by Jo Leigh
“Momma, I have to pee,” Rose said from the back seat.
“Hold on, sweetheart, we’re almost there.”
Shannon crested the height of the land where she could see the ranch spread out in the valley below, surrounded by mountains that looked close enough to touch and were crowned with sailing-ship clouds scudding across the wide-open July sky. She stopped the Mercedes. “See, Rose? Down below us in that valley? That’s the McTavish Ranch. That ranch has been in our family for a long, long time.”
Rose’s face scrunched up in pain. “Momma, I really have to pee.”
Shannon got out, freed Rose from her seatbelt and helped her from the back seat.
“Go behind those bushes. I’ll wait right here.”
Rose obediently walked to the side of the road and looked behind the bushes. “Momma, there’s no bathroom here.”
“If you want fancy indoor plumbing, you’ll have to hold it till we reach the ranch.”
“I’ll wait,” Rose said with a pained look and turned toward the car.
Shannon leaned against the car door. It seemed as if the wind was clearing away the weary fog that muddled her thoughts and sapped her energy. Wyoming wind was a yondering wind. She’d always loved its wild, far-flung power, and right at this moment, standing in the shadow of those rugged mountains, she felt young again, as if her dreams were still within reach and life was just beginning.
“Momma?”
Rose’s plaintive voice interrupted her reverie, reminding her that ten years had passed and she was now the mother of a six-year-old girl who really had to pee.
The rutted dirt road serpentined a slow descent into the valley and their car kicked up a plume of dust that would announce their arrival minutes before they pulled in to the yard, assuming anyone was looking.
Shannon noted the sad condition of the fences and gates on the ranch road. Willard had warned her, but it looked like Daddy hadn’t done any maintenance since she’d left. It was ominous that the gates were ajar, all three of them, including the main gate just off the black road. The cattle and horses could wander clear to the Missouri River if they had a mind—unless there weren’t any left to wander. Maybe Daddy had sold all the livestock. Maybe he planned to sell the land off in ten-acre parcels. Mini ranchettes. Maybe that little house being built on the Bear Paw River was the first of many.
She closed the gates, one after the other, two sagging on broken hinges, the last hanging from a rotting fence post. Her parents had taught her always to close the gates and keep them closed, so she did. It would’ve felt wrong to leave them open.
She parked in front of the house beside the faded blue pickup that was her father’s, the same pickup he’d had when she left. Ford half ton. It had been starting to rust then and it was a whole lot rustier now.
The house looked weather-beaten. Shabby. The roof needed shingling, the windows needed a good cleaning. There were a couple of soda cans under the wall bench on the porch, an oily rag on the bench itself next to a greasy jug of winter-weight chain saw oil.
She did a quick assessment of the rest. Porch could use a good sweeping. House needed a fresh coat of paint. Gardens were gone. Her mother’s beautiful roses and peonies had long since succumbed to years of neglect in a harsh land. Barns and outbuildings were desolate. Corrals were empty. It looked as if nobody had ever cared about the place and nothing good had ever happened here.
But Shannon knew better. The ghosts of the past weren’t all dead. She and her parents had had good times here. Until her mother died.
She cut the ignition. “You wait right here, Rose.”
The wind lifted a dust devil as she climbed the porch steps. “Daddy?” She rapped her knuckles on the doorjamb and peered through the screen door into the kitchen. “Daddy, you home?”
She heard the slow click of approaching paws and she peered through the screening. An ancient border collie crossed the kitchen linoleum toward her in a stiff arthritic gait. For the second time that day, Shannon felt a jolt of shock down to the soles of her feet.
“Tess?” She stared in disbelief, then opened the screen door as the dog approached, blue eyes milky with cataracts. The border collie sniffed her outstretched hand and after a moment her tail wagged and her blind eyes lifted, searching. Shannon dropped to her knees and enclosed the frail dog in her arms, overcome with emotion.
“Tess,” she choked out as her throat cramped up.
“She waited a long time for you to come back,” a man’s voice said.
Shannon knew that gruff voice as well as she knew the old dog she held in her arms. She looked up, blinking through her tears. Her father stood in the doorway, folded-up newspaper in one hand. She rose to her feet and swiped her palms across her cheeks to blot her tears.
“Hello, Daddy.”
His expression was chiseled in stone. For the longest moment Shannon thought he wasn’t going to respond, but then he gave a curt nod. “Fool dog still looks for you every afternoon, about the time the school bus used to drop you at the end of the road. She never stopped waiting for you to come home.”
His words were like a knife twisting in her guts, but of course, that had been his intention. To hurt her. Shannon would’ve dropped down beside the old dog and bawled her heart out if he hadn’t been standing there.
He was thinner, older, but still tough. A couple days’ worth of stubble on his lean jaw. His hair had gone completely gray and was cut short, like he’d always kept it. Neatly trimmed mustache. Sharp blue eyes that could still make Shannon feel guilty about things she hadn’t done and never would. Blue jeans, worn boots and a reasonably clean white undershirt. Handsome in a steely-eyed, weathered way.
“You might’ve let me know you were coming. Phone still works,” he said.
Shannon shoved her hands into her pockets and lifted her shoulders in an apologetic shrug. “I’m sorry. It was a spur-of-the-moment trip. I brought Rose with me, Daddy. I thought you might like to meet her.” She raised her voice and turned toward the car before her father could send them both packing. “Rose, come on and meet your grampy.” The car door opened. Rose stepped out and stood in the dust of the yard, staring up at them. To her father, Shannon said, “She’s a little shy with strangers, but it doesn’t last long. C’mon up here, honey. It’s all right.”
Rose just stood there, watching them.
“Where’s Travis?” her father asked in that same flat, hard voice, eyeing the car.
“I left him, Daddy. I should’ve done it a long time ago. We’re divorced. It’s over. I guess that’s why I’m here. I didn’t know where else to go. Come on, Rose. It’s okay.”
Rose climbed the porch steps one at a time, holding on to the railing. She stared gravely at her grandfather with her dark blue eyes. Peaches-and-cream face. Tawny curls. How could he not fall in love with her? Shannon thought. How could this sweet little girl, his own flesh and blood, not melt his heart?
“Hello, Grampy, I’m Rose,” she said, and, like they’d rehearsed, she held out her small hand to him.
He took it in his strong, calloused one after a startled pause. “Hello, Rose,” he said, and released her hand awkwardly. Shannon was relieved to see his expression had softened.
“Is this your dog?” Rose asked him.
“That used to be your momma’s dog. Her name’s Tess.”
“Her eyes look funny.”
“She’s blind,” her father said bluntly. “That happens sometimes with old animals.”
“Do you have horses?”
“A few.”
“Are they blind, too?”
“No, but they oughta be. They’re old enough.”
Rose’s expression became pained. She looked at her mother. “Momma, I really have to go pee.”
“The bathroom’s inside, up the stairs and on your right. Go on. And don’t forget to wash your hands
after.”
The screen door banged behind her and light footsteps raced up the stairs.
“Been a long time since there were any kids in this place,” her father said.
“I passed a house being built on the way in,” Shannon said, figuring it was best to get it out of the way. “In that pretty spot where I used to wait for the school bus.”
Her father nodded, rubbed the bristle of gray stubble on his chin and carefully studied the distant mountains. “I sold ten acres out by the black road to someone you used to know. Billy Mac, from the rez,” he said. “He paid some cash up front and he’s paying cash for half of each month’s mortgage payment, giving me the balance in work. I charged him interest just like a bank would. Seemed fair.”
For a few moments Shannon struggled to process what he’d just said. Billy Mac! Then the blood rushed to her head and her Scots/Irish spirit took over.
“You sold ten acres of land along the Bear Paw to Billy Mac? A guy you wouldn’t even let me date in high school?”
“Property taxes were due and the town...”
“Billy Mac?”
“I needed the money to pay back taxes, and you left, Shannon. I didn’t drive you off, you left of your own free will.”
Shannon pressed her fingertips to her temples. “You’re taking half the mortgage payment in labor?” Shannon glanced around at the neglected slump of the place. “Doesn’t look like he’s in any danger of drowning in his own sweat from all the work he’s doing around here. How much did you sell him the land for? Two hundred an acre?”
Her father never flinched. “He’s working hard and doing all right by me. I got no complaints,” he said. He shoved his hands deep in his pockets and rounded his shoulders. He refused to look at her, just gazed across the valley. The silence between them stretched out, long and awkward.
“I’d have bought that piece of land from you, Daddy,” Shannon said quietly. The anger drained out of her and, with it, the hopes and dreams of her fairy-tale homecoming. “You know how much I loved that spot.”
“Too late for that, isn’t it?”
“Too late for a lot of things, I guess.” Shannon felt empty inside. She’d been a fool to think that coming home would make life better. If it weren’t for Rose, she’d get back into her car and leave this place for good.
“How long were the two of you planning to stay?” he said, still not looking at her.
“I was hoping you might let us stay for a night or two,” Shannon said. “If it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”
They heard Rose’s footsteps descending the stairs at a gallop. “You can stay as long as you need to,” he said. Curt, clipped, brusque. He wasn’t going to bend. Wasn’t going to soften. Wasn’t going to cut her any slack. Never had, never would.
“Thanks, Daddy,” Shannon said, biting back the angry words that burned on her tongue. “We won’t be much bother. We might even be of some help. I still remember how to do chores, how to drive the mowing machine and how to pitch bales of hay. I noticed the fields hadn’t been hayed yet. It’s getting late for the first cut and there can never be too many hands at haying time.”
Rose pushed the screen door open and rejoined them on the porch. She dropped to her knees beside the old border collie. “Hello, Tess. I’m sorry you’re blind.”
“Be gentle with her. She’s very old,” Shannon said. “Fifteen years, anyway.”
“I’ll be gentle, Momma. Do you think she’s hungry?”
“Maybe.”
“I’m hungry, too. We haven’t eaten since forever.”
“That’s not true, we ate lunch. You didn’t finish yours, remember? I said, ‘If you don’t finish your sandwich, Rose Chesney Roy, you’re gonna get hungry real quick.’ And now you’re hungry and we don’t even know if your grampy can feed us.”
Her father bristled at her words. “You like beans and franks?” he asked Rose, gruff as a bear.
Rose nodded up at him, wide-eyed. “And I like burgers and french fries.”
“You’ll have to settle for cowboy fare tonight.”
“Okay,” she said eagerly, scrambling to her feet. “Can you teach me to ride tomorrow, Grampy?”
He matched Rose’s intense blue gaze with one of his own and fingered his mustache. “This is a real busy time of year. I doubt I’ll have a chance.” They heard a vehicle approaching and Shannon turned to see a dark pickup truck bouncing down the last rutted stretch of ranch road, kicking up dust. “That’ll be Billy Mac. He’s been staying here while he builds his house.”
The anger that had drained from Shannon returned with a vengeance and heat rushed back into her face. “Billy Mac’s living here? With you?”
Her father nodded. “Bunks in the old cook’s cabin. Likes his privacy.”
The truck pulled up next to Shannon’s car and the engine cut out. Door opened. Driver emerged. Stood. Looked up at them. Shannon stared back. It had been ten years and people changed, but the changes in Billy Mac were the result of more than just the years. He stood just as tall, with those same broad shoulders and the lean cowboy build that had made him a star quarterback and rodeo rider. But he wasn’t a kid anymore. Whatever he’d been through in the past ten years had turned him into a man. He reached his fingers to the brim of his hat and gave her a formal nod.
“Hello, Shannon,” he said. “This is quite a surprise.”
“Hello, Billy. You sure got that part right,” Shannon replied. Her face burned as she remembered like it was yesterday his passionate and unexpected kiss, and how she’d slapped him afterward. “This is my daughter, Rose.”
Billy nodded again. “Nice to meet you, Rose.”
Rose skipped down the porch steps and stuck her hand out. “Momma told me it’s polite to shake hands when you meet people,” she said.
Billy took her little hand in his own for a brief shake. “Your momma’s teaching you good manners.”
“Supper’s about ready,” her father said. “Come on in.”
Billy hesitated. “The two of you have some catching up to do. I don’t want to intrude.”
“You’re not intruding,” her father said, then turned before Billy could respond. The screen door banged shut behind him.
“Nobody argues with Ben McTavish,” Shannon said. “You should know that by now. You’re working for him, aren’t you? Come on in.” As much as Shannon dreaded sharing supper with Billy Mac, she dreaded sharing it alone with her father even more.
Billy’d gained a limp—probably from getting thrown off some snuffy bronc or bull. The injury made climbing the steps slow.
“Are you a real cowboy?” Rose asked when he reached the top step.
“Not anymore, Rose, but I used to be a fair hand at rodeo.”
“What’s rodeo?”
Billy glanced at Shannon. “Your momma hasn’t told you what rodeo is?”
Shannon smiled and tousled Rose’s curls. “I’ve been remiss.”
Billy gave Rose a solemn look. “Better ask her to bring you to the next rodeo, so you can experience it firsthand.”
“Can we go, Momma?” Rose asked, excited.
“We’ll see. Come on, supper’s ready and we need to get washed up.”
Billy opened the screen door and held it while Shannon, Rose and Tess went inside. Shannon had envisioned dirty dishes stacked in the sink, counters crowded with empty cans of food and trash everywhere, but the kitchen looked much the same as it had when she’d left. More tired and worn after ten years, but surprisingly neat. Her father was adding another can of generic pork and beans to the pot on the old propane cookstove.
“Won’t take long to heat,” he said.
“I thought Rose and I could share my old room,” Shannon said. When he didn’t respond except to nod, she took her daughter’s hand and led her up the stairs, remembering the feel of each worn tread, the c
reak of the floorboards, the way the late afternoon sunlight beamed through the west-facing hall window and splintered through the railings at the top of the stairs.
“Is this where we’ll be living, Momma?” Rose asked as they stood in the open doorway of the small room at the top of the kitchen stairs. The room was just as Shannon remembered. Just as she’d left it. Bed neatly made. Braided rug on the floor beside it. Posters of country-and-western singers pinned to the walls. High school text books stacked on the battered pine desk, as if waiting for her to return and finish up her senior year, as if she could step back in time and magically erase that unforgivable mistake she’d made, running off to Nashville with the slick-talking Travis Roy.
“I don’t know, Rose,” Shannon said, because in all honesty, she didn’t. “We’ll be staying here for a few days, anyway.” She felt a little dizzy, standing in this musty-smelling time capsule. A little sick at heart and a little uncertain. Coming back home hadn’t been such a good idea, after all, but she was here. The only thing she could do was try to make the best of it. She had to get beyond the little house Billy Mac was building on the very spot she’d coveted—and the fact that Billy Mac was downstairs in her father’s kitchen.
Billy’d had a tough-guy reputation in high school, maybe because being born on the rez had left him with a chip on his shoulder the size of Texas. But he’d been a wonderful athlete, and handsome enough to make all the girls swoon. He’d had his pick of them, too.
He’d asked Shannon out a couple of times, but even her father had heard that Billy was a player and warned her away from him. Though she’d heeded his warning, that hadn’t stopped her from being attracted to him, and it hadn’t stopped Billy from trying.
Though she’d been a year younger, Billy’d been her lab partner, and they’d shared an edgy class fraught with a different kind of chemistry that could have taken her down a completely different path and very nearly did. But along about then, Travis Roy moved to town, asked her to sing with his country-and-western band and then dazzled her with promises of a life of fame and fortune in Nashville.
