Easter in Dry Creek

by Janet Tronstad

  “I plan to eat a lot,” he said.

  “Still,” she replied.

  “You never could take help,” Clay muttered.

  “Me?” she protested, but he only laughed.

  Within a few minutes, they were both leaving the barn.

  “That wind’s coming faster,” Allie said as she ducked her head down.

  The barn door had been hard to open, and it slammed closed behind them.

  Clay reached over and put his arm around her, drawing her closer to his side. “I won’t let you blow away.”

  Allie knew he wouldn’t. She had never felt as safe with anyone in her life as she had with Clay. But she couldn’t afford to lean on him. He’d broken her heart once when he left, and she didn’t want him to break it again. That didn’t mean she could let him do all the work, though.

  Chapter Five

  Clay felt invigorated as they fought the wind all the way to the house. He could move mountains with Allie tucked under his arm. He supposed it was nothing more than having a purpose in life again. One of the worst things about endless days in prison was the sensation of drifting, like it didn’t matter whether he turned this way or that way in life. Now a few horses, a goat and a pig depended on him.

  When Clay unlatched the screen door, he turned the knob on the main door as well so that Allie could hurry inside. She’d had her face pressed against his coat for the walk to the house, and when she stepped away he saw a long red mark on her cheek as a result. Her auburn hair had been whipped around her face and her lips were tight against each other.

  “Cold,” she muttered as she stepped into the warmth of the kitchen.

  Clay joined her inside and closed the door behind them. They both stood on the rug by the door, stomping their feet and waiting for the tingling to stop in their fingers.

  “It turned fierce out there all of a sudden,” Mr. Nelson remarked as he came into the kitchen from the hallway on the other side of the room. He was in his stocking feet. Clay could see where the rancher had taken his boots off when he came inside and set them by the coat rack. A smaller set of boots was placed next to the older man’s.

  “Jeremy is in the back bedroom with that cat,” Mr. Nelson continued, shaking his head. “He’s worried she might be lonesome. I gave him a bowl of warm milk for the thing and fixed up a litter box.”

  Clay grunted. “I’m sure that old cat feels like she’s landed in paradise.”

  “It’s good for a boy to have a pet,” Allie said from where she stood taking off her jacket. She’d patted her hair down already, and the red was fading from her face.

  “That it is,” Clay agreed, taking her all in—her tangled hair, bright cheeks and eyelashes that still shone with melting snow. She was beautiful.

  Allie didn’t respond and Clay figured he couldn’t just keep looking at her, so he glanced around. When he’d been inside the house earlier it had been darker and he hadn’t seen the place well. Now he saw it all. The walls were faded and needed paint. He had always imagined that this room was what a home looked like. The clock on the wall said it was eight o’clock. He used to wonder what it would be like to live in this house rather than out in the bunkhouse. Now he knew there had been trouble enough in here, too.

  Clay was the first one to hear the distant sound of an engine. Initially, he thought the wind was merely changing directions and had found a drain pipe or something to make a whistling sound.

  “I hope it’s not those two guys coming back,” Clay said when the sound grew louder and Allie had stopped to listen, as well.

  “The deal is done,” Mr. Nelson said. “They can’t come back and get those animals. They’re ours now.”

  “I’m sure they don’t want them,” Allie said, looking at her father with a touch of impatience. “I don’t know how we’re going to feed them, either.”

  “You’ll figure it out,” Mr. Nelson said, and there was nothing but confidence in his voice.

  The stress seemed to have left the older man’s face. Clay wondered if leaving everything to Allie to worry about always took the burden from her father. She did seem to be the one who shouldered most of the troubles around here. Now that Clay thought about it, it had been that way when he lived here long ago, too. Mark used to say Allie was a worrywart, always fussing about something. Clay suspected now that the story had been different. No one else had worried enough. She’d been taking care of them all.

  A knock sounded at the door and a man shouted, “Anybody home?”

  Clay knew he’d have to open the door regardless of who it was, but he wished the door had a window in it so he could see who it was before that. He didn’t want to make the man wait, though, no matter what his business was. The temperature was too cold for that. Since the visitor wouldn’t be for him, Clay stepped back as he opened the door until he was in the same half shadows that had hidden Allie earlier.

  “Is he here?” the man demanded before he even stepped inside. The screen was still closed, but the man was peering through the mesh. Clay thought the voice sounded familiar, but he couldn’t place it. The man continued, “Someone was sneaking through town with their lights on low an hour ago or so, and I figured it had to be him.”

  With that, Clay knew there was little hope the man was talking about anyone else but him.

  “I wasn’t sneaking,” Clay said at the same time as Mr. Nelson spoke.

  “Of course Clay is here,” the older man announced as he walked toward the open door. “We’re just getting him settled.”

  “Besides, it’s a public road,” Clay offered up in his defense. “And my headlights were on high.”

  The man grunted, and Clay left the shadows in hopes that he could take a better look at the visitor. “Randy Collins? Is that you?”

  The tall, thin man swiveled. He was still on the other side of the mesh, so his lean face wasn’t as clear as Clay would have liked. Some things had not changed, though. A worn black hat sat pressed low on the man’s head and the collar of his red wool jacket sat up tight around his skinny neck. The sleeves on his jacket were too short, and his hands were shoved into his pockets. Randy considered it a sign of weakness to wear gloves unless it was twenty degrees below zero outside.

  “It’s me all right,” Randy said with satisfaction in his voice.

  Clay smiled. This man had been one of the ranch hands who lived in the bunkhouse with him. Clay didn’t know why he was pleased to see Randy again. The two of them had never been particular friends, even if they certainly had gotten along easier years ago than it appeared they were now. Clay wondered if maybe it was the simple fact that they had shared a fire on many winter nights that made him want to avoid any quarrel with the man. There was not enough space in a bunkhouse for bickering.

  “You’re letting in the cold,” Clay noted, keeping his tone mild as Randy just stood there. Clay might not want to upset the other man, but he didn’t want to add to the difficulties he could see Allie already tallying in her mind.

  Mr. Nelson stepped closer and spoke to Randy. “I expect you came out to welcome Clay here.”

  Randy snorted and finally opened the screen door. His breath still blew white in the freezing air.

  “I’d rather welcome a blizzard,” Randy muttered. “Or maybe even one of those freak tornadoes where everything goes flying.”

  “You got a problem with me?” Clay asked as the ranch hand walked into the middle of the doorway and stopped.

  “You said it,” Randy exclaimed and turned to point at Clay.

  The man’s finger was so pale it looked half-frozen. The door stayed open as Randy just stood there glaring.

  Mr. Nelson grimaced and then waved the man inside. “Mad or not, you might as well get in here.”

  “I’ve done nothing for you to be getting on my case about,” Clay said once the d
oor was shut. Randy just stood there as the snowflakes on his hat and coat started to melt. At least he’d put his hands back in his pockets.

  “You’ve caused me nothing but grief,” Randy said, a hard note in his voice. “My life has fallen apart, and it’s your fault.”

  “That’s nonsense,” Mr. Nelson reprimanded the other man sharply. “Clay hasn’t even been here.”

  “I can speak for myself.” Clay started turning toward Randy. He didn’t get all the way there, though, when Allie walked past him, headed to the thermostat on the kitchen wall. Her face had more color than it had earlier. Just seeing her calmed him.

  “I expect you have your challenges,” Clay said as he finished the turn and faced Randy. Clay had learned some conflict resolution tools in prison and he thought he should use them now. He tried to visualize himself in Randy’s place, which was not easy to do when his gaze wanted to settle on Allie instead.

  “I sure do,” the other man agreed, not seeming to realize Clay had other things to occupy his mind.

  Clay forced himself to concentrate.

  None of the ranch hands had been comfortable coming to the big house, Clay thought as Randy took his hands out of his pockets and rubbed them together. That much hadn’t seemed to change. Clay thought it looked like Randy had the same pair of boots that he’d had when they were working together. They were certainly creased and scuffed enough to be the same ones. His jeans were frayed, too. Life hadn’t been prosperous for him lately.

  Still, even if money was scarce, Clay wondered what could be that terrible about living as a free man in a place like Dry Creek. Randy might not be staying in the bunkhouse, but, if he was the one who had turned on that light Clay had saw in town earlier, he was set up in some house when Clay drove by tonight. The man had shelter and, likely, heat. Plus, there was lots of fresh air around. Good water. Enough quiet to think. Randy should try prison for a week, Clay thought to himself. That would teach him to be grateful for what he had.

  Clay caught himself before he said anything. He supposed there were some problems in life for people who were not incarcerated, too. One of the key points in conflict resolution was to be open to the other person’s experience.

  “No need to get all upset,” Allie said to the ranch hand as she walked toward the kitchen sink. She’d apparently warmed up. “Clay’s going to be working with us for a while. That’s why he drove out here.”

  “I can’t see why you’d hire someone like him,” Randy said, jutting his chin out in defiance.

  Clay was going to say something, but Allie spoke to Randy. “You’re welcome to stay for breakfast.” Then she reached for the coffeepot and started the water running.

  Randy looked surprised. “Thanks.”

  The men all listened to the water running for a moment.

  “Anyway, I’m sorry if I disturbed you earlier,” Clay finally managed to say. “We all need our sleep.”

  The other man shrugged. “I had to get up and check on things at the church anyway. There are some kids that have been messing with the daffodil tarps. So far they haven’t done anything but look. I saw tire tracks behind the building. I think it’s mainly that foster kid over at the Redfern ranch. He’ll do worse than look if we give him time.”

  “That’s not fair,” Clay protested, trying to keep his voice mild. He didn’t want people here to be afraid of him. The fact that he had defended himself against tougher men than Randy didn’t mean he should let that be known. “Just because a kid doesn’t have a family doesn’t mean he’s up to anything wrong.”

  Randy grinned. “What else can you say? You guys all stick together.”

  “Being a foster kid isn’t like being in a gang,” Clay said flatly. His fingers had formed a fist, and he slowly relaxed them. Even when he was here he could have handled most of the men working on the ranch.

  Randy snorted. “Oh yeah? The kid moves here from Missoula and suddenly trouble starts to happen around here. I don’t know what you call it, but he’s a bad influence on others.”

  “Does he wrestle?” Clay asked. “This boy.”

  Randy looked puzzled. “I don’t know. Why?”

  Clay shrugged. “A boy would need some muscle to make much trouble around here.” He remembered how people had their doubts when he moved here. “The teens here are big farm kids. No one tells them what to do—especially not some stranger. And they’re not all perfect either. It could be any one of them doing stuff.”

  Randy eyed Clay. “I remember you said something like that to the judge at your trial. You led Mark down a path of crime, and when the whole thing went south, you blamed him. Always pointing to the other guy.”

  “I happened to be telling the truth,” Clay said and took a deep breath.

  He glanced over at Allie. She looked tired. Tendrils of her dark auburn hair fell from the twist she had in the back of her head. She had picked up the spatula again. He wondered if she was going to fry some eggs.

  “You’re just making excuses,” Randy said, scoffing.

  Clay felt his heart start to speed up. He knew how to keep his cool. But, it didn’t mean that he didn’t still get angry.

  “Now, boys,” Mr. Nelson said, sounding old and weary.

  “Dad’s not supposed to have any stress,” Allie interjected from where she stood by the stove. “High blood pressure.”

  “Are you okay?” Clay asked the rancher.

  Mr. Nelson nodded.

  “He’ll be just fine when you get yourself out of here,” Randy said. “When are you planning to leave?”

  “Not for some time.” Clay didn’t like how pale Allie’s face was. “I have some things to do first.”

  “Like what?” Randy asked belligerently.

  “Visiting someone,” Clay replied.

  Randy’s eyes narrowed. “Who? There isn’t anyone here who you need to see.”

  “My brother,” Allie said then. “If you have to know, he’s going to see Mark.”

  “Well,” Randy started in the same tone and then stopped. He continued in a much quieter tone. “Don’t seem much point to that, sorry to say.”

  “I don’t agree,” Clay said firmly.

  Allie looked over at him in alarm. “Remember.”

  Clay nodded but didn’t say anything else.

  “The two of you are in cahoots, aren’t you?” Randy asked, a quiet edge to his voice as he jerked his head in Allie’s direction.

  Clay wasn’t sure what the other man was implying, but he kept his voice neutral. “Allie has a right to speak up around here. This is her home.”

  “And we’re only the hired help,” Randy shot back. “You best remember that.”

  Clay flinched. The other man wasn’t saying anything Clay didn’t know, but he didn’t like to hear it.

  “You might as well spit it out,” Clay said then, knowing there was more poison to come from the man.

  Randy nodded and lifted the finger he had pointed at Clay earlier. “You are the one to blame. Always have been. The boss here took you in when he didn’t need to all those years ago. Not all of us in the bunkhouse thought it was a good idea. But he did it—out of the goodness of his heart. And what did you do? You brought this ranch to its knees. Clean wiped the Nelsons out. There’s nothing left out there. And me? I lost my job because of you and haven’t found another once since.”

  Clay had been told by the social worker who brought him to the ranch that everyone was on board with the decision, but Clay had wondered at the time if that were true. He wasn’t going to apologize, though, so if that was what the other man was waiting for, they would be standing here for a long time.

  “It wasn’t just me—” Randy started in louder now that Clay was silent.

  “Who wants bacon?” Allie called out and interrupted the other man. Clay could hav
e kissed her. She was the peacemaker. Everyone paused and assured her that they did want a few slices.

  Mr. Nelson walked to the table and sat down in a chair. Then he looked at Randy and motioned him to the table, as well. “Is this about your cousin? Is that what has you stomping around?”

  “For starters,” Randy admitted as he joined the other man. He took his hat off and slapped it on the side of his leg to dislodge the few flakes of snow that hadn’t melted yet. Then he set the Stetson on a side chair.

  “Sam Collins is his cousin,” Mr. Nelson announced to Clay and then pulled out a chair at the table for Clay. “You remember him?”

  Clay nodded. He’d never forget the clerk at that gas station who had spoken out against him at his trial.

  “He’s never gotten over the shooting that happened that night,” Randy said accusingly as he sat there. “Now he won’t take a job in any service station. Too afraid of being robbed again. Can’t seem to get any other kind of a job, either. Not even pizza delivery. He moved back to his parents’ old house. Nobody had lived in it for years. Had to take the boards off the windows. All he’s got for money is the rent I pay for staying with him in the house.”

  “I remember you talking about your cousin.” Clay didn’t move closer to the table like the other two men had. “Always sounded like you got along together fine.”

  “We did. I mean, we do,” Randy said, moving his hat from the chair to his knee. Maybe because he was getting warmer, the red in his face had lessened. “But my cousin can’t get by without what little I pay him in rent, and I don’t want to spend my life living with him. I feel like we’re still kids together. The time comes when a man’s got to have a place to call his own. A home, you know. Some place where he could set up a family.”

  Randy’s face flushed a deep red. “You know how it is. A woman would refuse to even date a man with no job and nothing but a room in his cousin’s house.”

  “Ah,” Clay said. Now he understood.

  “Come to think of it, I don’t suppose you would know about that,” Randy said. “The dating I mean.”