they could easily kill you if you went into the corral.”
“I won’t hurt them, Momma,” Rose said.
“I realize that, honey, but they don’t. All they know about humans is that we took them away from their band and brought them to a strange place. We robbed them of their freedom. They have no reason to trust us or like us.”
“Do you think they ever will, Momma?” Rose asked, watching them stampede around the corral, her eyes as wide as theirs.
“That’s Grampy’s job, to make sure they do, and he’s good at it. Come on, let’s turn Sparky and Old Joe loose and carry the saddles up to the house. We can work on them out on the porch and keep Tess company.”
Shannon carried the saddles and Rose held the bridles. Had saddles always been this heavy? Her arms were aching by the time she set them down on the porch. Tess lifted her head and gazed up at her for a long moment, thumped her tail twice, then returned to her nap. Shannon was just settling down to the job of cleaning the saddles when she heard the approaching growl of the old farm tractor. It was Billy, and he was making for the house at full throttle, still hauling the tedder behind him. He braked below the porch and cut the tractor’s engine.
“I saw the dust coming down the road,” he explained in the sudden silence. He followed Shannon’s gesture, spotted the horses in the corral and relaxed. Shannon realized he’d half expected to find Travis here. Maybe he’d been hoping Travis was dumb enough to come, so Billy could flatten him again like he had on prom night. The thought of Billy protecting her brought a flush of warmth to her cheeks.
“They’re a good-looking bunch,” she said. “A little spooked right now, but they’ll settle down.”
“They’d settle down a whole lot faster if it was the dead of winter and they were cold and hungry.” He paused.
“You find your father?”
Shannon nodded. “He was up at the windmill. How’s the haying coming along?”
“Fields are all mowed and turned once. With any luck we’ll be done by nightfall tomorrow. They’re predicting rain tomorrow night. Heard the forecast on my way back from town this morning.”
“That’s cutting it real close.”
“If the tractor doesn’t break down again we’ll make it.”
“Maybe.” Billy was looking a mite whipped, but Shannon wasn’t about to say so. “I can help you out, but we’ll need another hand or two to get it into the barn before it rains.”
“Thought I’d head into town after supper, see if I can scare up some more eager volunteers,” Billy said.
“Good help’s usually pretty scarce when it comes to pitching hay bales.”
Billy grinned. “True enough. But once I mention they’ll be working alongside a famous country-and-western singer, the whole town of Bear Paw’ll turn out.”
“Fine by me,” Shannon said. “The more the merrier when it comes to haying. I’ll start a big batch of spaghetti sauce tonight and plan for a big feed tomorrow.”
“Sounds like a plan. I’d best get to work.” Billy started the tractor, gave her a nod and pulled away from the porch. Shannon watched him, pondering what strange twists of fate had drawn both her and Billy Mac back to Bear Paw.
“Momma, can I help tomorrow?”
“Sure, Rose. You can ride in the hay truck and count the bales as we load them on.”
“How many bales will there be?”
“Lots and lots. Enough to feed a bunch of horses all winter long, and maybe some cows, too.”
“What if I can’t count that high?” Rose asked, frowning.
“I’ll give you a piece of paper, and when you count ten bales being loaded, you make a mark on the page. Then start counting to ten again and make another mark. Each mark will count for ten bales, and that way you’ll keep track for us. Now let’s get to cleaning these saddles. It’s almost time for me to start supper.”
They settled on the porch together, side by side, feet swinging over the edge, sponges in hand, saddles sprawled beside them. Rose made lots of suds with her sponge. Tess slept and twitched her way through the active dreams of a younger dog. Shannon breathed in the good smells of saddle soap and leather, and paused from time to time to look out across the broad sweep of McTavish Valley toward Wolf Butte. For the first time in years, she felt like she was truly home.
She wondered how long the feeling would last.
* * *
BILLY WAS DOG TIRED. His leg hurt. His side hurt. His shoulder hurt. The pain was acute, and the more he tried to ignore it, the worse it got. He tried to focus on the machinery. On loading the baling twine into the baler. On the anticipation of a home-cooked supper prepared by Shannon McTavish.
He’d overdone it today, that’s all. The pain would pass, along with the scare he’d gotten, seeing that big rooster tail of dust moving toward the ranch house, toward Shannon, and thinking it was Travis Roy.
He’d seen a lot of ugliness over the years. A lot of death. He should be immune to violence by now, but he wasn’t. Just the opposite. He’d been numb for a long time, but it was as if the pain in his body had become a conduit to all the pain and suffering he’d witnessed.
Seeing Shannon’s bruised face and how she’d tried to hide the bruises with makeup twisted him up inside. She insisted Travis wouldn’t come here. He hoped she was right, because he wasn’t sure what he’d do if he ever got his hands on that bastard. Or maybe he was sure, and that’s what scared him. Shannon was out of his league and always had been, but that didn’t keep him from caring about her, and it never would.
Billy gave up on the baler. He needed to walk the pain out. He’d go up to the windmill, check on McTavish. The wind was dying and the air was sweet with the smell of fresh-mown hay. It was going to be a pretty evening. A pretty sunset.
There was no one to see him, no one watching. He could limp. He could crawl on his hands and knees and it wouldn’t matter. That was the wonderful thing about living on the edge of nowhere. A man could find himself, re-create himself or lose himself, all without anybody watching.
McTavish was crouched at the base of the windmill, tools scattered around him, covered with grease. “I think I’ve about got ’er,” he said, wiping his hands on a rag.
Billy leaned against the front of the truck. He was sweating. He took off his hat and let the wind cool him. “I finished cutting the fields and turned them all once. Figured we could bale in the morning. I’ll head into town after supper and find us some help. With a good crew we might get all the hay in by dark, if we go at it hard.”
He let himself slide down the truck’s bumper, keeping his leg out straight, until he was sitting on the ground. “Shannon’s fixing supper, and you just got a new delivery of six mustangs from the government. Good-looking horses. Wild and wooly. I would’ve had ’em all broke by now except I’m plumb wore out.”
McTavish rubbed the stubble on his chin. He shook his head, wearing the faintest of smiles. “By God, but we’re a pair.”
Billy would’ve laughed if he’d had the strength.
* * *
TEN YEARS OF having a chef had spoiled Shannon. She’d forgotten all the basic cooking skills she’d picked up from her mother, who could shoulder a full day’s work on the ranch and still manage to produce savory home-cooked meals. As Shannon rummaged through the lower cupboards for the proper cookware, she tried to recall what she’d bought for groceries. She had two hungry men and a hungry daughter to feed in short order.
What to cook? How to keep them all happy?
“Momma, I’m hungry,” Rose said, pushing through the screen door with Tess at her heels.
She’d promised the men a good feed. They’d both be hungry. She had hamburger. Lots of hamburger. She’d fix the spaghetti sauce tonight and they’d just have to eat it two nights in a row.
“Eat a piece of fruit, Rose. It’ll tide you over until supper’s ready,” Shannon said, reaching for a skillet. “I’m making spaghetti. You like spaghetti, don’t you?”
“With meatballs?”
“With meat sauce. Sorry, no time to make meatballs. We spent too long cleaning the saddles.”
“They look nice and shiny, Momma.”
“They sure do, and they’ll look even nicer on Sparky and Old Joe.”
Shannon lit the gas burner and plunked the deep cast-iron skillet down atop it. She opened two cans of spaghetti sauce and poured them over the hamburger as it cooked. With a little doctoring, she could make the sauce look and taste like homemade.
Shannon paused, frowning. She’d forgotten about Sparky and Old Joe. They were probably down at the barn by now, wondering where their grain was. What about the mustangs in the corral? They had water, but they’d need to be fed. And what of her father? Had he been crying or drinking? If he’d been drinking, had he put the cork back in the bottle?
“Rose, I have to toss some hay to the mustangs in the corral. I won’t be two minutes. Stay here with Tess and I’ll be right back.” She paused at the door, scanning the small kitchen, the spaghetti sauce starting to bubble in the skillet, the old dog finishing her meal over in the corner, and the young child waiting and hungry. She wondered if she’d ever be able to juggle feeding horses and a haying crew while effortlessly mothering her own child.
She couldn’t leave Rose alone in the kitchen. What had she been thinking? “Grab an apple and come with me, honey. You can watch, okay?”
Rose took an apple from the bowl on the table, crossed the kitchen and took Shannon’s outstretched hand. “It’ll be okay, Momma,” Rose reassured her with all the trusting innocence of a child. And for one blindingly beautiful moment, as that small, perfect hand slipped into hers, Shannon believed that it truly would.
* * *
SUPPER WASN’T SERVED until 8:00 p.m., which was early for Shannon but very late for her father and Billy, who were both so tired they spoke in monosyllables as they methodically cleaned their plates and then made short work of seconds. The spaghetti was good, and she served it with garlic bread and a big salad. Her fears that her father might have been drinking up at the windmill had been laid to rest. He was stone-cold sober and dog tired.
“I’m afraid it’s the same menu for tomorrow, but I’ll bake an apple pie, too,” she promised as she cleared the table.
“Been a dog’s age since I’ve had apple pie,” her father said, leaning back in his chair. “Your mother could make the best pie crust. Light as a feather.”
“Well, Daddy, I hope you’ll settle for a store-bought crust.”
Billy was sitting quietly, finishing off his cup of coffee. “It’ll be great.”
“What’s that?” Shannon asked, her hands full of plates.
“Your apple pie.”
“Better save your praise till you’ve tried it,” she said as she piled the dishes in the sink. “Rose, it’s time for you to get washed up and ready for bed.”
“But I don’t want to go to bed.”
“Tomorrow’s going to be a big day. You’ll be counting the bales for us, remember? That requires a good night’s sleep.”
Billy’s chair scraped away from the table and he pushed to his feet. “That was a good supper, Shannon,” he said. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She dropped her eyes from his and turned back to the sink to hide her blush.
“Guess I’ll head into town and see if I can rustle us up some recruits for tomorrow,” he said, reaching for his hat. He paused for a moment, fiddling with the hat brim in his hands. “It’s Friday night. Thought maybe I’d get a beer at the Dog and Bull. You’re welcome to come along if you like, Shannon. I’ll buy you a beer.”
Shannon froze at the sink, her hands dripping with soapy water.
“I’ll watch Rose,” her father volunteered in the awkward silence, “and I know how to clean up a kitchen. The two of you go out and have some fun.”
“Grampy and I can watch TV together, Momma,” Rose said, excited by this sudden turn of events. “Just one show won’t hurt.”
Shannon didn’t know which surprised her more, Billy’s invitation or her father’s offer to babysit. “All right,” she relented. “Just one little program on that little TV, and you’re off to bed. Daddy?”
“Just one,” he said. “And maybe some popcorn.”
“I love popcorn!” Rose said.
Shannon turned her attention back to the dishes, feeling Billy’s eyes on her. “Might be fun to see the old hangout again. Give me ten minutes.”
Billy pushed past the screen door and Shannon blew out her breath. Dove back into the hot sudsy water and finished the supper dishes. It felt good to do domestic things, to wipe the counters down, clean off the table. Her father and Rose were already in the living room, trying to choose a program. Rose picked a Western. Gunsmoke, from the sound of it. Shannon had just finished the dishes when she heard Billy’s truck pull up to the porch. He leaned out of the driver’s-side window when she stepped out. “Ready?”
“Almost. I need to change.”
“You look fine just the way you are.”
Shannon hesitated, wiping her hands on the kitchen towel. “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.”
Billy tugged his hat brim lower. “These are the same folks you used to rub shoulders with back when you had cow manure on your boots and horse slobber on your shirt. They don’t care if you aren’t dressed fancy.”
Blunt and to the point. Shannon blew out another breath and nodded. “I’ll be right down.”
She raced upstairs to the bathroom, where she washed up in furious haste, brushed out her hair, feathered more foundation over the greening bruise, glossed her lips and called it good.
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