Christmas at Colts Creek

by Delores Fossen

  “I went to see Sophia so I could get a feel for if she was planning to stay,” Margo went on. “Don’t worry. I was subtle about it. I didn’t come out and ask her if she was going to put a stop to Abe trying to screw us all over, but I got the impression that she’d stay because she doesn’t want to miss seeing her grandbaby.”

  Yes, Janessa got that, but she had to shake her head at something else Margo had said a couple of seconds earlier. “My mom accepted your invitation to a Parkman gathering? Why?” she repeated.

  Margo shrugged. “Probably because I told her you’d be there. I mentioned there’d be a lot of talk about Abe and that we might be able to get some dirt that could help challenge the will.”

  At best, that was a long shot, but with Sophia’s hatred for Abe, it was possible she just wanted to hear someone else bash him. Still, a small-town historical society didn’t seem like something that would lure Sophia away from the inn and her legal wranglings.

  “Let’s go,” Margo prompted. “I’ll drive. I told Sophia to hold us some seats, but if it gets crowded, people might give her some sass over saving them.”

  Janessa glanced down at her black pants and cream-colored sweater. It was one of the outfits that her mother had brought from Dallas. Actually, the only thing Sophia had packed had been dressy clothes and shoes that Janessa couldn’t wear. Since she hadn’t had a chance yet to find a better pair, the sneakers would have to do. At least she’d already combed her hair and put on some makeup, but she’d done that in case she ran into Brody, not because she’d been expecting to go to a society meeting.

  “So, where are Brody and you going on your date?” Margo asked as they headed down the stairs.

  Janessa stutter-stepped and nearly tripped. “Our what?”

  “Your date,” Margo said as if Janessa had simply not heard her. She had. She’d heard, but she didn’t understand. “Everybody’s buzzing about the steamy way Brody and you were looking at each other on the side porch,” the woman explained. “I guess you two will be testing the waters with another romance.”

  “Uh, no, we won’t be, and we won’t be going on a date.”

  Margo laughed and laughed and laughed as if that were a fine joke, and they continued down the stairs and to the front door. Janessa grabbed her red wool coat from the rack in the foyer.

  “Brody’s the hot ticket here in Last Ride,” Margo said. “Don’t know how you could resist him.”

  Janessa wasn’t clear on how to go about said resisting, but she had to do it. “Things didn’t end well between Brody and me that summer I was here.”

  “Yes, I heard.” Margo led her to her car that was parked in front of the house. “You broke his heart.”

  Janessa winced. Because it was probably true. They hadn’t been in love, but their feelings for each other had been plenty intense.

  “Brody got over that, over me,” Janessa muttered.

  “Don’t be so sure of that,” Margo insisted as they got in the car. “I mean, there’s a reason he’s never been engaged or serious about anyone. Some people just don’t mend all the way. I didn’t. Abe broke my heart. Darcia broke his. Of course, Darcia had other heartbreaks to deal with. I suppose you’ve heard all about her daughter?”

  “Layla,” Janessa murmured. She recalled seeing the family photo of Layla, Brody and Darcia at Brody’s house. Like Velma Sue, Janessa had fond memories of Layla, as well. They’d become friendly despite Layla being two years younger.

  “That’s right. Layla,” Margo confirmed while she started the drive toward town. “She was killed in a car wreck a couple of months after you left. It just about crushed Darcia. Brody, too.” She paused, sighed. “And I’m sorry I got us off on such a sad subject. Bad timing since this is a happy day. You’ll get to meet some of your cousins and be part of Parkman history.”

  Janessa would have preferred to continue the discussion about Brody and his sister, but since it was obviously causing Margo some distress, she added that to her ever-growing list of mental notes. When she got the chance, she’d do a computer search on Layla.

  It didn’t take Margo long to make the drive to the town hall. Since it was just up the street from the inn, Janessa immediately glanced around but didn’t spot her mother. However, there were people—probably those cousins Margo had mentioned—who were trickling into the brick and red limestone building.

  “You find your mother, and I’ll get us some snickerdoodles,” Margo instructed as they stepped through the open double doors.

  Considering how small that trickle of people had been, Janessa expected to see her mom right away. She was wrong. Good grief. The large room was packed, and she nearly choked thanks to the clashing scents of perfume, aftershave, cookies and coffee.

  There were two tables at the front of the room, and each one held huge glass bowls. Bowl o’ Names was the label on the left one, and Bowl o’ Tombstones was on the right. There were slivers of paper inside them, no doubt with the names of her Parkman kin who were eligible for research. And those eligible to be researched.

  Hobbling up the rows, Janessa finally saw Sophia. Thankfully, on one of the end seats in the middle of the room. And she’d held the two chairs. Janessa made her way there, creating a path of mumblings and murmurs as she went. Obviously, she was a tasty morsel of gossip right now.

  “Janessa,” Sophia greeted. She moved in so Janessa wouldn’t have to step over her, and they left the aisle seat for Margo.

  “Why are you here?” Janessa whispered.

  “Because Margo invited me.” Sophia smiled that little smile that told Janessa she was up to something. “It doesn’t hurt to stir up a little good will for anyone who can help our fight against Abe.”

  Janessa wasn’t sure how much good will either of them were going to find here. “Mom, you and I need to talk.”

  “So you’ve said. We can go to Colts Creek after the meeting and talk there.”

  “Colts Creek? You said you didn’t want to go inside the house. Wouldn’t you rather go to the inn?”

  “There’s a pipe leaking in my bathroom, and they said the repair might not be done for at least a couple of hours. I’d rather not have a personal chat with my daughter with a plumber around. We can sit on the porch at the ranch.”

  While that wouldn’t be especially comfortable, Janessa didn’t want to put this off any longer, and there were heaters on the porch. Maybe this meeting wouldn’t last too long because it was hard to think about anything else other than just how pissed off Sophia was going to be when she learned the truth.

  A thin gray-haired woman in a Christmas red jumpsuit went to the podium and thumped the microphone, causing static to fart through the room. Even though it was plenty loud enough to assure the woman, and possibly people a couple of counties over, that the mike was working, she still said, “Testing, testing,” into it. Apparently pleased when her voice poured through the room and silenced the chatter, she smiled.

  “How-dee and welcome, welcome, welcome,” the woman gushed. She was even more enthusiastic than Margo. And speaking of Margo, with napkins and cookies clutched in both hands, she hurried to take her seat next to Janessa.

  “For those who don’t know me,” the woman at the podium continued while looking straight at Janessa and her mother, “I’m Alma Parkman, president of the Last Ride Society. I’m also performing my stand-up comedy routine at Three Sheets to the Wind every Tuesday night. Join me for some hijinks and shenanigans.”

  Margo passed down some of the cookies, and since it was there, Janessa took a bite. Then another. Margo certainly had a good argument for not missing out on them.

  “Hijinks aside for now,” Alma went on, turning her attention to the paper she laid on the podium. “As always, we’ll start the meeting with a reading of the rules. Our illustrious town founder, Hezzie Parkman, created the Last Ride Society shortly before her death in 1950, and each an
d every one of you honor Hezzie by being here this evening. Honor, tradition, family. Those are the cornerstones that make Last Ride our home.”

  Janessa was all for honor, tradition and family, but she wondered if Abe had ever stepped foot in one of these meetings. Probably not.

  Alma held up one finger to indicate the first rule. “A drawing will take place quarterly in the Last Ride town hall. The winner of the previous quarter will draw the name of his or her successor.

  “Second rule,” Alma said, lifting another finger. “The winner must research the person whose tombstone he or she draws. A handout will be given to the winner to better spell out what needs to be done, but research should be conducted at least once weekly as to compile a thorough report on the deceased. The report will be added to the Last Ride Society Library.

  “Final rule,” Alma went on. “On the completion of the research by the winner, five thousand dollars from the Hezzie Parkman trust will be donated to the winner’s chosen town charity.”

  Janessa heard murmurs of those around her, saying how they’d use the money if chosen. Apparently, the rose garden park and the public toilets there needed some attention.

  “And now to the drawing.” Alma used the gavel to drum out her obvious excitement. “As many of you know, our last winner can’t be here because her bunions are acting up so her predecessor will do the honors. Millie, come on up to the Bowl o’ Names and get to drawing.”

  The tall blonde got up from the front row and walked up onto the stage where she got lots of applause. Lots. It turned into a standing ovation, and Janessa was surprised to see some people, Margo included, dabbing tears from their eyes.

  “Millie Dayton,” Margo supplied. “She won the drawing two quarters ago, and she found true love. It’s so sweet how this sometimes works out.”

  Millie did indeed look happy as she slid her hand into the Bowl o’ Names, but Janessa figured that hers was a best-case scenario that wouldn’t apply to anyone else. Finding love over cemetery research just didn’t seem likely to repeat itself.

  “Please tell me you didn’t actually go through with putting my name in the drawing,” Janessa whispered to Margo. She watched as Millie drew out one of the slivers of paper.

  Margo’s beaming smile told her that’s exactly what she’d done. “Abe’s, too,” Margo said with a nod. She patted Janessa’s hand. “Don’t worry. The odds are 375 to one that your name won’t be drawn.”

  “Janessa Parkman,” Millie called out.

  The room went silent.

  Janessa’s mind, however, revved up with all sorts of bad words and frustration. She heard herself actually growl when a clapping, cheering Margo pulled her to her feet. “Go up on stage,” Margo prompted, taking the rest of the cookie from Janessa.

  Janessa didn’t want any part of the stage or this drawing. Nor did she want every eye in the room on her. But that’s what she got. She wasn’t one who liked that attention. Or the fact that she couldn’t immediately think of a way out of this. Even a polite I’m sorry but no might be taken as an insult to this small-town way of life.

  “This could drum up support for our cause,” Janessa heard Sophia mutter.

  It could possibly do that. If Janessa was going to be in Last Ride long enough. The odds were that she wouldn’t be, but she couldn’t very well tell her mother that now without a public spilling of the truth about the baby.

  “Come on up, Janessa,” Alma prompted through the still farting microphone.

  Janessa wasn’t sure what got her started moving. Maybe it was the nudge in the back from Margo or perhaps her feet just went on autopilot. Either way, Janessa found herself limping toward the stage. The limp caused some murmurs, too, probably because everyone in the room knew how she’d gotten the injury. Margo rushed up behind her, taking hold of her hand to help Janessa up the three short steps to the stage.

  Millie gave her a bright smile and a hug when Janessa joined Alma and her on the stage, and both women congratulated her. Obviously, they thought this was a great honor.

  Alma directed her to the Bowl o’ Tombstones, and Janessa knew she had to allow this to play out. When she ended up having to leave town, then she could ask Alma to find someone else to fulfill Hezzie Parkman’s plan.

  Janessa reached in the bowl, maneuvering her hand as close to the bottom as she could get. Best to draw someone who had been in there a long, long time. In fact, she hoped it was the oldest tombstone in the entire area.

  But it wasn’t.

  Janessa unfolded the paper, stared at the name and kept staring until Alma came to her side. “Well, shit,” Alma murmured. It expressed Janessa’s sentiments to a tee.

  Because the name on the paper wasn’t anywhere near the oldest. It was her father’s.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  BRODY CURSED UNDER his breath when he saw what was going on in the corral. Rowan was doing some trick riding, again, and while the three hands watching him were clearly amused, Brody sure as hell wasn’t.

  Ignoring the text that dinged his phone and the whoops and cheers of the hands, Brody made it to the corral just as Rowan crouched and stood in the saddle. His idiot brother was grinning from ear to ear. Or at least he was until his attention landed on Brody. The grin faded some but not nearly enough, and he eased back down into the saddle.

  “If you’ve finished the work on your schedule, I’ll find something else for you to do,” Brody snarled to the hands. “I’m sure some stalls need mucking, and there are always rocks that need to be dug out from the pastures.” Since those were both chores that sucked, it was enough to get them scurrying away.

  Rowan didn’t scurry. As if he had all the time in the world and no pissed-off brother whatsoever, he dismounted and strolled toward Brody.

  “I’m not on shift yet,” Rowan said. “Not for another fifteen minutes.”

  Brody knew that since he’d been the one to make the work schedule. “At what point did you think it’d be a bright idea to break your neck?”

  Rowan looked a little offended. “Hey, I’m good at trick riding.”

  “Hey,” Brody repeated with plenty of sarcasm, “even good riders break their necks when doing something stupid.” Just in case that didn’t drill the point home, Brody pulled out the big guns. “If and when this gets back to Mom, you know she’ll be worried.”

  There. That sank in. Rowan sighed, but what he didn’t do was disagree. Because he couldn’t.

  Darcia had taken worrying about her kids to the extreme, and while it didn’t appear Rowan had actually been on the verge of any real neck-breaking, Darcia would imagine a worst-case scenario of losing her son. That’s what happened when a parent had already had a worst-case scenario of losing a daughter. It wasn’t logical for their mom to transfer her fears and overprotectiveness to Rowan, but logic didn’t always apply when grieving for a child.

  “I’m really good at trick riding,” Rowan emphasized when he repeated it. Again, it wasn’t an argument. His tone was more statement of fact. “All the other hands say I’m good enough to do competitions.”

  Yeah, he was. Brody had seen enough of the boy’s antics to know that. “Mom,” was all Brody said in response.

  This time, Rowan huffed, and he propped his hands on his hips. “Maybe if you explained to her that I’d be safe, that it’s actually a sport.” He stopped because he probably knew that no amount of explanation would work with their mother, and he leveled his eyes on Brody. “I’m fifteen. She can’t baby me forever.”

  Oh, but Darcia would almost certainly try to do just that. Brody hadn’t found a way to get her to back off with him so he wasn’t holding out much hope that she’d loosen the reins on Rowan. He loved his mother so it was always hard to find that right balance of soothing her and living his own life.

  Brody glanced up when he heard the approaching vehicle. Since he’d been on the lookout for Riggs, he braced
in case the moron had made a return visit, but it was Margo. She parked in front of the house, and both Janessa and she got out. One look at Janessa’s face, and Brody knew something was wrong. She didn’t have an I’ll-kick-Abe’s-tombstone expression. More like I-broke-another-toe-kicking-Abe’s-tombstone.

  He’d seen them leave earlier but hadn’t known where they were going until Velma Sue had reminded him that it was the first of November and therefore the day of the drawing of the Last Ride Society. Brody was more than a little surprised that Margo had managed to talk Janessa into going with her.

  Janessa’s gaze zoomed straight to Brody, and she started walking toward him. Margo was right on her heels, and while she didn’t seem as upset as Janessa, she wasn’t keeping up her usual jaunty pace.

  “If you’re going to ride, keep your ass in the saddle,” Brody added to Rowan as he turned to make his way to a still-limping Janessa. “What happened?” he asked. “Did Riggs show up in town?”

  “No, not Riggs.” Janessa opened her clenched hand to show him the strip of paper.

  Brody immediately put two and two together. “Your name was drawn at the Last Ride Society, and you drew Abe’s.”

  Janessa nodded. “Apparently, fate decided I hadn’t been given enough jabs in the eye and gave me one more.”

  Making a fretting sound, Margo nodded, too. “I shouldn’t have insisted that Janessa’s name be added.”

  “No, you shouldn’t have,” Janessa and Brody said in unison.

  There was no venom in Janessa’s voice, just the acceptance of that additional eye poke. But Brody held on to a little piece of venom. Janessa shouldn’t have been part of that drawing, and Abe’s name sure as hellfire shouldn’t have been in the Bowl o’ Tombstones mix. The man had been dead less than a week. That was way too soon for anyone, especially his daughter, to have to be digging into his life all in the name of historical research.