The synergy of these connections felt so perfect, so unexpected, Bailey had a hard time speaking, so Paul took the book from her hands and read for her.
"I knew Oscar had a special gift when it came to fishing. He downplayed his abilities for years, but, finally, I talked him into giving the professional guide business a try. Jenkins's Fish and Game was an immediate success. That doesn't mean it was easy. Many of the men who hired Oscar were hard-drinking partyers who viewed their fishing excursions as a way to whoop it up without the wife ever knowing. They drank, and they expected Oscar to drink, too. I'm not blaming other people for Oscar's addiction. That probably was something he was born with, and certainly his father's example didn't help. But, for all his business success, the reality of that lifestyle took a toll on me and Bailey."
Paul looked at her. "Wow. I didn't expect your mom to get into this."
"Me, either. What else does she say about it?"
Bailey listened in shock as Mom described the nights Louise would push Bailey's dresser in front of the door to keep OC from coming in, yelling at the top of his lungs, calling Mom names, and looking for a fight. She couldn't believe it when Mom included a passage about Bailey driving into town to haul her father's drunk ass out of the Wolf Den before the owner had him tossed in jail for public intoxication.
But Mom shared it all. Fearlessly. She described the bad times in a way that made the reader see Oscar fighting a losing battle against demons that had the upper hand.
"To be fair, we had fun times, too. Oscar's annual Fish Fry became the talk of the town. And, of course, the best part of our lives revolved around our amazing, beautiful, talented daughter, Bailey. Both Oscar and I loved being her parents and watching her grow up. Never in a million years did I see myself as a horse mom, but I can't possibly describe the pride I felt watching my girl excel on horseback."
"Aww," Paul said, making her a funny face. "I know exactly what she means. Watching Chloe on Skipper is like seeing you riding Charlie."
"Dad bought him for me, you know. I wanted a pretty little appaloosa, but OC took one look at Charlie and said, 'This is your horse, Queen Bee.' And as much as I hated to admit it, he was right. Go on. Looks like you're almost to the end."
Paul lifted the book again.
"We made a lot of mistakes over the years. Oscar became known as The Fish Whisperer, but he had a darker reputation, too. Before you judge him, my dear ones, I ask you to consider the weight a man carries when, during his formative years, he was told he had no worth. The loss of his mother was something Oscar couldn't bear to share even with me until very recently."
Paul looked at her, remembering, no doubt, the gut-wrenching revelation Dad had shared with them after his best friend died in the hospital in Reno.
"But rough patches are part of life. You can't appreciate the view from the peaks if you haven't experienced the lows of the valleys. Even in the worst of times, I still saw a glimmer of that strong, confident, handsome man who flew to Chicago to marry me. A man who, until that day, had never left western Montana, let alone boarded an airplane.
And, since I'm trying to be completely honest, I must admit that I wasn't perfect, either. There is a certain smugness that comes with being well-read--a sense of superiority, if you will. I don't say this to discourage you from reading--heaven forbid, but in my case, it took years before I fully understood and appreciated the value of "street sense."
Oscar's mind could think circles around mine. His memory bordered on photographic--because it had to. As a child, he didn't have the luxury of paper and pens--or the ability to write notes. He could always--and still does--think on his feet, while I dither and debate."
Paul looked at her, a hint of surprise in his expression. "That's true. I've never seen OC use a calculator, and he has everyone's phone number in his head. Even Austen noticed and said something about that the other day. Remember when he broke his phone and couldn't call anybody to pick him up at Serena's?"
Bailey laughed. "Are you kidding? I give him a hard time about falling into a pile of alpaca poop and coming out smelling like a rose every time I see him." She looked at the bedside clock radio. "Do you think Austen and Serena have made it to Portland, yet? I would have loved to be there when Austen meets Peyton and Mack for the first time. Your brother isn't homophobic, is he?"
Paul shook his head. "No. Just misogynistic."
They both laughed. Her brother-in-law came across as extremely judgmental and cynical until you got to know him. Falling in love with Serena James had done Austen Zabrinski a world of good. "Do you think he'll give her a diamond for Christmas?"
"No."
"No?"
"He bought her a new herd sire from a breeder in California. Epic Alpacas Ragnarok. They won't pick him up until spring, but Austen couldn't stop talking about his excellent lineage and the crimp of his fleece or whatever. Blah, blah, blah. Austen's never done anything half way."
"Which is why he's going to propose, too. Betcha."
She held out her hand to shake.
He closed the book with a solid snap and tossed it over his shoulder. He shook her hand and pulled her close. "To heck with the rest of the family. I have a little present for you. Wanna see?"
His lecherous look got lost in a laugh as they rolled together.
Bailey didn't need to read the rest of her mother's book to know it ended happily. After all, she was living her own storybook ending every minute she was with Paul.
Chapter 6
Louise finished brushing her hair then snapped off the bathroom light.
"I can't believe how late it is. Good thing we don't have to meet Ryker and Mia until eleven. We can sleep late."
Oscar's low rumble made her snicker, too. "When's the last time that happened, right?"
He threw back the covers and patted the bed beside him. Thankfully, they'd been able to return the hospital bed months ago so they could share the same room again, as they had for nearly forty years of marriage. She dropped the new fleece robe she'd gotten from Chloe and Mark on the chair and hurried to bed.
"Brrr," she said, sliding close to Oscar's warm body.
His strong arms pulled her tight against him. He'd never gotten into the habit of wearing pajamas. His bare shoulders seemed to handle the chill just fine, while Louise favored flannel and lots of it.
"Isn't it funny how different we are and, yet, we fit perfectly," she said, remembering a line from her book. "We complement each other."
"Even when we forget to say the words," Oscar added. "But you do know how much I love you. You must because you wrote it all down in your book."
She pulled back enough to see his face. "You're sure you were okay with everything I put in."
"I am. You nailed it."
She looked at the shadow box he'd made for her--already hanging in a place of honor above her tall dresser. "So did you, my love. Paul was right. What you made was a one-of-a-kind work of art. I can't believe you kept your mother's charm bracelet a secret from me for all these years."
His sheepish look made her forgive him on the spot. "I didn't mean to. Believe it or not, I found the bracelet, along with a bunch of my dad's stuff, hidden in a coffee can on a shelf in the garage. I ran across it when you asked me to make room for Ryker's boxes. Funny coincidence, huh?"
Louise felt a shiver pass through her body. She didn't believe in coincidences. She did believe in Divine intervention. She'd reached out to help a young man who reminded her of the lost soul who changed her life in ways she never could have predicted. "Maybe it's like I wrote in my book."
She closed her eyes and recited a passage she'd toiled over for days.
"We love each other, yes. But we also respect one another. Over the years, each of us has given the other gifts beyond price. I taught Oscar to read. He taught me to take risks and live life fully."
Oscar gathered her into his arms and finished the final paragraph, his keen memory unmatched.
"If I can leave you with any ad
vice garnered from our life experience, my dear ones, it's this: open your heart to possibilities you can't plan for. I never would have met Oscar if not for a patch of ice and his kind heart. He didn't know me, but he didn't want to see me get hurt. From a chance meeting, we went on to become friends, lovers, partners, parents, and, now, grandparents. Love makes all things possible."
She brushed away a tear and kissed him. "You've made our future possible by not giving up, my love."
"I couldn't have done it without your support, Luly. You never gave up on me. That's the best gift anyone could ever ask for."
And, as they'd done so many times over the years, they let love be their gift to each other.
When Louise sat up to rid herself of a layer of flannel, her gaze fell on the center box that very simply framed the title page he'd torn from a long-ago book. The words were simple and he'd crossed out one.
I love u you.
The End
###
Do you believe in second chances?
I do.
Please enjoy the first chapter of MONTANA COWGIRL:
Bailey Jenkins gazed out the small oval window, squinting through the double panes of airplane Plexiglas, for that trademark Montana skyline she hadn't seen in six years. That trip--her first since leaving for college had been a fly-by to give her mother a little support when Dad's diagnosis came back positive for prostate cancer.
But despite his doctor's grim predictions, Oscar "OC" Jenkins--Marietta, Montana's larger than life outdoors guide and fisherman--managed to beat a probable death sentence to continue to be a burden to Bailey's long-suffering mother, Louise. He carried on hunting, fishing, tromping through all kinds of bacteria-filled water, failing to replace a pair of worn-out boots in a timely manner, and--worse--choosing to ignore an ingrown toenail that became infected.
Until one night six months ago, when Mom crawled into bed and smelled something unpleasant. "Did a mouse die in the wall behind our bed?" she'd asked her husband of nearly forty years.
"Might be my toe. Got a bit of infection."
More than a bit. The great and powerful OC Jenkins had waited too long. Despite several rounds of antibiotics, the toe had to be amputated.
Then, rather than following his doctor's orders, OC rushed back to work. And refused to stop drinking and smoking. The infection spread. He lost another toe. And another. His appetite disappeared. He slept twenty hours a day. Depression set in.
Finally, Mom found the backbone to make an appointment with a specialist in Bozeman. The doctor wound up amputating his leg, mid-calf.
He was due home from rehab tomorrow, and once again Mom called, pleading. "I'm sorry, honey. I know you're still doctoring...and grieving, but I have to go back to work. Our bills are mounting and I don't know if...when...Oscar will be back on his feet. Come home, Bailey. Please? For me?"
"Home," Bailey murmured, her gaze on the iconic Montana skyline. The place from which she'd spent every waking day of high school crafting her escape. And when her big chance came--a scholarship at Fresno State, she'd nearly blown it. She'd let love undermine her resolve.
A crackling voice on the plane's PA reminded her to return her seat back to the upright position. Her three-hundred-pound seatmate grappled with the armrest between them, somehow managing to kick her right foot in the process.
Shards of white-hot daggers shot up her leg, making her cry out.
"Sorry 'bout that."
Sweat broke out across her lip. Her breathing went fast and shallow.
She pictured Maureen, Bailey's favorite physical therapist and friend, coaching her through the pain. "Breathe, girlfriend. Big breath. Tell the pain to take a hike."
Like I'll ever be hiking again.
A sour taste in her mouth made her poke through her purse for a stick of gum. Anything to kill the craving for a pain pill.
Bailey knew all about dependency. She'd spend her childhood making excuses for her mother's classic co-dependency on Bailey's father, who drank beer every day and polished off a fifth of Jack Daniels on weekends--a combination that made him dangerously unstable.
Bailey's need for control most likely contributed to the accident that killed her husband and left her a cripple. A cripple with a potential drug problem. Not exactly the glorious return she'd imagined when she left Marietta.
Once the majority of the other passengers were gone, Bailey stood, shouldering her small backpack--her only carry on. She'd paid extra to have her luggage go through baggage. Although her ankle throbbed like hell, she managed to walk the entire distance to the front of the plane without limping.
She couldn't make the same claim by the time she reached baggage claim. The cluster of people pressed together around the conveyor belt was enough to make Bailey plop her butt on an open bench and fish out her phone.
She'd told her mother not to make the drive from Marietta until Bailey's flight was on the ground. Bad weather in Denver had delayed her connection, and Bailey hadn't wanted to cause her mother any unnecessary stress. There will be enough of that once OC comes home from the hospital, she told herself.
How would a physical disability change OC, she wondered? Or would it? She'd met several amputees at San Joaquin Valley Rehab. Doubles. Even one quad. Some navigated the new, uncharted waters with more grace than others, but not a single person pretended their lives would carry on without change. From what Mom told her, Dad was fervently, emphatically in denial.
As OC is about anything that implies personal culpability.
"Bailey?" a man's voice asked cutting into her thoughts.
Bailey's chin shot up--and up farther. A tall man in a white Stetson, jeans, boots and blue short-sleeve cotton work shirt with the name Paul machine-embroidered above the chest pocket stood a foot or so away.
"It is you, isn't it?" His eyes, the color of a Montana summer sky, lit up. His tentative smile sent her heart galloping across the open prairie on the time-travel express. "Girl, you're skinny as a rail. Don't they feed you in California?" He made a face. "Oh, crap, don't tell me you're a vegan?"
"Paul Zabrinski?"
The last person she expected to see today. But when your luck sucked as bad as hers, anything was possible. "What are you doing here?"
She tapped her forehead.
"Dumb question. This is an airport. You're meeting someone. Hey, you look great. How long has it been?"
Even dumber question. She knew exactly how long it had been. Life-changing drama had a way of leaving an indelible mark.
She held out her hand, which felt stupid and forced, but she honestly didn't have the oomph to stand and hug him--which probably wasn't the right response, either, given their history.
His smile dropped. He wasn't the boy she'd kissed till their lips were chapped. He'd added a couple of inches of height and twenty pounds that filled out his shoulders and gave his face more character. Cute? Not anymore. Now, he was handsome. His blue eyes the stuff they wrote romance novels about.
"Coming up on fifteen years in August. Hard to believe, huh? Did your mom tell you there's a new director of the Chamber of Commerce in Marietta? The fair's going to run for two weeks this year."
He chuckled in a manly way that made the woman inside her--the woman Bailey thought died with Ross-- ache for a pair of strong arms around her. Even for a moment.
She pushed the foolish, pointless yearning aside. Her husband had been dead for over a year, but the tender feelings between them had been gone even longer. "No. Mom didn't tell me. We've mostly talked about Dad. And the business." Which, apparently, is on the skids.
Paul's sandy brows pulled together. "Tough break about your dad. I was putting the finishing touches on the handicap ramp for his wheelchair this morning when Louise asked if I could meet your plane. She's afraid to leave him alone. I guess he's been pretty depressed lately." He looked toward the thinning crowd. "Which bags are yours? I'll grab them for you."
The question sent a syringe of panic straight into her spine. She sat u
pright, clutching her backpack as if it held superpowers. She'd have jumped to her feet and raced back to the plane, demanding they let her in, if she could walk that far. "Did you say you're here to meet...me?"
You hate me, she didn't add.
"Your mom's been tutoring my daughter. She knew I was coming to Bozeman today to drop off the kids. Californians aren't the only ones who do carpooling, you know."
"But...how come you're not at the hardware store? Mom said you're running it now."
"The boss can take off when he wants. That's the only good part about being the boss, believe me."
Although his tone seemed a bit less idealistic than it had in high school, she doubted he was giving up on Zabrinski's Big Z Hardware. He was too stubborn, for one thing. And he'd had tons of plans once he took over from his dad. "This place is going to be more than just a hardware store when I get done with it, Bailey. You're not the only one with dreams, you know."
And, from what little news her mother had shared over the years, Zabrinski's Big Z had carved out a niche market that held its own when the big box stores moved into the area.
She was glad he'd done well for himself. "That's very generous of you, Paul. Especially considering...our history."
He removed his hat and leaned over in a mock bow. "I was seventeen and heart broke. Everything looks black and white when you're young. Funny how age and life puts things in perspective. In hindsight I'd say I overreacted with the whole curse thing," he added in a way that sounded rehearsed.
Bailey rubbed the localized pulse of pain between her eyes. "Funny. I was just thinking your curse pretty much came true."
"Oh, crap," he said. "When I heard about the accident. Your husband dying. Losing your stud horse. The thought crossed my mind that Great-grandma Hilda really did a number on you. But, Bailey, you have to know I never meant for anything horrible to happen to you. Not in a million years. I mean that."
She wished his flustered apology meant something to her. It didn't. She knew who was to blame for the disaster her life had become, and it wasn't Paul Zabrinski.
Her Forever Gift (Big Sky Mavericks Book 5) Page 4
