She’d feel better if the agent has something to choose from.
Clay nodded. “Last night I did some sketches of the stallion and the goat. I want to get a few more of the horses tomorrow.”
“Good,” Allie said. She didn’t want Clay’s success as an artist to rest on drawings of her. He would be safer to focus on the horses. Everyone loved pictures of animals.
Chapter Fourteen
Early Wednesday morning, Clay woke up and saw a layer of snow on the sills of the bunkhouse windows. He relied on the yard light to show the white flakes since the sun had not risen yet. Clay looked at the illuminated hands on the alarm clock he’d left by his mattress and saw that it was a little after five o’clock.
He didn’t need to get up for an hour, he told himself as he pulled the covers tighter around his shoulders. He was comfortable as long as he stayed where he was. The floor under his mattress was freezing, and he had no desire to put his feet on it. He smiled as he remembered that Randy had vowed last night that he was getting up before Clay this morning to build a blaze in the fireplace. It was his way of paying Clay back for that piece of pie.
In Clay’s opinion, no heat felt as homey as that coming from a nice fire.
“Randy,” Clay called out.
“I’m getting up,” the wrangler answered back with a yawn in his voice.
Clay must have slid back into sleep because the next thing he knew the air in the bunkhouse was tolerable and the red rooster was crowing. Clay could hear someone moving around in the other room, so he looked at the alarm clock and saw it was six o’clock. He had an hour to get himself into Dry Creek for the meeting with the art agent.
Clay dressed with care, and before it was time for him to leave, there was a knock on the bunkhouse door. Allie had come over with some hot sausage biscuits wrapped in tinfoil.
“You can come to the house to get yours,” Allie said to Randy before holding out the biscuits to Clay. “But it’s a long drive to Dry Creek, and I want you to know I’m praying for you and your meeting.”
Randy nodded. “Break a leg.”
“I think that’s for actors,” Clay said as he looked at them both. He wasn’t used to support like this.
“You might see me in Dry Creek,” Randy said. “I need to go in and check on those daffodils. I’ll feed the animals here first, but I won’t get in your way with your meeting.”
Randy made the motion for zipping his lips. “I won’t interrupt at all.”
“I don’t think we need to be that quiet.” Clay hated to pull himself away from this cozy scene, but he wanted to leave plenty of time to get to the café before that art agent. The café opened at seven o’clock, so he needed to leave soon.
“I might need to go to Dry Creek, too,” Allie said then. She looked a little shy. “I won’t say anything, either.”
“You can say anything you want,” Clay assured her.
“Can I get a ride with you?” Allie asked Randy.
The man nodded, and the arrangements were all made.
The red pickup was cold when Clay climbed inside, but he set the hat bag on the floor of the passenger side. His was the only hat inside that bag, and he would have been tempted to pull it out and wear it for his meeting. But while it would look great for Easter morning, it seemed too dressed up for a Wednesday. Clay didn’t want to look like he was putting on airs.
He drove in darkness, but the sun was beginning to rise when he pulled into Dry Creek. He saw the lights go on in the café and noticed three other pickups were already gathered around the place. One of the vehicles was from the Redfern ranch, and it looked like someone was sitting in it, no doubt keeping warm until he could order a cup of coffee.
The light that went on must have been the signal that the café was ready for business because the door to the hardware store opened and five stocky ranchers came out and walked across the street. Clay waited a minute to follow them into the café.
Black-and-white squares covered the floor. Red stools stood at the counter. A pie stand on the counter held a fluffy pink pie. Clay liked this place, he thought as he settled himself at a table. Before he knew it, Lois brought around the coffeepot and poured him a cup.
“Can I get you something more?” she asked. The smell of bacon came from the back of the café, and he saw that those old ranchers had their menus in hand. “We’ve got buttermilk pancakes. Eggs any way you like them.”
“Maybe later,” Clay said and then asked, “What kind of chiffon pie do you have today?”
She beamed. “We don’t serve pie until lunch, but it will be strawberry chiffon. I put it out early just because it’s so pretty.”
“I might get a piece to go later,” Clay said. “My buddy Randy sure does like your pies.”
She positively glowed at that.
“Some of the recipes are mine,” Lois confided, her voice low. “I’m thinking of entering them in a dessert contest. The prize is a trip to Seattle to see the Space Needle. For two.”
“For two,” Clay repeated, trying to sound casual. “Who is the fortunate person who gets to go with you if you win?”
“Probably my mother,” she said. “But it’s too soon to know if I have a chance of winning.”
“There’s always a chance,” Clay said. Even for Randy, he added silently to himself.
Clay looked over and noticed that the five ranchers were sending unfriendly looks his way. He figured they didn’t want him holding up the waitress. Lois must have thought the same because she walked over and refilled their coffee cups while she noted what they wanted to eat.
It wasn’t much longer before Clay’s agent walked into the café, full of apologies for setting the meeting so early on a cold morning.
“You can’t control the weather,” Clay assured the man with a smile. “And I’m always up by now. A rancher does his best work in the early part of the day.”
“I’m glad,” the agent said. “I have to catch a plane later.”
Clay forgot about everyone else as he opened his folder and started to show his agent the sketches of Allie. The man examined each drawing intently with a series of appreciative murmurs.
“These are excellent,” the agent said at the end. “Just what you need.”
“I have a few others.” Clay pulled out the three drawings he had made of the horses and the goat.
The agent gave a warm chuckle when he looked at those. “Can you draw more of these?”
Clay nodded. He was on the verge of asking the agent a question when he heard the café door open with a bang. Angry footsteps sounded. Clay looked up and saw Randy standing in the open doorway with Allie trying to make her way around him.
“Where is that kid?” Randy bellowed, his voice rattling the dishes on the table. The cook even came out of the back where the grill was.
Randy didn’t seem to require an answer because he kept looking all around the café as though there might be a hiding place he hadn’t noticed before. It was clear he’d dig anyone out of that place if he saw it.
“What is it?” Lois finally asked, her voice quaking with nerves.
Randy seemed to realize where he was then. He ducked his head.
“Nothing for you to worry about.” Randy’s voice was soft. “I’m looking for that foster kid.”
The ranchers all stood up at that, all five pairs of boots hitting the floor at the same time.
“The new foster kid or the old one?” one of the ranchers asked, his eyes going over to where Clay still sat.
“What’s happened?” another rancher asked. He was halfway to Randy by the time he finished his question.
“Someone cut all the tarps on the daffodils,” Randy said, his voice outraged. “At the church! Those flowers are all frozen solid now. It’s a desecration.”
Randy stood there, his shoulders squared with righteous indignation. Clay wanted to say something to calm the situation, but no words came. This was the kind of fury that had led to the townspeople condemning him four years ago.
Clay looked down in time to see Allie slip around Randy.
* * *
“Now, there’s no need to jump to conclusions,” Allie commanded as she stood in front of the ranchers. She stretched her arms over the door as though to slow down a stampede. She’d known these men all her life, and she knew they were fair-minded if they understood a situation. “It’s not as bad as it seems.”
“Not as bad?” Randy turned to her in loud protest.
“It could have been an accident,” Allie continued in desperation. She could see by their faces that those ranchers were ready to haul Clay back to jail.
“Those tarps were deliberately cut,” Randy said firmly.
Allie noticed that even Randy swung his head until he was looking squarely at Clay. Surely they could not suspect him. “Clay didn’t even—”
“Of course not,” one of the ranchers said. “But he’s still got his nose out of joint. Admitted as much in church before he stomped out last Sunday.”
“He was only trying to tell everyone what happened,” Allie said. The ranchers turned to look at her now. She put a bright smile on her face in hopes that would convince them to leave Clay alone.
It didn’t work that way.
“I hope you ain’t sweet on him,” one of the men said instead as he shook his head with a hangdog expression on his face. “He led your brother into a life of crime and almost got him killed. It’s no good if you take up with him, too.”
The other ranchers nodded. Allie noted they didn’t even need to discuss it among themselves. They had condemned Clay once again for the past.
The whole thing was making her mad. And here Clay was with his agent, someone he wanted to impress.
“As a matter of fact,” Allie said crisply, “I’ve been sweet on Clay West since the day I first met him.”
The entire café was silent. Allie herself was dumbfounded. The words had come out of her without any thought. The ranchers just stood there with their jaws dropped and their eyes wide. Even Clay stared at her.
“I mean,” she stammered. “I think we need to reconsider. I think Clay is innocent. That’s all.”
“Innocent of what?” one of the ranchers asked.
Allie flushed red at his words. “We all know he didn’t cut those tarps. He’s a good man. We need to look elsewhere for someone to blame.”
The café seemed to have grown overly hot in the time Allie stood there with the door open. Which was impossible, of course, but her neck sure did feel warm. She stepped inside and let the door close behind her.
She didn’t want to look at Clay, but she did anyway. He was sitting there with a frown on his face. Not that she knew what that meant. Was he happy that she’d made a fool of herself telling everyone that she liked him? Or was he just pleased that she had finally stood up for him in this town?
A tiny doubt sneaked into her thoughts. Was she willing to declare him not guilty of that robbery years ago or was she just saying he couldn’t have cut those tarps? She had nothing but emotions to guide her either way.
“It has to be the new foster kid then,” Randy said, breaking the silence. “And I think he’s around here somewhere. I saw that pickup he drives outside.”
The ranchers started to head toward the door, and Allie stepped out of their way. Clay and Randy followed the other men outside. She had no choice but to follow, as well.
Chapter Fifteen
Clay knew what it was like to be a foster kid who was blamed for everything that happened for miles around. That teenager, Hen, probably wasn’t guilty of this, and Clay couldn’t stand by while a mob of angry men confronted him. If they badgered the boy, Clay didn’t know what would happen.
Unfortunately, they didn’t need to go far to find Hen. He was standing against the panel of the truck he drove, wearing ragged black jeans and a black parka. His legs crossed at the ankles and his arms crossed in front of him. He was the picture of defiance, right down to the dangling earring that shone in the rising sun and the lit cigarette between his lips.
“Where’s your knife?” Randy demanded as he faced off with the teenager.
“What’s it to you?” Hen answered back with a snarl in his voice.
“Somebody used something sharp to cut through those tarps by the church,” Randy said. “It would take a knife.”
“That was a dumb idea anyway,” Hen said. “What kind of church worries about having flowers for Easter?”
Allie gasped but didn’t say anything.
Clay felt unqualified to answer that question, although he had learned a thing or two from all his readings of the Gospel of Luke.
“The church needs your respect,” Clay finally said. “You’re better off to confess now if you cut those tarps.”
Hen didn’t look convinced, but he did move his glare from Randy to Clay.
“You’re one to talk,” Hen said to Clay as he flicked the ash from the end of his cigarette. “Heard you’re a jailbird. Real bad guy.”
Clay was glad the agent had stayed inside, although the fact that Clay had served time was not a secret.
“Look, just show us the inside of your pickup,” Randy demanded. “We want to see if you have a knife on you.”
Hen smirked and stepped away from the pickup. “Be my guest.”
Clay watched the teenager as Randy, Allie and the ranchers searched the vehicle. Hen stood away from them, glaring as he followed their movements. Hen was trying to look tough, but Clay thought he saw a twitch in the teenager’s face.
“The pickup’s clean,” Randy announced when they’d finished. He looked at Hen speculatively then. “Take that coat off and let’s see if it’s tucked in there.”
“Man, its cold out here,” Hen complained, but he unzipped the parka and took it off. Randy quickly felt the seams and pockets of the coat. Then he handed it back to Hen. “It’s clean.”
One of the ranchers asked Hen to turn around before he put his coat back on so he could see if he had a knife hidden anywhere.
“He’s clean,” the rancher agreed.
The rest of the men looked defeated, but Clay wasn’t convinced Hen was as innocent as he was pretending to be. The ranchers, Randy and Allie started to walk across the street to the church. Clay kept standing where he was.
When the others were far enough away that they couldn’t hear, Clay leaned over to Hen. “Pull up your right pant leg.”
Hen looked scared for the first time this morning. “You got no call to—”
“Pull it up,” Clay repeated.
The teenager still didn’t, so Clay reached down and tugged the jeans up enough that the knife’s sheath was visible.
“They were just some stupid flowers,” Hen said. “It wasn’t like I killed anybody.”
Clay was silent.
“What are you going to do?” Hen finally asked defiantly.
“I’m not going to do anything,” Clay said. “You are. You’re going to go over to the church and tell everyone what you did. Then you’re going to apologize and ask them to forgive you. Then you’re going to do everything you can to make up for what you did.”
“Humph,” Hen said. “Why should I do that? They didn’t even see my knife.”
“I saw it,” Clay said. “And if you want to keep yourself out of jail, you’ll do as I say.”
“Like you’re such an expert,” Hen muttered.
Clay laughed at that. “Frankly, in this situation, I am just about as expert as you’ll find. Now let’s go.”
He was surprised at how easily the boy went with him.
*
* *
Allie almost cried when she saw the shredded tarps behind the church. Generations ago, the congregation had chosen this side of the building for the Easter sunrise service because the cemetery stood here. They wanted to share the Resurrection joy of the morning with their beloved ones who lay in this sacred ground. Allie herself always stopped to pray at her mother’s grave on Easter morning.
And now the area where the daffodils had been planted looked devastated. The gravestones were damp. The air was cold. Heavy plastic was lying on top of green shoots, all pushed to the ground by what looked like tire marks.
“Look what they did!” Randy said as he used his arm to sweep the scene of destruction. “There’s no way to save any of the flowers for Easter morning.”
Allie looked over at the faces of the five ranchers who had followed Randy over here. They were among the churchgoers who had made the decision to hold the Easter sunrise service here years ago. Half of them had wives or children buried in this cemetery. They understood the joy of Resurrection Sunday. They knew faith held families together, and this was their one day to celebrate that fact. The daffodils were their gift to God in thanks for what He’d given them. One of the men had plowed the land last fall so it would be ready for planting. Another had come with his two grandsons to put the stakes in to hold up the tarps. Yet another had taken care of buying the daffodil bulbs.
Now they were shocked and angry.
All of their eyes turned to look as Clay and that boy, Hen, came walking around the side of the church to where they stood.
The storm wasn’t the only thing responsible for the chill that hung in the air. No one greeted the newcomers. The silence was long and tense.
Finally, Clay spoke. “Hen, here, has something to say.”
The teenager swallowed. His face was pale. Allie could see he was terrified.
“It’s time to tell the truth,” Clay said to the boy. “It might be hard, but a man isn’t much if he can’t be honest. It’s what makes you who you are.”
Allie blinked. Oh, my, she thought. She suddenly understood why it was so important to Clay that people believe him when he said he didn’t plan that robbery. He believed with all his heart that everything that he was demanded he be truthful.
Easter in Dry Creek Page 16
