Back in the Saddle

by Ruth Logan Herne

  He breathed slowly, without coughing. “Much.”

  “Coughing hurts, I expect.”

  He grimaced. “I’ve had busted ribs before. I’ll have ’em again, good Lord willing.”

  “Not if you stay out of the way of an angry cow mama.” She shook her finger at him. “A new mama with her first baby, and you turned your back on her.”

  “Tricked into a false sense of security by years of having easygoing cows. That one’s a she-devil. She’ll be off to market once that baby’s weaned.”

  “And then you’ll lose the opportunity to have her become an experienced mother. Aren’t most first-time mothers a little whacked?”

  “You tell me.”

  “Nothing we should speak of now.”

  He changed the subject. “The guys doing okay at home?”

  “We avoided a brawl at the breakfast table, so that was good.”

  “A brawl?” He paused, then eased against the pillow. A standoff at daybreak could mean only one thing. “Colt’s home.”

  “For a guy who turns his back on a cow fresh out of calving, you’re a smart man.”

  “Did he and Nick go at it?”

  “Stopped by the presence of a rolling pin. Hardheads, just like their father.” She pulled up a chair next to him, withdrew a bit of fancy work from her bag, and started making tiny stitches on a doll-sized garment. “But they also suited up and headed out, knowing snow’s coming and wanting to get the first-years in as close as possible.”

  “How’d he look?” Sam knew his voice sounded a little desperate. How odd was it that the only person he could let down his guard with was a housekeeper with a shadowed past? “Is he all right?”

  “He will be.” She poked the tiny needle in and out with quick, unwasted motion. “He was hungry.”

  Hungry? Colt?

  Regret stabbed deep.

  He’d ordered him out of the house a long time ago. He told Colt if he wasn’t interested enough in the family business to help with it, he wasn’t needed.

  Regret blossomed to remorse.

  So much to fix. And maybe not enough time. “Like he hadn’t eaten, hungry?”

  She raised her eyes. Met his.

  Sam swallowed hard. That’s exactly what she meant. Colt had been on top of the world. He might have been on the opposite side of the country, but Sam had kept tabs on him. His rise to power, his ability to assess and appraise the business climate and invest appropriately. He’d built a name for himself in an acclaimed investments firm and was managing multimillion-dollar wealth when Wall Street faced a major hiccup. The jolt showed irregularities. Bernie Tomkins got busted for fraud and money laundering. The online client list named Colton Stafford of Goldstein & Greenbaum as one of the innocent but major hedge-fund investors.

  And now he was home and hungry, with empty pockets.

  You wanted him to come crawling back. He’s done it.

  Sam clenched his teeth. He’d wanted that because he was a surly, full-of-himself jerk, and that’s the only side Colt ever knew. Remorse escalated to self-ascribed guilt.

  “Beating yourself up gets you nothing but beat up.”

  “A true sage.” He growled the words, but Angelina seemed unfazed by his tone. “I’ve got a lot to make up for. I alienated Colt after his mother died. Instead of being the father I should have been, I married Rita, thinking she’d fill a gap. Except for having a beautiful boy together, our marriage was a major mistake. She didn’t want me or a ranch or a couple of wild little boys running around.”

  “I still fail to see how that was all your fault.” Angelina’s tiny needle flashed with each miniature stitch.

  “I married her, didn’t I?”

  “You did. But she could have stayed, Sam.” Angelina paused her sewing to lean closer and catch his eye. “She had a little boy. A son. A gift from God. Rita didn’t just leave you, she left Colt and Nick because they weren’t important enough to keep her here. That’s a harsh reckoning for little kids.”

  “A smart man would have seen that money meant more to her than family from the beginning. That still makes it my mistake.”

  “A smart man would have taken the time he needed to grieve the loss of his beloved wife,” she said softly.

  And there it was, the simple truth that haunted him for decades. He’d lost the love of his life on a bright September day thirty-one years before, and he’d spent all this time—decades—angry. That meant his two biological sons and his adopted son all got shortchanged. “I don’t know how much time I’ve got left, but I know I’ve got things to fix.” He frowned, agitated by variables out of his control. Angelina’s usual “let go and let God” spiel was like a burr under his saddle. Sam Stafford hated handing over the reins to anyone else. Right now he had no choice, and that just aggravated him further.

  “And God willing, you can fix them. If not all, then most. But if you come home with that scowl embedded on your face,” Angelina warned, “it will take you much longer.”

  “I ain’t one of them happy-go-lucky types, Angelina. I believe you know that.”

  She stopped sewing and leaned forward, eyes sharp. “Then learn.”

  He sat back with a grumpy snarl and pointed at the tiny garment in her hands. “Doll clothes. Who’s got use for more doll clothes at the Double S? Don’t the girls have enough with what you made them for Christmas?”

  She smoothed the tiny dress in her hands with gentle fingers. “This is not for a doll. I am making these for the hospital here. They are for babies. The tiniest babies.” She lifted her gaze back to his. “I will donate these for when tiny souls are called home to heaven. Something precious for a precious loss.”

  Once again he’d spoken too soon and too gruff. Would he never learn to just be quiet?

  “And might I remind you that an entire community exists outside the Double S? It would behoove you to become further acquainted with the people who share your community.”

  “Apple-pickin’, grape-growin’ clowns.”

  She sighed loudly on purpose.

  “You know they’d love to see us out of the valley.” He’d told her this all before, but Sam was determined to have his say. “All that talk about cow burps and gas and e-friendly nonsense. When God made the animals, the necessity to pass gas came along with them, just like you and me. But now a bunch of tree-huggers want to picket outside the slaughterhouse upstate and protest calves-to-market days. Where did these know-nothings come from? And what business is it of theirs how we make our money?”

  “Are you done?”

  He wasn’t, but her expression stopped him.

  “First, focus on getting well. Work with the doctors to increase your mobility, which will help your injury heal. Then they can zone in on your other issues. They can’t do anything if you’re not cooperating. Second, if you’d lived more peaceably with your neighbors in the past, you’d be in a better position to deal with this now. They’d like you more and would cut you some slack.”

  “Those tree-huggers wouldn’t. Bunch of fresh-faced folks coming north, driving prices up, wanting to break up farms and build mini-estates. In the end, where do they think food comes from?”

  “Your medieval-baron treatment of the area peasantry has earned you some enemies. You might want to tone it down, don’t you think?”

  “But I’m not a jerk now,” he protested.

  She sighed again, set down the garment, and met his eye. “It takes more than a few months to cleanse the egocentric work of decades.”

  “It was for the ranch! Not for myself,” Sam said.

  Sam’s protestations didn’t even cause her to pause. “More importantly, your sons have had their own share of suffering. Colt’s been thrashed mentally, Nick’s trying to be father of the year to those two little girls—and failing miserably—and Trey’s buried himself in his music since his wife died. Healing takes time, Sam. And effort.” Her needle began to move in and out on the small gown again. “Has Reverend Cowell been in to see you?”
/>
  “Earlier, yes. I was sedated. I might have made a more generous contribution to the church than previously planned.”

  “Buying God’s love doesn’t work.”

  “Wasn’t doing anything of the kind. I was making up for past lapses.”

  “In that case, good.” This time she smiled at him and patted his hand. “I know you have recommitted your life to God. To faith. This is a marvelous thing. But while God is a God of second chances, I believe he appreciates atonement for our sins.”

  “Man up and put up.”

  “Yes.”

  Sam sat silent a minute before he raised the question of the hour. “You think I’ve got time, Ange?”

  “I pray you do. But if not?” She rested her hand on his. “You’ve given yourself back to God, you’ve started a new path, and no matter how long that path may be, paradise waits at the end.”

  She was right. He’d been the miserable land baron Angelina noted, with over three decades of shameful behavior. Thirty-one years of messed-up priorities. He knew he’d come late to this change of heart. Amazing how a man’s sensibilities shifted when given the possibility of a shortened timeline. Short path or long, he’d realigned his beliefs back to where they’d been before he lost Christine and let work, money, and the ranch take over his life. Now he needed to make things right. Not because he thought he needed to score points for heaven but because Christine would have wanted him to make amends.

  Angelina pressed her hand to his, stood, then bent to kiss his cheek. “You have much to think about and time to do just that. Your son has returned, there is work to be done, and now there are extra hands to do it. Rest and heal, my friend.”

  He gripped her hand. “I thank God for you every day, Angelina.”

  She laughed, a soft, musical, deep-toned laugh. “You and I know we have much in common. We both have old mistakes and welcome new chances. God bless you. And stop giving the nurses a hard time,” she said as a robust nurse strolled into the room.

  The nurse winked at Angelina as Sam offered his other arm for vitals. “As far as I’m concerned, Mr. Stafford is one of the nicest patients I’ve had in a while.” She beamed his way. “And that’s appreciated by all of us.”

  Sincerity laced her words. That made Sam feel like maybe he wasn’t the worst cur on the planet, that there might be hope yet.

  “Of course the big box of chocolates wins us over every time,” the nurse added.

  Surprised, Sam turned toward Angelina.

  Eyes soft and knowing, she squeezed his hand lightly before she left.

  Angelina had sent candy in his name. She’d taken care of his son when he couldn’t. She’d come to see him, even though there was plenty of work at the ranch. He was blessed by her thoughtfulness, truth, and integrity.

  She’d scoff at that. She’d made mistakes. Regret dogged her days, much like it did his. But Sam knew what he knew. Angelina’s quality went deep. He understood that more fully now. When he was married to Christine, he hadn’t appreciated his wife the way he should have. He hadn’t given his all to her. Then she was gone, and nothing could bring her back.

  He’d suffered. Colt suffered. And then his other sons, Nick and Trey, because he wasn’t man enough to put them first. Had God sent the Latina beauty to help him see the error of his ways? Sam believed he had.

  Two years ago he’d been in grave need at the ranch. He’d fired the third housekeeper in less than a month. When ranch hands were more worried about empty bellies than cattle, little got done.

  Juan Morales said he had a cousin of a cousin looking for work. Angelina showed up for her late afternoon interview as scheduled, with more interest in cooking than talking. In ninety minutes she had a meal ready to be served in hearty, man-sized portions—a meal that won the men’s respect and Angelina a job.

  Sam had built an empire making gut decisions. He’d done the same thing then. He hired her on intuition because, despite the delicious meal and her skillful fielding of his interview questions, Sam was pretty sure Angelina Morales had never been anyone’s cook or housekeeper. He gave her the job anyway, instinct telling him he was doing the right thing. Time bore him out. He helped her and she helped him in return, leading him back to a faith he’d abandoned. She’d led him to this second chance, a concept he would have scoffed at as a younger man, and Sam didn’t take that lightly. She’d brought him to reckoning and then to faith. He owed her everything.

  So, yeah. Whatever Angelina needed, he’d see she got, because without her his life would be shaping up differently right now.

  Colt had forgotten what ice cold felt like.

  The memory came rushing back as he scoured midlevel sagebrush late morning. He wasn’t about to run home to add layers he should have had the sense to put on hours before. Words of recrimination flooded his half-frozen brain, but he brought Yesterday’s News around the far side of a thick stand of brush, scouring the landscape for newborns.

  A wretched-looking red calf blinked up at him, her little face pleading for help. He turned slightly. Mama was uphill, looking tired and worn. Although it was ice cold, it was not as wicked as it could get when the north winds picked up. So was the cow sick? Or just tired?

  He eyed her and hoped for the latter. Either way, she allowed him to approach her baby. He dismounted, gathered the calf into his arms, and laid her over the horse, then climbed back on. With a click of his tongue, he moved the horse into an easy motion, hoping the cow would follow.

  She didn’t. He looped around again, knowing time was of the essence. This baby needed to be warmed up and fed. If mama wasn’t up to the task, he had to help things along. He brought the horse close to the reluctant cow, nudged her out of the brush, and let her approach in her own time, despite the cold. She sidled up to the horse, then inhaled deeply. The smell of her calf made her more cooperative. He prodded the horse into a slow walk, and this time the cow followed along.

  Nick rode by as they headed down the slope. “That’s the cow I was looking for. She delivered?”

  Colt looked down at the calf. “Let’s hope it’s hers.”

  “Get it warm and fed.” Nick issued the order, then urged his horse into high gear toward the outer range perimeter.

  As if Colt didn’t know that. He wanted to bark words back but stopped himself. He wasn’t in charge here. He couldn’t take the lead like he had for years in New York. At the Double S, he was nothing more than a common laborer, and the sooner he got used to that idea, the better off they’d all be. He focused on the cold calf as he shut his mouth and rode to the ranch below.

  “There’s a calf in our basement.” Angelina watched him from the doorway of the sublevel workroom. Beyond her comment, she seemed at a loss for words—which surprised him. Hadn’t she been at the Double S long enough to see calves warming in the lowest level? That seemed at odds with her take-charge attitude.

  “Warming her and dredging her. Mama was a little distracted by her own needs and most likely figured her baby would be okay on her own for a while. But baby was fading fast.”

  “Heifers.” Angelina’s expression disparaged first-time mothers as she moved closer. “And this playpen?”

  He looked up, confused. “What about it?”

  “Did you bring it with you from New York? Because that had to be an interesting flight.”

  “Of course not. It was behind the workbench where it’s always been,” he said, gesturing to the corner before glancing back up at her. “We keep it there for this sort of thing. That way the newest babies are warm and fed and monitored by whoever is in the house.”

  She started to say something, then stopped. “I’d be glad to keep an eye on her. She’s a pretty little thing.”

  “You don’t mind?”

  Her lips twitched as if amused, but her eyes stayed steady. “Not at all. Stew’s on for supper, the bread is baking, and bathrooms are cleaned. She’ll be good company.”

  “Thank you, Angelina.” He moved toward the stairs. “I’m headi
ng back out, but I’m grabbing a couple extra layers first.”

  She scanned his jeans, turtleneck, and Carharrt ranch jacket, then winced. “No thermals.”

  “Yup.”

  “Didn’t Nick have some in the bag of clothes?”

  “Possibly.” He paused. “Probably,” he amended. “I grabbed from the top. My bad.”

  “You must have frozen out there.”

  “Let’s just say my office here is less climate controlled than what I’ve grown accustomed to. A rookie mistake I shouldn’t have made.”

  “Ouch.”

  He appreciated the sympathy in her voice, then indicated the calf. “She should be all right now that she’s eaten. I’ll let her warm up, then I’ll take her out to mama in the lower barn later. The bread smells amazing, by the way.”

  This time she smiled. “The first loaves are cooling on the counter. And there’s soft butter. Grab a piece before you go out. Nothing like fresh bread to warm you from the inside out.”

  Fresh bread. Soft butter. A beautiful woman watching him from across the subterranean level of the massive Stafford home. Something inside him eased up. For just a moment, meeting her gaze, he didn’t feel like a total loser.

  He hurried upstairs, re-layered, and stopped by the kitchen on his way out. Angelina was there ahead of him. She held out a paper sack. “Your bread. You don’t want to keep that horse waiting.”

  He took the sack and inhaled, grateful. “Thank you. My PB&J from this morning will be pretty cold about now.”

  “This will help.” She laid her palms on the counter. “I saw your father a little while ago.”

  His ailing father had been on his mind all morning. He hated not knowing what was going on. Not being in charge. “How is he?” Did he ask about me? Does he want me to visit? Has he missed me at all?

  “Comforted that you’ve come home.”

  His presence had never comforted Sam Stafford. Not once that he could remember. Old bitterness rose up from somewhere deep within. He swallowed hard, determined to be polite. “That would be a first, Angelina.” He held up the sack. “Thanks for the bread.”