“Yes, darling. I will.”
Walter nodded off.
“He’s pooped,” Judy said. “Me, too.”
“We could have flown,” I said, taking a deep breath.
Judy chimed in. “And miss out on seeing the country. No way.”
The airline ticket that Winston slid into my mail slot last spring sat on my dresser, back home. A twinge of guilt nudged me. Now that we’d driven, what was I going to do with his generous gift? By the expression on his face, he didn’t seem to mind that I hadn’t cashed it in.
“It’s important for kids to see the country, their country.” Winston settled into the rocking chair next to mine. It creaked as he rocked back and forth. “Chloe’s been giving her daddy a fuss about not wanting to move, but she sure does fit here.” Winston focused on his granddaughter in the distance as he rubbed his whiskery chin.
I studied Winston’s profile, thinking he was a man contemplating a future with an eight-year-old on his heels. “She sure does look like she’s having fun.” I glanced over to Judy. Her eyes closed as she rocked Walter. It’d been a long haul. The corner of my lip curled up as Chloe held one of the barn cats, its legs flopped, its ears back, and their noses touching. She sauntered across the lawn and up the stairs to the porch.
“Is your furry friend a boy or a girl?” I asked with a nod.
The cat’s strange eyes glistened with mischief, and then it began purring like a fine-tuned motor. Chloe’s gaze resembled the cat’s. A thin smile passed over my lips. I’d never seen a tabby cat with blue eyes, spooky, but beautiful.
“Not sure.” Chloe leaned on Winston’s shoulder. “Grandpa, is this a boy or a girl?” She held the cat up, trying to decide its gender by inspecting its belly. The cat’s shaggy fur tickled her cheek.
“It’s a girl,” Winston answered. When he crossed his feet, his worn silver spurs jangled.
“Voodoo’s going to be jealous,” I said. Chloe’s boots clicked on the wooden porch as she walked closer. “What’s the cat’s name?” Mesmerized by the sway of its tail, I stroked its head.
“Grandpa, does this cat have a name?” Chloe squinted in his direction.
“No, come to think of it, none of the barn cats have names.” Winston scratched his temple.
Chloe smiled. “That’s weird. If you’re not going to name them … can I name them?”
Winston clicked his tongue, his moustache curling toward the sun. “Might be kind of nice.” He reached out to Chloe and she plunked down in his lap.
“I’m going to name her French Fry on account she shared my fries the first night I was here. I was kind of lonely and she kept me company.” Chloe put the tabby down, then snuggled back into her grandpa’s lap, her head against his chest. “I love you, Grandpa.”
Winston closed his eyes, held her tight, and kissed her forehead. Judy snuggled with Walter, and Winston coddled Chloe. I felt a bit left out without a little one to cuddle. Those days were gone. There was always something sacred about holding a child and when I held Bradley, I was whole. I missed the days he’d whisper secrets in my ear and play with the ends of my hair to soothe his weary soul.
Harry scuffled up the steps to join us. He plopped down in the empty rocker, leaned his head back, and moaned. “I am so tired.” He took a deep breath then let it out slowly.
He was a year older than Chloe, yet he seemed more mature with his serious demeanor. He was all about facts and statistics. One word popped into my mind when I thought about Chloe, ragamuffin. I could see Harry in a suit and Chloe in her jeans and T-shirt doing whatever it took to pay the bills, although I doubt she’d have to worry about that.
Everyone was accounted for, except John. He’d disappeared into the barn shortly after giving us the tour. Chloe opened her eyes. When our gazes met, my heart beat faster. She was at peace and I could see why, countryside surrounded us, blue sky shrouded us, and the hustle-and-bustle of city life, non-existent. This was what John yearned for. The Montana landscape took my breath away. I couldn’t blame him for wanting to leave Michigan to re-root himself. Something I knew nothing about for I’d lived in Michigan all my life. There was no one calling me home.
Chloe’s eyelids fluttered shut, her breaths slow and even.
The muscles in my hips ached from the car ride. I stretched my legs, wiggled my feet, and then stood up, trying not to disturb the tired crowd around me. Winston gave me a quick wink as I left the porch. Strolling over to the barn, I passed the horses milling around in the pasture. The split rail fence seemed to stretch for miles. I rested my foot on the bottom plank, then leaned my chin on my hands on the top of the fence. The air smelled different here, aromatic compared to suburbia Detroit. Lean spruce trees streamed down the mountainsides, making green pathways from heaven, the Spanish Peaks streaked with snow rose in the distance.
The sound of cowboy boots against a plank floor broke the solitude. I didn’t look over to see who approached. I didn’t have to. John stood beside me. A painted pony sporting shades of cocoa, taupe, and sandalwood against a white coat joined us at the rail. John clicked his teeth and the pony nuzzled her head into his side as he rubbed her cheek.
“That’s pretty impressive,” I said, touching her mane. “What’s her name?”
“Pippin.”
“I like that,” I answered. “She’s pretty.” Pippin’s gentle brown eyes focused on the yellow forget-me-nots growing at the base of the fencepost.
“I can’t believe you’re really here,” John said.
“Me neither.”
“Chloe’s glad her friends came to visit.” John leaned against the fence. Pippin nudged his belly through the gap of the railings. “Thanks for making that happen.”
“She seems to fit in here.” The hint of sadness tugged at my heart. I wanted John and Chloe to be happy, but not so far away.
“Yup, she sure does.” He tugged the front of his Stetson down over his brow with a long sigh.
The late afternoon sun made it difficult to focus.
“We gotta get you a hat,” John said.
Pippin bowed before us and gobbled up fresh flowers. “It smells sweeter here.” Another horse joined Pippin at the fence. “Wow, that’s a big horse.”
John reached over to pet the horse’s nose. “Starbuck’s a Belgian. Seventeen hands high.” John pointed across the corral. “Her half-sister, Caribou, is eighteen hands.”
I shaded my eyes. The sun skewed my vision even with sunglasses on. John was right. I needed a hat. The top of my head roasted in the afternoon heat. “They’re beautiful. What do you use them for?”
“They haul the wagon when needed. Dad rides them occasionally.” John smirked. “You should see him when he mounts up. Sometimes I think it’s so he can be a little closer to heaven to catch a glimpse of my mom.” John’s words trailed off into the fragrant Montana air.
A chill ran down my spine. Winston wasn’t the only one missing his wife. John’s tone may have been a man’s, but his eyes were those of a boy’s, missing his momma. “I’m sure she’s watching over your dad.” I took a breath, my chin heavy on my hands. Pippin raised her head and we were nose-to-nose. She snorted and stared at me. I lifted my head then faced John. “And you.” He glanced down and kicked at the dirt.
“That’s a sorry-looking bunch of people up there on the porch.”
I peered over my shoulder. The rocking chairs rhythms like a morose Irish ballad. “Yeah, we’re all pretty tired.”
“You don’t look worse for wear.” John took off his leather work gloves and tucked them in his back pocket.
My cheeks warmed. Peering across the field, another chocolate-brown painted pony galloped from one side of the corral to the other. Her hooves pounded the ground, reminding me just how pint-sized I was in comparison. “You’re kind, but I feel beat.”
“Doesn’t matter. You know how I feel.”
“Yeah, I do.” My gaze met his stare, the stare of a man who knew what he wanted.
Chapter 3
Cheerful sounds of banter outside my door woke me up. The clock read seven a.m., but my internal clock registered five a.m., Michigan time. I pushed the covers back and swung my legs over the side of the bed, taller than my bed back home, my feet barely touching the floor. Chloe slept through the chatter. She and I had signed on as bunking mates for the duration of my stay.
Her fine blonde hair was strewn across her pillow and she slept curled up like a barn cat on a lazy afternoon. Hesitant to wake her, I took my book from the nightstand and propped myself up against the oversized pine headboard. The room was grand with two double beds and a rustic fireplace framed by a rocky hearth. The ceiling fan spun slowly, just enough to keep us cool.
“Aren’t you gonna get up and see what all that racket is about?” she whispered.
I stopped reading and peeked over to Chloe who still had her eyes shut. She stuck her legs out from under the covers and repositioned herself.
“Are you awake?” I asked.
Chloe opened one eye. “Um, yeah. I’m not a sleep talker.”
“I was trying not to wake you up.”
Chloe rubbed her eyes. “Who can sleep with that noise? Geez.” She rolled over and covered her head with a pillow.
I set my book down and tiptoed to the door, then turned the knob to see what Harry and Walter were cooing about.
Harry pretended to draw his gun and shoot Walter. Walter fell on the floor and rolled over as he grabbed his side and gurgled. He held on to his cowboy hat, making sure not to crush it. Stepping into the hallway, I shut the door behind me. “You two look official now.”
Harry pointed behind me to a hefty bureau at the end of the hallway. “There’s one with your name on it, too.”
Touching the rim of the straw Stetson the color of bone, I felt as if I was in another dimension. My hat had a rich, brown leather band with fringe at the back and a circular brass medallion stamped with a floral design. I watched Harry and Walter in the mirror behind me. Walter got up from his dead-man’s pose and padded softly back into his bedroom. Judy poked her head out, her messy black curls framed her face.
“There’s one for you too,” I said.
Judy brushed her hair back from her cheeks and held my stare as she shuffled toward me.
Putting my hat on, I inspected myself in the mirror. “How does it look with pajamas?”
“Not bad.” Judy sighed with a raised brow. She tucked messy curls behind her ears then tried her Stetson on, too. “I like it.”
Chloe opened the bedroom door and poked her head into the hallway. “We should get down to breakfast,” she said with a yawn. “I’d better get dressed. This ranching stuff sure makes me get up early.”
“Here, we go. Maybe they’ll sleep in tomorrow.” Glancing over Judy, I knew we’d be on the go, especially now that the boys had Chloe to fuel their adventures.
Judy rolled her eyes at me.
I knocked on the door when I heard Chloe rustling around on the other side. “Are you dressed?”
“Almost, be out in a second,” she answered.
“Hey, hey, hey.” Judy grumbled as she went back into the bedroom she was sharing with Walter and Harry. She shut the door behind her.
Their muffled conversation brought a smile to my lips when I heard the boys whine, “Come on, Mom.” I crossed my arms over my stomach, then leaned against the bureau and waited for Chloe to finish whatever she was doing in there.
“You can open the door now,” Chloe called.
I went in. Chloe sat on the floor dressed in a red-checkered, button-down shirt, faded jeans with the left knee blown out, and her cowboy hat that matched John’s. She picked up one of her blue cowboy boots and put it on. The heel clunked against the floor with a mighty thud. Her long blonde hair knotted from a good night’s rest.
“Do you want me to braid your hair?” I wouldn’t let Bradley in public without having him cleaned up, and it bugged me when my students came to school with bedheads. I know parents could have hurried mornings, but keeping a child tidy would only help in the process.
“Sure. I’m glad I took bath last night. All rested and ready to go. Gotta name some cats today,” Chloe said under her breath.
She removed her hat as I took the hairbrush from the nightstand. Standing behind her, I gently worked at the tangled tresses. She whimpered.
“Sorry. You really got a number going on here. I’m almost done.”
She shifted her weight and tilted her head back so she could see me. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. I just want you to look your best. Now put your head back up please.”
“Okeydokey.”
Dividing her hair into three equal parts, I worked my fingers to make a tight braid. She handed me a blue hair tie to finish it off. “Tight enough?”
“What?”
She faced me.
“You know, does it feel like your braid will stay?”
She shrugged. “I still have no clue what you’re talking about. My dad never braids my hair.”
“When the girls in my class ask me to braid their hair, I try to braid it tight so it doesn’t fall out,” I explained.
“None of my teachers ever braided hair. Your students are lucky.”
Still in my cowboy hat and pajamas, I sat cross-legged on the bed.
“I wish I was in your class,” Chloe said.
I raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think so. It might be the end of our friendship. Being in the classroom is way different than being the lady next door.”
Chloe grimaced at me.
“What?”
Chloe’s chin wrinkled. She looked me in the eye and tenderness rimmed her green irises.
“I-” She held her breath.
“Spit it out,” I prodded.
“I just think-” She stopped.
“You just think, what?” I could see the wheels turning and my first instinct told me that it was too early in the morning to have a serious conversation, but I held her stare against my better judgement. With all her western garb and spunk, she really emanated mountain living.
“Promise you won’t laugh,” she said, playing with the frayed denim around the hole in the knee of her pants.
Sitting a little taller, I made the sign of a cross on my heart. “I promise, hope to die, stick a needle in my eye.”
She sighed, then stuffed her hands into the pockets of her jeans. “I just think that we’re more than friends.”
I leaned forward, inspecting her green eyes filled with what I thought was hope. We were almost nose-to-nose. “I’ll let you in on a little secret.”
“What?” Chloe whispered.
We touched noses. “Me, too.” I couldn’t see her mouth, but by the twinkle in her gaze I knew she was showing off that toothy grin of hers. She wrapped her arms around my neck and gave a squeeze. I couldn’t help but hug her back. “We’d better get going. You know how Walter and Harry get when they have to wait.”
Chloe leaned back and fingered her braid. “Yeah, they’re probably already down there beating the snot out of each other.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, really. It can get ugly. That’s the hazard when you have kids,” she explained.
Only Chloe would say something like that. “Get going. I have to get dressed.” I shooed her toward the door.
“Wear your boots,” Chloe ordered. “And that hat. It’ll look a lot better with your jeans.”
“I think you’re right about that.” Bending down, I reached for my Frye boots beneath the bed. They were the boots I’d worn when Chloe and I met her mom in Chicago to see her mom’s photo shoot. I hadn’t heard from Brook’s photographer, Booker Thompson, since I turned down his invitation to Los Angeles. “Now get going and see what we’re having for breakfast. Something smells delicious.”
Chloe turned on a heel, the toe of her boot pointed toward the timber ceiling. “Don’t dilly-dally.”
I unfolded a fresh pair of fade
d jeans from my suitcase and a periwinkle T-shirt. “Where did you hear that?”
Chloe peered back over her shoulder as she turned the knob on the door to leave.
“Glad,” she answered.
“Sounds about right. She used to say that all the time when I was about your age. Man, you didn’t want to mess with her when she was in a hurry.”
“Apples don’t fall far from the tree.” Chloe snickered and winked.
I rolled my eyes as she exited the room.
Even if my mother wasn’t here, it felt like she was.
Chloe had a mind like a steel trap, and her ability to remember things astounded me. I stripped off my sleeping pants and tank and then dressed for the day.
My butt slid dangerously close to the edge of the bed as I pulled on my boots. The morning air wafted through the open window. The humidity non-existent, refreshing. Late afternoon was the warmest, then by five I knew a cool breeze would be upon us to squelch the day’s heat. The Montana weather appealed to me.
There was a knock at the door. “Yeah.”
“Can I come in?” Judy asked.
“Sure,” I answered, tugging my pant legs over my boots. I brushed my hair and tied it in a knot at the nape of my neck. Judy was decked out in jeans, a plaid shirt, and cowboy boots. “New boots?”
She wiggled her feet. “No. I’ve had these since college. I guess they don’t go out of style. Haven’t worn them since I took Harry to a rodeo a few years ago. He was all about horses, cowboys, and guns. He even got his father to write the word saloon on his playhouse in the backyard. When Pink wasn’t paying attention, Harry and the neighbor boys collected empties and filled the shelves inside with beer bottles.”
“Impressive.” I tugged at the rim of my new Stetson. “Shall we?”
“I’m starving.” Judy walked out of the bedroom and into the hallway where she checked herself out in the mirror above the heavy bureau. “Wonder what we’re doing today.”
“John said something about riding.” I stood beside Judy, thinking about how sore my hindquarters would be afterward. “How long do you think it takes a cowboy to get used to riding?”
Maggie's Montana (Montana Bound Book 3) Page 2
