"A long time ago I thought I was getting a deal," he said, breaking the ice cubes apart. "I'd make a bargain with Grandmom to do extra chores, and she'd save me back a piece of pie. Years later, Grandpop told me she always saved the last piece of pie for me."
"Spoiled him rotten, huh?" Brenna said, imagining Cole as a boy, wheedling favors from his grandmother.
Grandmom poured lemonade into each of the glasses. "You bet I spoiled him every chance I got. I still do."
"Are Mom and Dad still in Scottsbluff?" Cole asked.
"They sure are, and you're going to be in a peck of trouble with your mother. She told me they didn't expect you until tomorrow."
"I decided to come early."
Brenna knew first hand just how antsy he'd been. He had become more expansive in his stories about his boyhood as they had gotten closer to the ranch. Brenna had trouble imagining him as a sullen teenager who couldn't wait to leave, his description of himself. The teenager might have wanted to leave. The man couldn't wait to return.
Grandmom led them back to the front porch.
"Cole said you like old stories, folk tales and such."
Brenna nodded. "That's right, I do."
Grandmom watched her steadily for a moment. "Most young folk would rather watch the television."
"She's not most people," Cole interjected. "Did I tell you she volunteers at the library doing story hour for the little kids?"
Brenna glanced at him in surprise. He said it like it was something to be proud of. Compared to the things he did, or those Michael or Jane did, her small contribution at the library was nothing. She found herself wishing, though, it was more.
The conversation turned toward the ranch's activities, the price of cattle, how many head had been sent to a feedlot, and other business. Sipping her lemonade, she let her gaze search to the horizon and back.
The ranch was set in a shallow valley below a bluff. On the way from Denver, Cole told her the original thirteen hundred acres of the ranch came from his grandfather and great-uncle when they filed for adjoining homesteads under the Kincaid Act.
She tried to imagine what the land must have looked like when Cole's grandfather first arrived. The occasional marsh full of ducks and geese and the rolling grass-covered hills were a far cry from the flat landscape Brenna had imagined Nebraska to be. She had a profound sense of homecoming that only deepened as she listened to Grandmom and Cole talk.
Cole swallowed the last of his lemonade and sucked an ice cube into his mouth. He stood up, tucked one hand into the pocket of his jeans, and offered Brenna the other one. "Ready to come see all my favorite hideaways?"
"Sure."
Grandmom waved them off the porch. "You two have a good time. We're going to have a simple supper tonight, so I don't need any help."
"You'll ring the bell when Mom and Dad get back?"
Brenna's gaze followed Cole's vague gesture to a large brass bell that hung from one of the porch posts.
"The minute they get here."
Cole and Brenna strolled hand in hand across the yard and followed a dirt road that led to the barn and several other outbuildings.
"When I was a kid, we had grazing permits that gave us enough range to run five thousand head of cattle," he said. His gaze focused on the horizon for a moment before he glanced back at her. "Those days are gone. Forever, I think."
Brenna sympathized, having listened to enough news and seen enough television to know he was right. "Was that all you raised—cattle?"
"Nope. Everybody had things going. Grandmom always had chickens and she sold the eggs. She still does, but to the neighbors, mostly. There's still one grocery left in Bayard where she sells them sometimes. Nothing like real farm-grown eggs from chickens that actually get to scratch in the dirt."
"And what was your thing?" Brenna asked.
"This." Cole stopped in front of a straw-filled enclosure that had a lean-to at one end. "Come on out, Matilda."
A huge pink pig with almost white hair ambled out, snorting as she came.
"This is Waltzing Matilda," Cole said, "otherwise known as Piglet Factory."
Brenna grinned. "She does kind of waltz, in her own fashion, anyway."
"Matilda, here, is the granddaughter of one of the sows I had when I was in high school. Each little pig was worth over a hundred dollars when we took it to market. After paying for feed and expenses, I got to keep the rest. I paid my way through college with that money."
"No piglets right now." Too well, Brenna remembered the silver spoon she had assumed was Cole's as a child. She knew from her own limited experience with her grandparents' farm just what hard work ranching was.
"She's due again in a couple of weeks," Cole said.
"She gives the phrase 'pig in a poke' a whole new meaning, doesn't she?"
Cole laughed and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. "You're weird, fair lady."
"But you like it," she said, looking up at him.
He dropped a kiss on the tip of her nose. "Yeah," he responded, his voice husky, "I like it."
He was beginning to realize just how much. Every time he'd thought of Susan and Brenna at the same time, he'd deliberately squashed the impulse. Two women could not have been more different. He hadn't wanted to compare, but found himself doing so anyway.
Susan hadn't liked the ranch a bit. She thought the drive from Denver was long and boring and tiring. There was nothing to do after they got here. Cole's parents were boring, and his grandmother was a tiresome old woman. About his parents—sometimes Cole had agreed with that. But his grandmother was a different matter.
Brenna had been interested in the landscape as they traveled Interstate 25 from Denver, and she hadn't seen it as desolate at all. They had talked about the plains Indians, buffalo, sod houses and the dust-bowl years. She'd been curious about the ranch and his family, and he'd told her more than he'd ever told Susan. The rapport that sprang up instantly between Brenna and his grandmother was more than he had hoped for. She was right. He liked her and he liked having her here.
He and Brenna spent the next couple of hours traipsing over the ranch as Cole pointed out buildings and livestock. They walked through fields of waist-high grass, and they laughed over silly things that had no meaning beyond the moment and their enjoyment of each other.
"Of all the places on the ranch," Cole said, "this is my favorite." They followed a narrow path through the tall grass to a clearing, which was dominated by a pond. The rooftop of the house was visible behind a rise on the other side of the water. They sat down on the trunk of a fallen cottonwood. "If we sit here very quietly for a few minutes, we'll see this place come alive," Cole said.
He put his arm around Brenna, more aware of her than of the long afternoon shadows and the muted sounds of lapping water. He pressed a kiss against her temple, his eyes on the pond. A blue heron waded out of the marsh grass and stood stock-still at the edge of the water, its attention intent on something beneath the surface. Cole started to point at the bird, but Brenna had already seen it, her breath held as though even that slight movement would startle the bird into flight.
A mallard, followed by a half-dozen ducklings, swam into view. Cole loved watching them, but that become much less important than watching Brenna's total involvement with them. Her face softened so much Cole realized how tightly in check she usually held herself. Her expression became wistful, and the sense of longing Cole saw made him want to give her whatever she dreamed of.
He caressed her cheek, softer than the down from ducklings, with the back of his hand. "I'm glad you like my favorite place," he whispered.
She leaned her face into his hand, her eyes still fastened on the serenity of the pond. "I love it."
"What have you been thinking about?"
"My grandparents' farm."
She was silent for so long he almost thought she would say nothing else.
Finally, "It was nothing like this, but it was exactly like this." She glanced at him and made a he
lpless gesture with her hand. "I don't know how to explain."
"I think I understand," he said, resting his cheek against her hair. "Peace. Serenity. A feeling that the rest of the world is less real than this is."
"Yeah. If this is reality, I'd like to have it all the time."
"And here I thought you were a city kid."
"Not in my heart," she answered. "I spent every summer that I could with my grandparents. And I loved going to the farm more than anything. No matter what else happened, no matter where my dad was stationed, the farm was always there."
"What happened to it?"
"After Nonna died, it was sold."
They fell silent again, and again, Brenna gradually relaxed. She leaned her head against Cole's shoulder. "This is nice."
He brushed his cheek across her hair. "Yeah."
His reply was so soft Brenna felt it rather than heard it. The simple walk around the ranch answered many of her questions about him. She'd bet he still worked hard when he came to the ranch. A gym might help him keep his powerful physique, but it couldn't account for the calluses on his hands. She liked knowing he didn't shirk from hard physical labor even though he had chosen an essentially mental profession.
Cole slipped off the log and sat down next to it, using it as a back rest. He pulled Brenna down next to him, putting his arm around her shoulder and absently caressing the skin on her arm. Brenna closed her eyes and savored the sounds and aromas around her. Still, yes. Serene, too. But hardly quiet. The chirp of birds and the more distant trill of insects filled the air. The aroma of cut alfalfa assailed her, poignantly reminding her of her dream to have a place of her very own.
"How could you leave all this?" Brenna whispered, hardly aware she had spoken aloud.
"I love this place," he answered. "But I'm not a rancher. I don't have the fierce determination to make it work that my dad has."
"Does he mind anymore?"
"What?"
"Your not choosing to be a rancher."
"Nope. We passed that hurdle years ago, thank God."
"You're lucky," Brenna said, thinking of all the times she and her father had disagreed.
"Sure am," he responded, pressing another kiss against her temple. "You know, when I was little, I wanted to be just like him. And every time I'd say so, he'd say, 'Well, what about being an astronaut or doctor or whatever.'"
Brenna gave him a sly look. "You two had no imagination. When I was five I wanted to be one of those guys who guide planes into the gates at the airport. I think I must have thought that was ultimate power, to be so small and yet make something as large as a plane go where you wanted it to go, simply by waving a light."
"I wanted to be a policeman when I was five," Cole responded. "My idea of power was going down the road as fast as I wanted with a siren blaring."
The ringing of a bell in the distance startled the heron into flight with a rush of powerful wings.
Cole stood, pulling Brenna with him, a wide smile on his face. "Mom and Dad are back."
* * *
Chapter 16
« ^ »
Cole's parents, introduced to Brenna simply as Norah and Jack, were as charming as his grandmother. Brenna liked them immediately, and she was drawn into the preparation of the evening meal as though she had been a family member of long standing. There were no what-do-you-do and where-did-you-grow-up questions, which made Brenna wonder what Cole had told them about her, if anything.
Rather than being sent to the living room like a guest, her participation was assumed, and she liked it that way. Finding plates and silverware, she set the table. The overflow of conversation between Grandmom and Norah included her, mostly centering on the mundane tasks of meal preparation, but silliness, too, when Cole popped in and out of the kitchen with a boyish attitude Brenna found endearing.
Brenna envied Cole his family. With no difficulty, she could count the number of times her mother had hugged her—that kind of touch had rarely happened within her family. Norah's obvious enjoyment in having her son home manifested itself in the casual touches she gave him. They seemed to be her way of reassuring herself that Cole was in her kitchen.
Jack took pleasure in Cole's achievements without any comparison to his brother or sister and without any apparent judgment over his recent decision to leave a large law firm and strike out on his own. If there had been strong disagreements between father and son, there was no evidence of it now.
After dinner they sat on the porch and watched the moon rise over the bluff. Grandmom sat with a red-and-white enamel colander in her lap and a paper sack full of freshly picked green beans, which she snapped into pieces as they talked. Cole's mother crocheted granny squares for an afghan for her daughter.
Cole and Jack wandered toward the barn to check on minor repairs for a harvester. Brenna watched them talk, and knew the relationship evident between parent and son was the kind she'd like to have with her own children one day. One without the upper hand the Colonel always seemed to hold.
She picked a handful of beans out of the sack, pulled the string off the seam like she had been shown when she was a small girl, and snapped them.
"I haven't done this in years," she confessed. "I guess it's something you never forget. I saw the garden through the kitchen window this afternoon. It was about the only place Cole didn't show me."
Grandmom chuckled. "Cole steers away from there. He might get invited to do a little weeding."
Brenna smiled back. "Never my favorite either, but to be able to eat peas or a carrot fresh out of the garden…" Her voice trailed away as she remembered the times she had spent in her grandmother's garden.
"If you're implying you'll help with weeding," Norah said with a laugh, "you'd better watch yourself. Mom'll take you up on the offer."
"I like peas eaten in the garden," Brenna said, meeting Grandmom's eyes. "Hulled directly from the vine."
"You can have as many as you want," she said.
"Then it sounds like we have a deal."
She and Grandmom finished snapping all the beans before Cole and his father ambled out of the barn. Silhouetted against the evening sky, Brenna saw a resemblance she hadn't noticed before.
Brenna sighed, letting her gaze stray to the sky where the first stars were beginning to light the sky. The old childhood refrain of "I wish I may, I wish I might, on this first star I see tonight" played through her head. She remembered the night she and Cole had talked about sitting on the porch and enjoying an old-fashioned evening with family. Tonight was just as they had spoken, and it was perfect. Crisp evening air, the hum of crickets and the occasional deeper croak of a frog. If she had a wish this very moment it would be for more nights like this one—shared with Cole and with his family.
Her conscience pricked her, reminding her of promises she had made and not kept, of the convenient lies of omission. Some people were lucky enough to skate through life without seeming to pay for their sins. Hers always caught up with her. No matter how much she hoped she could learn to read before confessing her illiteracy to Cole, deep in her heart she knew she wouldn't get away with it.
Wishing on a star wouldn't save her, and it certainly wouldn't guarantee she'd have more nights like this one. No matter how much she wanted it.
From the barn, Cole watched Brenna, pleased that he had brought her here, even more pleased that she fit in with his family so well.
Brenna was more relaxed than Cole had ever seen her. He had expected she'd be nervous and shy and around his family, but if anything, she was less reserved around them than she was around him.
The image in front of him blurred into another one that he saw just as clearly: Brenna sitting on the porch swing with his mother, her body ripe with his child. Brenna, her arms outstretched, encouraging a little girl with chubby toddler legs to walk toward her, her eyes alight with the laughter he had just heard.
"That seems like a real fine girl," Jack said, breaking Cole's reverie.
"Yeah," Cole agree
d.
"First girl you brought back here since that Susan person."
"Yeah." A month ago Cole probably would have still bristled at his ex-fiancée being referred to as "that Susan person." That he no longer even cared what his family had thought of her told him how far he had come. Susan had accused him of being a farm boy at heart. He guessed she was right.
"Mean something special?"
Cole hadn't tried to keep his feelings for Brenna a secret, bat he hadn't realized he was quite so transparent, either. Not until he had caught his grandmother's knowing wink during dinner. "I'm hoping."
Jack laughed. "Skittish, is she?"
"Big time."
Jack cupped his hand around the back of Cole's neck. "It may take a bit more work than just hoping."
It was Cole's turn to laugh. "Yeah. But when the lady is skittish, you just have to take it slow."
"And sometimes you just have to get her used to being close. Don't be going too slow, son. Your mother is counting on some more grandchildren." He let go of Cole. "But don't you be tellin' her I said so."
Cole laughed and followed his dad through the gate in front of the house and up the walk to the porch. Taking in the pile of stems next to Brenna's feet, he said, "It's good to see you're earning your keep."
Brenna flashed him a smile. "I'm working on getting into your grandmother's good graces so I'm on her pie list."
Cole sat down next to Brenna and leaned across her knees. He looked up at Grandmom, giving her a beseeching smile. "You wouldn't give her my piece of pie—the one you saved for me? Would you?"
"Depends. She's offered to weed the garden."
"Weed?" Cole placed his palm on Brenna's forehead. "I think she spent too much time in the sun this afternoon. Nobody would agree to weed when they could go fishing."
Norah stood up. "I think we've all heard that one before. Brenna, you're all set with your room, aren't you?" When Brenna nodded, she added, "Is there anything else I can get for you?"
"No. Thanks. Everything has been wonderful."
"Well, I'm going to call it a day. 'Night."
CASSIDY'S COURTSHIP Page 16
