Another Chance

by Michelle Beattie

  From the open window he heard the porch swing creak. He dropped his hands. He'd forgotten his ma had gone out after making him coffee. He looked at the empty cup, wondered how long ago that had been.

  "Long enough," he muttered, coming to his feet. He knew his ma and she wouldn't go to bed until he did. And though she hadn't spent the last few hours stewing over the ledgers, he didn't doubt she worried about them as much as he did.

  The porch swing dipped with his weight as he settled next to her.

  "Make any progress?" she asked.

  "The numbers haven't changed." There wasn't any point in lying to her since she was smart enough to see what surrounded her on a daily basis. "But I do have a few ideas up my sleeve."

  Her hand found his, held on. "Let James help, Wade. He wants to."

  Before the words had fully left her lips he was shaking his head. "Ma, I've already had this discussion with James. I won't take his money. He should be using it to build you a house, or saving it in case something happens to him the way it did Pa, not lending-" he hung his head, unable to say the rest. He'd loved his pa, but the man had left them a mess. Still, it somehow felt disrespectful to say it aloud.

  She squeezed his hand. "I think we all learned your father's lesson. If James is offering to help, he's doing it within his means."

  "I won't have you penniless, not again."

  "Much as I loved your father, he and James are very different men. James saw what your father did, Wade. He saw what it did, what it's still doing to us. He's promised me he won't make that same mistake."

  Wade wrapped an arm around her shoulders, leaned back in the swing. With his heel, he set it in motion. Frogs sang, the crickets played a soothing melody. The moon hung plump and bright and the stars were out in droves.

  "Let him help you, Wade. Even a little."

  "He already did when he helped me pay Jillian's bill. I won't accept more than that. You deserve to be taken care of, to not have to worry about money any more. Tell James to build you a house if he's got some to spare. I've tried telling him but he won't listen to me."

  "We don't need a house, Wade."

  Same argument, different person, Wade thought with a sigh. "Ma, it don't feel right having you two live in his bunkhouse after the wedding."

  "What do I need a house for? It'll just be me and James in it. Besides, we'll still do our meals together here, same as always. The bunkhouse suits us, Wade."

  "It's not very big."

  "What do we need big for? We have a table to sit and have coffee, we have a bed to-"

  Wade held up his hand. "Ma, please."

  Chuckling, she snuggled into his side. "You know what I mean. This house is yours now. Yours, Annabelle's. Your future wife's," she added with a smile in her voice. "I hear Jillian called on you earlier."

  "I knew it was only a matter of time," he sighed. Knowing he couldn't stop it, that if she didn't get this out tonight she'd only corner him another time, he tipped his head back and closed his eyes.

  "I like her. She's smart. She's beautiful with all that fiery gold hair, those eyes green as a spring meadow." She nudged him. "I know you're not blind."

  "No, Ma, I'm not blind." Even without Jillian there he could see her, hear her voice. Feel her softness.

  "You know she could have gone to town, it's not that much further. But she came here. To you."

  "She didn't come to me," he said, looking her in the eye. "It could have as easily been Scott or James who was in the yard."

  "But it wasn't. It was you. It was meant to be."

  "Meant to be" were three of her favorite words. It wasn't that she didn't get angry, sad or frustrated with life. She'd cried and mourned for her husband. But in the end, telling herself it was meant to be is what had allowed her to accept his death and move on. In that instance he'd been glad for those words, as it had been harder than hell to watch her in such pain.

  He wasn't nearly so glad when she used those words on him.

  "Ma, it just happened. It wasn't God's will."

  "You hired her, didn't you?"

  "Because I thought she was a man."

  "But she's not. The best qualified person turns out to be a woman. Then it rains and she has to sleep in your bed."

  "Because you told her to!" And, though the sheets had been washed, he could still smell Jillian in his room. Not that he'd tell his mother that.

  "Then," she continued as though she hadn't heard him, "her wheel breaks and she needs help. Of all the days you're working the range, today you were in the yard. At the exact moment she came calling."

  "It's not fate, Ma," he argued. It was someone's idea of a cruel joke. If he thought it was possible that they could have arranged it, he'd blame Scott and James.

  "How do you know? Amy was sweet on Steven Garvey until the day she got a cramp swimming and you jumped in the pond to save her. From that day on she had eyes only for you."

  He remembered it well. School had let out for the day. The older kids had decided to go swimming in the pond behind the feed mill--Garvey's pond. Steven and his friends were at one end, diving and showing off for the girls. Wade and Shane had been on the bank, talking about and staring at those same girls. He'd been watching Amy at the time; fate, as his ma would call it. She'd been swimming along with her friends, taunting Steven and his group when she'd suddenly grimaced and begun to sink.

  At first Wade had thought it was a game to get Steven's attention. Heck, he'd seen Steven feign injury often enough to get Amy to come running and figured she was doing the same thing. It soon became apparent she wasn't. Amy thrashed; her head dipped below the surface. He was tugging off his boots when her friends yelled for help.

  Wade dove in, didn't break the surface until he had Amy in his arms. By then Steven had realized she was in real trouble and was racing toward her. Wade had swum to shore, Amy clinging to him, her face buried in his neck. He'd held, soothed, and when she'd finally stopping shivering, when she'd peeled her soaked black hair from her face and thanked him for saving her life, she didn't even look to see where Steven was.

  Not that Wade had cared either. Once the fear of the situation had passed and Amy remained in his lap, arms clutching his neck, nothing had mattered but how she'd felt in his arms.

  "You and Amy started building a life together that day, Wade. You might not have known it would lead to marriage, but it did."

  "I'm not marrying anyone, Ma, least of all Jillian." Wade shoved to his feet, turned and leaned against the railing.

  "Wade, I know loving again is scary. The thought of losing James like I lost your father-" she stopped, her fingers going to her throat for a moment. "Life is meant to be lived. It's meant to be shared. Otherwise all you have is this," she gestured to the ranch that lay sleeping in the darkness.

  She stood, placed a warm hand on his stubbled cheek. "I'm not saying you have to marry her, all I'm saying is don't close yourself to the idea of falling in love again. You've been doing it since Amy died."

  For good reason, he felt like saying. It wasn't that he regretted marrying Amy, because he didn't. He'd loved her. Together they'd made Annabelle. But in the end, she'd broken his heart. Not by dying, though that had been devastating, but by looking elsewhere for fulfillment. By telling him, without words, that he wasn't enough.

  He'd never told his ma that. That he'd felt less of a man because of Amy's choices. And he wouldn't. He was too ashamed. It was easier on his pride that she continued to think he was simply too scared to love again.

  "I know you mean well, but for me, once was enough."

  "Why won't you give yourself the chance to be happy again?"

  "I am happy. I have what I need."

  "But do you have what you want?"

  He thought of Jillian, how soft her skin was. How she'd felt when he'd lifted her into the buckboard. How much he'd wanted to kiss her. How much that had scared him.

  "Other than my horse ranch, I have everything I want. Goodnight." He kissed her cheek,
and then sought refuge in his room. He didn't bother lighting the lamp. Lying on his back, Wade closed his eyes. Two women formed behind his lids. One with dark hair and blue eyes, the other with red hair and green eyes. Both independent. Both strong. One had already broken his heart.

  He vowed he'd never give the other the opportunity.

  EIGHT

  By the time the sun was at its highest in the endless sky, Jillian's temper was running hot as Hope's sweaty hide. When she'd set out that morning, intent and eager to make introductions, she'd known it wouldn't be easy, that she'd meet with more than one stubborn man. It had been that way back east, even with her father at her side.

  Yet she'd hoped, believed, that she'd have something to show for her efforts. Six farms since she'd begun that morning and the only thing she'd earned was a dusty shirtwaist that clung to her damp back, a sweaty horse and a burning sense of frustration. Why were men so close-minded? Why were they willing to put their animals at risk for the sake of their pride?

  Not that she'd seen any animals in need of tending, she thought as Hope lumbered along the grassy trail. But as she'd looked over corrals, been greeted by tail-wagging dogs and swaggering cats alike, she'd seen no evidence of her skills being required. If she had, she'd have been prepared, as she'd brought along her saddlebags. It would have made her case much stronger if she could have shown her skills, rather than simply talk about them.

  Jillian snorted. There'd been little chance of talking, let alone proving anything once she'd stated her name and the reason for the visit. The men that had been in the yard closed their mouths as she imagined they closed their minds. Well, she acknowledged with a fresh wave of bitterness, they did open their mouths long enough to tell her she wasn't welcome on their land and that it would be a cold day in Hell before they ever called on her in a doctor's capacity.

  A single man, and it wasn't any doubt he was a bachelor considering his foul mouth, had told Jillian that he had only one need, and it wasn't for a veterinarian. He promised, with a lecherous grin, that should she ever be willing to dispense that kind of medicine, that his door would always be open.

  "I'd sooner gouge my eyes out," she muttered.

  Hope agreed with a shake of her head. It was something, Jillian supposed, to have Hope listen, but how she longed to talk to her father. With each farm she'd left, she'd caught herself turning in the saddle, ready to discuss what had happened only to realize he wasn't there. Wouldn't be again. The void he'd left when he died had been great, but never more felt than it was as she rode along the quiet countryside of this unfamiliar and unwelcoming place. To simply have him there as support, as someone to talk to so she wouldn't feel as though she were alone in the world, would have made all the difference.

  The tears welled up fast, obscured her vision and filled her throat. She missed him. The long discussions regarding their profession, hearing his opinion, knowing her own thoughts and ideas were accepted and not only because she was his daughter.

  Jillian sniffed, blinked to bring the narrow path back into focus. Overhead a hawk's scream sounded as mournful as she felt. All of a sudden her father's last words filled her ears as surely as if he were right beside her.

  "Nobody can take your dreams, Jillian. The only person who has the power to snuff them is you."

  How often had he said those words to her?

  "Every time I felt like giving up," she whispered in the breeze. And every time, he'd reminded her what she wanted most, and that she alone was responsible for making it happen.

  She wiped the tears that had gathered in her eyes, swallowed back the sorrow and pity. She put some starch in her spine and sat upright as another small farmyard came into view.

  When she rode into the yard, her eyes were dry and her determination was once again firmly in place. Jared Matthews, she knew, would be proud. Knowing that, Jillian slid from the saddle. It had been a long day of riding and her thighs lamented when her feet hit the dirt.

  Whoever lived there lived a simple life. The house was no bigger than of one Wade's bunkhouses. The rest of the yard consisted of the privy, a small, well-trodden paddock and a barn that listed heavily to the right. It didn't appear the farmer grew anything but yellow-flowered weeds and patches of clover. Nor did he appear to be home.

  Since it seemed she'd garnered her determination for nothing, Jillian didn't see that the trip needed to be a total loss. Both she and her horse were thirsty. Leading Hope, Jillian walked the small yard in search of a well.

  She found the silver-handled pump and a shed, which was built into a small hill behind the house. Jillian pumped water into the bucket, drank until her mouth no longer felt like the dirt she'd ridden on for most of the day. Not wanting to let Hope drink from the bucket, Jillian secured Hope to the well and headed for the shed. Surely there was something inside she could use as a bowl for her horse.

  The door was closed and held shut with a thick plank braced against it. As Jillian wrapped her hands around it as best she could and began to tug, a putrid smell slithered around her. Wrinkling her nose, she freed the plank and set it down. With an eerie squeak the door fell open.

  The smell made Jillian choke. She covered her nose and mouth with her hand as the smell of blood and death assailed her. Dear Lord, what had she stumbled into, she wondered as she squinted to see into the darkness. She couldn't make out anything but strange shapes on the walls and dark shadows that seemed to hang in mid-air.

  Inching her way forward, Jillian crept inside. Cool air, like a corpse's breath, brushed her face. Breathing through her mouth, Jillian stood there until the light from the doorway and her own adjustments allowed her to make out what she was looking at.

  Pelts of beaver, cougar and squirrel hung stretched on the wall. Dangling from the cross brace were four headless rabbits, gelatinous red puddles where their heads used to be. Swallowing hard, Jillian backed away. Even if there were a bowl or bucket in there, she'd never use it to water her animal. She knew, of course, of people who trapped, but she'd never seen it firsthand. Never seen for herself the lifeless carcasses hanging, the skins stripped and stretched. She hoped she'd never see it again.

  With the grizzly images of the carcasses filling her head, Jillian turned for the plank she'd tossed on the ground.

  And came face to face with a man's narrowed black eyes and his snarling face.

  Jillian screamed. The sharp pitch of it poured over the small yard and filled her ears until they rang. She staggered back, realizing her mistake instantly as it brought her to the mouth of the shed. She forced her limbs to still, despite every instinct that told her to run. Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, Jillian willed her racing heart to calm.

  A task difficult to accomplish when the stranger before her wore blood stained clothes. There was a pile of lifeless fur-covered bodies at his feet. His eyes were small, and they were as cold as the shed behind her. His thighs were the size of stumps and there was no doubt his bloodied hands could inflict harm. The russet mustache matched his hair, thick and unkempt.

  "I didn't mean to intrude, but it didn't appear anyone was home and my horse needed water. I was just looking for a bowl or bucket to water her."

  "You're trespassing."

  "Yes, well." Jillian wiped her hands on her riding skirt. "I didn't mean to, as I said. I actually came to introduce-"

  "I know who you are."

  "Oh. I see." She pushed her mouth into a smile. "Well, should you ever require my skills-"

  "I won't."

  "You might." She gestured to the horse that now paced the paddock. "He could get sick."

  "Then I'll deal with it."

  "What if you can't? What if-"

  He gestured to the shed behind her. "Don't it look like I know what I'm doing?"

  "You can't skin a horse!"

  His mouth curved into a frighteningly twisted smile.

  ***

  Steven Garvey went to Silver's saloon every Friday night. Not only was it a chance to get a
way from his wife's blessed nagging, it was also the night he and his friends gathered together for a few friendly games of poker.

  The saloon was neat and tidy; spills were wiped as fast as they happened. Spittoons were strategically placed around the room and those who missed too often to be an accident were known to have their liquor cut off. If anybody else were the proprietor he'd come in more often, but once a week was as much money as he was willing to give that whore Silver.

  Sure, she claimed to not take anyone to her rooms, yet many a man had professed to find relief between those thighs. Course, most were piss-ass drunk at the time, or had been ordered out by the bitch herself. Still, Steven was inclined to believe the stories. After all, no respectable woman would run a saloon.

  Robert arrived not long after Steven had sat down. Bill, still smelling of the livery, arrived next. Harvey, a newcomer to town--if you considered three years new--followed shortly after. Harvey owned a plot of land north of town and trapped for a living. Justin was late, as always. As the blacksmith, he always had work that needed doing.

  Steven gnashed his teeth when Silver sidled up to their table. Her golden hair was long and loose. Her face, devoid of the heavy rouge and charcoal many harlots painted themselves with, shone with energy and health. Her deep blue dress pinched in an already tiny waist and her corset pushed up an impressive pair of tits. If she wasn't a whore he'd eat his hat.

  "What can I get you gentlemen?" she asked.

  Then she grinned like a damn cat that'd just caught the fattest mouse. 'Cause she knew what they wanted to say. And she was smart enough to know they wouldn't.

  "Why do you bother askin'?" Bill asked. "We always get the same damn thing."

  "Do you?" she asked, batting her eyes. "Well, I'm just a simple woman, how'm I supposed to remember all these things?"

  The blasted woman laughed as she spun from the table and sashayed to the bar.