Coleman Memory Book
~Tamara (Whiskey Creek) Stone~
I remember the talking. The out-of-the-blue conversations that sometimes made life turn on a dime.
We talked while on horseback, and in trucks, and on porches. Talked over cake and way too many cups of tea at Auntie Dana’s and Auntie Kate’s houses.
We talked late at night while coyote howls carried on the air all over Whiskey Creek ranch. Even though I don’t live there anymore, I can close my eyes and picture clear as day the horses racing over the land, the Rockies in the distance, my sisters’ voices and their laughter ringing around me.
We talked the wrong way at times. Raised voices. Shouts. Or silence, while we also refused to listen. Or, as in my case, refused to speak and turned away instead of trying to make it better. That’s a hard confession considering how radically I insisted on doing what’s right in other ways.
But the good memories are growing again, and that’s what I want to share as my part of this memory book. Families are sometimes hard, but they’re precious. They’re worth fighting for.
A lot of times we screwed up in spite of trying to be there for each other. But if we listen harder and speak the truth with love, we can slowly change to a better way.
[Images: tea cups on rustic wood table, sliced cake on plate. A faded photo of a trio of young girls on horseback. A brightly-coloured new photo of George Coleman surrounded by his grown daughters and grandchildren, a slightly shocked yet pleased expression on his face.]
13
Mark’s conversation with Laurel had been the strangest and most unexpected conversation ever. Not to mention the most infuriating.
Still, he had things to accomplish that couldn’t be put off any longer. He bundled up all his frustration and headed over to Whiskey Creek.
He hadn’t expected to stay at the house with Trevor and Becky. And while all he had were a few bits of contact, the one letter George had sent him not even a month ago had been enough to make this the right decision.
It wasn’t late enough in the day to be sure his brother would be home, but as Mark drove into the parking area outside the horse barn, George stepped into the sunshine. He glanced over and examined Mark’s truck with interest before striding toward him.
Mark took a deep breath, opened the door, and slipped to the ground beside his vehicle.
Three steps away, George nearly tripped over his own feet, shooting upright. “Mark?”
“Sorry I didn’t call first—”
That was all he got out before being trapped in a hug so tight, he could barely breathe.
George squeezed the living daylights out of him, finally releasing his grip only to catch hold of Mark’s shoulders. “You’re here. You’re actually here.”
It was too amusing to keep a straight face. “I’m actually here,” Mark agreed.
George nodded decisively. “I’m glad.”
Which was one of the best things Mark had heard, ever.
His brother gestured to someone outside the barn. The man joining them was clearly one of the nephews. A very large, very solid specimen—broader than Trevor and possibly a few years older.
George reintroduced him. “Since you both look a little different than the last time you saw each other, let me. This is Blake, Mike’s oldest. He’s been helping me understand the paperwork his brother put together—” He waved a hand in the air as if erasing the topic he’d been diving into. “Never mind that. Blake, this is your Uncle Mark.”
The young man’s handshake was firm without being obnoxiously overwhelming, and the smile he offered was honest. “It’s good to meet you again. My dad talks about you a lot. He know you’re in town?”
Mark shook his head. “I meant to get in touch with people before I arrived, but then it just seemed as if it might be easier to simply show up.”
“Makes sense to me.” George gave his shoulder one final squeeze before dropping his hand and gesturing toward the barn. “Why don’t—” He paused and shook his head, a wry smile twisting his lips as he turned toward the house instead. “I bet you’d appreciate a bite to eat.”
“And time to talk, yeah. That’d be good,” Mark agreed.
Blake gestured toward the parking area. “I’m expected at home, but I’ll see you both soon. Uncle Mark, we’d love to have you over. Whenever it works.”
“I’d like that,” Mark said honestly. “I’ll let you know as soon as I get in touch with your Dad. Maybe we can do something with the whole SP ranch.”
His nephew’s grin flashed. “Been a long time since I heard somebody use the real initials. We’ll talk soon.”
It was a small comment, but for some reason the innocently said words were a loud echo of what the little spitfire Laurel had said. That Mark had been gone a long time. That he needed to tread carefully.
He would, because it was true, and yet there were some things that he was not going to back down on. He was staying in Rocky, and whatever it took to find his way back into the Coleman family, he would make it happen.
And while he would be a lot more patient, he was going to find a way to put sunshine back in Dana’s eyes.
He didn’t bother to bring anything into the house. That could wait until he and George had a chance to talk.
They were barely in the door when George pointed to the kitchen table. “Beer?”
“I could drink.”
Minutes later, George settled at the table kitty-corner to him, playing with the open beer bottle in front of him without tasting the drink. “I’m sorry.”
Mark hesitated. “For what?”
George stopped fidgeting with the bottle and put his hands flat on the table before meeting Mark’s gaze. “You came back once, and I was a shit. I didn’t treat you right. I figure that was a lot of the reason why you stayed away for so many years. I’m sorry, because it was wrong.”
For a moment, Mark felt like examining his beer. “I don’t think either of us have had enough to drink for this kind of a conversation yet.”
His brother’s lips twitched. “It’s not a drunken confession. It’s something I’ve been wanting to say for a long time. I hope you got my letter, and I meant every word I wrote. You are welcome here. I want you to feel like this is your home, no matter what it takes to get us there.”
Well, shit. Drink abandoned on the table, Mark rose then caught his brother by the shoulders. It was his turn to squeeze the stuffing out of him. “I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have stayed away so long, but—hell, I had my reasons. But looking back, none of it seems as if it was the right choice.”
“You don’t need to justify yourself.” George wiped at his eyes and then coughed, straightening slightly as he pulled himself together then resettled at the table. “You’re here. There’s so much I need to tell you, but this is the biggest one. We all make mistakes. Sometimes we make damn big mistakes, and there’s no coming back from those. But mostly there’s a way to find something good in the here and now.”
George said it as if it was a hard-learned lesson.
“You made a mistake?” Mark asked quietly. “Not because I want to gloat over you being a ridiculous ass like I was, but because it sounds as if you’re on the other side of that blunder.”
“Don’t know if I’m quite at the top of the hill and on the downward slide, but I’m working on it,” George confessed. “I’ve got four girls I didn’t say I love you to often enough. Not with my words or my actions. I’m just damn grateful they’re still willing to let me try and make a change.”
One part of that Mark had heard from Trevor via the letters over the past year. “Four girls, not three. Damn, bro. That must’ve been a hell of a surprise, finding out you had another daughter.”
George finally took a sip of his beer then stared at the label. “A surprise, but also a blessing. And I’m working my ass off trying to be a worthwhile dad in her life instead of a hindrance.”
So many years. So many wasted opportunities, and yet it seemed Mark wasn’t the onl
y one.
Mark clapped his hands on the table. “How about I start working on getting supper together? If you’re truly good with me camping out with you for a bit.”
His brother was on his feet. “Let me help grab stuff from your truck.”
The second lasagna that Mark had put together while over at Becky and Trevor’s was popped in the oven, then George found him a place in one of the empty rooms.
The house was familiar in the way that an old melody scratched and teased. Mark had helped build this house. He and John, and the rest of the brothers. The year before he left. The year before John died.
If the house wasn’t full of memories, his head was.
They hadn’t quite put the food on the table when George paused. “You talk to Mike yet?”
Mark shook his head.
“Why don’t you give him a call?” George suggested before offering a wry smile. “As my daughter Tamara pointedly reminds me, putting off something painful doesn’t make it less painful when you actually do it.”
“You think Randy wants to come out tonight? With the new grandbaby and all?” Mark offered a grin. “Because I’d like to do it all at once, like ripping off a Band-Aid. Which works well with your less-painful analogy.”
“Give them a shout.”
Which is how, before seven p.m., Mark found this unending day of activity finishing up with what would be the make-it-or-break-it moment.
Standing in George’s living room, he faced his three surviving older brothers.
It had been clear from the moment they walked into the room, though, that this wasn’t going to be about holding old grudges. Not on their side at least.
Mike gave him a hug and a back pounding. Randy nearly shook his hand off his arm before going in for his own rib-creaking squeeze.
George just grinned.
Mark stared at the floor for a moment to find his balance. “I didn’t expect this.” He lifted his gaze to meet each of theirs in turn. “I told George, but I’ll tell you all again. I’m sorry. And I missed you. And I’m sorry I missed so damn much over the years.”
Randy rocked back in his easy chair, stretching uncomfortably before offering a smile. “I hope you don’t expect us to catch you up on everything that happened while you were gone, because my list of complaints would take a good three months to go through, and ain’t nobody got time for that.”
“Really? You’re going to complain about something?” Mike tilted his head with a grin. “I’ll let Blake know.”
Randy immediately straightened. “Hell. Don’t you dare.”
Mark thought it through quickly and put two and two together. He turned to Mike with a laugh. “I met your oldest boy this afternoon. Is Blake doing all the work scheduling these days?”
“Yup.” His oldest brother eased back and put his feet up on the coffee table, damn near gloating as he glanced across at Randy. “Trained that one up right. He follows our da’s example of sweating the complaints right out of a man.”
It was such a flashback to their growing up years. Their father, Royce, had been a man with endless energy in spite of his pain. He never made any of them suffer to the point of physical danger, but he did encourage his sons to keep a positive attitude and their butts in gear. Any complaints were met with a chore list guaranteed to make a man sleep solid. “Trevor said having the ranch back together is working well.”
Mike nodded, his expression going thoughtful. “I guess I messed up on that one.”
“Nah,” Randy said. “When you divided things up, it worked. And when it stopped working, we put it back together.”
“Thanks.” Quiet, but obviously sincere. Mike looked around the room. “Mom would’ve love this. Seeing us together again.”
“She’d be heartbroken George isn’t winding her clock,” Randy offered, dodging the pillow George tossed at him. “What? She loved that thing. It’s supposed to be cuckooing and ticking and making such a racket that a man can’t sleep past five a.m. even on the coldest, darkest morning in the middle of winter.”
“Which is why I don’t wind it anymore,” George said dryly. “Consider it wall art, not practical. That should help your delicate sensitivities.”
“I think the unending racket was the only reason Mom actually kept the clock,” Mike said. “I think it amused her.”
“Something about it made her happy, and that was the most important thing to Da.” George was staring at the clock now. “He kept that thing going religiously the two years after she died before he passed away.”
“Coleman men love hard,” Mike said.
“Ben didn’t.” The words snapped out of Mark, and while he regretted breaking the fragile peace, he didn’t regret having let it slip.
Especially when silence swept in like a tangible thing.
He peered at his brother’s faces, seeing guilt on Mike’s, regret on Randy’s. In that moment, Mark was immensely grateful that Laurel had said something. He wanted answers. Wanted to know why.
“Is it true what I heard? That Ben was far less loving than he should’ve been?”
George was the one who shocked them all. He shook his head, sadness etched on his face. “Ben loved so hard, he broke.”
The shock of it made Mark inhale sharply, air cutting like a knife. “What?”
“When he lost his son.” George spoke softly but clearly. “When that happened, something snapped, and he never went back to being right. No matter that he saw he was on the wrong path, he couldn’t get his feet under him enough to make a change.”
Some of the bluster Mark had inside was smothered in a cloud of sorrow. He’d been ready to lift fists and make George see sense like they’d done too many times when they were teens.
But his brother lifted his head, gaze fixed at a point somewhere by the familiar cuckoo clock that had hung on the wall in their family kitchen growing up. The acorns on the winding mechanism hung low, the hands stilled. George spoke again in a quiet, earnest tone. “When I lost Sally, I did the same thing in a way. I stopped listening to what was right there in front of me. I let the fear that swept in take charge, and it tied me up nearly as hard as Ben’s sorrow.”
“Not the same,” Randy assured him. “You were never anything like Ben.”
“You see my girls here in Rocky? You see them working at my side, happy to be under my roof?” George shook his head. “This isn’t about me, but at the same time, you all need to know. I screwed up big time with my kids because I was so damn afraid to lose them. I’m the one who loved them so hard, I damn well broke our relationship to try and keep them safe.”
Mike spoke then, softly, his voice filled with regret. “Ben did break. And he made wrong choices. And so did Randy, and George, and me. All in our own ways. Just like you, Mark.”
“But my mistake hurt nobody but me. Can you say the same for Ben?”
Randy shook his head. “Leaving must’ve hurt like hell, but don’t kid yourself. We felt it. For years, it was like an aching spot right in the middle of our hearts. The empty places at the table were wrong, so don’t go thinking you were the only one who felt the pain when you left. We felt it too.”
Before Mark could pull the topic back to Dana, Mike took it there.
“Every time I spoke to Ben to try and get him to see what was happening, I warned him there was a line he couldn’t ever come back from. He never crossed it.” Mike met Mark’s gaze straight on. “But the truth was, when things started to go wrong, Dana came to me first. Said she had made a promise, and she meant to keep it. She had to keep hoping that the man she married would find his way back.”
Mark could just imagine her. Sweet, stubborn optimist. “I’ve already told her this, but I’m here for Dana.”
His brothers blinked at the sudden change of topic.
It was Randy who smiled first, his amusement overpowering the shock. “Knew you liked her.”
“Dear God, this is going to devolve into one of those conversations that my granddaughters have, isn’t
it? But does he like her, like her?” George rolled his eyes. “You’re serious about this?”
“Dead serious.”
Only Mike hesitated.
“You don’t think I should go after her?” Mark asked even as he planned to ignore his brother’s protests.
Mike shrugged. “I’m more concerned about the bit where you already told Dana you plan on making a play. With a Coleman woman, sometimes it’s best to have the advantage of surprise. Not to mention, if you told her, it’s likely that by now at least a half dozen of our daughters-in-law know, which means you’re either going to be chaperoned to the eyeballs every time you try and make a move, or if they decide you’re not worthy in the first place, you can kiss your idea goodbye.”
“Well, shit.” Mark had been gone for too long. He’d forgotten how much sway the ladies held in this kind of situation. Add in that the female population had blossomed in the years he’d been gone, and he’d just lit a bonfire in the middle of a field of grass.
Good thing he loved a challenge.
In the meantime, though, tonight had been one solid foundation block in his return to not just Rocky but to the family. He looked around the room as general conversation resumed and let hope sweep in.
Hope and the deep-seated need for connection he’d missed so much without ever wanting to admit it.
14
If Blake wandered a little slower than usual from where the tractors were neatly parked outside the main barn, he’d blame it on too little sleep rather than too much on the brain.
They were having a bumper crop of calves this year, and while that was a thing to celebrate, not even a full Coleman crew could keep up. Plus, rather than make anyone else do extra shifts, Blake had taken to dealing with the emergencies the family called in by himself.
March was going out like a lion, storm clouds brewing on the horizon. He wasn’t about to send Trevor out somewhere remote on the possibility his cousin got trapped and couldn’t make it back to Becky and his barely three-week-old baby for a few days.
Rocky Mountain Forever: Six Pack Ranch: Book 12 Page 11
