by Mary Manners
He added the chore to a list in the small notebook he drew from the back pocket of his jeans. The list had grown exponentially in the week since he’d returned home. With Dad sick for so long and gone now, much around the ranch had fallen into disrepair. The cancer had taken its toll, leaving Dad incapacitated and Mom as his primary caregiver until the very end. The ranch hands did their best to keep up, but they needed direction. Jace chastised himself for staying gone so long following Dad’s death—the better part of a year. But he’d had business to take care of…square pegs that he’d tried his best to slide into round holes. And then there was the last ride he’d taken along the circuit, the final toss from a bull he’d tried to tame that had nearly stolen his vision—and his life. The severity of the concussion he’d endured stood as the wake-up call Jace had needed to get his feet planted firmly on the ground.
So he’d come home. Even now, witnessing the remnants of Mom’s grief upon losing her companion of over forty years was pretty much the toughest thing Jace had ever endured. And though he and his father hadn’t always seen eye to eye—especially when it came to Jace’s former career choice—Dad had always been the strongest man Jace knew…a rock-solid lighthouse in the face of life’s storms. According to Mom’s testimony, during the course of his final days Dad’s faith never faltered. It remained a strong foundation upon which the Baldwin family was built.
Did he—Jace—have what it took to carry on here at the ranch, and in life, where Dad had left off?
Jace came to the East Ridge, which sat as the highest point of the property that overlooked a sweeping expanse of rolling green pasture. The beauty of sunlight as it dappled over a blanket of breeze-tossed Texas Gold Columbine never failed to steal his breath and remind him that this stretch of land was home.
Jace inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with the sweet scent of rain-kissed grass and autumn leaves that were just beginning to drift from a grove of oaks. The oaks shaded a section of the yard to the side of the sprawling white-framed farmhouse. Dad had restored the house to perfection with his own hands. Jace had spent long summer days roaming the land with his father, learning under Dad’s patient guidance all there was to know about ranch work, livestock, and mending fences. No matter how far away life might have once taken Jace, this would always remain his home. The lure was undeniable. He just wished Dad was here to witness his homecoming firsthand. Jace knew he’d broken Dad’s heart the day he’d stalked off, insisting he’d make it to the top riding bulls or die trying.
Those words had come as close as a barber’s shave to killing Jace.
Now he drank in the cattle that grazed below, each steer lumbering as if the star in a slow-motion film. Nothing here was hurried, and the very thought seemed a paradox to the heart-thundering, eight-second flash-fire of the bull rides by which he’d once measured his life’s success.
Jace rolled his shoulders as an ache coursed through. His ribs were on the downhill side of healing, but his torso still protested when he drew the occasional deep, cleansing breath. At least he could see well enough to drive a nail through a fence post, though, and he knew as long as he lived he’d never grow tired of the lush, emerald pasture-grass and cloud-wisped expanse of Southwest Texas sky.
Jace bowed his head in silent prayer. “Thank you, God, for this second chance. Help me to make the most of it…”
He drew a deep breath and then coaxed his mount, Skye, into a three-sixty as he drank in the seemingly endless span of property. The Appaloosa mare was a beauty with its sleek, black coat and splash of sclera-white across thick-muscled hind-quarters. She’d been Dad’s favorite mount, and after merely a week of riding her, Jace understood why.
He pulled up on the reins with a gentle click of his tongue as his gaze zeroed in on the neighbor’s farmhouse across the southwest stretch of pasture, nearly kitty-corner as the crow flies to the Baldwin spread. The verdant, rolling grassland between, for the most part, had been in the Baldwin family since the day his great-grandfather had the foresight to purchase it nearly a century ago. It had changed hands twice since—to his grandfather in the late fifties and then to Dad in the mid-eighties—and during the past few weeks Mom had begun to drop hints of her plans to one day soon transfer the title to Jace.
Jace didn’t want to think about it…the passage of time and the ebb and flow of life. Ranch life had a pulse of its own, a strong, steady heartbeat that offered a sense of routine and balance that he’d once run from like a deadly case of the flu. Routine and balance weren’t words found in his vocabulary. But the death of his dad that followed so closely on the heels of what could have easily been a life-ending rodeo disaster, turned a cog deep inside of Jace that set a change in motion—an alteration in the very fiber of his being.
Jace’s gaze swept back to the southwest pasture and the modest farmhouse settled there. The hundred acres or so the house sat on remained the only hold-out of fertile pastureland within a dozen miles of the Baldwin property. If he’d been here when the tract came up in foreclosure six months ago, he’d have snatched it up in a heartbeat. As it happened, he’d been chasing the next rodeo buckle while Mom struggled to keep their land intact. No one took the initiative to pursue another land deal, despite the profitability the additional land would surely provide.
Dad would have taken care of things. He’d have jumped on the land and had the deal sealed in a heartbeat—at a minimal cost, as well. He’d always said he’d planned to add acreage to the Baldwin ranch one day. The possibilities were endless…
Well, Jace would simply have to step in now. He’d take action, though a little slow on the uptake. No matter, he had a plan. From what Jace understood, the new owner of the aging farmhouse paired with the neat little stretch of acreage had recently passed away, leaving his wife and son to take care of things. Jace used the term take care of things loosely, because as far as he could tell the property mimicked a ghost town. Not even a single head of cattle grazed in the pasture that had gone to seed, and the barn looked like it could use a serious overhaul. Even the garage gaped back at him as if it suffered from a severe case of eczema; shingles littered the yard from the recent deluge of rain. Jace hadn’t caught sight of the widow or her son in the week since he’d returned, but Mom spoke of them often. Apparently she’d attended the husband’s funeral, and had made several attempts since to lure—without success—the widow and son to dinner. They were in a bad way, Mom told Jace, and now he wondered just how long the unlikely pair might last on such a demanding slice of property without any knowledge of how to mend what required mending or operate what they’d need to garner any sort of income.
Maybe the widow had cash to burn; maybe she didn’t need an offer on the land.
No matter. Jace decided he’d head over to the modest two-story within the next day or so to check things out. If all went well, he’d offer the widow a hand. Only, he was sure his way of helping was a little different from what Mom had in mind; he’d make an offer on the land. Given the situation, it should be an easy deal to make. Dad had often spoken of how he’d like to have the pastureland to complete the Baldwin family ranch. It was the least Jace could do to honor Dad’s memory and to make up for failing to jump on the opportunity when it had presented itself earlier that year. Jace planned to work his magic to bring the widow around to his way of thinking. He’d make his dad proud, even if Dad wasn’t here to witness Jace in action.
A shout rang out, and Jace lifted his head as a flurry of activity at the farmhouse suddenly caught his eye.
Skye noticed as well, judging by her slight scuffle of steps as the mare rounded back for a better look with those huge, onyx eyes that seemed to drink in even the minutest detail.
A door slammed. The sound echoed off the rolling hills of a distant ridge as a woman rounded to the front of the wrap-around porch. From what Jace could tell, she looked like no widow he’d ever seen. She appeared to be close to his age, and her dark hair caught the sunlight and fanned up and around her shoulders as she
headed for the porch steps, taking them in a series of staccato slaps. Her fists held tight to her side, clenched as if for battle, as she shouted into the hillside. Jace glanced around furtively, looking for the person to whom her cries were directed, but he saw no one.
She seemed to be engaged in a heated argument with herself.
The tension was palatable as she bounded from the last step and rushed across the mud-pocked gravel drive to a black SUV parked at the double door of the detached garage. An odd sensation tugged at his gut and Jace started toward the drive to see if she needed help with some sort of emergency. But he pulled up just short of the ridge as the woman grabbed the vehicle’s door handle and threw the driver’s side wide open. Jace couldn’t actually hear the jangle of keys over the nicker of cattle hooves and the grating song of blackbirds that circled the air overhead, but he imagined the sound as she pulled a ring of them from an oversized purse latched to her shoulder.
She paused at the gaping driver’s door for a moment, and then turned back and unleashed a flurry of sharp kicks through the gravel. Two words coursed through Jace’s mind as a string of shouts rang out.
Temporary insanity.
The widow’s words were indistinguishable as shards of stone spattered the garage siding like rounds of gunshot, but judging from her heated tone Jace had a pretty good idea of where things were headed.
The petite flash of lightning appeared to be madder than a storm closing in over a darkened Texas horizon—gaining speed and intensity as wicked clouds swirled and raged. When the raging vortex peaked, watch out.
Jace burst into laughter. He couldn’t restrain himself as he watched the dark-haired beauty dance a series of convoluted steps across the drive. Her actions stood as a paradox to her petite, alluring stature. Yet, Jace figured whoever was on the receiving end of the tempest about to blow through; well…they’d better seek shelter and quick.
Glad it’s not me.
The woman paused abruptly and shielded her eyes as she lifted her gaze his way. Recognition dawned as she froze still as an ice sculpture.
“It’s not funny!” She bellowed up at him.
Jace caught that part loud and clear. Still mired in laughter, he simply waved.
Yes, he’d be working a deal on the property soon. He was sure of it.
The woman doubled over as she wrapped her arms around her mid-section, and Jace imagined she sucked a few deep, cleansing breaths in an attempt to calm the storm that swept through her. Finally straightening once again, she raked a hand through her hair and then smoothed her shirt as she leaned her head back and shouted at the sky.
“Why, God…why?”
The question echoed from the ridge like a cannon blast. She narrowed her gaze at him and Jace thoroughly expected another tirade directed his way. Instead, she tossed her purse into the SUV and then launched herself into the driver’s seat and slammed the door. Within seconds the gunning roar of the engine rivaled anything he’d ever heard from NASCAR. Gravel exploded in a burst of confetti as she maneuvered a quick three-point turn to rocket forward down the drive, and then spun out toward the road with the SUV eating up the ground like a chocoholic devouring the dessert line of a buffet.
Jace felt just the slightest sting of remorse.
The SUV disappeared toward town in a cloud of dust.
Yep, someone’s in a mess of trouble, and I’m sure glad it’s not me.
3
A breeze hummed through the driver’s window, carrying the sweet, musty scent of autumn leaves as it teased Addy’s dark hair into a frenzied tangle. In the distance, a canopy of oaks danced a slow, languid ballet. Leaves carried by the wind drifted and swirled to litter the windshield. Addy turned on the wiper blades to sweep them away. Any other day she’d pause to admire the beauty, but not today.
No…definitely not today.
She rounded the corner toward Atascosa Middle School and followed a length of blacktopped road that ended in a modest parking lot pockmarked by a handful of cars and a pair of cheerful yellow school buses. The burnt-red brick, single-story school building stood small compared to the two-story, sprawling middle school Garret had attended in their quaint suburb just west of Chicago.
Addy swung the SUV into the first available space and cut the engine. Resting against the seatback for a moment, she stared at the building as she struggled to calm the rapid kickboxing jabs of her pulse. Her heart pounded through her chest in sharp, staccato bursts and she figured her blood pressure must be off the charts. A single thought rushed through her head in a series of waves that refused to ebb…
Garrett’s in trouble. Garrett’s in trouble. Garrett’s in trouble.
The words tumbled over her like bricks tossed from a broken pallet. For a moment she couldn’t breathe as her pulse coursed through her temples, causing the headache that had relentlessly plagued her over the past few weeks to intensify to an eight on the Richter scale. She feared by the time she finished the meeting here with the principal and returned to the car with Garrett in tow she’d be battling a perfect ten.
Because Garrett’s in an awful mess this time that I may not be able to bail him out of. Yes, Garrett’s in trouble—again.
But Garrett had never been in trouble at school before they’d moved here—well, not counting the time he painted Cassie Lanier’s hair with a glue stick during art class the first week of kindergarten. No, Garrett had always been a good kid…easygoing and happy and, for the most part, respectful.
Until they moved here…until Mack died.
Why did you leave me, Mack? Why did you bring us here, chasing your dreams, only to leave us alone and heartbroken?
Without wasting any more time, Addy shoved the ring of keys into her purse and slipped from the driver’s seat. Her legs refused to cooperate as her feet hit the pavement and she stumbled as a flash of heat rushed through her mind.
It just wasn’t fair. She didn’t understand any of this. Why are You doing this to me…to Garrett?
She splayed a palm along the vehicle’s bumper and doubled over, her belly tumbling. The lightheadedness could be a side effect of skipping a meal or two. How long had it been since she’d summoned an appetite—yesterday morning, or the evening before? Addy couldn’t recall; the days swirled together like the color-splashed leaves that drifted from the trees around her. She waited, forcing back a wave of heat until her breathing decided to cooperate once again. Then she drew deeply once, twice, as the pavement whirled like a dark storm cloud. It was then that she noticed she was wearing two different shoes. Both were flip flops, but the left was a shade of hunter green spattered with polka-dots while the right sported a pattern of blue waves on a white background. How had she missed that fashion faux pas?
Garrett…he needed her and she had no room to consider anything else. Pull it together, Addy.
She groaned as slowly, very slowly, her equilibrium returned. If she survived this meeting with Garrett’s principal, she promised herself that as soon as she stepped safely through the front door of the farmhouse once again she’d scour the kitchen for something meal-worthy, make the necessary preparations, and devour a plateful of whatever she’d thrown together in an attempt to restore her strength.
If she—and Garrett—survived this latest fiasco in a long line of stunts that he’d pulled since entering Atascosa Middle School. What, exactly, the infraction might be this time, Addy had no idea. But whatever Garrett had done was serious enough to elicit a phone call from the principal as well as a demand for a meeting with Addy today—not tomorrow or even later this afternoon—but immediately.
Help me, Lord.
There she went again, sending up another prayer that was destined to go unanswered. Why did she even bother?
Addy pressed a fist to her mouth as a sob welled in her throat, forcing back the sound of her grief. Swallowing hard, she adjusted her purse strap over one shoulder and started once again across the lot. Small puddles had formed here and there from the recent rains, like stepping stones
, and wisps of heat curled up from the moisture in smoky puffs. She did her best to ignore the cheerful rays of sunlight that seemed to mock her as they turned the blacktopped pavement to a dancing shimmer of smoke and glass.
Garrett needed her more than ever. Her son needed her now.
****
As Jace rounded the corner toward the front of the neighbor’s farmhouse later that afternoon, a staccato rush of heated shouts slapped him in the face. He pulled up slightly on Skye’s reins and considered turning back toward the ridge but froze instead, mesmerized by the horror movie that played out before him.
“So what if I got in a little fight. He deserved it.”
Gravel spattered as a kid Jace judged to be on the brink of teenage years chunked the shards of rock with the toe of his tennis shoe. His cheeks flamed like a pair of emergency flares as he spun to face the woman Jace had watched storm from the property earlier that day. “It’s no big deal, Mom. He got what he had coming. He’s had it in for me since the first day I got here, and he picks on other kids, too. I’m sick and tired of taking it.”
“This is a big deal. It’s a huge deal. Regardless of your frustration, Garrett, there are better ways to handle things.” The woman held up one hand palm out and fingers spread wide, to silence the kid whose eyes smoldered like shale heated in the dead of summer. “Your dad taught you better, didn’t he?”
“Sure, but Dad’s not here anymore, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“Oh, I’ve noticed.” The woman’s voice faltered as her eyes flooded with tears. “Believe me, Garrett, I’ve noticed.”
“Dad’s gone, Mom, and now I’m just trying to figure things out. Why won’t you listen to my side of this? You don’t even care about what goes on at school. You never ask me anything anymore. You think—”
