Home on the Range

by Ruth Logan Herne

  “Johnny Baxter bought me a round or two. He saw I was down on my luck.”

  His ex-wife drinking with Johnny Baxter. That meant Johnny probably wanted to dig up dirt on the Staffords, or he wanted to wave a relationship with Whitney in Nick’s face. It also explained the tough piece of information she flung at him. “I’ll cover the clothes. Once you’re working, you can pay me back or we’ll put it toward something for the girls. We can figure that part out then. Right now, all we should be looking at is one day at a time.”

  Her eyes went wide, which meant she recognized the familiar phrase from Alcoholics Anonymous. “Tell your friend I’ll be ready at ten.”

  “I will.” He climbed into the truck and drove away, half of him glad it went all right, the other half stewing over what he really wanted to say.

  He knew it wouldn’t be easy, but he hadn’t realized it would be this hard either. He’d had words to hurl, and in the end he had to swallow his pride and the words. He drove out of town, wishing he could stop by the church to spend a little time in thought and solitude, but the church was closed for the night and the pastor was gone. He punched a few keys on the radio, but nothing appealed to him.

  The local baseball team was practicing on the town field, west of the village. He pulled off the side of the road, climbed out, and watched. He loved playing basketball as a kid. He loved being part of a team, which was why helping to rebuild the church felt so good. Straddling walls, walking scaffold, talking with others. He hadn’t been part of a team effort in a long time, not away from the ranch, that is.

  He liked the synchrony of it.

  His phone warned him that it was almost time to pick up the girls. Once they were in bed, he’d talk with Elsa. That thought encouraged him. He’d handled these opening volleys with Whitney without making a fool of himself because he’d put Elsa’s advice to work. She’d come into their lives when he needed her. When they needed her.

  That had to be a God thing, because while it seemed that the timing couldn’t be worse, he realized it couldn’t be better. “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Paul’s words to the Corinthians—God’s reassurance in times of trouble.

  He pulled into Elsa’s yard, put the truck in park, and climbed out.

  “Daddy! Do you love it so much?” Excited, Dakota jumped up and down to point out the bright, merry, imperfect blossoms decorating the whitewashed picket fence sections. “Elsa’s going to put it in her garden!” She swung her paintbrush in a wide arc, spraying droplets of water left and right. “And she let us paint the flowers all by ourselves.”

  “Gorgeous.” He winked at Elsa over Dakota’s head, scooped her up, and moved closer. “You guys got a lot done.”

  “Elsa bought some pretty paints. Finally.” Cheyenne drew out the last word out, as if pained. “Not those dull colors she’s got inside.”

  “There is a time for every purpose under the heaven, kid,” Elsa reminded her. “Some things call for dull, and some moments call for bright. But it’s never okay to fault someone else’s feelings or choices, because you’re not walking in their shoes. Got it?”

  Cheyenne frowned but nodded. “Yeah, I guess. Did you go see Mom while we were here? And did you tell her to get out of town? She told me that’s what you’d try to do, so I wondered all night if that’s what you were doing.”

  At least she’d asked him outright instead of sitting around stewing. “I did go see her, but she was wrong, Cheyenne.” When Cheyenne looked skeptical, he shrugged. “I told her I don’t want her to leave, that you girls need your mother around, and that she could stay in our house for the summer and we’ll move onto the ranch.”

  “For real?” Cheyenne stared up at him, and the look of hope in her gaze went deeper than words. “What did she say? Did she say yes?”

  “She’s thinking about it.”

  “I don’t mind if she leaves.” Dakota clung to Nick’s neck and muttered the words softly. “I think it’s okay to be just us, isn’t it, Daddy?” She pulled back and gazed into his eyes. Distrust flattened her features. “But I’ll love living on the ranch with Noah and Ange and all the animals.”

  “Why can’t we all stay in our house, together?” Cheyenne set down her brush and faced off with him. “Like we used to? There’s plenty of room, and you know it.”

  “We’re not married anymore,” Nick reminded her. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t be a family. It’s only a fifteen-minute drive into town, Cheyenne. If your mom stays for the summer, she’ll come out to the ranch and visit you.”

  “Which is a nice compromise on all sides, just like we discussed.” Elsa’s words suggested they’d discussed the merits of concession while he was gone. “Give a little, take a little.”

  Chin down, Cheyenne moved toward the truck.

  “Cheyenne, use your manners. Say good-bye to Elsa and thank her for letting you decorate the fence.”

  She didn’t turn and barely spoke. “Good-bye. Thank you.” She climbed into the truck, plopped into the backseat, and turned away.

  “Bye, Elsa!” Dakota reached down to hug Elsa’s neck and almost flipped herself out of Nick’s arms doing it. “I love the pretty fences so much! Can we do some for our house, Daddy? Elsa knows how to make things look special and pretty.”

  “She does.” He locked eyes with Elsa. A growing appreciation for a kid-centric mind-set wrapped in a delightful feminine package swept him. “Let’s get you guys home. Big day tomorrow with the graduation. You’re moving up, kid.”

  “I know!” She clapped her hands together, then put them over her mouth as if the thought of graduating to second grade was simply too amazing to contemplate. “I’m so excited!”

  “Me too.” Nick tucked her into the back of the truck. She chattered all the way to the ranch.

  Cheyenne sat in sullen silence, punishing him for decisions he had to make. Well, that’s why he was the parent and she was the child, but his younger illusions about being the best dad ever flew right out the window on a central Washington breeze. And when he got back to the ranch and got the girls settled in, a call from the birthing barn stymied his plans to meet Elsa. He picked up the phone and dialed her number.

  “What’s up?”

  The inviting quality of her voice sounded light and easy. “I can’t make it, sorry. We’ve got a cow in a bad way.”

  “Why are you on the phone? Go save her.”

  “I’m heading that way,” he promised as he hurried toward the barn. “Meet me at the graduation tomorrow. It’s at eleven o’clock. Dakota would love it if you were there.”

  “Dakota’s father would like it,” she corrected him as he crossed to the barn. “But this is a delicate time in family relations, and I’m okay with taking a backseat as needed. I hope you invited Whitney, and I hope she comes. I’m going to keep painting my hobbit house and keep Achilles company. Now focus on the cow, and I’ll talk to you soon.”

  She hung up as he entered the barn.

  Murt met him halfway in. “I canceled the veterinary.” His grim expression said the rest.

  “We lost them both?”

  “Yes.”

  Sam came through behind him. He caught sight of Nick and frowned. “You had her up here. You must have suspected something was wrong, but you took off and didn’t bother leaving instructions.”

  He hadn’t, Nick realized. He’d meant to alert Murt or Brock, but he was running late and forgot.

  This was all on him.

  The loss of the cow and the calf was his fault, and all because he didn’t alert anyone that he’d brought her down low for a reason.

  “I meant to check over here. I saw you out back earlier, and then I got hung up and by the time it occurred to me again, it was too late.” Murt sounded angry at himself. “I should have come this way first thing.”

  “You’re not generally sloppy, Nick.” Sam didn’t look like a warm, forgiving father right now. He looked steamed. “And we didn’t build this plac
e to where it’s at on careless practices.”

  If he mentioned they were down two experienced hands and that cleaning up Hobbs’s accident the other day had cost valuable hours, he’d sound like a whiner, and Nick Stafford never whined. “No, sir. I’ll take care of it.”

  “See that you do.”

  He wanted to shout as his father pushed by. He wanted to profess that he was one person spinning a whole lot of plates right now, but what would his father know about that?

  Nothing. Because he’d spun one ever-growing plate for decades, with one thing dead center. The Double S.

  “He’s hurting, Nick.”

  Nick said nothing.

  “I mean in the gut, death-is-approaching kind of pain, but he won’t take pain meds because then he can’t function on the ranch. You might want to cut him some slack.”

  “Like he’s done for me so many times?”

  Murt winced and rubbed his jaw.

  Sam Stafford cut no one slack. He worked hard, he excelled, and he expected the same from everyone around him, even the sons he ignored.

  He’d left child raising to the handful of housekeepers and school teachers while he built his empire. He ate as needed and drank when he liked, and Nick could count on the fingers of one hand the number of school functions his father had bothered with.

  Michael McMurty had come to more of Nick’s basketball games than Sam Stafford ever had. The idea of putting the girls first wouldn’t occur to the old Sam, and maybe not the new one either, from the looks of things. “I’ll get the backhoe.”

  “I can do that, Nick.” Murt reached out a hand. “It’s a ranch. These things happen.”

  Nick knew that, but they usually happened when it couldn’t be helped.

  This could have been helped. He’d messed up, and at the end of the day, there was no one else to blame. He moved deeper into the barn. An aching sadness grabbed hold and refused to shake loose. “You go on, Murt. I’ve got this.”

  He didn’t turn around, and after several seconds, Murt’s footsteps moved off.

  He propped the doors open, crossed the shadowed barnyard, and climbed onto the loader. As he steered the rig into the barn, movement caught his eye. He paused the rig.

  Colt moved in from the side, not laughing, not joking. He didn’t say a word. He just motioned for him to lower the big shovel.

  Nick did. As he inched the shovel closer, Colt eased the pregnant heifer aboard with a gentleness that made Nick’s throat go tight. And once she was safely tucked in the crook, Colt gave him a sign.

  He brought the shovel up. Colt climbed aboard the opposite side, still quiet, and he stayed quiet as they drove the sad load out to the designated burial spot just shy of the first hill. And when they’d taken care of the heifer with a thick layer of soil, Colt climbed back in. “Isabo has soup.”

  Just that. Nothing more, nothing profound, but after a long day and long night, soup sounded good.

  They parked the rig back in the yard and started for the house, but when Nick paused, so did Colt. Nick looked toward the barn, then his older brother, the man who’d gone off to build his fortune in Lower Manhattan and never looked back until this year. “Thank you.”

  Colt shrugged it off and started for the house again.

  Nick reached out and stopped him. “I mean it, Colt.”

  Colt stopped. He sighed, staring off, then looked back at Nick. “I know you do, but from now on, when we help each other, it’s okay to use words, but it’s not necessary.” He drew up straight and gazed into Nick’s eyes. “We’re partners, but more than that, we’re brothers. And that means no matter what happens, I’ve got your back. Twenty-four seven. Got it?”

  Nick’s stomach calmed. His heart went soft. The weight that had been hanging on his chest dissipated. “Got it.”

  “And not for nothing…” Colt strode across the porch and drew open the screen door. “I’m hungry. Let’s eat.”

  Rachel called Elsa first thing the next morning. “I need your opinion on something.”

  “My advice? On what?” Elsa asked. “And no, do not stop dying your hair. You’re better blond. Leave it.”

  “Not the hair, this time. This is work. Career oriented. I’ve got the end-of-year things going on today, but if you can stop down before ten thirty, I could go over this quickly.”

  “I don’t want a career. I believe I’ve made that plain.”

  Rachel sighed purposely. “That was then. This is now. You’ve stepped out of your self-imposed cocoon and eased Mom’s worry.”

  “Mom isn’t worried about me anymore.” Saying the words, Elsa knew they weren’t true. Her mother was probably concerned and pretending, a skill they’d all perfected the last couple of years. But she was tired of pretense and was truly enjoying the steps she’d taken toward mainstream existence. She woke each morning not just happier but invigorated.

  It felt great.

  “Of course she is, and you know that, but I don’t want to do a phone chat dissecting the matter. Stop by the school before the day gets crazy on my end.”

  Months ago she’d have avoided the school at all costs. When had that changed?

  Since meeting Nick and the girls. Since stepping back into life. And Rachel was right to push now, before school was out for the summer. “I’ll get dressed and come right over.”

  “Excellent. See you in a few.”

  She didn’t waste time with delaying tactics or she might call Rachel back and cancel. She drove to the school, parked in the visitors’ lot, and walked to the main door as if she belonged there.

  She didn’t, of course.

  She’d lived in Gray’s Glen for two years and had never come to her sister’s workplace. The doors, the walls, the sounds transported her back to Brant Park Elementary.

  She paused, unnerved, but then looked around. As she did, she breathed a little easier. Was it because this was a different school? Or was she finally moving on?

  The initial noise took her by surprise. Little voices mixed with teachers offering direction, the rustle and bustle of the last day. Kids on the playground and kids playing ball while sacks of well-used supplies sat atop many of the desks. At twelve fifteen, the bell would ring for the last time this year. The students would scatter far and wide across the valley, and the buses would stand parked in the transportation lot behind the middle school building.

  She moved down the hall leading to the main office. When she opened the door, the woman manning the front desk waved her in. “You must be Rachel’s sister. Come on in. Door’s open, right through there. I’m Casey Szady, the office assistant.”

  Elsa put out her hand. “Elsa Andreas.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Casey clasped her hand in a quick, self-assured grip.

  “Elsa.” Rachel popped her head through the open door to her office. “Come back here. I’ve only got about ten minutes but I wanted to run this by you. Thanks, Casey.”

  Casey moved toward the office door. “I’m going to make sure the teachers are all on schedule for the K through one festivities, but I’m going to do it personally so we don’t have a repeat of last year’s snags.”

  “Perfect.” Rachel stepped aside as Elsa approached her office. “I’ll be in the auditorium by ten fifty.”

  “Mr. Harvey texted me that he’s conducting a sound test right now.”

  “Good.”

  Elsa crossed into the principal’s domain and gave it a quick once-over. “I like it, Rach.”

  “Me too, but I spend too much time in it these days. You’d think the age of technology would sidestep red tape and bureaucracy, but it doesn’t, even in a fairly small district like ours. Here.” She handed Elsa a sheet of paper. “I wanted you to see this before they do the public posting.”

  Elsa read the job description for the grades five through eight school psychologist, then lifted her brows. “This isn’t subtle. In fact, I’d call this the opposite of subtle.”

  Subtlety had never been Rachel’s forte. She admit
ted that as she closed the door. “I only practice sensitivity with my K through three crew, and honestly, the third graders barely make the cut.”

  “Eight-year-olds are in a whole new league these days, aren’t they?”

  “Unfortunately so,” Rachel agreed. She eased one hip onto the edge of her fairly plain desk. “This is tailor made for you, Elsa, and I didn’t want time to get away from us. They’re doing interviews the week following Independence Day, so there’s plenty of time between now and then to refresh your resume and send it in if you decide to throw your hat in the ring. I’d love to have you on board in this district. You like junior high, and you’ve got the credentials.”

  “I didn’t come here to stay.” She’d come to Gray’s Glen to get her feet back under her. Or she came here to hide, a skill she polished until pushed to work with the Stafford girls.

  Rachel faced her directly. “Not then, no. But I think you like the valley. The hills, the peace and quiet when you need it, and maybe now a little activity to balance that out.”

  She did like it here. She liked the sun-soaked valley and the shadowed gloaming. Acres of rich, fertile farmland lay in every direction once she came down the hill, and more stretched beyond.

  She glanced around.

  “It’s just an application process, and if they call you for an interview, you don’t have to go.” Rachel shrugged. “But it’s a step, Elsa.”

  It was.

  A month ago she’d have said no instantly, but a month ago Rachel wouldn’t have mentioned the opening. Had she come that far?

  Cars began streaming into the west-end parking lot of the elementary school. She folded the posting and slipped it into her bag. “I’ll think about it.”

  Rachel stood.

  Elsa wanted to say more. She wanted to tell Rachel how much her unobtrusive support had meant, that the phone calls, the drop-by visits, the invitations—even the ones she ignored—had kept her in the loop of normalcy when life seemed cruelly abnormal. She faced Rachel, and her sister waved her off. “You’ve got that sentimental look on your face, and I can’t be a bucket of tears in here and then walk out on stage and be Miss Congeniality for the moving-up festivities. I love you, Elsa.”