Lost Christmas Memories

by Dana Mentink

  A wrinkle appeared between Bryce’s brows. “Some men take women for granted.” He sighed. “And I know that’s the pot calling the kettle black. It’s taken me a lifetime to learn the lesson. My wife, Marie, is everything to me, and at this ripe old age, I finally figured out that she deserves the best, my stepsons, too.”

  Tracy followed his gaze as he watched Keegan talking to his brothers. “I was a slow learner and it cost me dearly. I just hope Mitch figures it out sooner than I did. John, too, though he hasn’t gotten around to finding a woman yet.”

  The words came out before she could filter them. “Do you regret what happened with Keegan?”

  He started as if she’d struck him. “That was a mistake.”

  “No,” she said. “A child, a little boy—your little boy.”

  He looked at her, shadows shifting in his eyes, and she could not read him. Was it regret she saw there? A desire to change things with his son? Or was it annoyance that she’d pulled him into embarrassing waters? But she did not regret her harsh statement. Learning from mistakes didn’t mean you got to walk away from the devastation. Her father had accepted the consequences for his actions and, by default, so had she. Keegan and his mother deserved better.

  Someone called to Bryce. “Mayor Larraby, a reporter wants a minute. Can you oblige?”

  He straightened. “Duty calls. Big day. I will talk to you later, Miss Wilson.”

  “Tracy,” she corrected, but he was already striding off, smile wide and beaming geniality, all sign of struggle smoothed over. The perfect mayor, an excellent face for the Mother Lode. So hard to believe he’d lived anything but an exemplary life.

  Regina led Flight into the corral, stroking a palm tenderly over his sleek neck. “You’re a good horse, aren’t you?” she said. “If I had the money, I’d buy you myself.”

  “Thank you, Regina, for bringing him. You’re great with the horses. It must be so nice for Bryce to have you here.”

  She lifted a shoulder. “Anyway, I’ll come get him when you’re done.”

  “Can I ask you one question before you go?”

  Her eyes narrowed to slits, but she did not turn away. “What do you want to know?”

  “Were you surprised that Nan Ridley quit so suddenly?”

  At first she thought Regina wasn’t going to answer. But then she spoke. “Actually, yes. I mean, I didn’t like her much, but I could tell she was a good vet, good with the horses and bulls. Even took care of the barn cat when he needed some stitches. I like people like that—you know, who value what everyone else thinks is unimportant.”

  “I do, too.” She took in Regina’s frizzy braids, the hat she kept pulled down low on her forehead, and it occurred to her that Regina was a woman who had probably felt unimportant plenty of times in her life. She sought something to say that would build a bridge between them. “Your earrings are pretty.”

  Regina fingered one as if she’d forgotten they were there. “Mitch gave them to me for my birthday. Never got a gift of jewelry before. Antiques, he said.”

  “They suit you.”

  “Thanks. Anyway, um, I’ll return the horse when you’re done.”

  Tracy thanked her again and approached Flight.

  They’d spent only a few minutes together before a stable hand opened the gate and ushered three other horses into the corral. They were spirited, and one, obviously the dominant of the group, hastened over to Flight, ears pinned, pushing his nose at the stallion. Flight danced back a few steps and Tracy knew it was time to correct the situation, which might become unsafe for her and the horses at any moment. She led Flight out of the space and her grandpa met her.

  “I’m going to ride him along the trail there.” She pointed to a path bordering a wooded edge of the sprawling property.

  “No,” Grandpa said. “You’re not to be anywhere out of my sight.”

  “I won’t be out of your sight,” she said, shoving her hair back. “I’ll ride him just to the storage shelter, and you can see me the whole time.” At that moment two other riders ambled along the path, headed back to the barn.

  “See? Plenty of people around.”

  “I’m still not—”

  She cupped his cheek and kissed him on the forehead. “Grandpa, I’m going to do my job. If I stop, we’ll never get the campground up and running.”

  His hard expression softened. “Won’t be worth a plug nickel if anything happens to you.”

  She kissed him again. “Nothing will, not during a short ride with you watching my every move.”

  “Just in case, take Cyclone with you.”

  She swung up on the horse and Cyclone pranced around Flight’s hooves. They started out along the path.

  Out of the corner of her eye she saw Keegan straighten, heading right for her grandfather as he noticed her riding away.

  Protective, just like her grandpa. It warmed her, just like his kiss, his caress, the maddening way he bossed her around sometimes, as if he were not just a friend, but so much more.

  More? Could she even imagine opening herself up to such vulnerability at this time with a man like Keegan? She had not known him long, yet he’d become braided around her heart, twined in her every thought. But she’d decided to go it alone, hadn’t she?

  Little butterflies jumped in her stomach as Flight walked along. She could tell he was enjoying the feel of the winter sun on his back, the smell of the oak leaves and the crunch of grass under his hooves. She breathed in deep, feeling the smooth gait of the horse, his strong muscles bunching under her fingers as she stroked his neck with her free hand. With each easy step of the stallion, she let go of her concerns—Nan, the campground, Keegan—and enjoyed the respite.

  They made it to the storage shelter in fifteen minutes. Both relaxed and easy, they approached the three-sided wooden structure, which sheltered some stacked crates, buckets of nails and an assortment of horseshoes. Cyclone pranced ahead, sniffing the stacks with enthusiasm.

  She allowed Flight to crop some grass that had managed to hold on to its green through the long, dry months until the winter storms began to revive it. Stomach growling, she wished she’d brought a snack, too. Keegan probably had something edible in his pockets, an idea that made her smile. Looking back toward the center, she could see him there, standing next to her grandfather, hands on hips, silhouetted by the noontime sun. If they didn’t get back soon, he’d commandeer a horse and following, or set out on foot.

  Again, she felt a surge of warmth when she looked at Keegan.

  But whatever she felt for him was no more than girlish fancy, and one-sided at that.

  “Better get back,” she said to Flight, urging him away from the grass and pointing his nose in the direction of the center.

  “Come on, Cyclone.”

  The dog went on alert, ears erect, tail high and the scruff of his neck raised.

  At first her breathing stopped as she pictured the faceless murderer returned to choke her, the stuff of her nightmares, but there was no one hiding in the shelter among the boxes and detritus. The space wasn’t big enough for someone to hide, she told herself sternly, and no one had known of her plans to ride, not even she until a few moments before.

  Relax, Tracy. The dog was after a rat or something.

  “Cyclone,” she said sternly. “Let’s go.”

  But the dog pawed at the bottom crate, working at a crack in one of the slats.

  “Cyclone, I mean it,” she snapped. The dog persisted.

  “Fine.” She slid off the horse. “But I hope you realize that Keegan is going to charge over here now like John Wayne. Come on, Cyclone.” She reached for his collar. Her fingers just skimmed his silky hair when Cyclone succeeded in pawing loose the small section of broken wood.

  Tracy’s blood turned to ice as she saw a face between the slats, frozen in death, staring back at her with s
ightless eyes.

  * * *

  “Unbelievable,” Keegan said as he watched Tracy poking around the storage area while Flight stood nearby. “What does she think she’s playing at?” His anger turned to fear as she suddenly turned, leaped onto the horse and urged Flight to a gallop, tearing up the distance to the center, Cyclone flying along at their heels.

  “What?” he shouted as she reined in the horse and tied him quickly to the fence. Her mouth was tight with horror and he grabbed her as she nearly collapsed in his arms.

  “What’s wrong?” Grandpa Stew asked, trying to quiet Cyclone, who was barking now at an earsplitting volume.

  “It’s her.” Tracy swallowed convulsively. “It’s Nan Ridley. Her body.”

  Keegan’s mouth went dry. “Where?”

  “The...the storage shelter,” Tracy said.

  Keegan helped her to sit next to her grandfather on the crate. “Stay here. I’ll check it out.” Keegan eyed Stew. “Can—”

  He didn’t get any more words out before the shouting started behind him. Some spectators who had arrived early for the opening ceremony erupted from the event center, screaming and running in all directions.

  Jack and Owen, ropes in hand, raced toward him, and at first he could not understand what in the world had caused the panic, until he saw the bucking bull charging out of the open doors.

  The massive animal was running loose, hind end flailing, followed by a second, snorting his rage and heading right for them.

  SEVENTEEN

  The bulls charged in wild circles, kicking and bucking out their violent rage. The biggest one lowered his horns and charged toward Tracy and her grandfather. Her legs were still shaking so badly she could not run away if she’d wanted to.

  The eyes... Nan’s eyes...staring, her crumpled form packed into a crate...

  “Everybody into the barn!” Jack shouted.

  Still she could not make her legs obey, but Keegan scooped her up and raced with her into the barn, away from the stampeding hooves. Owen untied Flight and handed him over to a stable hand, who ran him out of harm’s way.

  “Grandpa!” she cried.

  “I’ll get him,” Keegan said, running back out through the chaos.

  She saw Owen swinging a lasso on one side while Jack did the same on the other. Keegan returned in a moment, half carrying Grandpa and propping him next to Tracy. Cyclone barked twice and ran outside, yelping and racing circles around Jack, Owen and the two bulls.

  Keegan grabbed a rope from a peg on the wall and ran toward the second bull. Whirling a rope above his head, he tossed it at the horns of the creature, missing by inches. The bull charged toward him, saliva dripping from its muzzle, leaping, twisting as if trying to dislodge a rider from his back. Tracy screamed. The animal’s horns were kept dull for safety, but they would still plunge through human flesh easily with fifteen hundred pounds of muscle and rage behind them.

  Keegan barely managed to hurtle over the corral fence, and the bull crashed into the metal with a ferocious clang before dancing away. Had Keegan been gored? Her angle didn’t give her a good enough view. After what seemed like an eternity, he got to his feet and relief poured through her.

  Hands pressed to her mouth, she watched.

  “He’ll be okay,” Grandpa said, squeezing her shoulders. “He knows his animals. Works with them every day.”

  Not bucking bulls, she thought, not like these.

  Keegan climbed back over the fence and readied the rope for a second try, letting out the length a little at a time.

  Jack and Owen had already snared their ropes around the first bull’s neck. Though the animal was still fighting madly, the two men were joined by four more who hauled on the ropes, gradually pulling the bull toward an empty corral.

  Keegan finally lassoed the second bull, which spurred the animal into a frenzy of kicking. Hooves slashed toward Keegan, and Tracy screamed again.

  The bull smashed through a wooden bench with one vicious spin and kick. Bits of wood flew through the air. Keegan ducked and darted without losing his grip on the rope. Finally, Jack and Owen and the rest of the men came and added another rope and their combined body weight. The second bull was slowly forced into the pen with his companion, and the gate locked behind them.

  The area filled with people as everyone came out of their hiding places. It was a good ten minutes more of chaos as spectators and stable workers milled around, righting chairs and checking the animal pens to be sure nothing else had been left open.

  “What happened?” Grandpa demanded. “How did those animals get loose?”

  Jack was still breathing hard as he approached with Owen. “Dunno. One minute he’s in the holding pen ready for the chute, and the next he’s out, along with his buddy.”

  “Someone let them out,” Owen said. “That’s clear.”

  Mitch and Regina came running.

  “Who let my bulls loose?” Mitch roared. “Did you hurt them? Roping them like that?”

  “Nice of you to finally check in. You could have come earlier to help contain them.” Keegan dusted off his jeans and joined his brothers, wiping at the sweat on his brow. “Someone let your bulls out on purpose, and they’re fine, which is more than any victims would have been if your bulls had tossed them.”

  Mitch glowered at Keegan and his brothers. “These animals are precious. They’ve cost hundreds of thousands to raise into champions. If you hurt them at all...”

  Regina touched his arm, but he shook her off.

  “They didn’t,” she railed. “The bulls are fine. Quit mouthing off.”

  “They’d better be,” he said. “Or I’m holding these cowboys responsible.”

  Keegan seemed to grow in height, anger bridling in his expression. “Your animals could have killed someone, and we prevented that, so back off, Mitch.”

  Mitch lurched forward. “I don’t take orders from you or any other man.”

  Keegan’s stare bored into him. “I’m not gonna tell you twice.”

  Mitch faced him, hands fisted.

  “Enough,” Bryce Larraby barked, hastening over. Sweat glistened on his forehead. They both turned to stare at him. “It was an accident. The animals aren’t hurt. Keep your voices down, and let’s have some order around here.”

  Keegan stared at his father. “Accident. Another one? You’re not seriously going to try that line again, are you?”

  “Keegan,” Bryce said, cheeks flushed, breath coming fast. “You’re not going to ruin this day.”

  “I would think the three thousand pounds of angry bull on the rampage would have already done that,” Keegan snapped.

  Bryce’s mouth tightened into an angry line.

  “Stop,” Tracy said.

  Everyone turned to look at her. Heat flooded her face, and with every fiber in her, she wanted to run. She was not sure she had the courage to put her terrible knowledge into words.

  But there was a body...

  A young woman whose life had been stripped away...

  A woman with a bright future, who noticed the unimportant creatures and worked to help them.

  “I found Nan Ridley’s body,” she whispered.

  Now Bryce’s eyes went round. “What?”

  Mitch blew out a breath. “Are we back to that again?”

  “There,” she said, pointing a shaking finger at the storage shelter. “In a crate. The dog, Cyclone, sniffed it out when I was riding Flight. It’s Nan. I remember now, for sure. She’s the victim I saw being strangled.”

  “By whom?” Mitch asked, his tone rich with sarcasm. “Can you at least put a name to the murderer?”

  Tears threatened again, but she blinked hard. This was about justice for Nan, and she would not allow her own feelings to get in the way. “No. Not yet.”

  Bryce drew close and wiped at his forehead. “Plea
se, Miss Wilson. This is our opening day, and these bulls were already enough of a problem. I beg of you to not add any more difficulties. I’m sure you’re mistaken about what you saw.” His gaze flicked to the collective crowd.

  Keegan started to blurt something out, but Tracy silenced him with a grip on his wrist.

  “Mr. Larraby, Nan Ridley’s body is in a crate on your property. That’s all that matters now, more than your show or anything else.”

  He stared at her, inscrutable. “Miss Wilson...”

  “Please,” she said, not caring if she sounded like she was a raving lunatic. “You have to come with me, right now.”

  Bryce huffed out a breath and turned, beaming a smile at the crowd. “Well, what’s a horse show without a little excitement?” he called out. “At least we know the bulls will be great competitors this year, huh? And how about those cowboys in action? You’re getting your ticket money’s worth, aren’t you?”

  There were a few nervous twitters from the crowd and even a smattering of laughter. Tracy saw a bead of sweat glistening on Bryce’s upper lip and dark circles staining the armpits of his shirt. It was the first time she’d seen him rattled. He looked as though he might have a heart attack.

  “Very sorry for the running of the bulls, but everything is on track for the opening ceremony in...” He consulted his watch and his hand shook. “An hour exactly. Feel free to go stake out a good spot in the arena. I’ll arrange for free drinks and popcorn at the concession stand.”

  With an excited murmur, the crowd began to disperse back to the arena. Bryce moved close to Tracy. “All right. We’ll go look at the crate, but everyone doesn’t need to know about it, do they?”

  She gathered her sweater around her, stomach quivering at the thought of what she had to look at again. With her chin up, she took a few trembling steps in the direction of the shed, following Mitch, Regina and Bryce.

  Keegan cupped his palm under her elbow, and she did not try to brush off the support. His strength, his steadfastness was the only thing holding her upright.

  “John is on his way. You don’t have to do this,” he murmured. “I’ll take care of it. You stay with Grandpa Stew.”