by Cara Colter
His father’s hands were clenching and unclenching unconsciously. “No big deal?” he whispered. “Me and Ruth-Anne would have done anything to have a baby. And now I was going to throw one away? It just went against my grain. Nothing in the way I was raised prepared me for a notion like that.
“I knew, that second, the party was over. The self-pity was over. I had a job to do, and I’d better step up to the plate and do it. I convinced Millie to marry me and have the baby.
“We moved back out here to the ranch. It had been neglected for quite some time. I nearly lost the place, and I was aware I could still lose it if I didn’t knuckle down. The work was unending. You know what it’s like now. It was ten times worse then. Trying to build a herd, every fence and building falling down. I wasn’t young anymore, I was in my mid-forties by then.”
His voice drifted away for a moment. “I’d been partying in hell before, now I was just in hell. No party. Your mama, she couldn’t stand this place. She was lonely and restless and bored. She wouldn’t come work with me, like Ruth-Anne had always done, so she’d sit in the house. She didn’t cook a meal or clean a floor. She just watched her soaps on TV and brooded on things to fight about.
“By the time I’d drag my sorry ass through the door after putting in a fourteen or fifteen-hour day, she’d be ready. That woman could fight about anything. If I said it looked like rain, she’d say snow, and the war was on.
“I thought it was my fault. Working too hard, not paying enough attention to her. I thought it might be because she was pregnant and hated everything about that state. She didn’t see herself as growing the most beautiful thing on earth. She saw herself as fat and ugly. And I’m ashamed to say I got tired of trying to convince her otherwise.
“She started accusing me of having a girlfriend on the side. I’d walk in, so tired and wet and dirty I could barely keep my feet, and she’d come and sniff my neck. Claim she could smell a woman on me. And I’m ashamed to say, I got tired of that pretty damn quick, too.
“And then you came along. God almighty, Ty, I ain’t saying this just because you were mine, but you were the most beautiful baby ever born. Golden hair, like a little lion, and bright eyes, and this lusty voice. Powerful for a baby. I just stood in amazement of you from the first second.”
Again, the hesitation, the sideways look. But Ty had read the letters. He had already guessed this part.
“Tell me,” he said.
“Aw, Ty, it’s what I never wanted to tell you. You’ve seen cows who reject their calves? Basically, she was indifferent to you. She was aghast at the idea of breastfeeding. That was for animals.
“I’d come in from a hard day, and it was more of the same. She thought I’d been seeing someone. And she’d start screaming it was my turn to look after the baby, my turn to change diapers and feed you.
“As if it was a burden,” his father said, soft, still shocked by it. “It was no burden. Hell, Ty, you were what I lived for. Those moments when I came in and picked you up and saw after what you needed. And then I’d take you and plant you right in the middle of my chest, and we’d both fall fast asleep on that sofa.
“After Ruth-Anne died, I’d pretty much given up on love. And Millie had soured me even more. But when you and I would fall asleep on that couch, I believed in love again.
“I came home one day early, and one of the ranch hands was coming out of the house. He wouldn’t look me in the face, muttered something about Millie calling him about the plumbing.
“I was so fed up, I was beyond caring what she did. I can see now that just added to the problems. The more I didn’t care, the more she tried to make me care. She thought she could make me jealous, but all it did was make me worry she might be neglecting you.
“So I got myself one of those kangaroo pouch things and popped you in it. My saddle bags were filled with diapers and formula. You literally were on a horse before you could walk. If I had a real hard day lined up, I’d drop you off with one of the neighbor ladies.
“One day we came home and she was gone. She’d smashed every single dish in the house and every picture frame, she’d cut up all my clothes, but she was gone.
“And I didn’t feel nothing but relief.
“I tried to be a good dad, but when I think about it, I probably wasn’t. I wasn’t much of a talker. And I was strict as all get-out, like that would make it seem like I knew what I was doing when I didn’t. Scared to let you know how much I loved you, like it might turn you into a sissy boy or something.
“I knew you longed for a mama. Anytime we went to a neighbor’s you were scouting out a female to attach yourself to. And I figured that was enough. I mean, our friends and our neighbors circled the wagons around me and especially around you. You were raised by every woman in this whole community, which is probably why you turned out half-decent.
“It was four years before I heard from her. Just phones up one day as if she suddenly remembered she had a little boy. Told me her and her new husband wanted to pick you up and take you to Disneyland.
“Like I said at the beginning. I was just a simple man. I didn’t know what to do with a complicated situation. But I didn’t really trust your mama. Once she had you, what if she just disappeared with you? And I sure as hell wasn’t sending you to Disneyland with a man I’d never met.
“So, I told her no, and then she asked to talk to you. I knew how bad you wanted a mama, so against my better judgment I put you on the phone. When you got off, you were looking daggers at me and screaming that you wanted to go to Disneyland with your mama.
“You wanted a mama so badly, and now one had magically appeared. But all I could see was trouble and broken hearts, so after that when she phoned I’d say you were at a neighbor’s or something. It wasn’t often. Once or twice a year, then not for several years in a row. Same with the writing. A letter here and there once she figured out you were old enough to read, I guess. I opened the first few of her letters, and I knew nothing had changed. It was all about her. Suddenly, you were old enough that she could try and use you to fill up that horrible hole inside of her.
“And right or wrong, I wasn’t having it. I told myself when you were old enough to sort it out for yourself, I’d tell you about it. But somehow the time never seemed right, because you always seemed so hungry for a mama that I knew you would never see her for what she was.
“I tried to protect you. And I doubt I did it right, and yet if I had the same choice to make again, I would make the same one. So how can I even say I’m sorry?”
“Why didn’t you just tell me? Dad, all these years. Lost.”
“They weren’t lost, son. You had a chance to step out of my shadow, to become the man I always knew you would be. Every father and son goes through it. I did with my own daddy and had no excuse for it, either.”
It hurt him that his father had held faith in him through all these years of stubborn distance. He felt tears pricking at the back of his eyes.
“And the last few years gave me something, too,” his father said. “All those years, you were my first responsibility. Love had banged me up pretty good. Then when I got hurt, I was alone, and Beth was alone, and—” He shrugged. “Beth tells me now, your mama was probably sick. Bi-Polaroid.”
“Bipolar,” Ty said softly. It made sense. It fit with what he had read in the letters, the manic pages of writing, followed by months, even years of silence.
“The way I see it I had Ruth-Anne. And she was earth. And I had Millie and she was fire. Beth was and is like a cool drink of water on a hot day.”
“Did you ever wonder if I was yours?” Ty asked softly. “I mean, it sounds as if she might have played it hard and fast.”
His father looked genuinely shocked. “Of course not! You’re way too stubborn to be anyone else’s. Besides, you are now, and always have been, my sky, so bright it nearly hurts my
eyes to look at you.
“Once I had a narrow view on life and wouldn’t have put stock in such things, but now I see I’ve had a life of perfect balance, earth and fire, water and sky.
“I don’t have any regrets, Ty. Your mother brought me you. This chair brought you back to where you belong.”
“All these years,” Ty said. He knew now it wasn’t his father he’d had to forgive at all. It was his mother.
And in some part of him, he had probably known that all along.
“You go after that girl who was here. You go after her and that little boy. They both need you. If you don’t mind my saying so, it’s time to grow up, Ty. You ain’t a little boy pining after your mama anymore. There’s nothing like someone needing you to make a man grow up.”
“I don’t even know if she’d have me, Dad. She’d resent the implication that she needed me.”
“Now you’re talking nonsense. To their great detriment, women just love us Halliday men. They’ll put up with quite a bit from us. See what we could be, see the diamond underneath all that coal, and get damned determined to mine it. She needs you, all right. And you need her.”
* * *
Amy looked out the window of the McFinley house. It was a nice house, custom-built on a small acreage some twenty miles from the Halliday Creek Ranch. The views were not as sweeping as the ones from Ty’s front window—she could see the neighbors’ place—and it lacked the charm of the homestead.
It was a typical January day in southern Alberta—bright blue skies and teeth-numbing cold.
“A good day to bake bread,” she told herself out loud, as if that could ward off the loneliness. Jamey was napping. Terrible to wish he would wake up so that the huge emptiness inside her could be filled with his laughter and gurgles, his energy and motion.
Perhaps she was imagining it, but he, too, seemed subdued.
One of the things he had got for Christmas, when they had made it to Cynthia’s, was a farm set, with buildings and horses and cows.
Jamey had a favorite horse. He called it Ben. And when he played with it, he mournfully and softly called Papa Odam over and over again.
So she knew she would not bake bread. The memories of the last time she had baked bread, Ty laughing beside her, putting his muscle into the kneading, were just too intense.
For a while, she acknowledged, being snowed in with Ty, having Christmas at the homestead place, she had touched what she had always wanted.
It had filled her to overflowing. It had been better than the dream.
Now, despite this beautiful home, despite her internet business taking off and filling most of her waking hours, she could not outrun the feeling. The feeling of loss.
She had spent six days on the Halliday Creek Ranch.
She felt as if she was mourning it more profoundly than the loss of her husband. Of course, that dream had already been shattered.
Her time at the ranch had breathed hope into her when she had convinced herself all hope was gone.
And now, gazing out the window at the icy beauty of the landscape, she felt as though all hope was gone again.
Somehow, she thought he would have called.
As deeply in the thrall of all those good memories as she was.
And somehow, she was not sure how, she had found the courage and pride not to call him. Especially as she read Lonesome Dove, savoring every word, feeling some connection to Ty as she read it.
But no, it was time for her to make it on her own. Time for her to stand on her own two legs. Time for her to forgive herself all her mistakes by drawing power from who she was now, what she could accomplish, her considerable strengths and talents.
“So, cookies it is,” Amy said, forcing herself to move from the window. “Chocolate chip.”
The doorbell rang as she was taking the last of them from the oven.
She went and opened it. The most adorable teenage girl she had ever seen stood there. She was about thirteen, owlish behind glasses. She had an armful of books, and flashed a shy smile that revealed braces.
“Mrs. Mitchell?”
“Yes?”
“I’m Jasmine Nelville. Ty Halliday sent me to babysit. He said to tell you I have my babysitting certificate, and that I can give you references. I’ve been babysitting for two years.”
Amy looked at her visitor, stunned. She noticed a car in the driveway, and realized it was Jasmine’s mother, who waved and drove away.
“Right now?” she stammered.
“I think he’s right behind us. Of course, he’s hauling, so that takes longer.”
“Hauling?”
“Is that the baby?” Jasmine said when a wail filled the house.
“Jamey. He’s just waking up from his nap.”
Jasmine brushed by her, set down her books and followed the sound. With Amy trailing dazedly behind her, she went into the bedroom and picked Jamey out of his crib.
“Oh!” she said blissfully. “What a handsome boy.”
Jamey preened.
“Mrs. Mitchell, you need to get ready. Dress warm. And he said to tell you to wear sensible boots.”
“But—” She heard clanking and thumping and a big, diesel engine. She went to her front window and watched as Ty jumped out of the cab of his truck, went and opened the back door of the trailer he was pulling.
One horse, saddled, backed out. And then Ben, also saddled.
The rational part of her knew that she should say no to this. He hadn’t even called. He didn’t even know if she wanted to go with him.
But the rational part of her could hardly be heard above the singing of her heart. It was not time to be rational. She had been rational all her life. Even when she had chosen Edwin, it had been a rational decision based on what she wanted, and on what he seemed to be.
Stable. Safe. From a good family. Able to provide.
That was what she needed to forgive. The great injustice she had done Edwin when she had chosen him for what he was, instead of who he was.
And that man outside, calmly tightening cinches, waiting for her?
She knew exactly who he was. Exactly. She ran for her coat and her boots and raced out the door.
He looked up and saw her coming, smiled at her over the top of the saddle, and then came around the horse and opened his arms.
She flew into them. And he lifted her high and swung her around, and then set her down and gazed at her like a man who had crossed the desert and she was his drink.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, breathless.
“Why, Miss Amy, isn’t it obvious?”
“Not really.”
“I’ve come a-courting.”
“Oh!” she said, suddenly shy.
“You’re an old-fashioned girl in a new-fangled world. So with your permission, I’m going to do this in an old-fashioned way. I’m going to wine you, and dine you and bring you flowers. I’m going to sweep you right off your feet.”
Was there any point telling him he already had? No. Why miss the fun?
He helped her onto the horse. He told her it was an old mare named Patsy and he called her dead-broke.
But it didn’t matter. She would have felt no fear being put on a fire-snorting, head-tossing, feet-dancing stallion right now.
They rode out the McFinleys’ driveway and down a snowy road. He rode right beside her, asking her about Jamey and the house and Baby Bytes.
And she asked him about Beth and his dad, and as they rode, he told her all of it. About reading the letters and reconciling with his father.
“Been working hard at being the man you’ll expect me to be,” he said.
The skies were so bright, and the air so crisp. They rode for nearly an hour and then he found a way down to a frozen river, and s
et a picnic blanket out in the snow. From his saddle bags, he removed hot chocolate and sandwiches on bread that was flat and might have tasted quite terrible if he had not mentioned he had made it himself.
He took out a book of poetry and read to her. He looked up at her, mischief winking in his sapphire eyes.
“It’s on the first-year university reading list,” he admitted. “Do you know what it means?”
“Not a clue,” she said.
And then the sound she lived for bubbled up between them, louder than the water running under the frozen blanket on the river.
Their laughter. And then somehow, they were rolling around on that blanket, and he was on top of her, pushing her hair back from her face and covering her with kisses. Her ears, her lips, her neck, her eyelids.
Homecoming.
An hour later, they were heading for home, nearly frozen on the outside, a fire so deep burning on the inside that Amy felt as if she would never be cold again.
And so the courtship began.
Ty amazed her with his deeply romantic nature. True to his word, he wined and dined her at some of the finest restaurants in Calgary. He brought her flowers. They went to movies and for long walks and horseback rides.
He began to include her in community activities. He brought her to fund-raisers and dances and pancake breakfasts where she met his neighbors and his friends. He brought her out to Beth and his dad’s. They did things with Jamey—the indoor swimming pool, sleigh riding, quiet evenings at home playing on the floor with his toys and reading him stories.
The seasons were changing, winter giving way to the tender promise of spring, when Ty invited her to his place, asking her to drop off Jamey with his dad and Beth.
When she arrived, the two horses were saddled in the yard.
She mounted hers with confidence, a brand-new bravery in her.
That’s what love had given her. The bravest of hearts. The most tender of hopes.
They followed a winding trail along Halliday Creek and then up and up and up the mountain.
