by Janet Dailey
Anyplace but here, where he’d always been—and always would be—a loner with a shadowed past.
His memory drifted back to the week his mother had died. His father had insisted he go back to high school the day after her funeral, and Shane had obeyed. But he’d been hurting with a gut-deep grief so painful that the only ease for it had been doing something to make his wretched life even worse.
Once decided, the rest had been easy. Like someone with a death wish, he’d walked up to the biggest, toughest guy in school, class president and all-state quarterback Ben Marsden. Standing tall and looking into Ben’s steely eyes, he’d delivered the worst possible slur about the cheerleader Ben was dating.
When Ben’s sledgehammer fist crashed into his jaw, Shane had welcomed the pain. His refusal to take back what he’d said had earned him another blow, then another. At first he’d willed himself not to fight back. But then his anger had blazed, and he began trading punch for punch, doing some serious damage to Ben’s movie-star face. By now, a yelling, cheering crowd had gathered, most of them rooting for Ben.
By the time the coach and the principal rushed in to drag them apart, both boys were staggering like drunkards. They’d ended up sitting side by side in the principal’s office, both of them stonily silent, each too proud to blame the other.
Both of them had been sent home with a week’s suspension. Shane had taken off on his motorcycle, lifted a six-pack of beer from the local convenience store, driven down to his spot on the river and drunk himself senseless. When he’d recovered enough to go home and face his grieving father, he’d vowed that, as soon as he turned eighteen, he would leave Branding Iron and never look back.
He hadn’t, of course. His father had needed him, and so he’d stayed. But there was a wild part of him that had never been tied to this town or to the ranch that was now his. That part of him, like a caged hawk yearning to fly, had always yearned to be free.
Soon, Shane told himself, he would be.
Chapter Seven
Kylie turned away from the sink, where she’d finished washing the dishes from lunch. “Stay here, Hunter. I need to talk to you.”
Hunter had taken the old plaid coat off the back of the chair and was slipping one arm into a sleeve. “Can’t it wait? I need to help Shane shovel snow.”
“Shane will be fine. Sit down.” They were alone in the kitchen. Henry had gone outside. Amy had gone back to her room, and Muriel was dozing by the fireplace in her rocker.
“I don’t get it.” Hunter took a seat, still holding the coat. “You wanted me to show some responsibility. That’s what I’m trying to do.”
“I know.” Kylie dried her hands on a dish towel. She wasn’t looking forward to this discussion. But disappointing her son now would be less cruel than having his young heart crushed later on, when Shane let him down.
“You had fun this morning, didn’t you?” She pulled out a chair and sat across the table from him.
“Yeah, I had a great time.” He eyed her suspiciously. “What’s wrong? I asked you. You said I could go.”
“Yes, I did. And no, you haven’t done anything wrong. I’m just a little worried, that’s all.”
“What about?” The furrow that deepened between his eyebrows reminded Kylie of the way Brad had looked when he was displeased.
“You still miss your father, don’t you?”
“Sure I do. It’s kind of like when he was deployed, except that we can’t Skype and we know he’s not coming back. It sucks. But what’s that got to do with now?”
Kylie’s gaze dropped to her hands. So far, Hunter was making more sense than she was. But this was no time to back off and start over. She needed to voice her concerns.
“What do you think of Shane?” she asked. “Do you think he’s a good role model for a young boy?”
Hunter’s frown deepened. A spark of defiance flickered in his hazel eyes. “Is that what this is about, Mom? You don’t want me hanging out with Shane?”
“It’s just that I remember what he was like in high school. He still rides that old motorcycle, and who knows what else he still does? I can’t imagine—”
“He’s not like that,” Hunter interrupted. “Shane’s cool. He told me he did some stupid things when he was young, but he’s learned better, and he doesn’t want me to make the same mistakes. He even told me to listen to my mother. He said you were smart and knew what was best. Sheesh!”
“Fine.” Kylie bit back any further words about Shane’s character. With her son’s defenses up, there’d be no changing his mind. But she had another, deeper concern.
“Shane’s planning to leave, you know,” she said. “As soon as he finds a buyer for his ranch, he’ll turn his back on Branding Iron and be off to roam the country.”
“He already told me that, Mom.”
“The two of you must’ve had quite a talk.”
“We did, while we were working. What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing. It’s just that . . .” Kylie hesitated. How could she speak her mind without sounding judgmental and overprotective?
“I know you’ve missed having a man in your life,” she said. “But you’re still getting over the loss of your dad. I don’t want to see you get attached to Shane and be hurt all over again when he leaves. And he will leave. He’s wanted to get away from Branding Iron for as long as I’ve known him.”
Hunter’s fingers twisted a button on the old plaid coat. His young face wore a pained expression. “Stop treating me like a baby, Mom,” he said. “I’ve had to grow up a lot since Dad died. I know all about losing people and stuff like that. If Shane rides off into the sunset, like in the movie, I can handle it fine.”
“But why a man like Shane? You’ll be starting school in a couple of weeks. You’ll have plenty of friends your own age.”
“Get off my case, Mom!” The burst of temper came without warning. “I’m not five years old anymore! I don’t need you protecting me all the time! Damn it, you’re driving me crazy!”
Frozen in momentary shock, Kylie stared at her son. “Since when do you curse at your mother like that?” she demanded. “Where did you learn that? From Shane?”
“Mom—”
“No, not another word. Give me your cell phone, then go straight to your room. You’re in time-out till I say so!”
“Time-out! See what I mean? You’re still treating me like a baby!” Standing, Hunter slammed his phone on the table, almost—but not quite—hard enough to break it. Then he turned and stormed off toward the stairs.
Fighting tears, Kylie slumped over the table. Her son was so young and vulnerable and trying so hard to be a man. She would do anything to protect him. But today wisdom had failed her. She’d wanted to keep him close, but she’d only pushed him away. Maybe she was the one who needed a time-out.
In a nervous gesture, her fingers twisted her gold wedding band. When Brad was alive, he’d spent far more time away than at home. She’d pretty much raised the children on her own, but his unseen presence had always been there, his quiet discipline a guidepost for them all. Now he was gone and their children were growing into adolescence, changing into emotional young strangers before her eyes. She’d hoped that a perfect Christmas would make up for having their lives uprooted. But something told her even that wouldn’t be enough—and this holiday was turning out to be one long string of disasters.
From the yard outside, she could hear the scrape of Shane’s shovel as he cleared the snow off the long driveway. Shane was part of her problem with Hunter, she reminded herself. Letting him know where she stood might be a step, at least, toward some kind of resolution.
Muriel’s quilted down coat hung on a rack by the door. Surely, Muriel wouldn’t mind if she borrowed it. Kylie lifted it off the hook and slipped it on. The sleeves were a couple of inches too short, but at least it would be warmer than her thin fleece jacket. Zipping up the front, Kylie stepped out onto the porch.
The whiteness of sunlight on snow was dazzling.
Kylie shaded her eyes with one hand as she closed the door behind her. From partway down the drive, Shane, wearing sunglasses, paused in his shoveling to look back at her. “Hi,” he said. “Where’s Hunter? I was hoping he’d come out and give me a hand.”
“Sorry, he’s in time-out.” Kylie’s breath vaporized in puffs on the winter air. “I sent him to his room for mouthing off to his mother.”
“Mouthing off? That doesn’t sound like Hunter. He strikes me as a respectful kid.”
Kylie took a deep breath. “That’s something we need to discuss.” She took the spare shovel from where it leaned against the house. “I’ll help you shovel while we talk.”
“You’re sure? You don’t have gloves. You’ll freeze your hands.”
“That won’t matter, I . . . Wait, there’s something here.”
Kylie shoved her hands into the deep pockets of Muriel’s coat and found two worn, faded wool gloves. It took a little stretching to pull them over her long fingers, but they’d do for now. And she’d worn warm socks under her sneakers. As long as she stood on shoveled ground, her feet would be fine.
“Here goes.” With a little grunt of effort, she scooped a mound of heavy snow. She could feel the strain in her back and shoulders as she hefted it and tossed it to one side.
“Did that hurt?” he asked.
“It’s been a few years.”
“I can imagine.” Shane flashed her a movie-star smile. “Tell you what. I’ll go ahead of you and break the path. You can follow me and scoop up the loose snow I leave behind.”
“I think you’re babying me,” Kylie said.
He laughed. “Just want to make sure you’ll be able to straighten up tomorrow. Not so sure about myself. But come on, let’s try it.”
Shane’s idea turned out to be a practical one. For the first few minutes, they worked in silence. Shane tossed the heavy snow to one side, and Kylie scraped a clean path behind him while she worked up the nerve to open up what was bound to be a touchy subject.
Finally it was Shane who spoke. “You said you had something to discuss.”
“That’s right.” Kylie hesitated, suddenly uncertain. With Hunter she’d tried to clear the air and managed to leave the situation in shambles. Would she do the same with Shane?
“Let me guess.” He flung another mound of snow off the side of the drive. “You’re uneasy because your son spent the morning with me, and you’re not sure it was a good idea.”
He’d taken the offensive, leaving her speechless, but only for the space of a breath. “He swore at me, Shane. He’s never done that before.”
“Well, I promise you, he didn’t learn that from me.”
“Oh, I’m sure he’s picked up swearwords from other boys. But he’s never used one to my face. It’s as if he came home with a whole new attitude.”
“And you’re blaming that on me?”
“I don’t know.” She was stumbling now. “But I do know he needs a man in his life, someone he can look up to as a role model.”
“And you don’t think I’m the man for the job.” He’d stopped shoveling and was looking down at her with a mocking smile on his lips. “That makes sense. The Shane Taggart you remember was a troublemaker and a rule breaker, and he’s still tearing around on that old Harley—or was, until you wrecked it.”
“I said I was sorry, and that my insurance would pay.”
“I know. And I understand that I’m not the ideal role model for your boy. So, have you got somebody else in mind? I never bothered to ask, did I?”
Heat flamed in Kylie’s face. She managed to find her voice. “It’s not that. But right now, to hear Hunter talk, it’s like you hung the moon. He’s still dealing with his father’s loss. I don’t want him hurt when you leave here, Shane. The boy’s been through enough.”
Shane’s smile had faded. The dark sunglasses masked his eyes, reflecting Kylie’s image back at her. “Hunter’s a good kid,” he said. “I wouldn’t hurt him for the world. If you want me to keep my distance, I’ll respect your wishes. But understand that I’ll be spending time here, helping Henry and working on the bike. If you don’t want Hunter around me, it’ll be your job to keep him away.”
“Oh, I know he’ll be interested in the bike, and in helping Henry. Just . . . don’t try to influence him, okay? Don’t take him anywhere or treat him like anything special. That’s all I’m asking. I just don’t want him hurt.”
“I get the message.” Shane thrust the shovel hard into the snow. “But I want Hunter to understand why I won’t be his friend anymore. That’ll be up to you.”
She felt his coldness like an icy wind, penetrating to her bones. “Of course. Don’t worry, I’ll handle it,” she said.
“Fine. And now that you’ve said what you came to say, you can put that shovel down and go back in the house. Go on, before you freeze. I don’t need your help.”
“All right. As long as we understand each other.” Kylie stuck her shovel upright in the snow. Stripping off the gloves and stuffing them back into the pockets of Muriel’s coat, she turned and strode back toward the porch. Her eyes stung, but not from the cold or the glare. All she’d wanted was to protect her son, as any good mother would. But had she done the right thing? Or had her clumsy efforts only made the situation worse?
Shane had surely meant well, taking Hunter under his wing. But he was a proud man, and her implication that he was a bad influence must have stung. It wasn’t really what she’d meant, but she could imagine how her words had struck him.
Part of her wanted to turn around, walk back to Shane, and apologize to him. But that would only complicate things. What was done was done, and would be safer left alone.
Returning to the house, she noticed the hum of the generator had stopped. She flipped the switch on the back porch light. The light came on. The power outage appeared to be over. At least that was something to be grateful for.
She slipped off Muriel’s coat and hung it on the hook, where she’d found it. Muriel and Amy were seated at the kitchen table with a big flat cardboard box, still taped shut, between them.
“Look, Mom!” Amy’s blue eyes danced. “I found this in the pile of stuff we haven’t unpacked yet. It’s our Christmas box!”
Kylie recognized the box at once and knew what was inside. Every year of her marriage to Brad, she’d purchased a special ceramic ornament for their tree—a pair of wedding bells the first year, a blue baby angel for the year of Hunter’s birth, and a pink one for Amy’s. For the years in between, there were cars and airplanes, a miniature house, a Santa in army camouflage.
Last year there’d been nothing. Nor would there be this year. There was no time and no place to buy a new ornament. But then, there was also no tree.
Kylie had packed each precious ornament in Bubble Wrap, along with a few other decorations that were her children’s favorites. In the craziness of post-move stress, she’d almost forgotten about them. But Amy hadn’t.
“Amy wanted to show me these ornaments,” Muriel said. “She says they all have stories. I can’t wait to hear each one.”
“I know we don’t have a tree yet.” Amy was tearing at the tape that held the box shut. “But maybe if we get the decorations out, it’ll feel more like Christmas. Besides, we might still get a tree.”
“There’s always my old silver one in the attic,” Muriel said.
“No, I want a real tree, one that will make the whole house smell like Christmas. I’m going to wish and wish till it happens.”
An ache stirred in Kylie’s throat. Amy had gone through the same process when Brad was killed—she’d tried and tried to wish her father back. But it hadn’t happened, of course. Now her precious daughter was about to get her hopes crushed again—unless, by some miracle, they could find a tree.
Amy wadded up the sticky tape and opened the flaps of the box. With eager hands, she picked up an ornament and unwound the Bubble Wrap.
“Oh no!” she wailed. “It’s broken!”
Kylie had been about to start dinner, but her daughter’s cry brought her rushing to the table. The little camouflage Santa lay on the Bubble Wrap, broken in three pieces—head, body, and legs. Tears were welling in Amy’s eyes.
“I’ve got glue,” Muriel said. “We can fix it.”
“Let’s check the others first.” Kylie began lifting the Bubble-Wrapped ornaments out of the box. She’d tried to stow it in a safe place, but things had evidently shifted during the long trip to Texas. Something heavy had crushed the box. More than half the precious ornaments were broken.
Amy had begun to cry—little hiccupping sobs that tore at Kylie’s heart. Muriel rose, rummaged through a drawer, and came up with a tube of glue.
“Here, Amy,” she said, sitting down again. “This is good glue. I’ve used it to mend china dishes. We can fix these as good as new.”
“They’ll never be as good as new!” Amy dabbed at her nose with a tissue.
“Watch.” Muriel picked up the body of the Santa; she unstoppered the tube and squeezed a thin trail of glue along the broken edge of the neck. “One thing you’ll learn by the time you’re my age, my sweet girl, is that not many things in life stay good as new. Mostly, you have to mend them—or if they’re not worth mending, you throw them away and move on. Remember that as you grow up.”
With deft fingers, she placed the head of the little Santa onto the thread of glue, making an almost invisible seam. “Now hold that till it sets.” She handed the piece to Amy and picked up the broken legs. Amy had stopped crying and was watching her apply the glue. “Pay attention to how it’s done,” she said. “Then you can try the next one.”
Kylie turned back to scrubbing potatoes for baking with the meat loaf she’d mixed earlier. She’d assumed she was coming here to look after a failing old woman. How could she have imagined the lessons her great-aunt Muriel would teach her?
