Home on the Range

by Ruth Logan Herne

  And yet…

  Her choice of shadows and privacy didn’t mesh with big city, big bucks therapy, and Sammamish was an upscale town snugged up to Seattle. So why was she here, living a hermit’s life in the forest?

  Does it matter enough to mess up the forward progress you see in your daughters?

  It didn’t, he decided. He wasn’t some wet-behind-the-ears kid, crushing on someone. He was an accomplished man, a rancher who ran a big business. He used instinct to make decisions every day. Sure, he’d almost walked away that first night, tempted to let pride get in the way.

  He gazed into his daughters’ shining eyes and was mighty glad he didn’t, because Elsa’s quiet honesty seemed to have turned the tide in his favor at long last.

  Elsa pulled into Rachel’s driveway on the upper outskirts of town. She climbed out of the car as Rachel’s boys headed out back with their father on thick-wheeled Gators. Rachel was walking toward the house with a tray of dishes in hand when she saw her.

  She paused, then smiled. “Got time for coffee?”

  “Tea, yes. Or water. I’ve hit my coffee limit for the day.” She followed Rachel into the house. Rachel set the tray on the counter, filled the kettle, then set it on to boil.

  “You could just heat water in the microwave,” Elsa reminded her. “I do it all the time.”

  “The kettle takes longer, allowing me to probe deeper.”

  “No probing required.” Elsa made a face at her. “I was out and thought I’d stop by.”

  Rachel could have reminded her that she hadn’t done anything impetuous since moving to Gray’s Glen. She didn’t. “I’m glad. What were you up to today that’s got you wandering the roads at suppertime?”

  “The Stafford girls.”

  Rachel’s sigh of relief wasn’t overdone. “Thank you.”

  Elsa shrugged. “Don’t thank me yet, I’m just stepping in to help Cheyenne catch up on schoolwork over the summer. And maybe give her some tools to deal with the tough mix of emotions left to brew when mothers walk out on children.”

  “Nobody does it better, Elsa.”

  Elsa used to believe that. She’d always felt gifted when mixing children and therapy. And then she lost two beautiful children at the hands of an angry, possibly brain-traumatized parent, and she’d done what so many of her young clients yearned to do. She’d curled up into a ball and hidden herself, mentally and emotionally. “Well.”

  “Mom called today.”

  Elsa winced.

  “And your expression says she called you and you let your mother go to voice mail.”

  “I wasn’t exactly free to take calls in the Double S kitchen. I was doing reading skill builders with Cheyenne, who is, by the way, quite smart.”

  “I’ve got the test results to prove it,” Rachel agreed.

  “But she likes everything on her terms and her timeline, so we’ll work on that over the summer too.”

  The kettle began to whistle. Rachel got up, made the tea, and brought it back to the table. “You think she can catch up?”

  “Can? Yes.” Elsa stirred the tea just for something to do with her hands. “It’s up to her. The stubbornness might get in the way, but we have one very important trump card on our side.”

  Rachel arched a brow in question.

  “Her grandfather.” When Rachel looked surprised, Elsa nodded. “It’s clear that he loves those girls, and she wants to please him. So I’m going to use that for leverage in the nicest way possible, but there’s a big question mark that goes along with that plan.”

  “Which is?”

  “His illness.”

  “Ah.”

  “I’m not sure about the prognosis, but he doesn’t look good, and coaxing kids along new paths is tricky enough with no major potholes along the way. If he doesn’t make it, all this time and effort could be for nothing.”

  “Or it could strengthen Cheyenne to the point of being able to handle the unexpected twists and turns in life.”

  “That’s what the books say.” Elsa sipped her tea. “With kids, it’s not nearly so predictable because stages of development vary. But it can’t hurt,” she added, and she wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince Rachel or herself.

  “Teaching her how to build a platform of strength will only help her.”

  “And help me in the meantime?”

  Rachel smiled and tapped the mug of tea. “It did get you out of the cave and into the light, so yeah. I’d be okay with a fringe benefit like that. Because it’s time.”

  “Maybe past time.” She drank some more of the tea, then stood. “I’ve got to get home and take care of my mini-menagerie. They’re not accustomed to my being gone.”

  “Which means they’re about to enjoy a learning curve as well.” Rachel walked her outside, then hugged her. “I’m glad you stopped by. When do I see you again?”

  “I was thinking about going to church tomorrow morning.”

  Rachel stayed quiet, waiting.

  “Nick invited me.”

  “I see.”

  “I’m still considering it, of course. There was an accident on the ranch today, so we couldn’t talk it over, and I’m weighing it up.”

  “It’s church, Elsa.” Rachel’s expression called her out.

  “It’s church, in a small town, with a single parent. I’m assessing possible implications.”

  “Not possible, probable. And, yes, folks would actually see you in church with a single guy. But at least you’d be back in church, so I’m voting for yes. Get over yourself and shove the concerns aside. Like you used to, Elsa Jean.”

  “Things were different then.” She’d been braver. More self-assured.

  “And can be again,” Rachel insisted. “But only if you give them the chance.”

  She wanted to.

  She’d seen that today, working with the girls, helping when a farm crisis changed up plans, jumping in like she used to years ago.

  So the question wasn’t should she step out.

  The question was, could she?

  Elsa reached for her brush, then hesitated. Was she really getting ready for church, knowing Nick would be there with the girls? And was she a complete phony or only a partial phony, because would she have gotten up and ready if Nick wasn’t going to be there?

  No.

  But she’d have felt guilty about it, so maybe God had been working on her for a while and she hadn’t noticed. Or she’d ignored him because she was downright angry with him for letting Christiana and Braden down in their hour of need.

  Like you did.

  She set the brush down and stared at her reflection in the dresser mirror.

  She’d run the gamut of self-help. She knew the rules of therapy, she understood the timeline, the grieving and guilt process, she could recite the textbook platitudes by heart, and she’d gone for professional help because she understood the value of it.

  And still she heard their cries in the night.

  Was there a God? Did he care? Did he shelter and embrace? And if he did exist, were Braden and Christiana safe in his arms, or was that a simplistic portrait the gullible painted to glamorize the reality of death?

  Her gaze darkened, but then her phone buzzed an incoming text from Nick Stafford. “Heading to church in ten. Can I pick you up?”

  No, he most certainly could not. Having a man pick a woman up for church in a small town like Gray’s Glen spoke louder than a ring on the finger. Worse than that, if things didn’t work out, everyone knew. Then it became item number one on the small-town gossip circuit, so no, she’d get to church on her own, thank you very much. She texted that she’d meet him there and then laughed at herself.

  She’d talked herself into staying home, holding back, keeping her distance, and the minute he made contact, she’d caved. And if she was truthful with herself ?

  It felt good.

  “Elsa.”

  Her heart tripped faster when Nick called her name. As she turned, the two girls raced across the
stretch of sidewalk to throw themselves at her. “Good morning, ladies.”

  “I’m so glad you came!”

  Cheyenne grabbed one hand and Dakota latched on to the other. “Me too!”

  “Will you sit with us?” Cheyenne wondered, but it wasn’t in her demanding, petulant voice that had been getting her into trouble on a regular basis at home and at school. This was a gentler, kinder version and Elsa appreciated the difference right away.

  “Yes, because you’re precious and polite and not a demanding little twit.”

  Cheyenne blushed, then smiled. “I’m trying.”

  “Good.” She shifted her attention up to their father, mentally scolded her heart to keep it from jumping into overdrive, and kept her face placid. “Good morning.”

  “Good morning.” He looked at her, right at her, and even though he couldn’t take her hand because the girls had grabbed tight on either side, his eyes said he wanted to, and that was enough for now. “You look beautiful, Elsa.”

  “You look mighty fine yourself, cowboy.”

  A tiny smile that couldn’t be called a grin quirked his left cheek, and then he tipped one finger to the brim of his hat, cowboy style.

  Her heart stutter-stepped all over again.

  He led the way inside. If folks noticed them, they pretended not to, which was probably because some of them knew her story even though she’d kept out of the way. Still, in quaint places like Gray’s Glen, people had a way of finding things out. Anyone with access to a computer could find her history in a one-point-five-second Google search.

  Let it go…

  The words from the popular song touched her. She’d come to church because it felt like she should, and now that she was here, she didn’t want to fret. She wanted…

  She glanced around the quaint Catholic church they were using while theirs was rebuilt. She didn’t know what she wanted, but she’d like to start with peace. Peace of mind, peace of heart, to toss the scarlet cloak of guilt away. That would be a wonderful way to begin.

  Nick handed her a songbook. The bright Sunday morning bathed the simple windows in light, and a bank of flickering candles winked and bobbed with each breath of soft late-spring air.

  And when a lone voice from behind them began the a cappella opening notes of an old-time hymn, her soul grabbed on to the words like a sponge seeking water.

  She knew the rules of wellness better than most. She could either reach for the elusive healing with all its aches and pains or wallow in solitude.

  Dakota took her hand on one side.

  Cheyenne took the other.

  The hymn’s words pitched up and rolled down, and for the first time in long years, Elsa joined in the song.

  Within two minutes of the final hymn, Nick was sandwiched on the church steps by the town drunk and the elementary school principal he’d ignored the past year, who also happened to be Elsa’s older sister.

  Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.

  “I’m comin’ here to get a little religion,” the drunk explained, and when he hiccupped and swayed, Nick took him by the arm.

  “Can I help you home, Johnny?”

  “You’re a good-for-nothin’ Stafford so I don’t think so,” the older man argued, but he didn’t look any too sure. Several people passed by. Two women sniffed and scowled. One old-timer rolled his eyes as if seeing Johnny Baxter drunk was nothing new. Johnny had lost his wife, his home, his kids, and his self-respect when his drinking caused problems at the Double S. A part of Nick knew he could have mimicked Johnny’s outcome, except he was blessed to be born a Stafford with money and connections at his disposal when his marriage fell apart.

  “Elsa, can you get the girls to the car?”

  “I’ll walk with you, sis,” offered Rachel. Her glance sized up the situation as Elsa herded the girls north. “Cheyenne, that dress is lovely. The color is perfect on you. And Dakota, I love your pigtails. The matching bows totally rock the outfit.”

  Dakota was easily distracted.

  Not Cheyenne. She turned as they started to walk away. “Daddy, aren’t you coming?”

  He was and he wasn’t because someone had to see Johnny home before he made trouble and turned a nice Sunday morning into a hometown fracas. “I’ll be right along.”

  “I don’t need no help. I believe I said that.” Johnny shook him loose and took a wobbly step forward. “I got nothin’ but time, and I plan to spend it in church. It’s Sunday, ain’t it?”

  Nick nodded about the same time his brother Colt caught wind of what was going on. Colt and Johnny weren’t exactly buddies. “Church just finished,” Nick explained, easy like, but he wasn’t feeling quite as magnanimous inside. A tractor rollover had burned his family time the previous day. He wasn’t about to let the town curmudgeon ruin Sunday, but he couldn’t exactly leave him stumbling. That fact that most everyone else had done just that wasn’t lost on Nick. He saw the reverend approaching from the side steps and breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Service just ended, Mr. Baxter, but if you want time inside, we don’t need to lock up yet,” Reverend Stillman noted as he drew closer. “Father Mitchell said Mass early, and then we stepped in to do our service because he’s been kind enough to give us church time while ours gets rebuilt.”

  “I don’t much care for all the hoopla.” Johnny squinted at the minister.

  “I’m a simple man myself,” the reverend admitted. “Come on up. I’ll sit with you awhile.”

  Johnny blinked, then stared around town as if realizing where he was. He scowled at Nick and doubled up his fists. “If it weren’t for dag-blasted Staffords, I’d be in the money now. Sittin’ pretty. I don’t need to set in no church to know I was done wrong.”

  Nick stepped back when Johnny offered a weak side swing, and when Colt barreled their way, Nick grabbed his brother’s arm and kept him at bay. “He’s drunk and poor and pitiful and doesn’t know where he is half the time,” he whispered to his older brother. “Leave him be.”

  “He’s spoiling for a fight, that’s what he’s doing,” Colt shot back, not nearly as quiet.

  “A fight we’re not going to give him,” Nick continued softly. “Didn’t you just walk your sorry behind out of church?”

  The reverend cleared his throat in a show of support for Nick’s reasoning.

  “Do unto others? Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who’ve trespassed against us? Any of it ring a bell, Colt?”

  His brother sighed, long and overdone, as if contrite, but Nick knew better. If he let go of Colt’s arm, Colt was liable to give Johnny a wake-up-call thrashing for trashing their name around town for two decades. “Let’s head home. The reverend’s got this.”

  Sheriff Bennett rolled down the street in his black-and-gray police cruiser. He stopped, idled the engine, and leaned out the window. “Beautiful day, gentlemen.”

  Nick followed his lead. “Best one yet. We’re throwing smoked brisket on the slow grill, Rye. Do you and the kids want to come by later?”

  Rye Bennett looked like he was weighing his answer as the reverend led the drunken ex-cowboy up the church steps, and when they moved through the church door at long last, he leveled Colt a stern look. “Get over it. No one listens to what he says anymore. It’s time to move on.”

  “That’s easier said than done when he turns up all over the place, telling everyone we ruined him, his life, his marriage, and his farm.”

  “He’s not the only one holding a grudge against Staffords,” Rye reminded them. “Helping with this church and coming into town might balm some wounds, but it doesn’t happen overnight, Colt. You’ve only been home a couple of months. Give it time, man.”

  “He was in New York for a lot of years,” Nick reminded the sheriff as he released his brother’s arm. “If it’s not going a hundred miles an hour, Colt needs to know why. Patience isn’t his long suit.”

  “I’m patient when I need to be.” Colt stared up the church steps, clearly unhappy. “I don’t care what th
e old coot says about me, and I care less what he says about the old man because a good share of that’s deserved and we need to fix things. But there are kids involved now.” He looked to where Elsa and Rachel were talking in the far parking lot. “And that changes things.”

  “It sure does,” Rye told him. “It means you have to mind your manners and set the better example. And I can’t deny, brisket sounds real good for later. What time should we come by?”

  “Any time after three’s good,” Nick told him. He pointed up the sloped road and gave his brother a shot in the arm. “Ange is looking for you, and Noah’s eying that playground. Let’s give the kids some time to play before we head back to the ranch.”

  Noah ran their way just then, and Nick watched his brawny, in-your-face brother cave totally as the little guy launched himself into Colt’s arms. “Why not?”

  “And if Johnny Baxter comes wandering out of that church before you head home, leave him alone. Better yet?” Rye hiked a brow when the two Stafford men turned back his way. “Offer up a prayer or two. Spring’s a tough time for him.”

  Nick and Colt knew that. Johnny had messed up his life as a younger man. Sam Stafford cut him no slack when he started hitting the bottle. They’d lost two pricey calves in one night because a drunken cowboy failed to tend the birth mothers properly. He’d been thrown off the ranch and fell behind on his home payments. He lost his home and his wife twenty years ago now. Since then he scraped along by getting sober once in a while, working here and there, receiving benefits now and again. It was a day-to-day existence that always seemed worse in late spring.

  “Girls?” Nick called across the parking lot. “You want twenty minutes on the playground?”

  “Yes!” Cheyenne looked delighted by the prospect.

  “Yes!” Dakota echoed her big sister. Then they tore across the grass, looked both ways, and crossed the quiet street to join Noah, Angelina, and Isabo on the far side of the road. “We never get to stay and play on the playground! Thanks, Dad!”

  Nick mulled her words as Elsa came up to his side. “They’re right,” he told her. “I’m always too busy to let them stay and play. There’s always ranch work or house stuff or fixing…” He let his voice wander on purpose. “Why do I forget to just let them play?”