Peace in the Valley

by Ruth Logan Herne

  He tapped the steering wheel with his left hand, then swung the car around on Columbia and made the turn toward Quick Care. “My treat because if I hadn’t gone through that stop sign, this probably wouldn’t have happened.”

  “Cody’s six and Cade is eight. You had two brothers.” She shot him a dubious look. “I have to think stitches were a given.”

  He rubbed the back of his head and winced, but smiled at the same time, and darn, if he didn’t look adorable when he did it. “Three distinct tracks on the back of my head; the reason I don’t do buzz cuts. Colt tells me they’re a badge of honor, but I’m partial to covering them up.” He glanced into the back seat through the rearview mirror. “You guys doing okay back there?”

  “I reawwy, reawwy wike riding up high.” Belle giggled and placed two little hands over her mouth. “Evwyfing is so big up here.”

  “World’s a big place,” Trey agreed, and when he smiled back at Belle, she giggled again, smitten by a guitar-pickin’ cowboy, reason enough to lock her in her room from age thirteen on. “What’s your name, darlin’?”

  Belle held up three adorable fingers, and even Lucy had to smile. “Yes, you’re three years old. Can you tell Mr. Stafford your name?”

  “I’m Belle.” She said it softly, with her hands tucked over her mouth, but somehow Trey caught it.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Belle.” He smiled through the mirror and touched the brim of his hat with one finger. “I’m Trey.” He shifted his attention back to the road as he asked, “And who are your brothers?”

  She pointed instantly, way more comfortable with this part of the conversation. “This is Cody and that’s Cade. He’s bweeding.”

  “I know.” Trey’s look of sympathy appeared sincere, but he spent a good share of his life on stage, so Lucy wasn’t buying into it. She’d learned that schmoozing and flirting were intrinsic with musicians. Burned once, twice careful.

  Which brought Lucy to another thought. “What did you say to Ashley?”

  “I take it that Ashley is the teen that reeked of reefer?”

  “She what?” Lucy turned his way in the seat. “Are you serious? And how would you even know that?”

  “I’ve got groupies that think it’s smart. It’s not, and she was trying to cover it with that obnoxious smelling oil.”

  The patchouli oil Ashley loved. Could she be using the heavy-scented oil to mask smoking pot?

  Of course she could, Lucy realized, because it wasn’t all that difficult to get weed these days, and Ashley wouldn’t be the first eighth grader caught with it.

  And you were going to leave the kids with her all day, while you sold flowers. What kind of mother are you?

  No, she wouldn’t ask that question because then she’d have to answer it. She leaned forward to see Trey’s face around Cade’s head. “You’re sure?”

  The glance he shot her indicated he was quite sure.

  “I’ll send her packing. I thought it would help, having her come live with us. I thought I could make a difference to her, that maybe all she needed was a little love and a good example. She hasn’t had much of that in her life.” Was she talking more to herself or him?

  He looked skeptical, but she wasn’t after his opinion. In her experience, people with money shrugged off others’ needs as nonessential. His father was a prime example, but she couldn’t think about all that now, with Cade bleeding beside her.

  Trey rolled up to the Quick Care parking lot and pointed to Cody and Belle in the back seat. “Can I take these two to Hammerstein’s? I’ve got some things to grab there, and that would be more fun than hanging out in the waiting room, wouldn’t it?”

  “Can we see where they’re building the new church?” Cody wriggled in his seat, excited. “And the big diggers?”

  “Gotta love construction,” Trey agreed. He met her son’s eyes in the mirror and grinned. “If it’s all right with your mother.”

  Lucy studied him. She’d been about to leave her three most precious gifts with a weed-smoking teenager all day because she didn’t recognize the masking oil’s purpose. Now she was considering sending two of them off with a virtual stranger who ran stop signs.

  The fact that the stop sign had been obstructed put the vote in Trey’s favor. “They’d like that much better, I’m sure.”

  “Give me your phone. I’ll put my number in so you can call me when you’re done.”

  She helped Cade down, trying to keep pressure on his head while he maneuvered. Her efforts resulted in more bleeding. She swallowed a sigh. “I don’t have a phone. Cade and I will walk your way when he’s done. Or just head back here in thirty minutes or so.”

  “No phone?”

  She couldn’t afford a phone, and she wasn’t about to be on any government handout list to get one, so she shook her head.

  “But the teen was holding a mighty pricey smartphone.”

  “A long story.”

  He looked like he was weighing her words, her answers, then nodded. He jotted his number on a small scrap of paper in the SUV and handed it over to her. “If you need me, use their phone to call me. And use this. Please.” He handed her a credit card along with the slip of paper.

  If you need me…

  Oh, those words. To have someone sincerely offer help or compassion or most anything. It had been over a decade since Lucy Carlton had heard words like that, which made them dear and fairly unbelievable. “Thanks.”

  She kept her arm snugged around Cade, holding the shirt in place, and walked him into the office. They went through a quick triage, and when she guaranteed payment with Trey’s card, the nurse took it, but not without a suspicious look. “If you need confirmation, here’s his cell number.” Lucy jotted it down on the medical form and passed it through the triage window.

  “You just gave me Trey Walker’s personal cell phone number.” The woman looked at the number, then Lucy. “Oh, man, isn’t that every woman’s dream? Every woman with a pulse, that is.”

  It wasn’t Lucy’s dream. It wasn’t even close to Lucy’s dream. Her dream would embrace a solid income from the work of her hands, time with her children, surrounded by a beloved community. She’d spent too much time realizing the outcome of poor choices as a teen, then as a young adult. Her dream wasn’t to rely on anyone other than herself and God again, ever.

  She wouldn’t trade her kids for anything. They were her lifeblood, her reason to praise God and embrace life.

  But she wished she’d been smarter, more educated, and had waited longer for all those firsts teenagers find so enticing…and just maybe she’d have been better prepared to go through life raising three kids alone. Because if she was keeping score based on today’s record? She was batting a big fat zero, and that had to change.

  Trey Walker Stafford was shopping with kids.

  He’d never done such a thing before, but here he was, pulling into a municipal parking space up the road from Hammerstein’s Mercantile with two cute kids. He wasn’t sure what he’d do if they stopped being cute and started acting bratty, but he’d cross that bridge as needed. “Come here, Belle.”

  The little girl let him lift her. Cody scrambled out of his own seat and opened the other door. “Mind the road, Cody.”

  The kid turned and looked at him, suspicious. “It’s okay for me to get out?”

  “Best way I know of getting into the store is to get out of the car.”

  “Sweet!” The boy shoved the heavy door, hopped out, and shut the door, then ran to the sidewalk. “Mom always makes me wait, like I’m a baby. I’m not a baby. She is.” He pointed a finger and a derisive look at his little sister and started to move ahead.

  “Hold it.”

  The boy turned, surprised.

  Trey bent low. “Belle’s not a baby.”

  The kid rolled his eyes, as if he’d heard this all before.

  “She’s a little girl, and she needs big people to love her and protect her, just like you did when you were three.”

&nbs
p; “I was brave about everything when I was three,” Cody bragged. He scowled at Belle. “She’s afraid of water, so we can’t ever go swimmin’, and Mom makes us watch her like all the time.”

  “Well, she’s three.” Trey tipped a smile right into Belle’s blue eyes and she grinned back, patted his cheek, and won his heart in the space of mere seconds. “You’re twice as old, dude. Cut her some slack, okay?”

  “I’m twice as old?” Cody eyed him, then Belle, as if the concept intrigued him. “Like three plus three?”

  “Exactly like that.”

  He looked impressed and less combative. Score one for the country crooner.

  He let Cody lead the way up the broad stairs, and when they crossed the wide, Western-style porch, Cody pushed open the door. It swung quickly, and Trey had to do a one-handed grab to keep it from smacking into a freestanding rack, but he managed.

  “Trey.” ‘Ham’ Hammerstein waved as soon as he spotted him. He plodded around the seasonal counter to pump Trey’s free hand. “It’s good to have you back here, young man. You’ve done us nothing but proud in Nashville.”

  Kind words, and Trey appreciated every one. Media speculation had run roughshod over him when he’d lost his wife to an overdose several years before. Rumors of a crazy, swinging lifestyle abounded.

  He’d never done crazy, he’d never done drugs, and he’d worked night and day to save Cathy from herself, to no avail.

  Was he purely innocent?

  No. He could have done more, seen more, been home more.

  Or maybe he’d chosen a woman who’d been in drug rehab and seemed to be doing well to prove to his late parents it could be done. If so, it was the ultimate failure because her death had proved them all wrong.

  “You’ve brought some friends along.”

  “Cody and Belle.”

  “They’re regular visitors,” Ham said, smiling. “And they know where the cookie bin is.”

  “Cookie bin?”

  “Gretchen started it a few years back, and it’s a big hit with the kids, so long as parents aren’t all fired-up worried about little hands in the bin. I set a pair of tongs there to keep the county health guy happy, but no one uses ’em.”

  He set Belle down. She followed Cody to the bin, and when Cody had pulled out his cookie, he sent a quick glance over his shoulder and deliberately closed the bin.

  Trey cleared his throat, nice and loud.

  The kid looked up, sighed, opened the bin, and stepped back.

  “The polite thing to do would be to offer yours to her, or let her go first. Cowboy up, kid.”

  “You think I could be a cowboy?” The boy’s eyes rounded like saucers. He eyed Trey’s hat. “Like, for real?”

  “Why not?”

  “Well, I don’t have a horse.” Cody waited until Belle had selected a cookie, then closed the bin. “Or a hat or a saddle or anything.”

  Trey stooped low. “Bein’ a cowboy isn’t about what you’re wearin’ or ridin’, my friend.”

  “It’s not?” Cody stared at him, puzzled.

  “No sir.” Trey shook his head and kept his face serious. “It’s about what’s up here.” He tapped the side of his head. “And here.” He clapped his hand over his heart. “The rest is just window dressin’, but a true cowboy comes from inside you, in everything you say and do. Being strong, but being nice. Giving directions, but following directions too.”

  “Like cooperating?” Cody asked. “We learned about that in school.”

  “Exactly like that.”

  “But then do I get a hat, maybe?” He eyed Trey’s hat and the broad Western display in Ham’s front window. “So everyone will know I’m bein’ a cowboy?”

  “Maybe then.”

  “I didn’t know.” The kid glanced around as if he’d just discovered an ultimate truism.

  “And now you do. Ham, I need to grab some groceries pretty quick, and I could use a hand.”

  Ham brought him a cart. Trey picked up Belle and settled her into the seat. “Cody, I’m not sure what you guys like, so I need your help too, okay?”

  “Okay!” He started down the first aisle in the grocery section. “We like cereal a lot.”

  Trey let him pick out four boxes.

  “Milk, bread, rolls, meat, fruits, vegetables,” Ham muttered as he walked with them. “Otherwise you’re likely to get stuck in the candy aisle.”

  At that moment, Cody spotted the candy aisle. When his eyes lit up, Trey knew the truth in Ham’s warning. “Appreciate the tip. Hey, Gretchen.”

  “Lookee here, it’s Gray’s Glen’s finest, come home to do some shopping.” She stepped out from behind the deli counter and gave him a hug. “Gosh, it’s good to see you, Trey. It’s been a long time.”

  “Sure has.” He jutted his chin toward the deli counter behind her. “Can you hook me up with some cold cuts and cheese?”

  “Yes, and how much?”

  “I have no idea.” He stared at the kids, made a face, and then turned to Ham, pretending not to hear the buzz of conversation as other shoppers noticed him in the store. “What do you think, Ham? Five people, three of them kids?”

  “Ham, turkey, roast beef, Swiss and American cheese, a pound of each, sliced on the thin side, Gretchen.”

  “I’m on it.”

  “And maybe a couple of pounds, you know, one of those bigger containers”—Trey made his hands into a quart-like size—“of that Italian salad there.”

  “I’ll do it right up and have it ready before you’re done.”

  “Mighty grateful, Gretch.”

  She grinned when he used her high school nickname. “Glad to help, cowboy.”

  The murmurs grew louder. People pretended to come around corners as if shopping, but wanting to see him. Ham hung out by his side, almost protective, but by the time the cart was mostly full, Trey read the signs, and he didn’t want two little kids unnerved if folks pushed in. He approached a group of huddled women and smiled.

  “It is you, isn’t it?” exclaimed one, and she slapped her hand to her chest. “I couldn’t rightly believe it, and we kept looking at you—”

  “Did you, now?” he teased, pretending he hadn’t noticed, as the second band of customers came in from the other side. “You know I grew up here. Gray’s Glen is my hometown.”

  Some nodded. Some shook their heads.

  “My dad is sick. He needs help.”

  Sympathy marked every single face, including ones who might not have any reason to like Sam Stafford.

  “So I’m in town for at least the summer, helping out.”

  “Are these your kids?” asked one woman. “Because I didn’t think you had kids with Cathy.”

  His heart bit tight.

  She didn’t mean to be careless, he knew that, but his life with his country singer wife was like an old, open wound. “My neighbors.” He palmed Belle’s head and winked at Cody. “Just thought they might like a little shopping trip while we were out and about.”

  “Oh, that’s nice.”

  “You’re just like your music!”

  “What a kind thing to do!”

  Trey was pretty sure they were going to emerge unscathed when Cody blurted, “Well, my mom is at the doctor with Cade because he’s a jerk, and he’s always taking my stuff, and I got really, really mad, and he hit his head and now he’s bleeding on everything.”

  Leave it to a kid to shed the dark cloak of honesty on a happy moment.

  “Oh my,” spouted one woman, distressed.

  “You hurt your brother? That’s not nice.” Disapproval tightened another woman’s tone.

  “Did you call the sheriff ?” asked one stylish and upscale young mother, as if tussling boys should automatically be placed in juvie. If that was the case, half the county would be locked up until they got a clue around age nineteen. Or older.

  “The lady sheriff is our friend,” Cody assured her, making it sound like they drew special favors from the law. “She brings her little boy over to play s
ometimes. He’s little like my sister, and she doesn’t arrest anybody.”

  “Your sister?” asked one woman.

  “The sheriff,” Trey assured her, wondering how to backtrack through this now convoluted mess of too much information. “Although I have heard of the occasional arrest, as needed, and those of you with kids know how it is. Boys will be boys. I’ve got a few brotherly battle scars to show for it, myself.”

  “Most of which he deserved, and most of which came from Colt, not me.” His brother Nick’s voice lightened the moment and took charge. To Trey, Nick’s presence alone felt like an exit door yanked open on an escape route. “I was the nice big brother.” Trey didn’t know where Nick came from or how he happened to show up at just the right time, but he was mighty glad he did.

  Nick looked down at Cody. “You helpin’ Trey shop?”

  “He’s teachin’ me to be a cowboy.”

  “Is he?” Nick sent a grin indicating Trey might need some reschooling, but he kept quiet. “We ready to check out?”

  “Milk, eggs, and butter.” Ham looked at Nick, and Nick got the message.

  “I’ll grab those with Cody while Trey gets everything else tallied up.”

  “Sounds good.” Ham led Trey and Belle over to the seasonal register and called for a bag boy to help out. He angled a subtle look to the shoppers they’d just left. “Love ya or lynch ya, I figured it was time to finish up and avoid the grocery checkout lines.”

  “It’ll take time for folks to get used to seeing me around again.” But Trey frowned as he said it. “I guess I just figured hometown was hometown.”

  “Most likely will be,” Ham told him. He nodded thanks to Gretchen when she delivered the bag of cold cuts and cheese. “It’s been awhile, and a lot went down with the springtime fire and all. Folks are movin’ forward, and your daddy’s change of heart is helping that happen. But change takes time.”

  Ham was correct. Change would take time. Sam Stafford had used money and power to undercut some locals and had steamrolled others in the past. Resentment built with time. For a long while, Sam and his money had helped sculpt unpopular decisions.

  A spring fire had destroyed the original Grace of God Community Church and several other structures a few months back. The fire and Sam’s illness had inspired the older Stafford to be a better person. Now the shell of a beautiful log cabin church stood in its place, the results of Stafford money and community effort. But could they effect change quickly enough to have it matter? And would Sam be alive to see it happen?