The Bride Wore Denim

by Lizbeth Selvig

  “Never.”

  “I don’t think so either. And, that, my dear Harper, is what this lunch was all about.”

  “Thank you. Whatever happens. Thank you.”

  “My joy and my pleasure. Now. I have to ask about your name, Harper Lee Crockett. I could make all kinds of suppositions about it, but I’d love to hear from you how you came by it.”

  “Your suppositions would probably all be right. My father had very eclectic heroes and heroines. I’m named after the author Harper Lee, and I am Davy Crockett’s ninth cousin twice removed. Somebody worked it out.”

  “That’s the most marvelous thing! Can you imagine the hook your beautiful name will be for getting people interested? This gets better and better, my dear! I’m thrilled.”

  Harper could hardly breathe for excitement, although the first taste of commodity pricing, as it were, over her name gave her a twinge. But it was nothing. There didn’t seem to be a downside to this. She wanted to dive into the deal like an Olympic champion into a pool. Still, she knew she had to think about it for appearances sake. Probably for her own sake as well.

  “I do hope you’ll consider this—I know it’s a lot to ask. But I have great hopes and plans for you. And once you’ve considered it and come up with what you need and want to add to the deal, I hope you’ll say yes.”

  She thought two things simultaneously: Cole would be so excited, she couldn’t wait to tell him, and she already knew there wasn’t any question of her answer.

  Chapter Ten

  SKYLAR STARED AT Cole sitting comfortably on his horse. He leaned forward with his forearm resting on the saddle horn and laughed at something Grandpa Leif told him. She loved looking at him, even though he never looked back except to tease her about her new dog or the way she complained about school. She knew she should think of him as an old man, but she couldn’t. Every time he flashed his smile, her heart melted—like in the romance novels her mom didn’t know she read. The ones Grandma Sadie let her borrow and promised not to tell about. For a really, truly old person, Grandma Sadie sometimes acted younger than Skylar’s own parents.

  She sat up straighter on Bungu and scanned the hills for cattle. They were in this five thousand acre pasture somewhere. Her dad, Cole, and Grandpa Leif were waiting for a radio call from Cole’s dad, Russ, who was surveying the area in his plane. The two ranch hands that still worked for Paradise Ranch, Rico and Neil, had their families with them and were spread out on horseback waiting for word. Rico’s black lab, Shaggy, and Neil’s husky-lab cross, Lolly, criss-crossed the field between owners.

  This was one part of ranch life Skylar loved—gathering the cattle. There were three herds, each in a separate place. This first gathering of the early fall was of the closest-in herd and was always the most fun—everybody helped, from youngest to oldest; nobody was sick of the work yet; and this fall, for the first time in as long as she could remember, they weren’t going to use a helicopter to drive cattle—just some four-wheelers.

  They usually brought the cattle in the last half mile and sorted them on horseback. Today they were starting farther away—about five miles from the ranch—and would have an old-fashioned mini cattle drive—a one-day exercise so they could appreciate the old ways. Those were Joely’s wishes, handed down before she’d left for California with Mrs. Crockett three weeks ago. Skylar’s dad had told her this once-a-year drive had been a tradition for years, but Mr. Crockett had stopped it a while back. Joely and Mrs. C were due home today or tomorrow, and Cole wanted to be able to tell them the tradition had been revived.

  Skylar couldn’t have been happier. She thought Joely was making some good rules.

  A faint familiar whirr caught her attention, and she shielded her eyes to stare into the blue September sky. She saw the helicopter approaching straight toward them, and she frowned. The whirr morphed to a tell-tale whoop and she pointed to show her brother Marcus.

  “What’s that? I thought we weren’t using a chopper this year.”

  “We aren’t.” Sixteen-year-old Marcus met her frown and copied it.

  Moments later everyone could see the big, white-and-silver helicopter.

  “It’s a medi-vac chopper,” Cole said. “Must be coming from the VA.”

  “Seems a might low,” Leif said. “Don’t like seeing them. Means someone’s life is probably changing, and not for the better.”

  “Oh, don’t think like that.” Skylar’s mom chided them. “Somebody’s life is being saved.”

  The chopper passed overhead and continued on. Skylar watched it with an odd premonition in her stomach, but everyone else went back to work before it was out of sight. She didn’t like thinking about the kinds of injuries that required an air lift. Although, she reminded herself, because roads were far apart in this part of Wyoming, an injury didn’t have to be that serious. One Interstate highway did cut through a corner of Paradise, but that section of road was a long way from anywhere an ambulance could get to quickly. Medical helicopters weren’t uncommon.

  She shook her head. Her mother was always warning her about the gloomy thoughts she often let grow. Normally the admonition to cheer up irritated Skylar to death. Now, however, her mother was probably right. She didn’t want to dwell on accidents on a day like this.

  She turned Bungu toward her brother, ready to follow him as she’d been doing all morning. His horse Scout knew everything there was to know about working cattle and made a great partner horse for Bungu who was still learning. The walkie-talkie on her father’s belt squawked. At the same moment, Cole’s did the same. Then her grandpa’s followed. Cell phones didn’t work out here in the middle of the ranch, but the radios had ranges of around eighteen miles, sometimes more if there weren’t any hills or other things in the way. To have them all go off meant someone was hailing them.

  Her dad pulled his unit free and pushed the talk button. “Bjorn here. That you, Sadie?”

  “Bjorn?” Miss Sadie’s voice crackled with age and distance. “You all need to come back. Right away. There’s been an accident.”

  Skylar’s blood froze.

  “Sadie? Tell me what’s going on.” Her father’s voice soothed, even as he exchanged worried glances with the other adults.

  “Chet Reynolds is here.”

  Chet Reynolds was a Teton County sheriff.

  “Bella and Joely. Chet says it isn’t good.”

  “What?” Cole grabbed his radio. “Sadie? It’s Cole. Darlin’ let me talk to Chet.”

  The rest of the conversations and crackles and moans of disbelief blurred after that. With sickening clarity, Skylar realized the chopper they’d all seen, flying low, had been heading for the accident scene on Highway 191, twenty-five miles from the ranch. The knowledge made her want to throw up. She’d known something was wrong.

  The cattle were allowed to disburse into the pasture without a second thought. Her grandpa, her dad, and Cole launched themselves, with Rico’s and Neil’s youngest kids, into the pickup truck that served as a chuck wagon, and disappeared toward the ranch at breakneck speed. Skylar, left behind with her mother, Neil and Rico, Marcus, and Rico’s wife, Sarah, to make the ten-mile ride back home leading three horses, paid only enough attention to know Joely and her mother weren’t dead, and that Joely, the most seriously injured, was unconscious and badly hurt. Something about a logging truck and broken chains and logs smashing through the car windshield. After gleaning that much, Skylar let herself go numb.

  The ride home seemed to take forever. All Skylar could think about was that there’d been a funeral only a month before. That one was still fresh in her mind. She didn’t think she could stand another one. And definitely she couldn’t handle two.

  She expected to find chaos when she got back, but the ranch yard was quiet. She wanted to run and find Cole, but her mother made her help with the horses first, and by the time they all reached the main house, there wasn’t any chaos there either. Even so, Skylar recognized the pall that permeated all the rooms. It was as crus
hing as when Mr. Crockett had died.

  They found Grandma Sadie cradled in the oversized arms of the living room armchair. She was wrapped in blankets, and Cole squatted beside her. At first she thought Grandma Sadie might have finally succumbed to grief, but she was the one speaking. As Skylar approached the words became clear—and immediately comforting. Grandma was praying.

  The Crocketts had always been known as good church-going folk—at least according to her mother. “The girls slipped a mite after they moved away.” She could hear her mom’s voice, telling her the story as a warning, so she wouldn’t become one of the ones who strayed. “We all hope they come back to the fold in time. You’ll have to remember to keep them all in your prayers.”

  The funny thing was her mother cared about God and religion more than anyone Skylar knew, even the pastor at their church in Wolf Paw Pass. But when she said the Crockett girls had slipped, she didn’t say it like she thought less of them. It was sometimes impossible to figure out what things her mom would take a dislike to, like going to school in town, and what things she’d be tolerant of, like the Crockett girls who’d “slipped.”

  “So please cover Joely and Isabella with your precious spirit and lead them through the valley back to us,” Grandma said, her eyes closed. “And pour your love and mercy over the rest of the girls. Comfort them. Let them know you are with them as you are with their sister and mother.”

  The words were kind of old-fashioned and churchy. Skylar mostly didn’t know what she believed. Her dad didn’t say much about religion. Sometimes religion was all her mom talked about. When Skylar was out riding and drawing, she thought there must be God somewhere. When he was being stuffed down her throat, she was sure people were making him up to scare her.

  Grandma Sadie’s prayer didn’t scare her. It was sure and strong, like she was just reminding God to do those things instead of asking him. When she finished, Cole kissed her cheek and stood.

  “You okay?” he asked when he saw Skylar.

  She nearly cried. Not a single other person had asked her how she felt.

  “I’m scared,” she admitted and the admission caused a miracle. He put his arms around her and held her in a huge hug.

  “I’m sure you are. We all are,” he said. “It’s pretty hard to be brave when we don’t know what’s going on. Your dad and your grandpa went to the hospital. They’ll let us know.”

  “Are they going to die?” It was a question she normally never would have voiced, but she was braver than usual with Cole there. She held onto his waist, and he felt more solid and strong than her own dad.

  “Aw, honey, I sure hope not,” he said. “I don’t believe they are, but that’s because I’m hoping so hard. I wish I could lie and tell you I knew they were going to be fine. But you’re big enough to know that I can’t make a promise like that yet.”

  “I know.”

  He pulled away and patted her on both arms. “Hey, where’s that pup?”

  She’d forgotten about Asta. “She’s in her kennel in the barn.”

  “Why don’t you run and get her. Bring her here. I’ll help watch her. And, hey, even if she pees on the floor, it’s more important for you to have a friend right now.”

  Wasn’t he her friend? She’d rather stay here with him. She also knew he was right.

  “Okay,” she said. On her way to the back door she stopped and looked back. “Did anyone ask you if you’re okay?”

  He smiled, his eyes a little surprised. “You’re a nice girl, Skylar Thorson, anyone tell you that? I’m okay.”

  She felt a little better, like she did after she’d been helpful around the house or the barns. The satisfaction didn’t make the cloud hanging over the whole house go away, but she wasn’t as reluctant to leave by herself. She’d taken good care of Asta as she’d sworn to her parents she would when they’d very reluctantly allowed her to keep the pup. She didn’t want to mess that up now. Cole was right about her needing a friend, but more than that she needed someone to take care of the way Cole had taken care of her.

  “Hey, Skylar?”

  She turned back to his call, her heart thumping at his smile. “Yeah?”

  “Could you ask Rico if he’d call Dr. Ackerman? Tell her we need to postpone the pregnancy testing on the cows tomorrow. We’ll call and reschedule.”

  Her heart floated. He was trusting her with ranch business. Easy stuff that anyone could do—but he’d asked her. “Sure, I’ll tell him. Anything else?”

  “Come back quickly. I don’t want you wandering around by yourself—we all need to be together. ’Kay?”

  At that her heart officially soared. She could be here for him—she definitely could. Maybe people were wrong. Maybe a crush wasn’t ridiculous after all.

  Chapter Eleven

  HARPER MADE BJORN take her straight to the hospital from the airport without stopping at home. The terror eating like acid inside her had only slowed its burn as they neared the VA medical complex, and then it had only quieted because she knew she’d finally be able to talk to the experts herself. There wasn’t much of her family there to give her details. She trusted Leif, Bjorn, and Cole to tell her everything they knew, but after imagining the worst for twelve awful hours, firsthand information would be a gift.

  She’d been disappointed that Cole hadn’t picked her up, as he’d said he would, even though she had no right to expect it from him. Bjorn explained he was basically running the ranch at the moment, and in the past eighteen hours he’d spent most of his time trying to figure out how to be two places at once.

  She absolutely couldn’t hold that against him.

  Bjorn parked in the massive lot at the front of the hospital. Panic hit Harper anew as they entered the cheerful but imposing medical center lobby. Beautiful paintings depicting each branch of the military hung in solemn watch near the doors. Two American flags and a Wyoming state flag flanked the pictures. Warm colors and natural-wood furniture softened the military presence.

  “Mom was in the National Guard,” Harper said in a whisper as they headed for the elevator bank. “After fifteen years of service, I get why she’s eligible to be here. But the only tie Joely has to military service, as far as I know, is her husband, and she said he isn’t in the picture anymore. Doesn’t she have to be in a civilian hospital?”

  “Yes,” Bjorn replied. “But this is a far better equipped trauma center and was closer to the accident. They flew both your mom and Joely together.”

  “Will they move Joely?”

  Bjorn grimaced. “They can’t yet, Harper, honey. They don’t dare.”

  The words twisted the knife of fear deeper into Harper’s heart. Oh, God, she prayed. How could this be happening again?

  They reached the ICU on third floor, a huge, open space with a futuristically designed nurses’ station in the center and glass-walled rooms around the perimeter. Soft lights bathed everything except the rounded counters and overhead light fixtures in the middle. Harper marveled at the mix of sterility and warmth some designer had managed to achieve.

  After they registered at the desk, the male RN who took them toward her mother’s room treated them with such careful respect, Harper wanted to shake him. His demeanor hovered too close to sympathy, and that was scarier than the thought of what she’d see inside the room.

  The first person she saw was Leif. He sat in a recliner at the foot of the bed, feet on the floor instead of elevated, elbow propped on one chair arm, his chin cradled in his hand. He looked naked without his cowboy hat, his bushy gray hair starting to need a trim. His head popped up when the nurse knocked softly on the open door.

  “Harper. Darling.” He practically bolted from the chair and had her in his arms seconds later. For the first time, she wept. She hadn’t even looked at the bed yet. “I’m sorry you have to come home again for this. But I’m awful glad you’re here.”

  “I’m afraid to ask how she is.”

  She knew the list of injuries her mother and Joely had each sustained. Her
mother’s were the least serious on the surface: a hairline fracture above the left eyebrow, a severe concussion, a broken leg, a bruised spleen. It all sounded horrific, but she’d heal if the swelling in her brain got no worse. Right now, they were trying to prevent hematomas from forming and hoping the swelling would go down without surgery.

  Leif released her and placed a firm-but-wrinkled hand on her cheek. “She’s sleeping. They have her pretty well sedated due to some swelling around the brain. But she’s been awake, honey. She’s a tough bird, your mama.”

  “Have you been here the whole time?”

  “No, we all take turns. But she hasn’t been alone. Joely either. Go on, take her hand. She looks bad, but don’t let that worry you.”

  She didn’t want to see her beautiful mama any way but as she always was, glossy-haired, much younger looking than her fifty-nine years, perpetually positive, and agreeable. What she saw when she faced the bed pulled a gasp from the pit of her stomach.

  “Oh, Mom! Oh no.”

  Her mother’s beautiful chestnut hair tufted out from a swath of gauze around her forehead. Almost no unmarked skin was left on her face—every inch seemed covered by a scrape, a small cut, or a brown pockmark. It took a long moment and a deep breath, but finally Harper bent and kissed one damaged cheek.

  “I love you,” she said. “I’m so sorry this happened. I’m sorry I wasn’t here.”

  She sat with her mother, talking and murmuring words of encouragement without regard to time. The longer she stayed the easier it got to be there, even though her heart still hurt. The regular rise and fall of her mom’s chest was comforting, and the color behind her bruises and cuts at least made her look alive, if painfully so. She didn’t notice the others had left her alone until she looked up to find the room, with its muted light, quiet and empty.

  “She’s gonna be all right.”