His Dry Creek Inheritance

by Janet Tronstad

  He’d thought about settling in Wyoming when he left the military. He’d seen ranches for sale on the internet there that were cheaper than those in Montana. Still, he planned to stay close to Southern Montana so he could travel to Dry Creek easily. For better or worse, this was his home and, despite the past, he hadn’t been able to stop hoping that someday Eli and Junior would want him to be part of their family.

  * * *

  The cold air made Bailey wrap the blanket tighter around her shoulders. She couldn’t believe Mark was here. Not after all these years. She tried to focus on Pastor Matthew Curtis as he spoke. She knew there was something she still needed to do but she was rattled and couldn’t think of it. She watched as the pallbearers lowered the casket into the opening. She could still hardly believe that Eli had died. The old man had seemed immortal to her. Not that he had ever thought much of her; Junior had seen to that. But she had always hoped that a light bulb would go on inside Eli’s mind one day and he would see that she had a good heart.

  How had it all come to this?

  She had loved Junior when she married him seven years ago, or, at least, she’d thought she did. Maybe it hadn’t been a grand romance, but, right up to the day he died, she had intended to make a good home with him. That’s all she ever wanted: to feel she had a place in the world. An orphan was too easily set aside and she never had felt the steady support of a family. She’d thought she’d find that by marrying Junior.

  Pastor Matthew was reading the Twenty-Third Psalm, but the words flowed over her. Mark was standing beside her. She’d always thought that, if she saw him again, she would be wearing a designer suit and holding a leather briefcase. At first, she had thought a profession and a job would give her the grounding she needed. But when Junior had come to Los Angeles to visit her, she’d been homesick. Junior had promised her everything. It was like a whole new life was opening up.

  She was glad Junior couldn’t see her now. Between the scratchy wool blanket and the black choir robe that covered the only pair of slacks she could get into these days, she was a mess. Everyone in Dry Creek knew about her clothing crisis and would forgive her—she had, after all, taken the few clothes that still fit with her to the Salt Lake Hospital when Eli was transferred there to see a heart specialist. They’d gone in a medical ambulance set up for the trip.

  A few days ago, when she’d gone to the airport to come back to Dry Creek after Eli’s death, she was told she couldn’t fly because of her pregnancy. By that time her suitcase had already been checked in and couldn’t be found. Finally, she learned it had been sent to New Orleans by mistake. By the time she got home in a rental car, her suitcase was still gone. If it wasn’t for her five-year-old daughter, Rosie, she would have followed her suitcase and left the funeral to others.

  Fortunately, a friend had stayed with Rosie while Bailey went to the hospital initially so her child was spared most of the pain of Eli’s passing. That same friend had agreed to sit with Rosie during the funeral so Bailey could do her speaking parts in the service and then handle the flowers at the graveside.

  That was what she’d forgotten, Bailey told herself as the minister said her name. “As the daughter-in-law and final caretaker of Eli Rosen, our Bailey Rosen will lay some flowers on the grave now,” Pastor Matthew said.

  Bailey had her hand on Mark’s arm and she could feel his muscles tense at the use of her new name. He was no doubt surprised she’d married Junior. She’d never liked Junior that much in their childhood, but he’d seemed different in Los Angeles. That was in the past though, she told herself as she stepped forward.

  Fortunately, she saw the white roses lying in a box beside the pastor.

  “I object,” Gabe spoke loudly before Bailey could even take a flower out of the box.

  Everyone turned to look at him.

  “You can’t object,” Bailey said firmly. “This isn’t a wedding. No one gets to object at a funeral.”

  “That’s true,” the pastor agreed.

  She wished Gabe had spoken out at her wedding to Junior instead of now, but the contrary man had just stood mute back then. And Gabe probably knew Junior wasn’t one to stay faithful to any woman. Before Junior had gotten drunk and slammed his pickup into a concrete trestle, he’d already announced to everyone that he was going to divorce Bailey. She was not good enough for him, he’d said like he was some kind of a king. Plus, he added, he had a pregnant girlfriend in Missoula who needed him. Bailey hadn’t bothered to tell him she was pregnant and needed him, too—or that she’d recently found out from one of his drinking buddies that Junior had yet another girlfriend in Bozeman who might or might not need him, as well.

  That had been six months ago. She pushed thoughts of her dead husband away and reached down to the box of roses. None of that had been Eli’s fault. She knew there were a dozen long stems and she picked up four to give to Gabe.

  “Here. I’m sure Eli would like you to put a few on his casket.”

  Gabe looked at her dubiously, but didn’t say anything as he took the flowers.

  She picked up four more stems and also held them out. “Mark?”

  Her old friend balanced himself on his cane as he reached for the roses. “Thanks.”

  She nodded. Together the three of them scattered the flowers over the top of the casket until the roses all lay there, their white petals mixing with the snow that was starting to fall.

  Everyone was silent as dirt was shoveled into the grave.

  “I didn’t know he liked roses,” Mark said quietly once the shovels stopped, a final blessing was said and people started turning to go back inside the church.

  “I don’t think he liked any flowers,” Bailey confessed as she watched everyone leave but her, Mark and Gabe. “I just felt we should have some touches to show that people cared about him.”

  Mark searched her face. “You’ve been crying.”

  She shook her head.

  “Your eyes are red,” he persisted.

  “It’s probably the wool blanket. Itchy and allergies. My coat was in my suitcase,” she paused and sighed. She didn’t want anyone to know about her tears. “It’s a long story.”

  Gabe looked over at her then and his eyes narrowed. “Pregnant women are always more emotional about everything. Those aren’t real tears. Don’t think you can sway that attorney.”

  “I’m not—” Bailey started to protest and then realized she didn’t have much to say in her defense. She was at least eight months along and she did cry at odd times. “I’m not trying to influence anyone—at least not more than—”

  Bailey stopped. She wanted some of that ranch and Gabe knew it. She needed to support Rosie and the baby that was coming.

  “Not more than is fair,” Bailey finally finished her statement. That much was true.

  “We should get inside,” Mark said.

  Bailey wasn’t deterred. She turned to Gabe. “You know that it’s not unusual to be emotional at a funeral.”

  Then she turned to Mark. “The ladies of the church prepared a luncheon for everyone.” She glanced over at Gabe and nodded to include him, too. “I hope you will both join us.”

  “Of course, we will,” Gabe said as though it was his right. “It’s starting to snow and downstairs is the only place in town to get something to eat since the café is closed for the funeral. Besides, that attorney is reading the will to us after everyone leaves. I’m not leaving until then.”

  “I hope you won’t try to sway him.” Bailey threw the accusation back at Gabe as she turned and defiantly took the arm Mark offered. She’d thought it would make her feel better to shoot something back at Gabe, but it didn’t. It just left her cold and damp.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Gabe sputtered as she started to walk away. “I don’t need anything from Eli. I’m a partner in a very successful law firm, for goodness sake. I’m not the one who needs a handout.
”

  “I don’t need a handout,” Bailey turned and snapped back, no longer sorry she’d poked at him just seconds earlier. “I earn my way on the ranch. And I might go to law school someday myself. So there.”

  Bailey put her face forward again and started walking, leaning a little more on Mark’s arm than she had earlier.

  “I can’t believe you married Junior,” Mark muttered as they moved.

  “Well, I did,” Bailey said and then pressed her lips together so she wouldn’t say anything else about that. She didn’t want to whine about how unfair life was, especially not when it had been her own fault for thinking people changed.

  “I didn’t think you liked Junior that well,” Mark persisted, sounding puzzled.

  “It’s complicated,” Bailey answered, not looking up at Mark. At the end, she hadn’t liked Junior. That’s why she’d tried so hard to make him happy by looking her best all the time. She’d used facials to remove her freckles and had worn high heels around the house. She knew it made no sense. But she didn’t want to tell all of that to Mark. She just needed to keep walking.

  After Junior was killed, she realized she’d exhausted herself with all of her efforts. Marriage shouldn’t be so hard. She figured that she just wasn’t cut out to be a wife. She supposed it was best to find that fact out in her twenties rather than to be miserable with some other man in the future. She had Rosie and the coming baby. That was enough family for her. She’d silently pledged to herself never to worry about a husband again.

  She looked up at Mark as they came to the doors of the church. He’d left his hat inside and the wind was blowing his black hair. Snowflakes had settled on his forehead. He was handsome and he looked like he could move mountains with just a shrug of his muscled shoulders. It was too bad he knew even less about marriage and family life than she did. Besides, he probably expected women to spend their lives parading around on high heels, too.

  “I’m never getting married again,” she announced.

  “But you have to,” he protested, looking a little shocked. “You have a baby coming.”

  “Being married or not won’t change that fact,” she said. “Not at this date.”

  She’d forgotten that Mark could get indignant if family things weren’t done just so. He thought every child needed both parents, but especially a father. Fortunately though, he didn’t press her further.

  She wondered where his army career had taken him. He likely had a girlfriend in every port around the world by now. His blue eyes would tempt most women to thoughts of romance. His body would do the rest. Of course, she supposed, it was not the ports, but every military base since he was in the army and not the navy. Either way, he was off-limits for her.

  Chapter Two

  Mark wished he was wearing his army uniform with those pressed seams and golden chevrons instead of his old ranch clothes that had spent the last six years in the bottom of his trunk. Bailey had insisted he and Gabe stand with her in the receiving line just inside the church basement. Gabe was in a dark gray suit that looked tailored and Mark didn’t like being shown up in the wardrobe department by a childhood irritant who was now a loudmouthed lawyer.

  “I should have at least shaved,” he muttered to himself. No one heard him though. There was enough chatter going on to hide the explosion of a small bomb. At least he had that to hold over Gabe, Mark thought. He knew how to defuse most kinds of small bombs. Gabe would probably just let the thing explode.

  Feeling better, Mark looked around. The day outside was overcast and, even though it was early afternoon, only a faint light came in through the high narrow windows of the basement. The beige walls were painted concrete. Fluorescent lights hung from the ceiling. Long folding tables, with white plastic covers, filled the middle of the room. The smell of coffee was in the background and he’d guess that beverage would be perked the old-fashioned way. Aproned women, carrying dishes of all sizes, scurried between the main table and the small kitchen.

  It all felt homey. The only bad part, in Mark’s opinion, was that there were still plenty of people waiting to shake the hands of those few people who had any remote claim to being Eli’s family.

  “You remember Josh Spenser?” Bailey turned to Mark as the hired hand stood in front of them both. “He was one of the pallbearers and he used to work on the ranch.”

  Josh held his hand out to Mark and he shook it firmly. The man’s hair was as black as Mark’s, but his cheeks were clean-shaven. Dark brows furrowed over his green eyes as he looked at Mark cautiously. Josh was two years older than him, and had come to the Rosen Ranch under some kind of federal work program for ex-prisoners. “Of course, I remember,” Mark said, doing his best to be cordial as he faced the man. Mark was going to make some comment on the passing of time but then it hit him what Bailey had said. “You used to work there? I always thought you’d stay at the ranch forever. What happened? Find a better job?”

  Mark could see that had been the wrong thing to say. The man’s face flushed red and his eyes swung back and forth between Mark and Bailey until he looked like he was guilty of something. Mark wondered if the man had been fired, although he couldn’t see Eli doing that. Josh had worked hard.

  “Leaving was the thing to do,” Josh finally muttered. “A man’s got his reputation to think about—and the reputations of others, too.”

  By then the next ranch hand was there.

  “Arnold Green,” Bailey said curtly. The smile she’d worn was gone.

  Mark scrambled for something benign to say to the older man. “Nice suit you have on.”

  Arnold, who had to be in his fifties now, looked at Mark with relief and nodded. “It’s a rental. Josh and I got a good deal since I work at the tuxedo store in Miles City now.”

  Arnold held out his hand. Mark shook it willingly and smiled, stopping himself from asking any more troubling questions. He couldn’t imagine Arnold being in a clothing store for most of the day. The man used to complain about being cooped up in the barn during spring calving. And he certainly didn’t know anything about fashion. He didn’t even bother to match his socks.

  Both men moved on to Gabe. No one was standing in front of Mark then so he could clearly hear the nearby conversation. He told himself he shouldn’t listen, but he couldn’t stop his ears from doing their job as Gabe smiled, gripping each man’s outstretched hand in turn. “I think Eli knew neither one of you was to blame.”

  Mark turned in surprise. “Blame for what?”

  Josh and Arnold had been loyal hands. He couldn’t see them making an unforgivable mistake. Maybe one of them had burned down the barn. He recalled Arnold smoking a cigar now and then.

  Gabe looked at Mark and then jerked his head in Bailey’s direction. Mark changed his gaze to where Gabe indicated. Bailey had her head down and a woman in a black floral dress had shifted to talk to the person behind her in line, thus giving Bailey a moment to herself. Bailey looked miserable.

  “What’s wrong?” Mark asked her softly.

  She looked up and he saw the tears shining in her eyes. “Don’t worry. You weren’t even around here. I don’t think they can blame you either.”

  “Blame me for what?” he whispered.

  “For my baby,” Bailey said softly. “As bad as Junior talked about me at the end, some people don’t believe he’s the father of this child I’m carrying. They think I was having an affair, only they can’t figure out who it would be with. I never even saw any men except at church and then Josh and Arnold. They’re both single, too, which made it worse. Especially for Josh since he’s more my age.”

  “Oh.” Mark wished he was back in Afghanistan taking incoming fire. Gossip was the problem. “I can’t believe anyone would think that who knows you. These people must be new.”

  “They are,” Bailey admitted. “And they don’t know me. They were Junior’s drinking buddies.”

  “
Then people won’t credit them. I wouldn’t worry too much about what they think.”

  “You’d worry if you lived here,” Bailey said, her head coming up and her words starting to gather fire. “You’d worry if you were going to raise your daughter and baby here.”

  “Daughter?”

  “Yes, my daughter, Rosie. She’s not to blame for any of this either.”

  “Of course not.” Mark was glad to see Bailey was showing some spirit again.

  The woman who had held up the line turned around and he recognized her with gratitude. She always seemed to show up at the right time. It was Mrs. Edith Hargrove, the feisty woman who had taught Sunday school to the youngest Dry Creek children for the past fifty years. Both Bailey and he had been in her class when they first moved here. If anyone could sort everything out, gossip included, it was Mrs. Hargrove. She wasn’t afraid of anyone, certainly not of men who drank too much and told lies.

  “Mark Dakota,” Mrs. Hargrove said, greeting him. Her voice was raspier than he remembered, but her cheeks were still pink and her white hair was pulled back into her usual sensible bun. The black floral dress, that looked like it was made out of silk, was quite a bit fancier than the gingham dresses that were her standard wear. Mark peeked down and noted that her orthopedic shoes were the same style she’d worn when he had been in her class almost twenty years ago.

  He took her hand and smiled at her. “It’s a real pleasure to see you again.”

  “Thank you. And I’m sorry about Eli. He’ll be missed. And I know he always relied on you.”

  Mark respected that she hadn’t said Eli had loved him or even held him in special regard. It was true the man had relied on him to do a variety of chores. That much Mark could accept as his due.

  Mrs. Hargrove had a firm grip for a woman who must be in her eighties, Mark thought as he nodded at her words. She was the heart of this community. It was good to see some things didn’t change.