by Jane Porter
He wouldn’t be here this weekend, either, if it hadn’t been for the auction.
A young couple with a baby entered the café, and Rory turned away from the counter to face the Christmas tree in the corner. Paper ornaments covered the tree. On the back of each paper ornament was a carefully handwritten tag. Rory flipped the tags on the ornaments closest to him:
Boy 8 years old, love sports, a football would be a perfect gift.
Girl 12, loves to read, a gift card to the local bookstore would be ideal.
Boy 6, loves Lego and Star Wars and is hoping for a Lego Star Wars this Christmas.
Girl 16, just had her ears pierced and would love a jewelry box of her own.
Rory faced the counter again, stomach knotting. All those kids, with all those needs. They weren’t even dreams, but ordinary wants and hopes, and it made him uncomfortable.
Everything about this town made him uncomfortable.
He hadn’t always dreaded Christmas. Growing up, he’d loved the holidays, and enjoyed the Christmas traditions from ice skating at Miracle Lake, to caroling with his church youth group, to the annual Marietta Stroll. The Stroll was one thing his family did together, and it was a big deal to come to town and splurge on a rare dinner out.
Although his dad was a rancher, they weren’t one of the big, successful ranches in Paradise Valley. Their acreage was small compared to their neighbors, and what they did have was rocky and arid because his folks couldn’t afford to improve it with better irrigation.
As the oldest of five kids, Rory knew his parents depended on him, not just as another pair of hands on the ranch, but to set the example for the younger ones. Part of being a good example meant not asking for things his parents couldn’t afford, and not to be envious of the Carrigan girls with their horses, or of the Sheenan boys with their cars and trucks. Part of being a good example meant focusing on the things that mattered—love, faith, family.
Rory tried to remember this when he saw Trey and Troy Sheenan tearing down the road in yet another new car. But every now and then the envy and frustration got the better of him, just as it had the summer before his junior year of high school when his parents explained they couldn’t afford to send him to college. They needed him home to work the ranch, and they hoped he’d understand.
He told them he did. And they’d hugged him, telling him what a good son he was, but underneath he was angry. So very, very angry.
Why couldn’t his parents manage their money? Once upon a time, the Douglas Ranch was profitable. Once upon a time, the Douglas Ranch was one of the biggest properties in Montana, taking up a sizable chunk of the valley. But that was before the Great Depression cut the Douglas Ranch into hamburger patty size.
Rory hated the financial struggle. It was why he’d decided early on to be smart about his money, and, from the beginning, he’d invested his winnings, putting aside ninety percent and living off the ten. It meant living frugally, but he didn’t mind. As an adult, he had few needs, and he liked being able to provide for his aunt Karen in Livingston, as well as set up college savings accounts for TJ and McKenna’s new baby, a little girl. No future Douglas should be denied the chance to get a higher education.
“Egg bacon bagel sandwich,” the tall, young man at the counter called.
Rory went to the counter to collect his egg sandwich and coffee. He shifted his cane as he took the plate and cup, and after thanking the teenager headed for a table. But instead of sitting down, he reached into his wallet and drew out a dozen crisp bills and returned to the counter.
“Did I mess up your order?” the teenager asked.
“No. I’d just like to make a donation to cover those ornaments on that giving tree. Are you collecting the money here?”
“Which ornaments?”
“All of them.”
The teenager stared at Rory, dumbfounded. “You want to cover all the wishes?”
“Hopefully this will cover them,” Rory answered, handing over the ten one-hundred-dollar bills. “But if it doesn’t, I want you to let me know, okay?”
“How do I find you?”
“You know McKenna Sheenan?” Rory asked.
The gangly teen nodded.
“I’m her brother, Rory. Just tell McKenna what I owe, and I’ll take care of it.” And then Rory went to his table and sat down with his sandwich and coffee. He could feel the teenager looking at him, but Rory kept his head down and focused on eating.
He hadn’t done anything all that remarkable. He just hated thinking of local kids struggling, suffering, especially at the holidays.
Rory chewed with effort. It wasn’t easy swallowing with a lump in his throat. It didn’t help he kept remembering his family, and Christmas on their ranch.
His mom and dad scrimped and scraped every year to provide the gifts for the stockings and under the tree. There weren’t lots of gifts for each of them, either. Instead, they each received one special gift, what his mother would call the ‘big gift’ and sometimes it was a big gift. Sometimes it was truly a surprise, and Rory remembered each of those ‘big gifts’ he’d gotten. One year it was the brand-new catcher’s mitt, the mitt he was certain he’d never get since it was practically the one professional catchers used. Three years later it was his first new bike, a black ten-speed that was slick but also completely impractical for ranch life. And there was the last Christmas gift, the car stereo his folks got for the old work truck, which had become his truck, a gift he’d appreciated every single day as he drove his brother and sister to school in Marietta, and then on the occasional date night.
He was driving that truck, stereo turned up loud, when he’d returned to the ranch after dropping McKenna off at a sleepover in town. He’d been singing along to a Garth Brooks song when he pulled into the drive and spotted Quinn bleeding out in the driveway. That discovery had been just the first of many.
After all the funerals he’d traded in his truck, and he’d never listened to Garth Brooks since.
Rory pushed away what was left of his bagel sandwich. He wouldn’t be able to eat another bite now. The memories were always the strongest when he first returned. He had to be patient. He had to just get through the next twenty-four hours.
The door opened on a gust of wind. Two old men entered, talking loudly about the Stroll taking place that night. They hadn’t even finished closing the door when it opened again, with another bracing blast of frigid air.
Sadie entered the café, long copper hair swirling, blowing across her face. Laughing, she plucked curls from her eyes and peeled back another tendril from her lips.
Rory watched her laugh her way toward the counter, eyes bright, cheeks glowing pink. She greeted the boy at the counter with the easy familiarity that came from living in a small town. If you didn’t already know everyone, you soon would.
For the first time in forever, Rory felt envious of those who lived here and were happy here. Sadie seemed happy here. He was glad. Marietta was a good place to call home.
Sadie said goodbye to the boy at the counter and turned from the counter, with a big pink cardboard box, on her way out. She was halfway to the door when she spotted Rory.
Emotions flickered across her lovely, expressive face, one after the other. Surprise. Pleasure. And then anger.
“We seem destined to keep bumping into each other,” he said easily.
She wasn’t half as comfortable. “It’s a small town,” she answered somewhat stiffly, pushing back yet another flyaway tendril from her cheek. It was stubborn and clung to the corner of her lips, and she peeled it away with a soft sigh of annoyance.
He, on the other hand, admired the curl. Lucky little devil to curl across her lips.
“You’re up early,” he said.
“I’m heading in to work. Had to pick up muffins for the office. I open on Saturdays.”
“Where’s the office?”
“Thankfully, just across the street as I’m running late.” She shifted the box from one hand to the other. “Eve
rything okay at the rental house?”
“Great.”
“That little heater works well, doesn’t it?”
He leaned back in his chair, studying her. She hadn’t smiled since she spotted him at his table. “Why do I make you nervous?”
“You don’t.” Her mouth opened, closed. “Okay, maybe a little.”
“Why?”
“It’s complicated.”
“I’ve got time.”
“I’m already late, and Natalie is a stickler for punctuality.”
“Then how about lunch?”
“I don’t take lunch on Saturdays, but even if I did, what is the point?” Her gaze hardened, her expression suddenly fierce. “You’re not going to stick around, are you?”
“Would it make a difference if I did?”
For a split second, she looked young and full of hope. And yearning.
The words want, wish, crave, whispered through his head.
“Was there a point in you coming to see me ride?” he asked quietly.
“It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“It does to me.”
“I have to go.” And then with a small nod in his direction, she was off, out the door and then quickly crossing the street.
Rory sat forward as the door closed behind Sadie.
If she was anyone else, he’d be done. He didn’t chase women. He didn’t need women. He didn’t need anything from anyone.
Or so he’d thought for all these years.
Rising, he stacked his dishes, coffee mug on top of the plate, but before he could carry everything to the dish bin against the wall, the teenager was at his side.
“I’ve got it,” the young man said, taking the dishes from Rory. “And thanks, Mr. Douglas. For today’s donation and everything else you’ve done.”
Rory felt a peculiar pang in his chest. “I haven’t done much.”
“That’s not true. I know you’re the one that does the scholarship every year so that local kids can attend different sports camps, and you sponsor other scholarships, too—”
“It’s not a big deal.”
“It was for me. Back in middle school, you paid for me and two of my friends to go to a special basketball camp in Bozeman. It was amazing. We couldn’t have afforded it without the scholarship.”
The pang was back. “Do you still play basketball?”
“Yes, sir. I play for Montana State.”
“You’re a Bobcat?”
He nodded. “I’m just a freshman so not seeing a lot of playing time yet, but coach said I will.”
“Good for you.”
“But that’s thanks to you—”
“No, son. That was all you. Your hard work and your discipline.”
The kid held out his hand. “Just so you know, I’m grateful.”
Rory took the boy’s hand in a firm shake. “I know.” And then releasing his hand, Rory headed outside.
Exiting the café, he stood on the sidewalk breathing in and out, letting the clean frosty air calm him.
Marietta wasn’t all bad.
Nor was it all pain.
Marietta could be a good place if he let it.
Maybe he could replace the bad memories with new ones.
Maybe.
“Uncle Rory?”
It took him a second to register that a hand was tugging on his coat sleeve. Blinking, he glanced down at the small boy next to him with the mop of dark brown hair and bright blue eyes. A scrap of shocking yellow peeked from the coat collar.
Rory grinned at his nephew and gave him a quick hug. “You here alone? Where’s your mom and dad?”
“Home. But I’m not alone. I’m with my scoutmaster. We’re cleaning Main Street to get it ready for tonight’s Stroll.” He lifted the gray plastic garbage bag and gave it a shake. Cups and cans rattled inside.
“You guys in trouble?”
“No. It’s a scout service project.” TJ hesitated, his lightly freckled face scrunching. “So are you still mad at Mom?”
“I’m not mad at your mom.”
“She thinks you are.”
“Your mom knows I love her.”
“Then why haven’t you come to see the baby?” TJ’s smile was gone, his expression painfully earnest. “She told Dad you came to see me the minute I was born and Carolyn Grace is ten months old.”
Rory didn’t answer right away, silently repeating McKenna’s baby girl’s name over in his head. Carolyn Grace. Carolyn was his mom’s name, and Grace was his baby sister’s name.
He’d found his mom in the living room. Grace had been killed in her crib.
His throat squeezed closed. Rory couldn’t speak or swallow. So much for his optimism about thinking good memories could chase away the bad ones.
TJ’s hand covered Rory’s where it clutched the cane.
“She’s a really good baby,” TJ said quietly, urgently. “She’s smart, too. She already knows a bunch of stuff and is walking all over the place. Dad had to put locks on everything because she loves to pull all the pans out of the kitchen cupboard.”
“You sound like a really good big brother,” Rory said, finding his voice.
“Trying to be like you. Mom said you were the best—”
“That’s not true.”
“Well, she said it. And I believe it.” His chin notched up and his blue eyes locked with Rory’s. “And you’re here, aren’t you? You’ve come to see everybody for Christmas.”
Rory’s chest was on fire, and yet he pulled the boy in for one more hug. “I’ll come over tonight—”
“Not tonight, Uncle Rory. It’s the last night of the Stroll, and we’re all going. Want to come with us?”
Rory grimaced. “Not sure how much this hip would like strolling in the cold.”
“That’s true. Maybe tomorrow. That way you could sit in Dad’s La-Z-Boy chair and put your feet up.”
“I don’t think I want to take your dad’s chair.”
“It’s okay. He doesn’t need it as much as you do.” TJ glanced behind him, noting the kids with their trash bags gathering on the corner. “I better go. See you tomorrow?”
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Is that a promise? Can I tell Mom?”
“Yes, you can tell her, but TJ, I was never mad at her. I just was working—”
“Then bring a really nice present for Mom so she knows you weren’t ignoring her, okay? ’Cause Mom thinks you’re still upset about what she said about you riding bulls.”
And then TJ gave him a last hug before darting across the still deserted street, his oversized trash bag flapping at his side.
Chapter Three
She didn’t know why she was at the window, spying on them. It was the thing kids did, and gossips. And yet she couldn’t tear herself away from the glass where she was watching Rory talk to his nephew.
TJ looked so happy to see Rory.
Everyone would be so happy to see Rory.
She wasn’t the only one in this town who loved him. Rory Douglas meant a lot to a great many people.
A lump filled her throat as she watched the boy give Rory a last hug before running back to join his troop.
If only her feelings for Rory could be so simple. She missed the days where it was just a thrill to see him. She missed uncomplicated hero worship.
Sadie didn’t even know when a girlish crush became unrequited love.
Her mom used to tease her about loving someone who didn’t even know she existed, but Sadie would just laugh it off, replying, “We’ll see.”
But her mom was gone, and it had been Sadie who was wrong. Her mom died without ever seeing Sadie marry, or start a family. Her mom had badly wanted to be a grandmother. But not half as much as Sadie wanted to be a mother.
Sadie released the curtain and returned to her desk, determined to put Rory from her mind.
She was supposed to be over Rory. She had to be over him. She’d already seen the fertility specialist, and they’d come up with a plan to
help her conceive in the new year, and the plan didn’t include Rory.
Stick with the plan, she told herself, turning on her desktop computer. It’s better this way. You’re so much better without him. Calmer. Stronger. More settled.
Better to be realistic.
Better to be mature.
Rory left downtown, traveling to Front Street, and then over the railroad tracks, intending to swing by the apartment complex he’d be bidding on later this morning, the one between Chance and Farrell Avenue, close to the Catholic church and the primary school.
The most direct way to the apartments would be down Chance, but Rory made a point of avoiding the street because there was a house on Chance he didn’t want to see again. That house was the last place he’d been before his life had changed forever.
It crossed his mind as he idled at the corner that he hadn’t helped the pain by burying it so deeply. He’d suppressed all memory and emotion as if nothing bad had happened. But how was it possible to erase a tragedy like the one that had taken place at his home?
So even though he’d smashed the past, it found a way to creep back in through dreams, and dreams that turned to nightmares.
He could go months, even years, without one of the dreams, but eventually, he’d wake up, clammy and sick.
Why hadn’t he been there when it happened? He might have given his family a chance or at least saved one of the younger ones.
One day he’d be man enough to take a drive down Chance and face the boy he’d been.
And maybe, God help him, he’d one day forgive himself for not dying.
Chest aching, eyes burning, Rory eased his foot off the brake and passed Chance, taking a right on Farrell instead, driving down the narrow residential street until he reached the empty apartment complex built in the 1960s.
The complex was beyond ugly. Not ugly like the ugly concrete high-rises in urban areas, but the ugly of indifference. This two-story sixteen-unit complex had been built for poor people, folks who apparently didn’t merit a green space or a playground.
His narrowed gaze swept the graffiti and boarded up windows. The parking lot was nothing but buckled metal.
He wished he hadn’t come. He didn’t like anything about this complex, but the building inspector had said the foundation was solid and the majority of the walls intact. Electrical and plumbing would need some updating, but the majority of his costs would be in new windows, new doors, new finishes.
