Home for Good

by Jessica Keller

  Ali crossed her arms and buried her balled-up fists deep in her armpits. She wanted to take her mother’s hand in both of hers, but she knew better. Never one to show affection, her mother wouldn’t have considered the touch comforting. “You aren’t dying.”

  “Want to.... Nothing left...here.”

  “You know that’s not true. There is Kate and me and Chance.”

  “Not that any of...you...care.”

  “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t care, and I know Kate visited just the other day.”

  “The ranch?”

  Ali straightened a vase on the bedside table. “It’s fine.”

  “The...lawsuit?”

  Ali bit her lip. She should be used to this by now; her mom asked the same questions every time she visited. But somehow, the little girl in Ali who wanted to know her mom loved her came with expectations that left her drifting in an ocean of hurt every time. Besides, she didn’t want to think about the deaths of that poor couple. It was an accident.

  “Don’t worry about that. Tripp’s taking care of it. He always does the best for us.”

  “Has to.... None of the rest of you...have any thought...in your heads. Never...happen...if your father...still alive.”

  Ali pulled her purse tighter up on her shoulder, then gripped the bed rails. “I miss Daddy too, Ma.”

  “Your fault...he’s dead.”

  “Don’t say that.”

  “So...selfish, had...to ride. Had...to...rodeo.”

  “It’s hardly my fault Dad got caught under that bull’s hooves.” Ali stared out the window, fanning her face with her hand to dry the tears clinging to her eyelids. She tried to block out the memory of her dad, the amateur rider Buck Silver, being crushed again and again by two thousand pounds of angry muscle and horns. She saw his body go limp, remembered trying to run into the arena but Jericho’s strong arms held her back.

  “Your fault...men leave. Your dad...your husband.”

  “You’re wrong. Jericho’s back,” Ali ground out.

  “If he finds...out. He’ll...take your son. You’ll...be alone.”

  “He doesn’t know about Chance, and he has no reason to ever know.”

  “People...always leave.”

  “That doesn’t have to be true. Chance will always be with me. And Kate’s back right now.”

  “How long...before she goes...too?”

  “I don’t know, Mom. Here, I brought you some stuff from the house.” Ali set a bunched paper bag on the nightstand. “I’ll see you next week.”

  Ali barreled out of the doorway—and straight into Jericho Freed’s solid chest.

  * * *

  “Whoa, there.” Jericho grabbed Ali’s slender biceps to steady her.

  “I’m not a horse.” She jerked away.

  “Of course you’re not.” He tipped her chin with his finger, and her red-rimmed eyes, tears carving twin paths down either side of her face, made his stomach flip. “Why are you crying?”

  She swiped her face with the back of her hand. “What are you doing here?”

  “Pop.”

  “Oh, I knew that. I’m sorry. It was so sad—he was all alone. They aren’t sure how long he lay there...”

  “You’re avoiding my question.” He gave a smile he hoped exuded safety and reassurance. “Why the tears?”

  She tossed her hands in the air. “Oh, just another invigorating talk with my mother.”

  “She’s here, too?”

  Ali shrugged and gave an unflattering grimace in what looked like an attempt to hold back emotion. “She has lung cancer. I mean, we should have expected it. She smoked three or four packs every day of my life, and only got worse after we lost Dad.”

  “And let me take a guess—she’s still as bitter and mean as ever.”

  Ali met his gaze, and the tears brought out the gold flecks in her eyes. For a moment he couldn’t breathe. “She’s had a hard life.”

  “True, but she doesn’t have to take it out on you. Don’t blame her moods on yourself. It’s fully her choice how she treats people.”

  “You’re one to talk,” she mumbled and he swallowed a growl.

  Could she never forgive him?

  He blocked her path when she moved to walk around him. “Are you going to be all right?”

  She dug her toe into the floor, and in a small voice confessed, “She still blames me for killing Dad.”

  He wanted to scoop her up in his arms and feel her head resting against his chest, trusting his strength as he carried her away from all the people who tried to tie millstones around her neck. Quashing that desire, he settled for cupping her elbow and leading her outside, away from the oppression and doom of the nursing home. Thankfully, she walked right along with him, even leaned into his touch a little bit.

  When they got outside, he led her to her truck then turned her to face him. He rested his hands on her shoulders. His blues met her sparkling hazels as he said in a soft, low voice, “It wasn’t your fault. Your dad made a choice that day to get on that bull. He took a risk, and it turned out to be a disastrous one. But that’s all it was, an accident.”

  She worked that bottom lip between her teeth. “But he would have been trucking. He wouldn’t have been at the rodeo if I hadn’t been so bent on barrel racing.”

  “He loved the rodeo. I’m just sorry we were there to see it that day.”

  Ali nodded in an absent way, then pushed up on his wrists. Jericho let go of her, but as he stepped back he noticed something curious. “Your tires are on their rims.”

  “What? I just drove here. They were fine.” Ali turned around and then slapped her hand over her mouth.

  Jericho bent down to examine the tires. Sure enough, each one bore a deep slash. Intentional. His stomach rolled. “Cut. Know why someone would want to make mincemeat of your tires?”

  She dragged in a ragged breath and clutched her purse close to her chest. “Yes.”

  “Well?”

  Her eyes widened. “I can’t tell you.”

  “What? That’s ridiculous. If you have a problem with someone, tell me and I’ll take care of it for you.”

  Ali’s brows knit together. “Why would you do that?”

  He stepped forward, propping a hand on the truck above her head. He leaned toward her. She was so close. If he dropped his head, he could kiss her. Taste the sweet lips he’d dreamt about for the eight years he’d been gone. He wanted to, badly. Would she meld against him like she used to, or would she slap him and run?

  “Nine years ago, I made a promise to protect you. I went and made a real mess of that, but I’m back. You can call on that promise if you want to. I’ll be here for you. You hear me?”

  “I’ll be fine. I just have to walk to Mahoney and Strong—Tripp’s an associate with the law firm. It’s not that far.” She looked around him toward downtown. Jealousy curled in his chest.

  “I can drive you there.” He hated himself for being any part of bringing her near Tripp, but he’d just made a promise, and he’d stay true to it no matter the personal cost.

  “I’ll walk.”

  “It’s farther than you think, and it’s hot as blazes out here. Let me drive you.”

  She shook her head.

  “Can I pick you up from his office and drive you home?”

  “I’m sure Tripp will drive me home. I’ll see you around.”

  She brushed past him, but the sweet smell of her lingered—something flowery. Jericho walked back to his Jeep. His pop would have to wait another day or two for a reunion.

  He needed to find four new tires and get them on that beastly truck before Tripp could swoop in with some kind of heroic act.

  Chapter Four

  With his legs tossed over the edge of th
e porch, Chance swung his feet, banging them against the house with the rhythm of an Indian drumbeat.

  Ali leaned an elbow on the armrest of the Adirondack chair, resting her chin on her palm. “Hey, little man, cut that out.”

  “Is that your truck, Mom?” He sprang to his feet and squinted in the direction of the driveway.

  Her green monster of a vehicle rattled over the gravel. “Looks like it. I left my keys with Tripp, and he said he’d have someone fix the tires. That must be him.” She pushed up out of the chair and crossed to the steps.

  The man climbing out from the driver’s side looked about the same size as Tripp, but that’s where the similarities ended. Ali pursed her lips.

  Chance jostled past her. “Jericho!”

  “Hey, bud.” He touched the brim of his hat. “Ali.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Why do you have my truck?”

  He looped his thumbs in his pockets. “You left it at the nursing home. It’s got new tires. The old ones couldn’t be saved. But these are good ones. You won’t have to put chains on them in the winter.”

  “I’ll go inside and get my purse. How much do I owe you?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing? The tires I had were almost bald. I priced out new ones weeks ago, and the lowest I could find from anyone was around a thousand. I can’t...won’t be able to give you all of that right now, but I can mail you the rest and—”

  He shook his head. “Like I said, you don’t owe me anything. But your engine’s making an unnerving jangling noise, so I’m going to take a peek at that sometime this week.”

  She thrust out her hand. “My keys.”

  “Funny thing about that.” He leaned a foot on the steps and rested his hands on his knee. “I didn’t have keys so I had to hot-wire it.” He scratched his neck. “Hadn’t done that since high school. Remember how we used to drive Principal Ottman up the wall?”

  Ali bit back a grin. “He never could quite figure out how he kept losing his car, or why the police kept finding it at Dairy Queen.”

  Chance leaped off the last two steps, landing beside Jericho. “What’s hot-wire?”

  “Well, it’s how you can drive a car if you don’t have keys. You see, first you take a screwdriver and pull the trim off the steering column. Unbolt the ignition switch, then—”

  Ali cleared her throat.

  Jericho’s lips twitched with the hint of a smirk. “Right. Not something you need to know, bud.”

  The front door creaked, and Kate popped her head through the opening. “Al? Oh hey, Jericho. Your hot chocolate’s boiling over. I shut it off. Hope it’s not scalded.”

  Ali slapped her hand over her heart. “I’d completely forgotten. Do you still want cocoa, Chance?”

  Her son’s affirmation propelled her into the house. She stuck a spoon into the pan full of liquid chocolate. She brought the hot cocoa to her lips, blowing on it before tasting. “Still good.”

  Kate set out three mugs. “Jericho can have my cup. I’m headed upstairs anyway.”

  “He’s not staying.”

  “Guess again, sis. He and Chance are already out there, cozy together on the steps. It sounds like they’re swapping tall tales.”

  The ladle rattled in Ali’s hand. “He can’t stay. I don’t want him on our property, not near Chance.”

  “Too late.” Kate drummed her fingers on the counter. “Did he fix your truck?”

  “The tires.”

  Kate let out a long, low whistle.

  “And he won’t let me pay him back. Not like I have the money to anyway.”

  After wishing her sister good-night, Ali hugged the three mugs of steaming cocoa to her chest and strode back outside. Chance popped up, reached for his and then hunkered back down so close that he bumped knees with Jericho. She handed a cup Jericho’s way, and his fingers slipped over hers in the exchange. Ali inhaled sharply.

  He took a sip, then tipped the mug at her in a salute. “This is good.”

  She wrapped an arm around her middle and looked out to the Bitterroot Mountain Range. The snowcapped peaks laughed down at the fading sunlight in the valley. The sides were blanketed in a vivid green tapestry of pines. Each canyon crag vied with the peaks for splendor. The Bitterroots calmed her. Taking them in reminded her that even when life felt topsy-turvy, purpose and beauty remained in the world.

  “It’s from scratch. Mom says none of the packaged stuff in our house, right?” Chance beamed at her, a whipped cream mustache covering his top lip.

  “Right.”

  “Jericho told me he used to ride the broncos in the rodeo. Isn’t that cool? But he said he never rode the bulls. He said it’s too dangerous, just like you always say.”

  Ali leaned her shoulder against a support beam on the porch. “Yes, Jericho used to ride the broncs. He used to rope in the rodeos, too.”

  Chance plunked down his mug. “Sounds like you were more than neighbors, ’cause I don’t know things like that about old Mr. Edgar, and he’s lived right across the field my whole life.”

  Jericho shifted to meet her gaze. He raised his eyebrows.

  She let out a long stream of air. “We used to be friends, Chance, that’s all.”

  Chance tapped his chin. “Does that mean you’re not friends anymore?”

  Jericho kept staring at her. His intensity bored into her soul, and she looked down.

  “Jericho’s been gone a long time.”

  She wandered down the steps and into the yard. Their pointer, Drover, trailed after her. She scratched behind his ears, causing his leg to thump against the ground in doggy-bliss.

  That had been a close call. Too close. But it’s not like she could kick the man out right after that conversation. Doing so would only raise Chance’s suspicion.

  The low rumble of Jericho’s voice carried as he launched into a story detailing an adventure from his days in the army. “We had to go in helicopters, only way to get there. We could hardly see through all the sand swirling around and—”

  “So it was like a beach?” Chance peppered Jericho’s monologue with a constant stream of questions.

  “Naw. Beaches are nice. This was a desert. Hot. It’d be about one hundred twenty degrees, and we’d have to lug around seventy pounds of equipment on our backs without an ocean to cool off in. Ants all over our food. Not too much fun.”

  Ali coughed. “I think it’s about bedtime.”

  “No way. C’mon, Mom. One more story.”

  Jericho laid a hand on her son’s head. “Don’t argue with your mom, bud. Go on up. You’ll see me again. Promise.”

  With a loud groan, Chance shuffled into the house.

  A pace away from her, Jericho rose to his feet, his masculine frame outlined by the light flooding from the house.

  She crossed her arms. “I can pay you back.”

  He stepped closer. “I promised to protect you, remember? I made that pact, and I aim to keep it for the rest of my life. You owe me nothing.”

  She bit her lip.

  He tipped his hat. “Sleep tight, Ali.” Then he brushed past her and strolled, hands hooked in his pockets, into the hay field back toward his pa’s place.

  * * *

  Sweat trickled down Ali’s neck as she lugged the last saddle onto its peg in the barn. The triangular posts drilled into the wall were genius. Much better than tipping the saddles on their sides and storing them on the ground like they had been doing. She made a mental note to thank Rider.

  Ali placed her hands on her hips as her mind ticked over the accounting books for Big Sky Dreams. She’d never been great at balancing the ledgers, but even Ali could see that money was missing. But how?

  Megan Galveen, the other riding instructor for Big Sky Dreams, sashayed through the back door in blac
k designer jeans.

  Ali smiled at her. “You’re a lifesaver. Thanks for taking care of Salsa when he started misbehaving. I don’t know what made the horse so skittish today. I know you’ve only been here a month, but have I told you how thankful I am for your help?”

  Megan pouted her full, over-red lips and closed one eye, tapping her sunglasses to her chin. “Oh, only about every day. But please, do go on.”

  Ali laughed. “Well, enjoy your afternoon off. You know you’re welcome at Chance’s birthday party, right?”

  Her coworker flipped her long, glossy black hair. “A party for seven-year-olds isn’t really my thing.”

  “No, I guess not.”

  Why had Ali even asked her? The woman was more suited in looks to walk down runways than teach handicapped kids about horses.

  Ali glanced down at her own mud-caked boots and dirty jeans. She grimaced. Maybe she ought to spend more time on her looks. She ran a hand over her flipped-out, short red hair. Yeah, right. She worked in hay and horse manure all day, and the only kisses bestowed on her came complete with animal cracker crumbs.

  Someone cleared their throat, interrupting Ali’s train of thought. She looked up to find her head ranch hand, Rider Longley. The man looked like his name—taller than he ought to be and scrawnier than a cornstalk. With his junked-up Levis, scuffed boots, a blue shirt with white buttons and a new brown hat, he looked the part. But he would have been just as comfortable in a cubicle, wearing khakis while programming laptops. He lacked the cowboy snarl in his face, but he made up for his failings with heart and determination.

  He looped a rope over his shoulder. “Someone’s been out messing with the fences in the heifer field again. I figure it’ll take most of the day to round them up off Edgar’s property and mend the cuts.”

  Ali’s heart stopped. “What do you mean, messing with the fences?”

  Rider adjusted his hat. “I’m not an expert on these sorts of things, but how the slices are, looks to me like someone snipped through our fences with wire cutters. Cows can cause damage, but not clean breaks like I’m finding.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” Megan plunked down her suitcase-sized purse and pawed inside until she fished out her lip gloss. “Who would want to mess with Big Sky Dreams?”