Easter in Dry Creek

by Janet Tronstad

  Clay stopped the old red pickup next to the parked SUV and stepped out of the driver’s door. He walked along the side of the pickup and reached over to pull the small saddle out of the back of the vehicle.

  “I’ll take this to the tack room,” Clay said.

  Allie and her father had both doors of the SUV open, and Jeremy climbed out the passenger side.

  “My saddle,” Jeremy said with pride as he raced over to the pickup.

  “It sure is, partner,” Clay told the boy.

  Allie watched the man and the boy walk through the yard to the barn.

  She looked over and saw her father studying them, too. “Not a better man around to teach that boy to ride than Clay West,” he said.

  Allie nodded. “I always hoped Mark would do it, though.”

  “I’m not sure Mark will ever be able to ride again,” her father said. “He’s better, but I just don’t know.”

  Allie reached over and put her hand on her father’s arm. “We’ll take things day by day.”

  He grinned. “Mark will be happy if he can just ride in that wagon on Easter morning.”

  Allie gave a brief nod. “I’m going to go ask Clay to bring those sketches into the kitchen. Do you really think some collector will pay money for them?”

  Her father shrugged. “That’s what Mrs. Hargrove says, and she’s not one to overstate things.”

  “You don’t think they would sell for more than twenty thousand dollars?” Allie asked in astonishment, but by then her father was already walking up the steps.

  He turned back when he got to the door, though. “You should read the article in that art magazine. They sure thought Clay’s sketches were something. Said he had expressive lines—whatever that means.”

  Allie walked over to the barn and stood in the open door. She had dress boots on, so she didn’t have to be too cautious with the soles, although she didn’t want to do them any damage. She didn’t mind standing in the doorway, though. She could hear Jeremy chatting in the tack room and smiled. He usually took a long time to warm up to strangers, but he liked Clay.

  Clay stepped out of the room where the saddles were stored, and Allie felt her heart skip a beat. The sun streamed in behind him from the high window in the room. His hat was tipped back enough that she could see the smile around his eyes.

  “We got Jeremy’s saddle hung up,” Clay announced as he started walking toward the door. Her nephew marched along beside him.

  “I figure we can take a lesson after nap time,” Clay added.

  Jeremy looked up as though he was going to protest, but he didn’t.

  “Cowboys need their sleep,” Clay announced.

  Allie grinned. She had never gotten Jeremy to agree to lie down and sleep a bit in the afternoon, not even when she knew he took naps when he was home with his mother.

  “We might as well throw in a glass of milk while we’re at it,” Allie said as the man and boy came closer.

  Clay winked at her. “I explained that riding a horse is a privilege and requires some extra preparation like naps and doing chores.”

  “You’ll make a good...uncle,” Allie stumbled. She’d been about to say father. She’d never thought that about Clay before, though. She’d known he was handsome and exciting. But she’d never considered how much he had to give to a family.

  She suddenly realized she had been selfish all those years ago. She had been delighted when her father signed up to get a foster kid, and she had just assumed it would be a good arrangement for whoever came to the ranch. But she hadn’t thought about it once after Clay was here. She didn’t remember ever asking if he was happy on the ranch.

  It was too late to ask now, though, she told herself as she started up the steps to the house. Clay and Jeremy were clomping along behind her talking about why that pig in the barn was so small.

  “I never knew about your suitcase,” Allie turned to say as she reached the door. “I should have looked around in the bunkhouse to gather up your things. I could have sent everything to you. It was yours.”

  Clay shrugged as he swung the door open for her. “They wouldn’t have let me keep my stuff anyway in prison. Against the rules.”

  “Then I could have put the suitcase someplace safer,” she said as she stepped into the kitchen. “No one has lived in the bunkhouse for several years now. Someone could have walked off with it and we would never have known.”

  “The case is pretty shabby. I don’t think anyone would want it,” Clay said as he stood in the doorway.

  “Still,” Allie said.

  “I could bring the sketches inside so you can look at them,” Clay said as he continued standing in the doorway. “That would probably be more comfortable than looking at them in the bunkhouse. We didn’t leave the heat on when we left this morning.”

  “We have plenty of propane for the heater,” Allie said. “I don’t want you and Randy freezing out there just to save a few pennies.”

  “We probably only have one cold snap left,” Clay said. “Then everything will be warming up. I’ll go get the sketches then while you get Jeremy set for his nap.”

  Allie nodded. He stepped back out of the house, and Allie stood there with her nephew. She wondered if Clay had liked living in the bunkhouse. She remembered some of the older ranch hands complaining about the cold nights out there, but she had not worried about it back then. The main house had been cold, too, in the winter. She was beginning to feel, though, as if her family had failed Clay in some way over the years.

  Clay might not be as innocent as he said he had been on that night, but she had to admit that she and her family were not blameless, either. The truth was that she needed to consider that Clay might be telling the truth. Had she been wrong about her brother?

  * * *

  Clay was glad he was alone in the bunkhouse when he pulled that old suitcase out from under the bed. A thick layer of dust lay on top of the brown-checked hard shell. The whole thing wasn’t much bigger than a duffel bag. He’d always thought it might have belonged to his mother because it had carried the faint smell of lavender, and he had believed a perfume bottle had been broken in it at some time. Thinking she liked lavender helped Clay form a picture of his mother. He always thought she’d been a pretty lady. He had no pictures of either of his parents, though.

  A gold catch closed the case, and he pressed on its sides to make it snap open. The dust went flying as the suitcase vibrated sharply. He lifted the lid and peered inside. The stained gold lining was frayed in places. He had an old T-shirt laid out on top of everything. He took that out and set it on his bed. A brown bag of marbles nestled in a corner of the suitcase. He had collected a few cat’s-eye marbles when he was seven or so. And there was a broken watch that had been a gift to him from a social worker once. That was the Christmas when he was between foster homes and had been in some kind of an institution. He’d been surprised and grateful for the timepiece. It was one of the few presents he’d gotten that hadn’t come from a charity gift drive.

  Ah, there it was, Clay thought as he found the sturdy folder. He’d used those in high school. This one must be the sketches, he thought. He was half-afraid to open the thing up and look. He remembered each of the drawings he had made of Allie, but he wasn’t sure if his mind had persuaded him over the years that they were better than they really were. He’d thought at the time that they were fine drawings, very fine. But he had not known much about art then. At least in prison he’d been able to borrow a few art books from the library.

  Suddenly, Clay decided he’d take the folder into the house and open it with Allie. He wanted to be able to judge if she actually wanted the sketches even seen by anyone else. Once they sold the sketches, Clay wouldn’t be able to control where they were shown.

  Clay noticed the silence in the air as he walked toward the main hous
e. He was so used to the constant low hum of noise in prison that he needed to remind himself that this quiet was normal. Nothing was wrong. The sun was shining, the sky was blue and the clouds were low in the east.

  A quick knock at the door gained Clay an invitation to come inside.

  Allie had changed back into her jeans and sweater while he’d been in the bunkhouse. She hadn’t taken the makeup off her face, though, and he enjoyed seeing her more polished look. He liked seeing Allie dressed up for the day. She had tiny pearls earrings on, as well.

  “We can sit over here,” Allie said as she walked to the wall and flipped a switch so the hanging fixture over the table lit up. “My father is lying down with Jeremy to help him go to sleep, but he’ll be out in a few minutes. Jeremy runs around with all this energy, but if we can convince him to lie down he nods off pretty quickly.”

  “We’ll wait for your dad then,” Clay said as he set the folder down. The table’s surface was a polished oak that was worn. There was a burn scar to the right of the center. A pair of salt and pepper shakers stood in the middle of the table.

  Allie pulled out a chair and he did, too.

  “Before we even look at the sketches,” Clay said as he settled himself on the hardback furniture, “I want to be sure that you know I’m okay if you’d rather not have anything done with them. The drawings are of you. You own them as much as I do.”

  Allie sat down and didn’t even hesitate. “But if they can help you—”

  Clay shook his head. “I’ll get by. I can draw new sketches. This collector’s thing might be a two-second wonder anyway. Nothing says it will last.”

  Allie leaned forward. “But that’s all the more reason to use whatever sketches you have. If you wait to draw new ones, you might miss the opportunity.”

  Clay had never been able to resist the sincere look in Allie’s green eyes. Her whole face beamed when she was doing something she believed in. She’d pulled her auburn hair back in a clip, but several strands hung free.

  “If anyone pays for the sketches,” Clay said, “the money will go to you.”

  “No,” Allie gasped. Her eyes went dark, and she looked upset. “It’s your work.”

  “It’s your face,” he countered.

  “But I couldn’t take it,” she said, shaking her head. Even more hair fell from the clip, but she didn’t push it back. She just kept staring at him. “You’re already working here for free.”

  “Room and board,” Clay said with a grin. “And I plan to eat a lot.”

  He meant to lighten the mood, but she just sat there shaking her head.

  “The ranch needs the money,” Clay finally coaxed her softly. “More than I do right now.”

  “I’ll take care of the ranch,” Allie protested. “I’ve been doing it for years. We get by.”

  “If you have the money, you could spend more time here,” he said softly. He wondered then if that’s why he wanted her to have it. He had visions of days spent with her as they worked with those horses. They used to make a good team doing that.

  Allie didn’t answer for several moments, but when she did her voice sounded resolute. “No. It’s your fresh start. It’s only fair that anything that comes goes to you. You’re a—”

  Allie stopped and didn’t continue.

  “A foster kid?” Clay asked bitterly. “An ex-con?”

  “I was going to say you’re a good man,” Allie said quietly. “But you’re also too generous.”

  Clay was speechless. No one had ever accused him of being good before.

  A soft footfall sounded in the hall, and Mr. Nelson stepped out of the shadows into the kitchen.

  “He’s finally sleeping,” the older man whispered. “Had quite a time getting him to close his eyes.”

  Mr. Nelson drew up a chair and sat down, leaning his elbows on the table. He took a deep breath and then looked directly at Clay. “The boy asked me if an uncle can become a dad.”

  “What?” Clay sat back like he’d been shot.

  “He likes having an uncle,” Mr. Nelson said. “Only one day and he’s taken with it. But he must want a dad, too.”

  “But he’s never said anything,” Allie protested. “At least not that I’ve heard. Maybe he talks to Hannah about it, though.”

  They were all silent.

  “I’m sure this is all very difficult for Hannah,” the older man finally said. “She’s never even mentioned to me that she’s dating anyone. As far as I know, she’s still mourning her life with Mark.”

  “But Mark’s not dead,” Clay protested.

  “He was in a coma for years,” Mr. Nelson said. “No wonder she doesn’t say anything to Jeremy. You’d have to explain to him then that he couldn’t even talk to his father.”

  “He’s a bright boy,” Allie said. “It’s not surprising that he’s starting to question things.”

  They were all quiet and Clay sat there, still stunned that he was a little boy’s uncle, if not by blood then by choice. He didn’t like to picture the hard bumps Jeremy would encounter in the coming years. Even if he ever did learn that Mark was his father, what would that mean? Clay wasn’t sure if Mark would ever be able to fill that father’s role for Jeremy. And Clay might be around the ranch for only the year he was assigned. If he wasn’t there to watch Jeremy grow up, either, then he wanted the boy to know he had someone in his corner.

  “The money can go to Jeremy,” Clay said, catching Allie’s eye. “If you don’t want it, we can set up a college fund for the boy.” Allie didn’t say anything for a minute, so he continued. “I want him to know he has a family who will look out for him.”

  “You’d do that?” Allie asked. She blinked them back, but Clay could see she had tears in her eyes.

  He didn’t trust himself to speak, so he nodded.

  They sat there in silence until Mr. Nelson stood up. “I’m going to put some coffee on. Anyone else want some?”

  Allie and Clay both nodded.

  “We should look at the sketches before getting our coffee, though,” Allie said. “We don’t want to spill on them.”

  Clay opened the folder.

  “Ah.” Allie sighed when Clay lifted out the first sketch.

  He smiled. It was the drawing of Allie looking out her bedroom window. Black ink strokes outlined everything. She was looking up at the night sky, her face filled with longing.

  “I called that one Wishing on a Star,” Clay noted.

  “It’s perfect,” Allie said. “That shows exactly how I felt. I was so full of longing to experience life. To go places and see things. I thought I would burst.”

  Clay held up another sketch.

  “Here’s one of you cooking in the kitchen,” Clay said.

  He remembered seeing her that day. She was so intent on cracking the eggs that she was biting down on her bottom lip slightly. Her hair had more red in it back then, and the morning light made her curls shine.

  “You have me in my mother’s apron,” Allie said.

  Clay nodded and took another sketch out of the folder.

  “And my horse,” Allie exclaimed. She had almost the same expression on her face now as she’d had back then. “I loved my Peony. She died not long after you left.”

  Clay stopped midreach. “I’m sorry.”

  Allie nodded. “It was a hard time for me. I felt like I’d lost my best friend.”

  Clay didn’t dare ask if it was the horse or him that she had missed so much. He did notice that she put her finger on the sketch and traced the horse, though.

  “Maybe we should keep that one back,” Clay suggested. “You might want to have it.”

  Allie looked up and smiled. “I would. Thanks.”

  Clay nodded. Whenever Allie smiled, her whole face lit up. He’d always thought that was
one reason he sketched her. She was so alive. Now, seeing her pleasure in the sketches, though, he wondered if he hadn’t made them for this very moment. When Allie smiled at him like that, everything was right in his world.

  He wondered suddenly why there was no give in him when it came to his insistence that Allie believe what he said about the robbery. He knew he was innocent. Would it be enough if he just started now and worked forward, ignoring what she thought he had done on that night so long ago? He wasn’t sure.

  “Ready for coffee?” Mr. Nelson asked from where he stood by the counter. “We’ll want to look at the sketches later, too. Maybe Mark would enjoy seeing them. Did you ever show any of them to him?”

  “No.” Clay started gathering up the drawings. “I’m not sure how he’d like them. So much time has passed and, well, wouldn’t Mark notice that Allie looks different today than she did back then?”

  Clay looked over at Allie for an answer.

  “He’s never said anything to me about that,” she said. “Maybe he can’t remember what I used to look like. I’ve seen him about once a month all this time. The doctors have always told us that we shouldn’t mention how much time has passed to Mark. But I wonder if he knows.”

  Clay thought Allie looked worried.

  “I’m sure everything will be fine,” Clay said.

  “It has to be,” Allie added.

  Clay nodded. He would just as soon stay back at the ranch tomorrow and work with the horses. He knew that wasn’t going to happen, though. He had to go visit with Mark. But what if seeing him brought that robbery back to Mark’s mind?

  Chapter Twelve

  Allie dressed with care the following morning. The sky was overcast, and very little light came inside her bedroom even though it was seven o’clock already. She felt self-conscious after the conversation yesterday suggesting Mark might wonder why she looked different from how she had at sixteen. She had deliberately kept her hair styled the same for the past half-dozen years because she thought Mark would find it familiar in his coma. She meant it to be comforting, not to deceive him about the passage of time.