Good Together

by C. J. Carmichael

  The puppy gobbled down her breakfast as usual, then proceeded to start pulling clothes out of the girls’ suitcases almost as fast as they were packed. Despite everyone’s low mood, they couldn’t resist giggling as Tuff snatched one of Portia’s socks and led them all on a merry chase around the house.

  “She’s so fast,” Wren marveled.

  “And tricky.” Portia fell to her knees and looked under the sofa, where Tuff was hiding out with her prize, just out of arm’s reach.

  Never had Mattie been more thankful to Nat for his gift of the adorable puppy. Tuff was a reminder that in the worst of times, there were still reasons to smile, love, and be grateful.

  At the airport, she hugged her girls one final time. “I’m so thankful to have daughters like you. Go back to school and try not to worry. Hopefully by Christmas your dad and I will have some things sorted out.”

  And hopefully by Christmas, Wes would have been in touch with them, as well. Mattie had noticed lots of surreptitious texting going on in the past few days. She suspected they’d been trying to get in touch with their father.

  If he’d responded, she would have heard about it, and since she hadn’t, she could only surmise that Wes was ignoring their daughters in the same callous way he was ignoring her.

  And she would never forgive him for that.

  * * *

  Portia was relieved to say goodbye to her mom at airport security. They shared final hugs and waves, all of them too tearful to say much. Then she and Wren went through the security drill, meeting on the other side of the conveyor belt to put their boots back on, and grab their jackets and backpacks. Finally she was alone with her sister. They only had fifteen minutes before Wren had to board for Denver, but at least they could drop the brave acts they’d been putting on for their mom.

  “That was the worst Thanksgiving ever. Can you believe it? What is up with Dad?”

  “I knew something was wrong between them. But I didn’t think it was this bad,” Wren admitted. “Keep going,” she instructed as she checked their boarding passes for the gate numbers. “We’re at the end of the line.”

  “Has dad answered any of your texts?”

  “No.” Wren scowled. “He didn’t even call on Thanksgiving Day. How lame is that?”

  “Do you think something bad happened? Like, he had an accident or something?”

  “The authorities would have called Mom. Besides, I heard her on the phone, checking with police and hospitals one night. No, he just doesn’t want to talk to us.”

  That was the conclusion Portia had reached, too. And it really hurt.

  She thought back to the last time she’d seen her father—when they’d all driven to the airport together in September. He’d schlepped the bags as usual, complained that they’d packed too much, but she’d seen a tear in his eye when he hugged her goodbye.

  “Maybe he was injured at the last rodeo he was in. Hit his head and suffered some sort of brain injury.”

  “More likely he fell in love with someone else.”

  Portia stopped in her tracks. “That’s an awful thing to say.” But it could be true. Why else would he want to leave Mom, forget to call them, and want to sell the ranch? She got an awful, sick feeling in her stomach.

  “This really, really sucks.”

  “Agreed,” Wren said. “And it must be ten times worse for Mom. Last night I seriously considered dropping out of college and staying home. At least for the next semester. I hate the idea that she’s all alone.”

  “She wouldn’t want you to do that.” But Portia understood the lure. She’d wanted to do the same thing, and only knowing how upset the very idea would make their pro-education mother had stopped her.

  “Yeah.” Wren sighed. In silence they walked the rest of the way to their gates, which were side by side. Portia was surprised to see that her flight was already boarding. She turned to Wren and gave her sister a huge hug.

  “See you at Christmas, Sis.”

  Portia nodded, crying too hard to say anything back. On the plane, she had a minute to check her phone before turning it off. She noticed a string of text messages from Kirsten. “Yay! Can’t wait to see you!” “Party tonight for all Pi Phi!” And then, in a weird twist. “Met this awesome guy—and he has a friend!”

  Portia turned off the phone and stuck it back in her bag. She really didn’t want to go back to Seattle. She hated her dad right now. But she also really needed to see him. If only she knew where he was.

  At the Seattle airport, she met up with some of her sorority sisters who happened to be flying back from home at the same time and they shared a cab. One of them, Annie Larimer, gave her a friendly smile. Portia had noticed her on the same flight and remembered that she lived somewhere in rural Montana, too, some small town southeast of Missoula. Not on a ranch, her family ran an orchard or something. They’d worked together on a sociology assignment one night and Portia had really liked Annie. But she didn’t have the energy to start a conversation, so she just smiled back then closed her eyes, resting her head on the leather seat and listened to the other girls make plans for that night’s party.

  Apparently the few girls who’d stayed behind for the Thanksgiving weekend had been working with some of the guys to plan a big welcome back bash for the evening. The party would be off-site, of course, and there would be plenty to drink.

  When the taxi pulled up to the sorority house, Kirsten was waiting for her. Portia had hoped to sneak away to her room, and lock the door. Instead she had to listen to Kirsten go on and on about her trip home.

  “My friends and I went on a mega shopping trip. Look what I found!” Kirsten spilled the contents of her suitcase onto her bed. Normally Portia would have been insanely jealous of the beautiful new outfits. But today she had zero interest. The effort of pretending to love each item wore away at her, until soon all she could think of was crawling under the covers in her room.

  Instead, she and Kirsten dressed and got made-up for the party. When Kirsten offered to let her wear one of the new tops she’d purchased on Black Friday, Portia uncharacteristically stood firm. “I’m okay in this,” she fingered the lacy top she was wearing with a gray cardigan.

  “Yeah. That’s cute,” Kirsten said, without sounding convinced. She leaned forward into the mirror as she applied her eyeliner, then stood back to study the effect. “You like?”

  “Uh huh.”

  Kirsten tipped her head to one side as she studied Portia’s reflection. “You seem... different.”

  Portia knew she should explain, but the words wouldn’t come. The loss and pain were too fresh. “I’m just tired.”

  “Yeah, I know. I hardly slept all weekend. It was just one party after another.” She went to her mini fridge and pulled out a couple of Red Bulls. “I think we both could use one of these. You don’t want to be tired tonight. A couple of guys from my high school are coming to the party tonight. Jared and I hooked up on Saturday night. He’s pretty hot and so is his friend Noah. I showed them your Facebook profile and Noah’s excited to meet you.”

  Portia took a long drink—the caffeine and sugar helped.

  A few hours later, when the party was starting, she had a beer, and that helped too. She had another drink and then joined a bunch of friends on the dance floor. She let the music flow through her, lift her up from her black mood and transport her a happier, better place. Another drink, a little more dancing, and when a dark-haired guy with crazy blue eyes came up to her and told her he was Noah, she happily put her arms around his shoulders and started dancing with him.

  He had some good moves, a natural sense of rhythm.

  When she stumbled, they both laughed, and he went to freshen their drinks.

  Portia lost all sense of time. The dimly lit room was decorated with dozens of strands of twinkling lights and LED candles. Couples started drifting to dark corners, making out while the music continued to pulse and pound.

  When Noah touched her chin, she lifted her head and let him kis
s her.

  It felt nice. Really nice.

  They kissed while they were dancing, and then suddenly they had moved off the dance floor into an alcove behind some stairs. She wasn’t even sure where she was anymore.

  “You’re a sweet girl, Portia.” Noah was kissing her neck now, his hands gliding down to her jeans, then up and under the lacy tank top. She’d taken the sweater off hours ago, and she could feel the heat of his hands against her own fevered skin.

  When his hand cupped her breast, she felt a sweet pleasure not only at the peaks of her nipples, but between her legs, too. She’d made out like this for hours with her high school boyfriend, but it soon became clear that this was not a plateau for Noah, merely a pit stop. She could feel his arousal pushed against her hip bone, as he reached for the button on her jeans.

  “Hang on.”

  He immediately stopped what he was doing and kissed her again. “You okay?”

  “I’m—” Suddenly the anesthetic of the alcohol and the music and the attention of a cute boy all wore off. She felt alone, sad... and sort of... yucky. She tried to look into Noah’s eyes, but they seemed out of focus to her and she instinctively knew that any attempts to explain wouldn’t be successful.

  And why should they? She knew nothing about this boy. Not his major, or his interests... or even his last name.

  “Sorry. I think I’m going to be sick.” She broke away and ran, grabbing her coat and somehow finding her way back home, where she locked the door, then fell on her bed and started to cry.

  * * *

  When she returned home from the airport, Mattie was exhausted. She walked from one empty room to the other, feeling too low to tackle the cleaning and laundry that was waiting for her.

  If it hadn’t been for Tuff, she would have collapsed onto the sofa and allowed herself to sink into a depressed stupor.

  But the puppy needed to go out, and so she snapped on Tuff’s leash and dressed herself to brave the cold. A thin layer of snow coated the yard today. A big storm was on its way—fortunately not due until well after the girls would be safely at their destinations. She didn’t need to worry about stocking up in preparation. She had leftovers to last a week in her fridge and freezer.

  And plenty of pie.

  Keeping Tuff on a short leash, Mattie headed to the barns. In the past few days she and the girls had done a lot of riding, so none of the horses had been neglected. The tack and feed rooms were still spiffy from her zealous cleaning frenzy of the previous week. Jake had handled the chores alone this morning. He’d be back in another hour to do the evening feed. She decided to load up the feed cart for him, before heading back inside the house.

  She’d no sooner made the decision than she heard the rumble of an approaching vehicle—something big and traveling slowly. Sticking her head out the barn door, she was amazed to see a semi-tractor van with a white cab and silver trailer, taking a wide turn into her yard.

  Securing Tuff in the feed room first, Mattie pulled on her wool cap and headed back outdoors. The rig had stopped and a driver was climbing out of the cab. He was tall and chunky, dressed in a plaid jacket and down vest, jeans, and work boots. He had his head bowed against the wind as he walked toward her.

  She held her ground until he met up with her. Only then did he straighten so she could see a man in his forties, with a round face and serious eyes.

  “Damn, I think the storm is coming early.”

  Weather talk first. Only in Montana. “Wasn’t supposed to get here until tomorrow.”

  “Don’t I know it. Hope the snow holds off.” He held out his hand. “Guy Medley. You must be Mattie Bishop.”

  She shook his hand cautiously. “I am.”

  “Good. We should probably load them up first, do paperwork second.”

  With her hands on her hips, she shook her head. If he hadn’t known her name, she would have been sure this was a mistake. Her stomach churned. She had a very bad feeling about this. “I’m sorry, but I have no idea what’s going on here.”

  Guy’s serious eyes widened a little. “Your husband never told you?”

  She gave a negative shake of her head.

  Guy’s chest expanded on a deep inhale. He compressed his lips, then headed back to the truck and returned with a clipboard, which he held so she could see.

  “Your husband sold fourteen horses to be delivered to Western Sky Ranch on Spencer Lake near Whitefish. Money’s been paid in full. I was supposed to pick them up tomorrow, but when I heard about the storm, I figured it’d be smart to get them moved today.”

  Mattie grabbed the clipboard, studied the details. Listed were fourteen of their most valuable horses, including Rosie. “Who owns this Western Sky Ranch?” She squinted at the typed name. “Sean Edwards. Does he have experience with Tennessee Walkers?”

  “Doubt it,” Guy said drily. “He’s a reality TV star—my kids watch his show every week. He heard somewhere that Tennessee Walkers make great trail riders and decided he wanted a bunch of them for his new ranch.

  She felt sick in earnest now. She couldn’t let these horses leave Bishop Stables. They had so much money and time invested in them. Rosie, in particular, was a treasure. Born, bred and raised to be a show horse—not wasted being ridden by rich greenhorns from Hollywood.

  She pushed the clipboard back at him. “I can’t let you take my horses.”

  “Well, Ma’am, I’m afraid you can’t stop me since they don’t belong to you. Your husband signed the papers. And he’s already deposited the money.”

  “He never told me a word about it.” Blood flowed to her cheeks, and in her embarrassment, her gaze dipped to the tips of her boots. How awful to have to make such an admission to a perfect stranger.

  Guy paused, kicked at a clump of snow and sent it scattering. “I feel bad about that. I surely do. But you need to take this up with your husband. And let me do my job.”

  She gazed out at the pasture where most of these horses were grazing at the dry tufts of grass still accessible beneath the skiff of snow. Her heart welled with sadness. She didn’t want them to leave. She’d been raised to be a practical rancher, but up until now she and Wes had never sold their horses to anyone without vetting them first.

  Now he expected her to let more than half the herd go in one big swoop, just like that?

  She needed a moment to think. “How about a cup of coffee, first?”

  Guy looked up at the mounting clouds, then at his watch. “I suppose an extra fifteen minutes won’t hurt.”

  “We’ll go to the house. I have to get my dog.” She ran back to the barn where she found Tuff and Hermione snuggled together again, napping. They looked so cute, she decided to leave them there.

  She then led Guy Medley along the path to the back door, where they deposited their boots and coats in the mudroom, and she washed her hands before continuing into the kitchen.

  “Go ahead and sit. Want some pie? I’ve got apple, pumpkin, or lemon.”

  Guy’s eyes brightened at that. “Lemon would be nice.”

  She put on the coffee, cut him a slice, and invited him to sit at the island.

  “I’ll just make a quick call while we wait for the coffee.” Turning her back to him, she went to stand by the windows as she dialed their lawyer. He answered and she quickly outlined the situation.

  “Do I have to do this, Stan?”

  “I think so. But can you hold a few minutes?”

  “Okay.” As she waited, she gazed out at the horses. Each one of them had a distinct personality, was loved and pampered, as well as carefully trained. At Bishop Stables they treated all their horses like five star guests. How could Wes just sell them to some pampered Hollywood star who probably didn’t have the first clue about running a ranch?

  Even worse, sell them without consulting her first.

  The coffee pot beeped, and Mattie went to pour a cup for her guest. “Sorry. I’ll just be a few more minutes.” She noticed he’d already finished his pie. “Feel free to cut your
self another slice.”

  She went back to the family room and took up the same position at the window. Guy could still hear her, but looking out at the view gave her at least an illusion of privacy. Finally Stan came back on the line.

  “Mattie, sorry, but you don’t have any option but to let them take the horses. The business is in Wes’s name, only. Mattie, you should have pushed for joint ownership when the two of you were first married.”

  Frankly that had never occurred to her.

  “There’s something else.”

  She could hear the tension in Stan’s voice and braced for more bad news.

  “Wes has been talking to me about... the current situation between you two.”

  Aren’t you the lucky one. Cause he sure as hell isn’t talking to me...With effort, Mattie kept her sarcastic thoughts unspoken. Feeling betrayed and heartbroken, she managed a simple, “Oh?”

  “You should be talking to your own lawyer, too.”

  “I thought you were my lawyer.”

  He paused. “Not in this case. It’s not personal, Mattie. It’s just that my firm has been representing Bishop Stables for a long time. And you need a lawyer to stand up for your rights.”

  She wanted to sink to the floor and curl up into a little ball.

  Even her lawyer was rejecting her.

  “So I have to let him take the horses?” If her voice came out sounding like a little girl’s, well so what? She couldn’t help it.

  “Yes.”

  * * *

  Of the fourteen horses being sold, ten were turned out in the northwest pasture. All Mattie had to do was shake a pail with some oats on the bottom and their ears perked, even the three at the far end of the field.

  She didn’t try to hide her tears from Guy Medley as the horses came running. These horses trusted her, and she was betraying them, sending them off to unknown pastures and people she had never even met.

  All of the horses listed on the bill of sale had competed in shows and so were used to the trailering routine. One by one she snapped on their lead ropes and led them out of the gate, up the ramp and into their box stalls where Guy made sure they were correctly positioned and secured for transport. Mattie was somewhat relieved to see that the stalls were clean and the hay boxes full. The trailer was built to ensure the horses would travel as comfortably as possible.