The Maverick of Copper Creek

by R. C. Ryan

  If she expected the little girl to shrink from the pain, she was surprised. Though the ointment on all that exposed flesh must have burned like the fires of hell, Brenna stood very still, until Myrna lowered the torn shirt. “There. All done.”

  She caught the girl’s hand and led her to a chair in the kitchen. “You sit right here, honey. I’ve got some turkey left over from last night’s supper. I think there’s just enough for sandwiches for you and Ash.” She turned to the boy, whose eyes revealed too many questions. To keep him from asking, she’d commanded, “And you can fill two glasses with milk, Ash.”

  “Yes’m.” Like a robot he did as he was told.

  Though she was barely half Ash’s size, Brenna managed to eat two sandwiches, and polished off a tall glass of milk, along with several of Myrna’s freshly baked chocolate chip cookies.

  When she announced that it was time to get home, Myrna had handed her a bag. “Cookies. For later, honey, when you crave something sweet.”

  The housekeeper had uncharacteristically hugged the little girl before saying, “Brenna, you’re welcome to come back here and visit me whenever you want. Even if you’re not with Ash, you hear?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  For the rest of the summer, Ash and his new best friend would meet on horseback in the meadow between their two ranches, and they would spend lazy summer afternoons climbing trees and swimming in Copper Creek, which snaked between grassy rangeland and towering buttes.

  Brenna often followed him back to his ranch, where she would, at Myrna’s invitation, stay on for lunch and even supper before riding home before dark. And always, Myrna would ask the girl if she’d had any cuts that needed tending.

  When she did, the old woman applied the ointment without comment.

  One day Ash surprised Brenna by riding all the way to her ranch to fetch her.

  Though it wasn’t even noon, her father, reeking of alcohol and slurring his words, directed Ash to the barn where Brenna was hard at work mucking stalls.

  Ash fell into step, working alongside her, until her chores were completed. When they walked into the house an hour later, her father and mother could be heard in the upstairs bedroom, engaged in a war of hateful words, followed by the distinct sound of a loud slap.

  Except for Brenna’s eyes, wide and fearful, she showed no other reaction. Though Ash had probably always known that the many injuries endured by Brenna weren’t the result of falls, there was now no doubt in his mind.

  That night, after supper, Ash relayed to his parents what he’d seen and heard at the Crane ranch. Myrna turned from the sink to spare a meaningful look at Bear and Willow.

  Bear had cleared his throat and said softly, “I want you to stay away from the Crane ranch, son.”

  “Brenna’s my best—”

  Bear held up a hand to silence his protest. “I didn’t say you couldn’t see Brenna. I just don’t want you going near her folks again. You hear me?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Later, when he left the kitchen, Ash heard his mother and father talking in low tones, and though he couldn’t make out what was being said, he did hear his father say, “…pay a call on Ira Pettigrew.”

  Later that same summer, Brenna’s father had left, never to return. Her mother took a job in town and did her best to work and keep the ranch going, but it soon fell into disrepair.

  Brenna was sixteen when her mother died. Folks in Copper Creek made bets on how long a teenaged girl could manage a ranch before being forced to give it up.

  But Brenna Crane, Ash thought with a sense of pride in his friend, had learned at an early age how to endure, and how to beat the odds life stacked against her.

  Chapter Ten

  Ash looked around as the ranch house came into view. The barns and outbuildings looked neglected. The back porch of the house was sagging, and the roof had seen better days. The truck parked beside the house was at least ten years old.

  Ash parked beside Brenna’s old truck and climbed the steps to knock on the back door. From inside he heard only silence.

  Assuming Brenna was busy with chores, he descended the steps and made his way toward the barn.

  The door of an old house trailer, parked beside the barn, was yanked open, and a white-haired cowboy in faded denims and rough plaid shirt stepped out.

  “Vern Wheeler?” Ash stopped in his tracks before starting forward to offer his hand.

  The old man peered at him before a wide grin split his lips. “I’ll be darned. Ash MacKenzie. I figured you were long gone.”

  The two shook hands.

  “I’ve been gone almost ten years, Vern. But I’m back now.”

  “Well, I figured you’d be home for the funeral before heading out again. I heard about your daddy. I’m as sorry as I can be, Ash. Bear was a good man.”

  “Thanks, Vern.”

  “So.” The old cowboy looked him up and down. “Looks like you’ve been doing some heavy lifting. You’ve kept yourself in good shape.”

  “I have a ranch in Wyoming.”

  “Do you now? So, you figure to build it as big as your daddy’s?”

  Ash chuckled. “That was my plan.”

  “And you’re here to see Brenna?” The old man took a moment before saying softly, “She got herself engaged.”

  “Yeah.”

  “To a city slicker. Wears a suit and tie.”

  Ash managed to keep from laughing. “I met him.”

  “What’d you think?”

  Ash shrugged. “It’s Brenna’s life. She has the right to fall in love.” He couldn’t resist adding, “Even with a city slicker.”

  Vern gave a shake of his head. “You might be saying what you think you ought to, but I’m betting you aren’t here to wish her a happy life with some other guy.”

  “Brenna deserves a happy life.”

  “Yes she does. Nobody deserves it more. But I’m not sure she’s picked the right horse for this race. He doesn’t look like a finisher.” He nodded toward a second, smaller barn. “If you’d like to pay a call, she’s busy over there in her studio.”

  “Studio?” Ash’s lips curved into a smile. “She did it? She actually made some space for herself?”

  “Yeah.” The old cowboy’s grin widened. “Who’d have believed our little Brenna could turn a lump of clay into something people would actually pay good money to own?”

  “Is she making a living, Vern?”

  “It’s tight.” The old cowboy shrugged. “I had to let all the wranglers go. A couple of weeks ago I hired a drifter to handle the herd while they’re up in the hills. I figure I’ll have to take on a couple of extra hands at the end of summer. Other than that, you’re looking at the crew. It’s just me. You can look around and see that she’s not making enough yet to handle more than bare bones. But her sculpting actually pays more of the bills than ranching does.” He shook his head. “Ain’t she something?”

  “Yeah. Something.” Ash slapped the old man on the shoulder. “Good seeing you, Vern. I think I’ll visit Brenna’s studio.”

  As he walked away he marveled at finding Vern Wheeler still here. Vern was an old-fashioned cowboy who had worked every ranch from Montana to Manitoba until, sensing Brenna’s need, stayed on to lend a hand, and he had apparently become a fixture around the place.

  It was hard to picture the old man staying in one place longer than a single season, but it would seem that he considered Brenna’s needs more important than his own.

  Before Ash reached the door to the barn he heard the high-pitched yip of a puppy. He opened the door and a ball of yellow fluff launched itself against his ankles, yipping and wriggling.

  “Hey, little guy.” He picked up the pup and scratched his ears before turning him loose and staring at Brenna.

  She wore an old, stained shirt over faded denims. Her long hair was tied back with a rubber band. Her hands were holding a shapeless lump of clay. She had a smudge of clay on her cheek, another on her chin.

  The
sight of her took his breath away.

  “Ash.” She glanced down at her hands, caked with clay, and reached for a rag.

  “Hey. Don’t clean up for me. I didn’t come here to disturb your work.”

  She shrugged. “I already finished my work for today. This was just something I thought I’d play around with, to see if I could come up with something inspiring.”

  Ash looked around, at the shelves holding tubes and cans and bottles, and at the sunlight streaming through the oversize windows that had replaced an old barn door. “This is amazing.”

  She dimpled. “Thanks.”

  “Did Vern help?”

  “I drew the plans, and he did most of the labor. Thank heaven for Vern these past years. I don’t know what I’d have done without him. He’s been my handyman, my helper, my hand holder through all the hard times.”

  Hard times.

  Ash winced.

  When he held his silence Brenna picked up Sammy before asking, “What brings you here, Ash?”

  “Whit’s heading to high country today, and he wanted me to pick up that book you promised him.”

  “Okay.” She set down the pup and removed the big shirt she used as an apron. Underneath she wore a skinny T-shirt in deep plum.

  Leading the way to the house, she climbed the steps and held the door while Ash stepped inside.

  Nothing had changed. The same small, cramped kitchen, the same sink and fixtures, the same scarred wooden table and chairs. But it smelled of disinfectant and furniture polish, and the old linoleum floor sparkled in the sunlight, and there were crisp white curtains at the window, tied back with bright red sashes.

  “Do you have time for tea?”

  “I guess so.”

  He stood to one side while she set a kettle on the stove.

  Sammy hurried over to his bowl and made snuffling noises while he ate dry kibble and slurped water before settling down in a wicker dog bed.

  “I’ll get that book for Whit.”

  She hurried away and returned minutes later.

  Ash studied the title. “Nautical Knots?” He couldn’t hold back the laughter. “I guess we’d all have a need to read this one. We have so many boats and yachts floating around Montana.”

  She joined his laughter before turning away to collect cups and saucers. Over her shoulder she said, “I found it in the barn and thought about Whit. He has an amazing appetite for unusual reading material. You wouldn’t believe the things he can talk about. That is, when you get him started.”

  “I guess you’d know more about my little brother than I do these days.”

  “I guess so. For starters, he’s not your little brother anymore. In case you haven’t noticed, Ash, he’s all grown up.”

  “Oh yeah. I’ve noticed.” Ash was still grinning as he set the book aside. “Maybe I’ll engage him in a fascinating discussion of nautical knots.”

  The two shared an easy laugh.

  When the tea was ready Brenna filled two cups and set a plate of biscuits and jam on the table.

  Ash sat across from her and bit into a biscuit. “You bake these?”

  She shook her head. “Picked them up at Rita’s yesterday before leaving town.”

  “They’re good. I’ll have to check out Rita’s. A new shop?”

  “Yeah. She calls it Rita Bakes. And she does. She bakes the best carrot cake ever.”

  “Better than Myrna’s?”

  Brenna laughed. “Don’t ever tell her I said this, but yeah, better than Myrna’s.”

  “Now I know I’m going to Rita’s.” He looked around. “It looks good in here, Brenna. Nice and homey. You made it your own.”

  “Thanks. I try. But sometimes…” She let her voice trail off.

  “A working ranch is a lot for one person to handle.”

  “Two people. Don’t forget Vern.”

  He grinned at her. “Right. I should have said one person and a grizzled old cowboy.”

  “And Noah,” she added, grinning. “I almost forgot, since I hardly ever see him. Noah Perkins. Vern hired him to tend the herd up in the hills. That frees Vern to handle everything else.”

  Brenna glanced at the clock over the stove. “I’d better get going. I promised to deliver a sculpture to Percy Hanover for his anniversary.”

  “If you’re heading to town, why not go with me? I’m heading there, too.”

  She considered it. “If you don’t mind waiting for Percy and his wife. He asked me to meet them at Reels, after they see Casablanca.”

  “They’re still showing that one? How many times did you and I see it?”

  She laughed. “Twenty-three times. And that was just in a year.”

  “You used to know almost every word of the dialogue.”

  “Still do. Remind me to rattle it off sometime.” She touched a hand to her heart. “There’s just something so romantic about love lost and then found.”

  She glanced at Ash and saw the quick frown that came and went, and she realized what she’d just revealed. To cover herself she said quickly, “Anyway, Casablanca is Percy and Pearl’s favorite movie, and it happens to be today’s matinee feature. He said it should let out at three, and then he’s taking Pearl to dinner at the Boxcar right after that, where he plans to present her with my sculpture.”

  “I’ve got all the time in the world.”

  “All right.” She stood. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to leave Sammy with Vern in the barn.”

  When she returned, she was carrying a large white box.

  Minutes later she was seated beside Ash in his truck.

  As they started away, Vern stepped to the doorway of the barn and, in a courtly gesture, tipped his hat. Brenna waved and blew him a kiss.

  “Always the gentleman,” Ash said with a laugh.

  Her tone was almost reverent. “That’s Vern.”

  Her earlier comment played through Ash’s mind.

  Thank heaven for Vern these past years. I don’t know what I’d have done without him. He’s been my handyman, my helper, my hand holder through all the hard times.

  Through all the hard times.

  That thought weighed heavily on Ash’s heart. Especially knowing that he had been the cause of at least some of her hard times.

  Brenna opened the truck window to enjoy the fresh breeze. She’d removed the rubber band from her ponytail, allowing the wind to play through her hair.

  Ash’s hand tightened on the steering wheel to keep from reaching out to touch it. He could still remember the way it felt, spilling through his fingers. The way it smelled, especially after a rain, when the scent of her shampoo was stronger. Even after all these years, whenever he smelled lavender, he was reminded of Brenna. Her hair. Her skin. The way she tasted when they kissed.

  “…to see your eye is healing.”

  He pulled himself out of his thoughts. “Yeah. Another day or so and the bruise will be completely gone.”

  “Chris is still furious with me for jumping into your fight.”

  “I don’t blame him. Luther was in no condition to care who he carved up with that jagged glass.”

  “Oh, he cared. It was you he wanted, Ash. He’s always been jealous of you and your family’s success.”

  “I know. And I’m really grateful for what you did. Without your warning, I’d have been in for the fight of my life.”

  “What started the fight?”

  He glanced at her. “You don’t know?”

  She shook her head. “Chris hustled me out without giving me time to ask any questions.”

  “I see.” Ash slowed down as they neared the town. Ira Pettigrew was a stickler for driving the speed limit within the town boundaries. “Luther made a couple of comments about Griff Warren, and how much he looked like Pop.”

  Brenna nodded. “The resemblance is amazing.”

  “Yeah. But of course, Luther couldn’t let it go. He added an insulting insinuation about Pop, and that was all Whit needed to go into pit-bull mode.”


  “The famous MacKenzie temper. I guess you’d know a thing or two about that.”

  Ash grimaced. “Yeah. A thing or two. I’m afraid it’s imprinted on our DNA.”

  “How is your mom taking all this major drama at one time?”

  “Losing Pop has to be the hardest thing she’s ever had to get through. But then to learn that Pop had a son just made it harder. I think Pop’s acceptance of the situation, once he learned of it, went a long way toward the rest of us falling into line.”

  “How did he hear about Griff?”

  Ash recounted the information he’d learned since his return home. “Everybody was pretty much caught off guard. And we’re still sorting it all out. But Griff makes it easier for all of us, because he’s such a nice guy.”

  Brenna lay a hand over Ash’s. “I’m glad. I hope it all works out for you and your family.”

  “Thanks.” He absorbed the heat of her touch as he drove slowly along Main Street.

  “Has Luther Culkin apologized?”

  “Luther?” Ash gave a huff of annoyance. “Can you recall a single time when Luther apologized for anything?”

  She sighed. “You’re right. What was I thinking?”

  “The man’s a loose cannon. Every time there’s a problem in Copper Creek, you can count on Luther being a part of it.”

  Spotting an empty space across from Reels, Ash parked the truck. Moments later he stepped down and hurried around to open the passenger’s-side door and take Brenna’s hand.

  When she stepped out he glanced at the box. “Do I get a peek at the anniversary gift?”

  “Sure.” She slid open the lid and held up a sculpture of a bride and groom standing side by side, staring into one another’s eyes. The female figure wore a long white gown with a lacy skirt, and the man wore a suit and string tie.

  “That’s old Percy. But younger. Without his glasses and wrinkles. I’d know him anywhere. And look at Pearl. You even captured the lace on her gown.”

  “Percy gave me an old black-and-white photo of their wedding.”

  Ash shook his head from side to side. “He’s going to be a hero in his wife’s eyes when he gives her this.” He held the box while she carefully arranged tissue around the sculpture before returning it to the container. “Do you have any idea what an amazing gift you have?”