Peace in the Valley

by Ruth Logan Herne

  “Just a straw,” Trey told him, and took a bite of his sandwich.

  “Genetics can be crazy weird, but I see it in our cattle all the time.” Nick set Dakota down, and she instantly scrambled up the fence rail to watch the horses and eavesdrop on adult conversation. “Dominant traits win out, and if they’re good ones, that’s all fine. Trey, you managed to get all the Stafford brains and niceness, and none of the power quest. Good job.”

  “Let him eat, for pity’s sake. When is Elsa coming back from visiting her mother on Bainbridge Island?” Angelina slipped in along Colt’s side and changed the subject.

  “When our wedding is nailed down to the last detail,” he replied. He braced his hands against the top rail, just like Dakota. “Which isn’t soon enough, if you ask me.”

  “You’ve got it bad.”

  Nick answered Trey with a wink and a smile. “Surprisingly so. And yet…it’s all good.”

  “And you said you’re having the wedding here, at the new church?” Trey asked between bites, and he was pretty sure he hadn’t had food this good, or maybe just this appreciated, in a long while.

  “Ange’s fault,” Nick explained as he watched Murt work his oldest daughter around the paddock. “Dad was married in the original church. Both times. Ange came up with the idea that it would be good to start the new church off with happy weddings, and it didn’t take a whole lot to convince Elsa. Her parents sold their farm up north a long while back, so she doesn’t have ties there. So I blame Ange for the delay because I would’ve just grabbed a preacher and cut time. Ange and Elsa failed to see the romance in that, however.”

  “I think it’s a good idea to continue the tradition with marriages of joy,” Ange told him. “Colt and I will be the first wedding in the new church, which gave him reason to build the church quickly between breaks for cattle.”

  “Trey, you’ve got Black Angus on your place? A bunch, right?” Murt wondered as he motioned to Cheyenne to go around again.

  “I do, but I miss the red.” The look of the red coats against midsummer green grass had always drawn him. “Maybe my days of trying to show up my father are finally over.”

  “I hear you.” Colt whistled lightly as Cheyenne spurred the horse into an easy lope around the paddock. “She’s got good hands, Nick.”

  “I know. You mention it every day. I get it, and she’s riding now. Shut up.”

  Colt kept his gaze on the nine-year-old, but he smirked. Nick had kept his girls away from the business end of the ranch. They hadn’t learned to ride or rope or do barn chores, until recently.

  They’d worn him down from one side, and Colt and Angelina from the other, until Nick had little choice. The joy on Cheyenne’s face said they’d done the right thing. “Murt, how’s Annie doing? Is she getting used to having you gone again? Or is she kind of liking it?” Murt had married a local widow two years before. He’d retired from the ranch just long enough to drive him and his sixty-something bride crazy. Then he came back, with forty-plus years of Double S experience under his belt.

  “Typical Annie, Trey. She’s sassy. And smart. And that woman can bake up a storm, even midsummer. She sent some of her blueberry tarts over. I had to come back to work, else I’d look like a barrel ’bout now. A man’s gotta stay in shape to keep up with a woman like Annie McMurty.”

  “Annie and my mother have become fast friends,” Angelina told him in a low voice. “One tall and Irish, one short and Latina, but cut from the same cloth. And now that they’re sharing recipes and quilting ideas, we’ll all gain weight. But the blankets will keep us warm in winter.”

  Trey laughed, and not because it was that funny. It wasn’t, but it was normal. Nice normal. He couldn’t remember too many days of nice normal on the Double S, but this—

  He didn’t even know what to call it. A new day?

  Sure. Good enough.

  A new day, governed by cooperation and happiness and faith. The new normal only added weight to his earlier notion of a parallel universe where everyone on the Double S had morphed into kinder, better versions of themselves.

  “Make holy, therefore, these gifts, we pray, by sending down your Spirit upon them like the dewfall.”

  He’d heard that prayer years ago, at a Catholic Mass. It had stuck with him, the imagery, sweet and poetic, imagining grace flowing free, descending like thick morning dew.

  He liked that idea even better than the parallel universe, the thought that the richness of God’s hand had been laid in full upon the Double S at long last.

  “I have brought you coffee and a blueberry tart, and I will take your plate, unless you would like another sandwich, Trey?”

  Isabo interrupted his musings with her practiced practicality. He smiled down at her.

  She looked at him, and there it was again. A connection, a fleeting moment of knowledge. Did she see the real him? The emptiness inside the shell of normality?

  She held his attention and when she handed him the tart and the coffee, her words came softly. “It is in vain we try to fill ourselves with things other than the One, the Almighty.”

  “The Alpha and the Omega.”

  A tiny smile softened the strong line of her jaw. “And it is useless to take on senseless guilt. We are much stronger when we graciously accept God’s forgiveness, and forgive ourselves.”

  If only it was that easy.

  “Or”—she accepted his sandwich plate with a firmer look, the one he’d seen in past visits—“we wallow and whine, wasting the most precious gift of all: our time to do good. It is, of course, our choice.”

  She pivoted and strode back to the house, and when Trey followed her with his eyes, he saw Angelina’s look of frank assessment.

  She swept her mother, and then him, a glance. “You’ve met your match, Song-boy. Nothing gets by my mother.”

  “I see that.”

  “A trait she passed on to her daughter.” Colt’s wry tone matched his expression, and when Angelina elbowed him, he laughed. “I wouldn’t trade it, darlin’. You know that. And I actually have to leave this little party and get into town. I promised two hours on the church today, and my shift is coming up. Save me some food for later, okay?”

  “I will.”

  Colt leaned down and kissed her, then smiled, the kind of smile Trey used to share with Cathy, years ago. Pain underscored the sharpness of the memory.

  He didn’t understand the lure to drugs. It didn’t compute in his head, how the enticement could ever be worth the risk. It wasn’t. He knew that. He was science-savvy enough to comprehend the logistics, the dance of brain chemicals, the urgent need within.

  But why start, ever?

  Why take the life God gave, the one body he offered, and risk its ruination?

  Weakness? Self-indulgence? Foolishness?

  Maybe all three, but if he’d seen Cathy slipping back into temptation, he could have helped. He could have intervened or given her something more concrete to reach for. But he was working, she was working, and then she was gone amid a flurry of inaccurate news reports and computer-manipulated images that made them look like big-time partiers.

  She made her choices. She knew she had other options, so why are you excusing her responsibility and taking it on yourself ?

  Because he couldn’t step away fully.

  He needed to. He knew that. Folks made good and bad choices every day. His beautiful, talented wife could have chosen health and life. But in the end, it all came back to one thing in Trey’s head: If he’d been there, she might have stayed straight. But he hadn’t been there. He’d been on the road, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t forgive himself, because he’d known she could slip back. He knew better than most because his parents had done the same thing.

  And then she was simply gone.

  “Uncle Trey?” Dakota smiled up at him with Stafford blue eyes, about as pretty as that Carlton woman next door. Almost.

  “Yes, sugar?”

  “Will you hold me, please?”
>
  “Glad to oblige.” He set down the coffee and the tart and opened his arms. She jumped to him, and he gathered her in. His therapist had scolded him regularly to move on, embrace life, and appreciate the gifts he’d been given.

  He understood her reasoning but couldn’t quite do it. And yet, standing here, seeing his brothers finally happy, seeing the joy on these girls’ faces, and old Murt teaching youngsters the art of cowboying again…

  He almost felt the urge to try.

  Lucy had all four kids tucked into a middle pew on Sunday morning. From where she sat, in the choir loft above the congregation, she kept watch over them.

  All were fairly clean, fed, and warned to be on their best behavior. If Lucy had been a gambling woman, she’d bet against the outcome, but Angelina and Colt had promised to sit with them, and Lucy’s boys wouldn’t dare give Colt Stafford a hard time.

  She hoped.

  Just as the pianist touched the opening notes of “Amazing Grace,” Trey Walker Stafford walked into the church with his father and Angelina’s mother. They took the seat right behind her kids and Ashley.

  Ashley had figured out who’d “outed” her instantly when Lucy confronted her about the weed the night before. She made a quarter turn, and Lucy watched as Ashley sent Trey the kind of dark look young teens were noted for, country music star or not.

  He ignored it and handed Isabo a book.

  Nick and the girls slipped into the pew from the opposite side, and if anyone had told Lucy a few months back that the whole Stafford clan would be gathering in church, and sitting with her family by midsummer, she’d have laughed.

  And she’d have been wrong.

  Lucy listened for the keyboardist to finish the soul-stirring intro, closed her eyes, and began the opening verse.

  Her heart soared with her voice. The mellow poignancy of the cherished notes tugged her into a contentment that eluded her most days. And as the rest of the small choir joined in on verse two, she opened her eyes.

  Trey Walker had turned right around in his seat.

  He stared upward, at her, as if the hymn took him out of his comfort zone.

  She found it hard to look away, and not because he was crazy good looking. It was the pain in his face, the empty longing she saw every day in her own mirror.

  She did look away then. Purposely. She had enough on her plate, much of her own choosing. Her fault, yes.

  But she didn’t need more.

  She kept her eyes on the sanctuary for the rest of the service, and at the end, she slipped down the back stairs and moved forward.

  Angelina spotted her first. “Beautiful music today, Lucy. Absolutely inspirational and lovely.”

  She felt awkward handling compliments about her contribution to the weekly service. It felt wrong somehow. As if she hadn’t sullied her life with poor choices for too many years. But no more, so she worked up a smile. “Thank you. It’s always best when I’m singing God’s praise. And the acoustics in this church are amazing.” She gave the old Catholic church a fond look. The local priest had offered to share space with Grace of God’s congregation after the spring fire. “I love the choir loft.”

  “Which is why Colt had them put one in the new church up the road.” Angelina grinned. “Who knew you had such influence?”

  “I’m looking forward to singing in the new church, Colt.” Lucy shifted her smile up to him. “Thank you for adding the loft.”

  “I’ve heard you belt out God’s Word, along with a little country twang, now and again,” Colt teased. “I think with a set of pipes like that, you can do justice to just about anything, Lucy Carlton.”

  She loved singing, probably more than was healthy. Giving voice to song sprang from within her, but she had been down that path with Chase. She’d had an insider’s view of the music scene. Too many parties, drinking, and drugs.

  No thanks. Been there, done that. Living life on the downward side of crazy had never been her choice. She’d stick with the small-town choir. That was enough.

  “You guys will be okay with the kids?”

  Trey spoke just behind her. The tenor of his voice hailed her, like an altar call on the banks of the river. She longed to turn. Meet his gaze.

  She resisted the temptation and gave her kids a warning instead. “You be good for Colt and Angelina, okay?”

  “Can we play with the puppies?” Two of the Staffords’ Australian shepherds had given birth a few weeks before and playtime with the puppies had become a great motivational tool.

  Nick agreed from his side of the pew. “Works for me. Exercise for them, exercise for you. That way I won’t be in trouble with Elsa when she gets back here from her parents’ place. She called me last night and said we need to socialize the pups, along with a healthy list of other things I should be doing.” He made a funny face at the kids. “If playing with the likes of you guys makes those pups more social, I’ll consider that a job well done.”

  “And can we see how big the baby cows are, out in the field?” Cody wondered.

  “They sure don’t look like babies now,” laughed Colt. “But, yes, sure. I’ll show you.”

  “And there are some new babies,” Angelina told them. “Special babies that will go live on farms all over our country.”

  “For real?”

  “For real.”

  The kids looked enthused to be spending time next door. Ashley, however, looked mutinous, and she stayed that way until Trey said, “Ashley, Murt’s offered to show you around the ring on one of the horses. We’ve got boots that will fit if you’ve got blue jeans.”

  “I can ride?” She stared up at him, first in disbelief, then suspicion, probably wondering what the catch might be.

  “I figured if you know how to ride, it might be nice for Cheyenne to have someone older to ride with. If you stay squeaky clean.” He sent Ashley a direct look that meant the outcome was up to her.

  “Really?”

  “Depends on you.”

  She was quiet for a moment, and then, for the first time in the three weeks she’d been in Lucy’s care, she smiled. “I’ve got jeans at the house. Can we stop on the way over?”

  “We can.” Angelina started to herd the younger kids to the door. “Have you got a key?”

  “Here.” Lucy handed it to Angelina. Then she turned back to Trey to thank him because he didn’t have to do that. He didn’t have to go out of his way to be nice to a fourteen-year-old with a rock-sized chip on her shoulder. He shifted Lucy’s way and looked down at her.

  She looked up.

  No words came.

  She wanted them to, but something held them tight in her throat. He didn’t seem to mind. He smiled at her, just her, then cocked his head toward the door. “Shall we?”

  “Yes.”

  The stupid Cinderella feeling came over her again, as if spending an afternoon with a country music star was a date. It wasn’t, but his gaze, his smile, and his gentle manner tugged her toward the wistfulness of fairy tales.

  She knew better. She’d stopped believing in fantasies when reality beat a path to her young door.

  Crossing the wide church parking lot, Lucy stepped into the shade of a spreading oak, majestic in its size and reach. A soft breeze ruffled the leaves, making the light and shadows partner in a whispered dance. When the dappled light touched her face and her cheeks, she felt better somehow. As if the patchwork sun offered a message, or maybe an enticement to a new day. A new time.

  She was being silly, but for this one afternoon of car shopping, she’d allow herself to be a little fanciful.

  Cinderella for a day?

  Perfect.

  Lucy looked a little uncomfortable as they approached Trey’s SUV. “Did it drive all right for you?” he asked as he opened her door, figuring cars and weather would make for easy conversation.

  “Like a dream,” she answered as she settled into the seat. “Smooth and comfortable. It’s a nice ride.”

  “Good.” He rounded the front of the car,
climbed in, and headed north on Route 97. “If this place doesn’t have anything that works for you, we can shop again tomorrow. Or Tuesday. Whatever works for your schedule, Lucy.”

  “I’m not exactly accustomed to having people or life adjust themselves to my schedule,” she told him. “That’s never been the norm.”

  “I broke the car; I should fix it.”

  “A solid theory, but it’s the personal aspects of this.” She waved a hand back and forth between them as he accelerated when they got out of town. “Instead of exchanging insurance cards. Being around you is—”

  “Nice? Exciting? Fun?” He tossed out the positive adjectives before she could finish, then grinned because teasing her was fun, and he hadn’t anticipated that possibility.

  “I was going to go with ‘disturbing,’ but your spin works too.”

  He laughed out loud. When was the last time a woman treated him as if he was just a normal guy? He couldn’t remember. “Well, we’re all a little disturbed, aren’t we?”

  “Within a spectrum, yes. I guess.”

  He indicated the sophisticated music system above the center console. “If you want music, jump in.”

  “It looks complicated. And possibly scary. I don’t want to break something.”

  “So complicated it’s easy.” He hit a button and old-time crooner music filled the air.

  “You like Sinatra and the gang? Why did I not see that coming?”

  He shrugged one shoulder and kept his eyes on the twisting road. “They set the stage for so much. Why are you surprised? Good music is good music, right? And by the way”—he sent her a quick look of approval—“you nailed the opening hymn today with unsurpassed beauty. When I turned around and saw it was you singing, I was…” He paused, then worked his jaw. “Surprised and moved.”

  “That’s mostly John Newton’s doing. He wrote it. I just had the privilege to sing it.”

  “Still.” Trey followed the curving road at a relaxed pace. “The delivery commanded attention to the words, and that’s clutch, Lucy.”

  “Well.” Her hands moved in her lap, restless. He could see he’d embarrassed her. “Thank you.”