Caribou Crossing

by Susan Fox

  “You’re operating a business now,” he said. “You need the proper tools.”

  “My pa did all the books by hand, in ledgers,” Wade said. “But this, uh, I guess it’ll be great.”

  Her father shook his head. “You’re the younger generation. You’re supposed to be into technology. Get with the program, kids.”

  Everyone laughed. Miriam exchanged a glance with Wade, who hated math worse than she did. Her husband was a proud man and liked being in charge, yet after only two weeks of living at Bly Ranch, she’d seen how much he had on his plate. Being a ranch owner wasn’t the same as being an employee. She was his wife, his partner in this venture, which was a lot different from visiting the ranch on weekends to ride. She needed to pull her weight, too.

  She said, with resolve, “You’re right, Daddy. I’ll take this on.”

  Wade’s grateful smile was her reward.

  “I’ll sign up for a bookkeeping course and learn how to use this program.” Bookkeeping was just about adding and subtracting, wasn’t it? Her dad was right. She and Wade owned not only a massive number of acres, more than a hundred head of cattle, and half a dozen horses—they were running a business.

  All of which, if she thought about it that way, sounded pretty intimidating. Almost overwhelming. She took a deep breath. They could handle it. Wade had worked for his father forever, and she’d learn whatever she needed to know.

  “Talk to the ranch’s accountant,” her father advised. “He’ll tell you what records you need to keep and what reports he needs from you at fiscal year-end.”

  “Uh, okay.” The ranch had an accountant? And what was fiscal year-end? Okay, she was officially intimidated.

  She looked around the room at the brightly lit tree, cheerily dressed family and friends, platters of Christmas snacks on the table, then down at the box on her lap. “QuickBooks,” she muttered under her breath.

  Chapter 4

  The sound of a closing door made Wade jerk to alertness. It was Rose, returning from a trip to the ladies’ room. “Any change?” she asked quietly.

  “I dozed off,” he admitted.

  They both peered at Miriam. There was movement under her eyelids. “Shouldn’t she be awake by now?” he asked. “I know Dr. Mathews says it varies, but . . .” As he spoke, Miriam’s head shifted on the pillow like she was shaking it in a “no” gesture.

  “Let her rest, Wade.” Rose sank heavily into her chair and reclaimed Miriam’s left hand.

  He nodded. If he was Miriam, he wouldn’t want to wake up. And, much as he needed the reassurance of seeing her open her eyes and speak, he had no idea what he’d say to her.

  “All that commotion a little while ago?” Rose said. “The patient’s fine now. His heart stopped, but they got it going again.”

  “Good to know.” When they’d heard the calls and running feet as doctors and nurses raced down the hall with the crash cart, he’d feared the worst.

  Miriam’s fingers twitched in his and she muttered something.

  “What was that?” he asked Rose. “It sounded like . . . QuickBooks?”

  “It did. That’s the bookkeeping program she’s been learning, isn’t it?”

  “It’s giving her some trouble, but she’s really working at it. She’s got half the old records onto the system.”

  “I wonder why she’s thinking about it now?” Rose mused.

  He shook his head. A memory flickered. “I remember when you and Henry gave us that program. On Christmas day.”

  “It was a good Christmas.” Rose’s voice was soft.

  “A great one.” And memories of that day were a comforting place for his mind to dwell. He closed his eyes and let them flow.

  Christmas morning, stockings in bed, breakfast, present opening. The drive through gaily decorated Caribou Crossing . . . Lunch with Miriam’s family and more gifts . . . Then they realized they were running late.

  Wade helped his wife and daughter gather the gifts they’d received. Bundled in their coats and scarves, the three of them headed out to the car. It was snowing, in big, lacy flakes that Jessie caught on her tongue.

  He stowed their stuff in the trunk. As he started the car, he thought about setting up that computer. When it came to ranch machinery, he was a whiz. He was pretty good with plumbing and electricity, too. How hard could a computer be?

  Bookkeeping, though . . . He was as happy as a tick on a hound dog that Miriam had volunteered to take that on. His father had always handled the books, and, though he’d given Wade a crash course before heading to Phoenix, it was a little mind-boggling. Orders to place, bills to pay, regulations to comply with, all sorts of taxes, year-end reports—the list went on and on. There was a lot more to running a ranch than the things he’d always been involved in: breeding and tending cattle, growing hay to feed them, shipping them off to sale, looking after the horses, and maintaining the barn, fences, and equipment.

  His pa had said he could call for advice anytime, but hell, when had Wade ever heard his father beg help from anyone? Wade was a grown-up; he could handle the ranch, with Miriam’s help. The two of them made a great team. And Jessie was always happy to help with any chores involving horses.

  Momentary concerns brushed aside, Wade hummed along happily to John Denver’s “Christmas for Cowboys” on the local country and western station. Personally, his idea of Christmas wasn’t to be out in the snow driving cattle, like the song said, but he wasn’t a city guy either. Here in Caribou Crossing, he had the best of both worlds. Open range and an independent way of life, plus the comforts of a small town: a nice restaurant to take his wife on her birthday, folks to chat with at the feed store, good schools for his kid. Kids, soon.

  “Pa, you need to turn up there.”

  “Oh, right.” He was on autopilot, heading for Bly Ranch. Instead, Wade made the turn Jessie indicated. They’d arranged to bring a friend of hers home with them for Christmas dinner. They were running late, too.

  Evan, an only child, was also in second grade. His family was new to town and the kid didn’t exactly fit in. As Miriam put it, their softhearted daughter—who was also one of the most popular, outgoing children in her class—had picked up another stray. The two had formed a bond, which Wade didn’t really understand as they were so different. Evan didn’t like the country or horses, and refused to ride, but he was supersmart and actually loved homework. Jessica was a country girl at heart, totally horse crazy, and preferred anything active over doing homework—yet she’d sit down at the kitchen table and work with Evan.

  “I can’t wait to tell Ev what I got,” Jessica said eagerly from the backseat of the car.

  “Honey, go easy with that, okay?” Miriam said. “His family probably doesn’t give gifts.”

  “Santa doesn’t even visit?”

  “Well, Evan said his family doesn’t celebrate Christmas,” Miriam answered. “Santa probably knows that.” His wife, as softhearted as his daughter, had asked Evan if his family would like to join the Blys for dinner. Evan reported back that his folks said thanks but no thanks. They were fine with him coming, though.

  The area of town Wade was driving through was far different from the one where Miriam’s parents lived. Here, the houses were trailers or shacks, mostly rentals and in poor repair. A few yards had flowers, but more were full of rusting junk. Though Evan said his dad was a mechanic and his mom worked part-time as a waitress, it was pretty clear that they struggled to make ends meet. Heading down the block where the boy lived, Wade saw him standing outside the run-down rental cottage. He wore a jacket far too thin for the weather and had his ragged backpack slung over one shoulder.

  When Wade pulled up, Evan quickly opened the door and hopped in, shivering.

  “Merry Christmas, Ev!” Jessica said.

  Miriam and Wade echoed the greeting, and then his wife said, “I’m sorry we’re late. You should have stayed inside, where it’s warm. Besides, I’d like to go wish your parents a happy holiday.”

  She
opened the passenger door to get out, but Evan said, “No, don’t. They went out for a walk.”

  Wade hadn’t met the parents and Miriam had met only Brooke Kincaid. Just once, briefly. When Evan first started coming to their place, Miriam had walked home with him one day. He didn’t invite her in but brought his mother to the door. She was wearing a ratty bathrobe, and her blond hair was unwashed and tangled. The woman apologized, said that she’d been in bed with a bad headache, and that she was glad to meet Miriam and happy their kids were friends. Miriam told Wade that, even unkempt and sick, Brooke was beautiful, and looked too young to have a seven-year-old child. Perhaps that was why Evan called her Brooke, rather than Mom.

  Now, as Wade drove away from the rental house, Miriam said, “Evan, don’t you have a warmer coat? Or at least a heavy sweater to wear under it?”

  “Brooke says I grow so fast she can’t keep up with me.”

  “Kids have a habit of doing that,” Wade said. Still, the boy was no bigger than Jessica, and skinny. But maybe he’d been even smaller and had a growth spurt this year. Wade cranked the rattly heater up as far as it would go, which still wasn’t great. They’d bought the car used, back when Jessie was born, because Wade needed the truck pretty much full-time. He sure hoped the vehicle would last until they could afford something nicer—which, given the size of their mortgage, wouldn’t be any day soon.

  The kids—mostly Jessie—chattered away in the backseat, the radio played country versions of Christmas music, and the heater clattered like it was working its butt off. Miriam rested her gloved hand on Wade’s corduroy-clad thigh and leaned close. Whispering, she said, “Jessica got three new sweaters, and that navy pullover isn’t the least bit feminine. I bet she wouldn’t mind passing it on to Evan.”

  “His parents might see it as charity,” he murmured back.

  “It’d be a Christmas gift,” she said. “I’ll check with Jessica, then wrap it up and sneak it under the tree.”

  He patted her gloved hand, thinking how much he loved her. “You’re a good woman, honey.”

  When they reached the ranch, she said, “Wade, why don’t you get Evan to help you with the fire?”

  Right. Like the little egghead had any talent for stuff like that. But Wade knew it was a ploy to keep the boy occupied while his wife could talk to Jessica, then deal with the sweater, so he went along with it.

  A few minutes later, Jessie ran into the front room. “Ev, come out to the barn and see Whisper, the mare who’s carrying my foal.”

  “Bet she looks like any other horse,” he teased as he let Jessie drag him away.

  “No, she’s much prettier. And smarter.”

  Miriam hurried down the stairs shortly after they left, carrying a new parcel. “Kids out in the barn?”

  When Wade confirmed, she stuck the gift under the tree, and then they both went to the kitchen. She put on her apron, basted the turkey, and started trimming Brussels sprouts. Wade plunked down at the table to peel potatoes. Couldn’t say he cared for the task, but he did love Miriam’s mashed potatoes and gravy, not to mention hanging out with her in the kitchen.

  The children tramped into the mudroom, shed their outdoor clothing, and went to play by the fire. Wade and Miriam finished up, then poured mulled apple juice into four mugs and joined them.

  “Evan,” Miriam said, “Santa must have been a little mixed up. It seems he didn’t know you don’t celebrate Christmas, because he left a couple of gifts for you under our tree.”

  The boy’s face lit with excitement, but he quickly banked it down and frowned. “Dad says there’s no such thing as—” He broke off, glancing at Jessica, then said, “Santa brought me something?”

  “Here,” Jessica said eagerly, reaching under the tree to pull out the remaining packages.

  “I brought you something, too,” he said hesitantly. “They’re not much, but . . .” He reached into his pack and pulled out a bundle wrapped neatly in tissue paper and handed it to Miriam.

  Wade recognized the paper. It was the same stuff Jessie had wrapped some of their gifts in. The kids had made it as an art project at school, taking leaves and drawing or spray painting around them.

  “Evan, that’s so sweet of you,” his wife said. She separated the tissue.

  When she saw the contents, her mouth fell open. “These are beautiful.” She held up a few. They were Christmas tree ornaments, the same type Jessie had made in school, but even a proud father had to realize that the boy’s were made with more care and attention to detail. Also, where Jessie’s had all been horses, Evan had cut out a variety of pictures, from cottages with smoke rising to glittering big-city high-rises, from trees to animals to models in fancy clothes. He’d applied glitter with precision.

  “They’re miniature works of art,” Miriam said. “And oh, my! Look at these snowflakes. They’re exquisite.”

  The ornaments she held up now did look like snowflakes. They’d been cut painstakingly from white paper, each in a distinctive and elaborate pattern. Wade glanced down at his big, calloused hands and couldn’t imagine them wielding scissors to create anything like that.

  “Where did you learn to make these?” Miriam asked. “This wasn’t a school project?”

  “No. I checked out a library book on making Christmas ornaments.”

  “They’re amazing. You’re a talented boy.”

  He shrugged. “I know.”

  Wade choked back a snort. The comment was typical, and it was one reason he had trouble warming to the boy. Evan could be arrogant, a know-it-all, and he made no bones about calling Caribou Crossing Hicksville.

  “Open your presents,” Jessica ordered.

  The boy fingered the shiny red bow on one, then meticulously untied it and put the ribbon on the coffee table. Where Jessica ripped into parcels, he was the opposite, peeling off the tape so it didn’t tear the paper. Finally the box was revealed. It was a jigsaw puzzle with a thousand pieces. Miriam did them occasionally, and one day when Evan had stayed at their place for dinner she’d started a puzzle. They bored Jessica, but Evan was fascinated, and clever about finding pieces.

  For herself, Miriam always chose country scenes, but for Evan she’d picked one of Manhattan, all high-rises, giant advertisements, and sparkling lights.

  “Santa’s smart,” she said. “He knows you like big cities.”

  “Wow,” Evan breathed. His blue-green eyes, pretty much his only good feature, widened. “Where is this?”

  “New York City.”

  “I’m going there one day,” he announced as if there was no doubt about it. “Maybe I’ll even live there. It sure beats Hicksville.”

  “Not me,” Jessica announced. “I’m going to stay right here and breed horses. Here, Ev, open this one.” She handed him another parcel.

  When he saw the navy sweater, Miriam quickly said, “Santa brings sweaters to everyone in Caribou Crossing. He knows how cold it gets here.”

  “I got sweaters, too,” Jessica said.

  “It’s really nice. And warm.”

  “There’s one more,” Jessica said, “and it’s heavy!” She passed him the rectangular package.

  When he peeled back the paper to reveal a hardcover dictionary, Jessica said, “Oh gee, it’s a dictionary. That’s no fun.”

  Wade agreed, but Miriam had insisted it was the right gift. The boy had a great vocabulary and liked to use it, and he’d complained that the library wouldn’t let him check out a dictionary. From the expression on the boy’s face, his wife’s judgment was spot on.

  Evan touched the front cover lightly, almost reverently. “My very own dictionary? To keep?”

  “Santa said so,” Miriam told him.

  “This is the best present ever.” His tone left no doubt he believed that.

  “You’re weird, Ev,” Jessica said affectionately.