They rode in silence, threading their way from the relative civilization immediately around the house, over the ridge, down the far side and into ranges that spilled one into another.
“Anywhere in particular you want to go?”
As soon as Grif asked it, he knew the question was a tactical error. It left him wide-open for her answering that she hadn’t wanted to go at all, much less anywhere in particular.
So he counted it as a victory when she simply said, “No.”
“Okay with you if we pick up the pace?”
“Yes.”
He didn’t mind that monosyllable, either, because as they started to canter, he caught the flash of her smile. Even if he had had to bully her a bit, he’d been right to do this.
And he wasn’t alone in thinking that.
His call to Larry asking if Ellyn was working today had been met with cheerful disinterest. “Nope. Won’t be in till tomorrow. You oughta be able to catch her at home.”
His question to Fran had elicited a long, thoughtful silence before she answered. Then she’d added, “I hope you’re thinking of something other than asking her to dinner. You aren’t making much headway that way.”
Headway?
“I’m just trying to make sure she takes some time for herself. Gets some fresh air.”
“Good. She needs that.”
That answer reassured Grif that Fran hadn’t misunderstood his intentions until, just before he heard the click on the other end of the line, she added, “Among other things.”
That might have been why an edge crept into his tone when he tracked down Luke at the calving barn and told him his plan.
“The trail to the flat near Hidden Creek where we used to have campfires is still fetlock deep in spring mud,” Luke had told him. “But you could get up to Leaping Star’s overlook. That’s a nice spot if you have a mind to spread a blanket and have a picnic.”
“We’re taking a ride. That’s all.”
The foreman gave him a level look that didn’t quite mask a hint of amusement, but said only, “None of my affair.”
Ellyn’s voice broke into Grif’s mental review of these conversations. “Are we heading somewhere in particular?”
They’d not only slowed from the canter, but the steepening trail had narrowed, so they were riding single file.
“Luke suggested Leaping Star’s overlook.”
“Oh.”
He twisted in the saddle to look at her. “He said this is one of the few trails where we shouldn’t run into mud or washouts. I don’t think he trusts either one of us on horseback anymore. Is the overlook a problem?”
“No. No problem.”
Conversation dried up as they both paid close attention to their mounts, picking their route up the winding, rising trail. With the vegetation not fully out yet, taking longer looks at the view was tempting, but not worth the risk of a wreck.
And none of the glimpses would have done justice to the sight that spread below them when they reached the overlook.
“We came up here back in November,” Ellyn said when they’d dismounted, secured the horses and sat side by side atop a piece of plastic she spread over a fallen tree trunk.
“We?”
“Marti, Luke, Kendra, Daniel and Matthew, the kids and I. It was the anniversary of Leaping Star’s death. Marti started it. I think she wanted to sort of set things right somehow.”
“Are you talking about that legend again?”
“Legend, or no legend, your ancestor, Charles Susland, wasn’t a very nice man. Marti found out a lot of things while she was doing the research for our special section. And I suspect she isn’t telling us everything.”
“What makes you think that?”
“A feeling. Some of the things she’s said. Or hasn’t said.”
“I’m not sure I understand.”
“You might understand more if you came home more than once every decade.” Almost before she’d finished the words and he’d felt the sting of them, she was apologizing. “I’m sorry, Grif. I had no right to say that. It’s not my place – ”
“It’s all right, Ellyn. You’re right. I should come back more often. Marti’s not getting any younger, and this place is partly my responsibility, too.”
“Don’t let her hear you saying that about her not getting any younger. But it is partly your responsibility, and more important it’s your home, Grif.”
There was that word again. He called on a sure distraction, turning toward the view. “It’s an amazing sight, isn’t it?”
“Amazing,” she agreed.
They sat in peaceful silence for several minutes until Ellyn breathed out a long, soft sigh. Even without looking at her he knew tension had eased from her. He felt something ease in him as well.
He stretched his legs out, welcoming the pull against his muscles. “I’ve missed this.”
“Me, too.”
“Then why haven’t you been riding before now?” He hadn’t been talking about the riding, but it seemed much safer this way.
“Why haven’t you come back before now?”
He looked away. “I’ve been working hard.”
“Me, too.”
He covered her hand resting on the tree with his own. She looked at their hands, and slowly drew hers out from beneath his.
“It must have been quite a burden on you when Dale died, besides the grief and the shock. I mean all the things you had to do. It must have made everything all that much harder.”
“At first it was actually a godsend. I needed things to do. That way I didn’t feel much. And even after... For a long time I was numb. Then... Then I was scared.”
“You took on an awful lot all at once. Taking care of the kids yourself, a house, the car, the finances. Getting on with your life.”
She flipped a hand, pushing all that aside. “No. At least... I’m not saying that wasn’t all worrisome.” Ruefulness tinted her slight smile. “And I won’t deny that at times I sat down and bawled in frustration and exhaustion and worry. But that’s not what...” He could see her searching for a phrase. “Did you ever feel as if you’d forgotten how to breathe?”
“Forgotten how to breathe?” he asked carefully, not following, but not wanting to stop her, either.
“When I was a little girl, my mother would always tell me if I was nervous or upset or scared, that I just had to learn to breathe deeply and if I did it right, that would calm everything down. So I’d lie in bed some nights and concentrate on breathing in and breathing out.”
She demonstrated. And it did nothing to calm down a certain portion of his anatomy. He forced himself to listen to her words.
“And I’d pay such close attention to breathing, trying to get the rhythm right. But I’d have to take an in-breath in the middle of what should have been an out-breath. And the harder I tried, the worse it got until sometimes I thought I’d pass out.”
She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “Pretty weird, I know. I bet you never had times like that when you felt as if you’d forgotten how to breathe.”
“I don’t remember ever feeling that way,” he said without inflection.
From her ill-at-ease laugh, that hadn’t been the best approach. “No, of course not. I can’t imagine you ever feeling like that, ever feeling like you were out of step and couldn’t get back – ”
“Out of step.”
His voice must have given something away when he repeated that phrase because her head came around and she looked directly at him.
“Yes,” she said slowly, her eyes studying him, “out of step. Do you know what I mean? No, of course you don’t. I remember from the first day I met you, you always knew exactly which step you were going to take next. So sure. So straight.”
“When I was little, not even in school yet, I watched the recruits drill at the base where we lived, marching and turning and marching again, all in step. I started trying to keep in step with my father, everywhere we went, hoping he’d notice.
I had to work hard because my legs were so much shorter, but I kept it up for maybe a week. Until the Sunday afternoon when he was trying to watch a football game, and I missed a turn somewhere between the refrigerator and the sofa. His beer spilled. All over my head. I...I remember the smell. And my father shouting at me, shouting at my mother to get me out of the way.”
“I went back the next day and watched those recruits again. And this time I noticed that if they got out of step they got yelled at. If they kept in step they were ignored. It didn’t take me long to figure out that being ignored was better than being yelled at. And the way to do that was to stay in step.”
She was watching him. He looked out to the view, confident his face showed nothing. He’d had a lot of practice at that.
“I wondered some about the break between you and your father. You never said, even when he died – ”
“Break? There was no break.”
“But you never saw each other. I was even a little surprised when you went to the funeral two years ago, because in all those years in Washington, you never talked about him.”
“Nothing to say.”
“You didn’t see him or talk to him or – ”
“No. But we didn’t have a break the way you’re thinking. We just went our separate ways.” She made a movement beside him. “You’re cold. You want my jacket?”
“No, I’m fine. I... oh, Grif, I’m sorry.”
“Sorry? What for?”
“I never knew it was so bad for you at home. When we were growing up and you were always so good about my problems with my mother, and all the time you – ”
“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” he interrupted shortly. “Nothing like your mother sniping at you constantly, tearing you down. My father paid the bills, gave me money for school and clothes, and otherwise ignored me as best he could. When I got old enough to be on my own, we parted ways.”
“That’s terrible. That’s – ”
“Ellyn, it was nothing like terrible. Don’t waste any sympathy on me. I’ve seen kids coming into the Army who’ve known real terrible. And believe me, I was well off. John Griffin just never should have gotten married, and he wouldn’t have if it hadn’t been for me.” He saw both the question in her eyes and the acceptance if he chose not to answer it. “My mother was pregnant with me. That’s the only reason they married.”
She was shaking her head before he’d finished. “I don’t believe that. Not after seeing those pictures. Your parents loved each other. Things might have gone wrong later, but – ”
“They never should have gotten married. He never should have gotten married. And believe me, it was no secret that he only married my mother to make an honest woman of her. And that was the real joke of it, because he shouldn’t have had children, either.”
“What do you – ”
He stood before she could finish. “Let’s go. You’re getting cold, and I promised you we’d ride, not sit.”
* * *
Back on Cherry, with only Grif’s straight back and Fred’s rump to consider as they made their way down from the overlook, Ellyn felt as if her head were spinning trying to assemble the bits and shreds Grif had revealed into something resembling coherence.
All her confidences about how she’d felt after Dale died and feeling as if she’d forgotten how to breathe were all meant to lead into telling him the rest of it. Maybe part of her had used all the words to postpone the moment.
Now he’d shut that door with a thud. So she could sit back and enjoy the ride. As much as anybody could enjoy a ride knowing she was a lily-livered coward.
Reaching open ground again, she brought Cherry abreast of his horse. Grif gave her a wary look from the corner of his eye.
“Grif, what we were talking about at the overlook – ”
“There’s no sense discussing it. It’s long past.”
She gave an exasperated Tch. “Is that why you asked about how I coped after Dale died – because there’s no sense talking about it and it’s long past.”
His eyes acknowledged that direct hit, but he clearly wasn’t about to admit it aloud. “I talk too much.”
“Not hardly.”
“I don’t want to talk about – ”
“Then listen.”
Without turning fully toward her, he gave her a hard look. She went ahead anyway. “I thought you should know... I mean you might hear, because a few people know...” She gathered herself and took the jump. “Dale was thinking about leaving – that’s why we left D.C., that’s why we moved here. To try to make a go of it.”
“I know.”
“You – ?” She swallowed, then started again. “That’s good. Then we don’t have to pretend – ”
“Ellyn – ”
“It’s okay. It’s good you know. We won’t be on edge now. We have been a little on edge with each other, and– Wait. How did you know?”
Grif’s gaze shifted to between his horse’s ears. “He said something one night, but I... I thought he’d see the light. And when you all moved out here...”
“Dale wanted to come back to Wyoming,” she explained. “I hope it would help.”
The words came easier, as she told him a carefully edited version of the night Dale had made his announcement, and the frenetic day that followed. She made no mention of trying to contact him, but his next words showed that the omission didn’t fool him.
“I didn’t make it any easier on you. Going away like that.”
“No, you didn’t,” she said without heat. “But like I said before, we had – have – no claim on you, Grif.”
“Of course you could have tried to find me.”
“What?” Her raised voice made Cherry’s ears flick around like a rotating antenna. “I could have –What was I supposed to do? Demand the Army tell me where my friend had gone? Somehow I don’t think that would have rattled any cages at the Pentagon.”
“Maybe not.”
“You’re darned right not. You took off and left me no way of knowing where you were, and – ”
“Marti always knew where I was. And you knew that. All you had to do was ask Marti for my address and drop me a line.”
“Are you saying it’s my fault for not contacting you?”
“I’m not laying fault. I’m saying you made a choice, too.”
A voice in the back of her head whispered he might have a point – at least part of one. She had known Marti was in contact with Grif. She’d considered trying to contact him a couple of times. But she hadn’t. Was he right? Had she chosen not to try to get in touch with him? Because his disappearance had hurt? Her kids? Or her? Were there other reasons? She didn’t like the trend of these questions.
“You were the one who disappeared!”
“You could say that.”
Irritation at his unyielding inscrutability spurted steam through her – which was far preferable to confusion and self-doubt.
“I could say that, and I’d be right!” With effort, she reined herself in. “Of course, I understand why. The Army held out an important assignment to you, one that you could pull off in a blaze of glory – ”
“No blaze of glory.”
“I’ll have to take your word for that, but obviously it was good enough to advance your career.”
He shook his head.
The steam eased out of her, along with an element of certainty. It left her feeling a little limp, and oddly vulnerable. “But...but you must have completed that assignment or you wouldn’t have been promoted.”
“Only achieved half of it, and the Army had nothing to do with it.”
“You’ve lost me, Grif. What do you mean the Army had nothing to do with it? You had orders – ”
“No orders, least not until I requested them, and the Army didn’t give me that assignment. I gave it to myself.”
“Gave it to yourself? What does that mean?”
“The assignment was to forget you...all of you. And to stay out of the way until you and Dale s
orted things out. I didn’t achieve the first part, but at least I held to the second.”
Questions poured through her mind like water over a waterfall. Too fast to get more than a flash of their color, a sense of their mood. One held enough form to be spoken. “But why leave so abruptly? If Dale told you how he felt, and there’s no one he trusted more, so – ”
“He shouldn’t have.”
She blinked up at him, stunned by his fierceness.
“Shouldn’t have trusted you? That’s crazy, Grif. Of course he trusted you. We both did. Why on earth would you say we shouldn’t? That doesn’t – ”
“How was the ride?” Luke appeared from the calving shed so promptly she suspected he’d been watching for them. He’d addressed the question to her, but his gaze went to the horses, like a father who’d lent his prized car to a new driver.
Even before Luke’s interruption it had been clear as a cloudless Wyoming sky that Grif wasn’t going to explain his comment. And for reasons she didn’t care to explore, she was both glad and sorry for that.
* * *
It was the closest he’d ever come to letting her know. But he’d left it just ambiguous enough to allow her to ignore the implications. And when she took that opening, he was partly disappointed and totally relieved.
She’d lied about being glad he knew about Dale’s thoughts of leaving her. It hurt her pride to have him know, and that hurt him – that she felt guarded with him, but even more that he was in any way a cause of her discomfort.
As for being on edge? Hell, yes, they were on edge. She wasn’t anywhere close to hitting on the reason, and she didn’t want to be. He’d known that for sure when she didn’t try to bring the talk back to more personal matters when they were alone as he drove her back to Ridge House.
And that was good, he told himself as he returned to Fort Piney for a shower and change of clothes before having dinner at the home ranch. Excellent, in fact.
He’d come to Far Hills to make sure Ellyn and the kids were okay, and would continue to be okay. Also, to try to restore his place in their lives as a family friend.
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