CHAPTER FIVE
Should she be annoyed? They were driving out his driveway after breakfast and Cassie was aware she’d never made it to his bedroom. She still had no idea what kind of bed the man slept in. Of course, more importantly, she knew how he was in bed—damn good.
She watched the high desert go by out the passenger window. A row of green trees marked a meandering stream in the midst of dry grass and soil. The green string reminded her of an elongated oasis. For a short time, this arid land had been her oasis. But soon, too soon, she’d have to head east with Hope. She’d miss this land and the man it had come to represent.
He, too, had been an oasis of sorts. His softness surprised and comforted while his mysteriousness vexed and intrigued. The understated charm of the landscape and its occupants threatened to unravel her emotions, forcing her to look beyond the shadows. An unseen energy pulled on her, enticing her into its vortex.
Desperately, Cassie shook her upper body. Her life was already complicated as all hell. She’d have to work hard to retrieve her old life. Her dad had complicated things, and if she wasn’t extremely careful, the man next to her could complicate things a great deal more.
They were headed into the small town of Roosevelt; Clint had to pick up some items from the feed store before they headed back to Evanston.
“Much of this area is reservation land,” he commented. “The Ute people have done better than some Indian nations, probably not as well as others. Oil and natural gas have helped. Problem is, maybe for five years there’s a real boom around here, and then it goes bust and people didn’t plan ahead.
“Over there is a relic of a building. Never been used. A lot of money spent on a convention center, but no conventions. We might have done better to rely on the land more. There are some decent ranches in the area. Beef and horses. But there just aren’t enough jobs to go around.”
The countryside blipped by. Pockets of wealth alongside pockets of poverty were readily discernible. In that way, it wasn’t too unlike sections of Chicago that she knew so well. There were many areas in the city where the wealthy and the poor rubbed shoulders on a daily basis. But she didn’t comment. She wanted to listen to Clint share more about his land that seemed so desolate and yet so bountiful. She suspected that when he spoke of the land he was also talking of himself.
“It’s a mysterious place in some ways. I’ve been to a lot of places, but none that quite compare. The air is clean. There’s more space than you’d ever know what to do with. The people are fun loving, whether it’s a boom or a bust. They may cry, but they generally find something to laugh about. Maybe it was something that happened generations ago, but it still tickles the funny bone.
“It’s hard to explain. There’s a spirit here that’s hard to find everywhere. Maybe it’s perspective. My grandmother likes to say You must take life seriously, but not too seriously. Great Spirit didn’t create all of this beauty just for you to ignore it.”
Cassie twisted in her seat and smiled. “Your grandmother sounds like a very wise woman. I expect she and my dad would have a lot in common. One of his favorite sayings is you got to stop and smell the flowers and the horses. A life without either is a life unfulfilled. I think I’d like your grandmother.”
Clint looked sharply at her. She wondered why her response had surprised him; his expression remained clouded and guarded.
Turning the truck into a parking lot, he announced, “Here we are. Why don’t you come along? You’ll see a feed store that hasn’t changed much in fifty years or more.”
He was right about that. It was clearly more than a feed store, though. Ranchers could bring their own grains in to be blended with others in the mill behind the main building. In the store, pre-mixed feeds and seeds were available in forty and hundred pound bags. One entire wall was lined with bridles, bits, halters, and saddles. Pitchforks and shovels were available, as were ropes of all sizes. Cassie paused and inhaled deeply the smells of leather and rope. She observed a cooler with cold drinks and shelves of snacks and many grocery items. There was even a small section toward the back of the store devoted to movie rentals.
Could the owner possibly know where everything was? Some aisles were neatly stacked, while others were haphazard, resembling a large grab bag. At the far end of the store, near the cold drink display, were a half dozen card tables with four chairs apiece. A few table legs rested on wood wedges.
Not one table was empty at ten in the morning. At each table sat four people, mostly men, but there were a few women. Cards flashed down quickly, matched by cheers and groans and occasional cussing.
Bending low to whisper in Cassie’s ear, Clint said, “Welcome to one of our local community centers. People have played cards here since long before I was born.” Catching the eye of one of the players, he said, “Hi Joe, how’s it going?”
“Could be worse,” groaned a man of indeterminable age. The man’s weathered skin must be tougher than her favorite saddle.
Others soon took notice of Clint. They chose to ignore her. No one asked about her, nor did he bother to introduce her. An older man chatted briefly with Clint about the weather and then told him of a foal out of one of his stallions that had been born two days prior.
As Clint turned and guided Cassie down a narrow aisle, one of the older card players shouted, “Hey Clint, you gonna make it to Luke’s circle? Tuesday night around six. He’ll feel a lot better if you’re there.”
Clint stopped and then retraced his steps. He appeared disturbed by the question, but maybe she was misreading him. He had proven to be nearly indecipherable at times.
“How’s the kid been doing since the break-in?” he asked casually.
“Keeping his nose clean. If it weren’t for you, he knows he’d be sittin’ in jail rather than having a circle. He really wants to make amends and move on. Are you gonna be there?”
Clint sighed. “Guess I can go to California the following week. Yeah, I’ll be there.”
Cassie waited until he paid for his purchases, but as they carried them toward the truck she asked, “What was that all about? Luke and a circle.”
“Oh, that,” Clint said, placing the ropes and other items he’d bought into the back of the truck. He chuckled. “I forgot you were a social worker.”
“Huh, thought you might have forgotten I was even there.”
He ignored that jab. Why didn’t that surprise her?
“Luke is a fourteen year old who can’t decide how he wants to play the game. He’s bright, but sees little future in being bright. He and a couple other guys broke into one of the local taverns. They were caught. Bright, but dumb.”
“Yeah, I know the type. All too well.”
“Anyway, instead of putting him in detention or giving him over to the state, the judge remanded him to a circle.”
“So?”
As they climbed into the cab of the pickup, Clint continued, “It’s a group of folks from the community along with professionals and of course Luke and the bar owner. Luke has admitted guilt, that’s not the issue. Now he can apologize for his mistake, make amends—whatever the circle decides—and get on with his life.”
“So where do you fit in?”
“I’ve sort of been a mentor to Luke and his family for the last couple years.”
She flashed her eyebrows.
He shrugged. “It’s part of what’s expected in this culture. We try to help one another out, if we can.”
Running fingers through her hair, she quipped, “Travers, I think you are a man of many secrets. I expect it’d take years to learn about all of them.”
“Well, I guess I’m safe then, since you’ll be headed back to Chicago soon.”
Cassie said nothing, shading her eyes against the sun. She couldn’t discern if his words were in jest or if they weren’t tinged with anger. What the hell had she done to make him angry?
After spending much of the afternoon showing Cassie more of the area, Clint turned down a washboard gravel roa
d. “I’ve got to make one more stop before we head back.”
The truck maneuvered haphazardly across and around ruts. Cassie felt like she was flying about the cab without a tether. Clint kept his seat as if he were riding a bronco.
After what seemed miles, Clint stopped the truck before a small old house. Its gray weathered clapboards hadn’t seen paint in years. Its roof slouched a bit. Yet the building appeared quite sturdy. A variety of well kept roses, columbine, and honeysuckle provided color. Those and a large green garden on the south side of the house bespoke someone who enjoyed digging in the soil and watching things grow.
Before Cassie could complete her appraisal of the house and its surroundings, a middle aged woman came to the doorway. Coal black hair hung loose about her shoulders. Her dark bronze skin and oval face reflected her Ute heritage. The woman waited, not meeting Cassie’s gaze as she and Clint got out of the truck.
“Cassie, I want you to meet my mother,” Clint said, escorting her by the arm. “Mom, this is Cassie O’Hanlon. She’s come from Chicago to race a horse at the Downs. I needed to stop and check on a couple things.”
Trying not to act shocked, Cassie said, “Pleased to meet you, ma’am.”
The older woman nodded, briefly glancing at Cassie, and murmured, “Me too.”
Before Clint’s mother could look away, Cassie saw mirth in the woman’s eyes.
“Come in,” Mrs. Travers said warmly. “Welcome to my home.”
Clint had already disappeared inside. As she walked through the doorway, Cassie was struck by both the hominess and the neatness of the house.
“Can I get you some coffee?” the woman asked. “I always have a pot brewing.”
“Sure,” Cassie responded easily. “I’m not certain how long Clint plans on staying.”
“There’s always time for a cup of coffee. And I have some soup simmering.” The woman smiled. “You may think it’s too hot for soup, but the nights are sometimes nippy, and I like soup.”
“I do, too.” Cassie beamed with a sense of being in the right place. She liked the woman with twinkling eyes.
Noises of children running outside interrupted her reverie. She turned just in time to see a girl and boy knock each other about trying to wedge through the doorway at the same time.
Both righted themselves quickly and brushed reddish dirt from their clothes before being introduced. Clint’s mother waited, giving the children time to straighten themselves out. Each child stepped softly into the kitchen, as if not to disturb. Each child smiled ear to ear, displaying pearly white teeth.
Cassie’s heart did a somersault. What lovely children. So respectful, and yet full of energy and life.
“Ms. O’Hanlon, these are my grandchildren. Lester, eight. And Samantha is six. Say hi to Ms. O’Hanlon.”
“Hi, Ms. O’Hanlon,” the two children chirped in unison, eyes bulging with curiosity.
“Oh, please call me Cassie,” Cassie replied with a wide grin. Who did these impish children belong to?
Clint hurried back into the kitchen carrying several manila folders. When he saw the children, his face went blank and then lit up like a morning sunrise,
Samantha ran to him with open arms. “Daddy, you’re back. I’ve missed you so,” cried the little girl with two pigtails swinging about her face.
“How long are you back for?” asked Lester, stuffing his small hands into his pockets.
Clint ruffled the boy’s hair. “I can’t stay now, but I’ll be back in few days. Then I’m home for a while. I promise.”
Grabbing a hand of each of his children, he walked them over to Cassie. “Have you had a chance to meet this delightful woman? She lives in a very big city far from here. Don’t think you’ve ever met anyone from Chicago before.”
Both children beamed smiles that would warm the most frozen heart. Cassie struggled to breathe and maintain her composure. Responsibilities! He had implied that responsibilities kept him closer to home than he might wish. These were some responsibilities!
Before long Samantha was on Cassie’s lap introducing her to two cute dolls. Lester asked several questions a minute. What kind of horses did she own? Was she married? Did she have kids? Did she like his dad’s place? Cassie kept her responses light and friendly, but she was beginning to wonder if the boy was his father’s agent.
She overheard Clint speaking to his mother in low tones. “I thought they were supposed to be with Grandmother today. Is anything wrong?”
“Not to worry.” His mother shook her head. “She woke up with a bad cold, so I said the kids have more than enough to play with here. I can go to town some other day.”
Cassie’s cheeks burned. She wasn’t supposed to learn of these treasures. Was he ever going to mention them?
Her heart clinched. She would be driving back to Chicago in only days. It didn’t matter. It had never mattered. If it had, Clint would have told her about his children. She found it hard to shake the urge to sob.
“Are you okay, Ms. O’Hanlon?” Mrs. Travers asked.
Cassie shook her head. “I’m fine. Just a bad memory there for a moment.”
“Ah,” the older woman said, moving back to the stove.
Turning to her son, she said, “Since you’re going to stay for the evening meal, why don’t you run over and check on your grandmother? If she’s up for it, bring her back for supper.”
“Didn’t know we were staying.” He cocked his head to the side. “Suppose Grandmother never is going to get a phone.” He scrunched his mouth one way and then the other. “Okay. Is it all right with you, Cass? We’ll leave late, but we’ll be back in Evanston well before morning.”
Cassie hadn’t missed his ambivalence, but she smiled. “No problem here. As long as I’m back to start working Hope in the morning.”
“Thanks,” he said cheerfully. “Grandmother wouldn’t forgive me if everyone met you but her. It’s a matter of honor.”
“I know. I really do.” Cassie’s lips pursed. Had any of this been planned? Clint certainly looked innocent enough. He’d seemed flustered for a moment when he spied his children standing in the kitchen.
And now his grandmother. Yes, she knew about grandmothers. They could easily be bent out of shape if not included in what was happening. And Cassie guessed that at least for the day, she was what was happening. She had to admit it felt good to be included in matters of family.
“Children,” Mrs. Travers said, after their father’s truck disappeared bouncing down the rutty road. “Why don’t you go out and play for awhile and give Ms. O’Hanlon a chance to breathe? You can talk with her some more later.”
Cassie was now at the mercy of Clint’s mother. She tried to steel herself for the inevitable grilling. “Can I help you, Mrs. Travers?”
“Sure, if you’d like. How about chopping some vegetables?”
Cutting up carrots, radishes, onions and lettuce for a salad provided a pleasant distraction. Still, Cassie’s brain and stomach churned. What had she had gotten herself into? And where were things going? A week-long summer fling was in danger of taking a twist or two. Two children. Oh, my god!
After what seemed a very prolonged silence, Clint’s mother said, “You must be something quite special.”
“What?” Cassie responded casually. “What do you mean?”
“Since Samantha’s mother died giving birth, Clint has never brought a woman to this house to meet me or his children. I know through the grapevine that there have been some, but not in this house. So you see,” Mrs. Travers said, “you have to be something very special.”
“Oh,” Cassie sputtered. “But he didn’t really bring me to meet you or his children. Clint had to stop here for something before we left for Evanston,” she explained. “He didn’t even know the kids were here. You heard him.”
The older woman stopped stirring the soup and stared at Cassie as if she believed her a fool. Finally, Mrs. Travers said, “You’ve been around my son. Do you really think he just happened to stop
by? And I don’t think he looked too displeased to find his children here.”
“Oh,” Cassie whispered. “Ouch,” she yelped, as blood oozed from a sliced finger. Immediately, she placed it in her mouth and sucked on it.
Mrs. Travers laughed. “I’ll be right back with a bandaid. I guess you didn’t realize how special you’ve become to my son. If I’m right, you’ll be in for many more surprises.”
“Oh, hell,” Cassie groaned, stepping outside to get some fresh air, her chest expanding with exhilaration, with pride, with an emotion she could not and would not name. What had happened to a simple, uncomplicated fling? And this would be a good time to have her own set of wheels.
Supper turned out to be a tasty fare. Cassie couldn’t remember ever having a better vegetable soup. The homemade bread was delicious. And the salad she’d made was a hit. Conversation was light, prompted mainly by the children. They wanted to know about the city and the Chicago Cubs. She’d been surprised that even people out here knew about the Cubs.
Grandmother Littlefield turned out to be a different matter. Taciturn was a polite way to describe her. Seldom did she put more than three words together, and not often were there three. But she saw everything. Cassie hoped the woman couldn’t see into her confused heart.
The slightly built elderly woman could no longer stand straight. Her eyes burned like coal. Her gnarled hands remained strong, her grip firm. Once she smiled broadly at her great-granddaughter. The old woman was missing several teeth. Cassie wondered if that was why she seldom spoke. Still, the woman carried herself with the unassuming pride of the wise.
As Grandmother Littlefield bade farewell before Clint took her back to her home, the wizened woman clasped Cassie’s hands to her bosom. Staring intently into Cassie’s eyes, she spoke solemnly, “Do not be afraid, Woman of Fire. You will do just fine.” With that proclamation, she slipped into the darkness.
Cassie's Hope (Riders Up) Page 9
