by Diana Palmer
But she dried her eyes and went into the kitchen to cook, resolved that God was in control of everything, anyway, and would provide somehow. It was faith that kept her going through the worst of times. Often, it seemed that faith was all she had to hold on to.
She went out into the backyard and cut down a small spruce tree, found an antiquated old tree stand and put the tree in it. They had decorations that her mother had stored, some of which were three generations old. Decorating the tree cheered her up and the tree made the living room look alive with color.
At least, it cheered her up until Will Jones came to the door and demanded money for cutting down one of his trees.
“Your trees?” Bodie exclaimed. “My mother planted those trees before she got sick…!”
“It’s my house, my land and my trees, and you owe me fifty dollars for that tree,” Will Jones said haughtily. “That’s what they charge in those tree lots.”
Bodie felt the blood drain out of her face. She hadn’t even thought about cutting the tree. They’d done it for years. In fact, her mother had planted them for just this purpose.
“You can add it in with the rent,” the man said coldly, and he smiled. “How are you managing, anyway? You don’t have a job. I guess all that education makes you too good to get a real job, don’t it?”
“I’ve applied for jobs all over town,” Bodie said in a quiet tone.
“I guess all the boss jobs are taken, huh?” he taunted.
“You’ll get your money,” Bodie said coldly.
Jones looked around the room, trying to find something to complain about. “Needs dusting,” he muttered when he drew a finger across the dining room table.
“I haven’t cleaned house today. I was looking for work,” she reminded him.
“Not many jobs going, I guess. I got one.” He gave her a leering stare. “You get desperate, you just come see me.”
She could guess what sort of job it was. “I can manage.”
“My friend Larry really likes you,” he said. “A lot. He’d like to spend some time with you, at my place. You’d be chaperoned, if that’s what worries you.” He laughed as he said it, and Bodie felt sick to her stomach. She could imagine what he was talking about. He’d mentioned in the past how he’d love to film her with his friend Larry.
“You can pick a woman up on a street corner for that sort of work,” Bodie said coldly.
He gave her a hard look. “You’re so lily-white, aren’t you?” he scoffed. “Upstanding young woman, never put a foot wrong, won’t play around with any men. You gay?” he asked.
“No,” she said. “But I wouldn’t be ashamed to admit it, if I was.”
He made a sound in his throat. “Everybody knows about you college girls,” he said sarcastically. “You’re like them—you just don’t want anybody around here to know it.”
“I’m not like that,” she said. “I’m a person of faith.”
“St. Bolinda,” he muttered. “Well, you might get a shock one day. It wouldn’t hurt you to learn a little humility. Looking down on other people, making out like you’re so much better than they are, with your sterling morals. You need taking down a peg.”
“And you’re just the guy to do it, right?” she asked with a bite in her voice.
“Maybe I am,” he shot back. “You’re only allowed to stay here if you pay rent and do what I say.” He looked around the house. “Maybe the house needs fixing and you and your old family member will have to leave while it gets done. Maybe it will take a year or so to do it, too.” He was thinking aloud. He smiled with contempt. “Nobody would say you’d been evicted if I did that, and you wouldn’t have a legal leg to stand on.”
“Anybody could see that the house isn’t in that bad a shape!” she shot back angrily.
“Middle of the night, something could happen to the roof,” he said, pursing his lips thoughtfully. “Couldn’t prove a thing, either.”
She felt her blood run cold. She couldn’t afford the rent here, how would she afford it someplace else? The cost of moving alone was out of her reach right now. She had just a few dollars, barely enough for groceries and gas. She felt the terror all the way to the pit of her stomach.
And he knew it. He smiled even more widely. “Scares you, don’t it?” he mused. “Good. You think about that. You don’t keep me happy, why you could have to move tomorrow. It could be an emergency.”
“I’d tell,” she said.
“Tell what?”
“What you just said to me,” she retorted.
“Yeah? Prove it.” And he laughed.
She just stood there, horrified.
“Yep. Maybe you’ll need those repairs real soon. And I want to be paid for that tree by, let’s say, the weekend.” His face went hard. “Otherwise, you’ll come over to my house on Saturday and spend a little time with Larry. Not a big thing to ask, is it? Just spend a few hours with my friend and me.”
“I’ll die first,” she said huskily.
His eyebrows arched. “Yeah? Can’t afford your grandfather’s medicine now, how will you afford it next month? How about the rent next month?” He pursed his lips again. The way he looked at her chilled her blood. “I could make all those problems go away. Even put your grandfather’s medicine on my credit card. You’d be grateful for that, now, wouldn’t you?”
She couldn’t even speak she was so angry.
“You just think about it,” he added with a short laugh. “You’ll come around to my way of thinking.”
She’d starve first, she’d die first, she was still thinking of things she’d do first when he left. Her grandfather, out watering his roses, hadn’t heard a word of it. He came back in a minute later, frowning.
“Was that Will?” he asked angrily. “What did he want? We paid his rent.”
“I cut down a tree.”
“Oh, my God, he’s not going to charge us for the tree my own daughter planted on her own land?”
She forced a smile. “Of course not. Everything’s fine. How about a piece of cake and some decaffeinated coffee?” she asked innocently.
She debated going to the Kirks. Anything, even humbling her pride, was better than her stepfather’s solution. She’d pawned her mother’s jewelry. There wasn’t anything else of value that she could even pawn. No job, no money, no hope and Granddaddy with a condition that could kill him quickly.
In the middle of her despondency, her old truck developed a noise that sounded very much like the brakes would need relining. She had no money for repairs. If only she had some real skill, some way of making extra cash! But digging up old things wasn’t really going to help at the moment.
She sighed and rubbed the rock in her pocket. It was something her late mother had given her. Her grandmother, who had a rock collection that was sizable, had picked it up near the place she lived as a girl. The rock had been in the family for three generations now. Bodie called it a “worry stone,” because she used it to soothe herself when she was upset. She loved its smooth contours. It was heavy for its size. She wondered why it was so heavy. Maybe it had some sort of ore mixed in with it. She didn’t study geology. She wished she had. Many of her grandmother’s rocks were perched on windowsills inside the house. Bodie didn’t even know what sort of rocks they were. She didn’t care. They were treasures to her.
“You’re brooding again, girl,” her grandfather observed when she joined him in the living room, her hand busy in her jeans pocket. “Got that rock going.” He chuckled. “Your grandmother used to carry it around in her own pocket and rub it when she had something on her mind. Guess it runs in the family.”
“I guess so.” Bodie laughed. She pulled it out and turned it over. The rock was oddly heavy, shaped sort of like a wedge. It had a dark gray color and it was shiny on the outside. Inside, where a piece was broken off, she glimpsed a different composition. “I wonder what sort of rock it is.”
“It’s just a rock, sugar,” he said, sighing. “Your grandmother liked unusual looking
ones, but none of them had diamonds inside. Pity.”
She laughed and repocketed the stone. “Yes. It really is.”
He shoved his hands into the pockets of his faded and stained blue jeans. His hair was white. He was tall and thin, and he looked pale.
“You okay?” she asked, worried.
He shrugged. “Just a little indigestion. Must be that Mexican stuff we had last night.” He rubbed his stomach. “I love it, but those spices are pretty hot.”
She grimaced. “Sorry. I didn’t realize I’d put so much chili powder in it.”
“Not your fault. You like things hot. I used to, but my old taste buds don’t work so good anymore.”
She smiled. “Just the same, I’ll tone it down a notch next time.”
He grinned. “Thanks.”
She picked up her coat. “I’m going out for a bit.”
“That truck squeals like a pig,” he commented. “The brakes may be going. You be careful. Need to have those brakes relined, anyway.”
Not for worlds would she have told him that she didn’t have the price of a full tank of gas, much less anything for repairs. His retirement check that the Kirks provided wasn’t due until after Christmas, and they still had to get through utility bills. Her grandfather’s social security wouldn’t start until January. That would be too little too late, especially with the truck apparently dying.
She groaned when the brakes squealed at a stop sign, because there was a deputy sheriff in his car behind her. But he didn’t stop her. She let out a breath of relief as she drove, cautiously, toward the Kirk ranch. She knew this was going to be a mistake, but she was out of options.
When she pulled up at the front porch, she didn’t see any vehicles around. That was an ominous start to what seemed like the worst sort of idea, anyway. She hadn’t seen Cane since that night she’d brought him home from the bar, or spoken to him since his unexpected phone call. Actually, she was nervous about seeing him again, and her heart was pounding like mad when she rang the doorbell. She almost wished nobody was home.
But that was cowardice. She had to find some way to solve her financial problems before she was forced to do what Will wanted. Robbing a bank would be easier for her, but she couldn’t manage a solution that would spare her pride in any way at all. Just asking Cane Kirk for a loan was going to be traumatic enough. She had no collateral, so going to a bank was useless. She had to consider her grandfather. He was the most important thing in her whole world. She’d do anything to keep him safe; even, as a last resort, going out with her stepfather’s friend. Even then, she promised herself, if anything off-color was even mentioned, she’d leave and find some other way to pay for her grandfather’s meds if she had to beg a job digging ditches.
She waited, breath hushed, but no sound came from inside the house. She started to push the doorbell again, grimaced as she thought how painful it would be to even ask Cane for help, and turned on her heel. She might as well go home and find a pretty dress and get ready to go on a date with Larry. She made an awful face. The man was horrible. Just horrible. No sane woman…
“Hi, there.”
She jumped at the sound of Cane’s deep voice behind her.
She turned around, flushed. “Oh. Hi. You startled me.” She put a hand to her chest, flushed and laughed nervously. “I thought nobody was home.”
“I was out back looking at Darby’s new whittling knife. His sister sent it. An early Christmas present, he said.” He cocked his head and studied her. “You need something?”
Was it that obvious, she wondered silently. She bit her lip. “I was just wondering…”
“Hey, there,” Darby interrupted, coming up on the porch from behind Cane. “I heard that god-awful racket your truck was making. Your brakes are going, girl. Need to get that seen about before you have a wreck.”
“Chance would be a fine thing,” she said heavily. “I just paid for Granddaddy’s new heart pills. Not much left over for brakes, I’m afraid.”
“Pull it into the shed and have Billy reline those brakes, will you?” Cane told Darby at once. “Check the rest of it while you’re at it.”
“Sure thing,” Darby said, holding his hand out for the keys.
“Oh, no, really…!” she tried to argue.
“Give him the keys,” Cane directed. He raised his eyebrows and grinned. “Unless you want me to fish them out.”
She scrambled them out of her pocket and dashed them into Darby’s hand. Both men chuckled.
“I seem to recall making you go fish for my keys, the last time you came here,” Cane remarked.
“At least you’re staying out of bars, lately, I gather?” she shot back, her pale brown eyes twinkling.
He chuckled again. “Somewhat. I’ve got to ride fence. You can come with me. It’ll pass the time while they get your truck squared away.” He gave it a contemptuous look. “Paint’s the only thing holding the doors on,” he said scathingly.
“It’s a very nice truck,” she argued. “It just has some little flaws.”
“Yeah, like an engine that only hits on two cylinders and a carburetor that backfires every time you start it.”
“The radio works fine!” she retorted after a minute, having searched hard for one virtue she could ascribe to her ride.
He laughed. “Okay. Point to you.”
They walked into the barn. “Hey, Roy, saddle Pirate for her, will you?” he asked.
“Sure thing, boss.”
The mare that Cane usually rode was already saddled and hitched to a stall nearby. Pirate was an older horse, neutered and quiet.
“You still don’t think I can ride,” she muttered.
“Hell, you can ride Buzzsaw if you like,” he stated mildly. “I just don’t want to have to pay the hospital bills when he throws you into a tree.”
She made a thin line with her lips. “I could ride him if I wanted to.”
“Right.”
“Some people aren’t good on horses.”
“Like you, college kid,” he joked.
“I know how to date projectile points,” she murmured.
“Me, too. We can have a competition one day.”
She sighed. It was a pointless argument, and she didn’t want him to get out of the good mood he was in. She hated having to ask for help. But he could see the shape her truck was in. He’d probably guess she was in over her head with her grandfather. He might even offer help and save her pride. She hoped he would.
* * *
BUT HE DIDN’T MENTION money. They rode lazily across the fields, where a light coat of snow had fallen that morning. It was going to be gone by afternoon, because the temperature was already above freezing. It just looked pretty, against the leafless trees and the dull beige of stubble where wheat had grown earlier in the year.
“Maybe it will snow for Christmas this year,” she said.
“Not likely,” he replied.
“It could happen.”
He shrugged. “I suppose.”
She fingered the reins, feeling the rocking chair movement of the horse. He was old, but he was gentle and trustworthy. She was never going to be a good rider. She hadn’t the correct seat, for one thing, and for another, she was mostly afraid of horses. She wasn’t going to admit that to a cattleman, however.
“Why is your grandfather taking heart pills?” he asked out of the blue.
“He has heart failure, the doctor says,” she replied heavily. “I’ve been worried sick. They’ve got him on three or four medicines to keep it under control, and they say it’s not going to be fatal. Scared us both to death. He thought it was just indigestion. So did I.”
He reined in his mount and stared at her curiously. “Isn’t he old enough for social security?”
She sighed. “It starts in January. At least that will help.”
“Insurance?”
She shifted restlessly. This was getting personal, and it was hurting her pride to talk about it, more than she’d thought it would. “Y
es, he does have that,” she lied. “And it helps pay for his medicine, too. So does that check you guys send him every month for retirement. You don’t know how grateful he is for that.”
His dark eyes narrowed on her face. He didn’t say anything. He moved the horse forward again.
They spotted a fence post that had been knocked half down by a fallen tree. Cane dismounted, lifted the small tree off with his one good arm and tossed it aside. He righted the fence post, glaring at the way it sat.
“Damn. I need a shovel and somebody to hold the wire while I nail it back.” He glanced at her.
“I don’t carry a shovel in my pocket. Sorry.” She twisted her lips and her eyes twinkled. It made her feel proud that he didn’t seem disturbed by not being able to do the job alone. His disability seemed to affect him less when he was with her.
He made a face at her. He pulled out his cell phone, called Darby and told him the location of the post that needed resetting.
“Better get to it this afternoon or tomorrow,” Cane said over the phone. “Just in case any nervous cattle decide to run this way. Highway’s pretty close by.”
He listened, chuckled. “Right. See you.” He closed the phone and repocketed it. “He said it would be bad luck if a convertible drove by and a cow decided to hitch a ride.”
She laughed. “There was this story on the news, about a cow that got loose from a slaughterhouse and was spared. The guy who wrote the story called it a cow. It was a steer.” She shook her head. “People who don’t live on the land just don’t know the difference.”
