“Trey.” Sam reached out a hand to him. He shook his head. “It’s too much, Trey. I can’t risk it. I can’t risk you, Son.”
Trey faced the doctor. “You said the San Francisco transplant center had plenty of experience, correct?”
“Among the best in the nation. Yes.”
“And we’d be looking at a fall operation?”
“As long as the hospital and Dr. Nu can put it on their schedule. Often it takes four to six months, but their team is looking at a four-to-six-week, drop-everything-and-show-up deal. They’ve reviewed the preliminary questionnaires, and once the medical tests are submitted, they’ll assess the risk factor for approval.”
“And if Dad takes a sudden downturn before then?” Nick asked. “What happens in that case?”
“Sam will remain on the regular transplant list until he undergoes a successful transplant. Or until there is no longer a need.”
“A coffin,” drawled Colt, deliberately showing the downside of their alternatives.
“And a big, lavish funeral,” Nick added, his tone light.
The doctor stared at them, then Sam. “They’re being funny,” Sam told him. “Because they think I should let Trey do this.”
“Well, I’m doing it one way or another, so…” Trey sat back down and reached for the pen. “Tell me what to sign, Doc, I’ve got some Christmas trees in need of pruning, and I promised I’d be back in time to help do it. Yakking this thing to death won’t get it done any faster.”
The doctor slid the forms his way. Trey signed them, then looked up at his father, waiting. “You either go into this believing God’s in control or you go in shaking in your boots. I’m grabbing hold of the whole God-thing, Dad. At least that way we minimize wear and tear on the boots. Good boots don’t come cheap.”
“You’re sure?”
Sam looked him eye to eye, and for a brief moment he wasn’t an incapacitated man waiting for modern medicine to put him right again. He was the old Sam Stafford, owner of the Double S Ranch, a man who saw what needed to be done and did it.
Sure he was a jerk way too often. But that was then, and this was now, and he’d saved Trey’s life over a quarter century ago. It was past time to return the favor. “I’m sure. Sign the papers and let’s grab the biggest steak we can find. With onion rings and mushrooms. Then I’ve got some trees to tend.”
Sam studied him for several seconds before he clapped a hand to Trey’s shoulder and sat back down. He signed the forms, said good-bye to the local surgeon, and they walked out, into a brilliant suburban Seattle day.
“One thing,” Trey told them once they piled into the ranch SUV. “We keep this to ourselves. No loose lips.”
“We’re keeping this a secret?” Colt didn’t look convinced. “Good luck with that.”
Nick’s expression wondered why. “You don’t want your fans to know?”
“I don’t want anyone knowing,” Trey answered firmly. “For however long we have before this happens, I just want to be Trey Stafford, part of the Double S. My agent knows what’s going on, and he’s respecting my wishes. If Ed can do that, anyone can. Once the surgery’s over, we can do an interview or something and the world can find out. But not now. Not yet.”
“Angelina will know right off, possibly because I already texted her.”
“Elsa too.” Nick held up his phone.
“Pair of teenagers.” Trey locked eyes with both of them, one at a time. “Wives/fiancées are okay. The rest of the world is not. I’m just hoping I get healthy in time to celebrate two weddings.”
“Ange has a late October date picked, but I think we might move it up to early September if we can get the church done in time.”
Nick agreed. “That’s probably a good idea, if Dad’s recovery will take awhile.”
“Nothing I do takes awhile,” Sam corrected them. “Plan the wedding any way you like, but I’ll be ready to celebrate eight weeks after this surgery. That gives you three months, Colt. Don’t be messing up Angelina’s wedding plans. And besides, that gives me a goal. I like goals.”
“Then we stay with late October,” Colt agreed. He drove east on I-90 and turned off not far from the city. “Let’s get that steak and crunch cattle numbers. Hugh Lacey queried me about expanding the ranch—or at least the concept—into a more southern state, and I’ve been running start-up costs.”
“Gray’s Glen is home,” Sam stated. The thought of total world domination of anything beef related would have fed his ego not that long ago. Things had obviously changed.
“Maybe we can talk of it more in a few years, Colt,” Sam continued. “It’s something I’ve considered, but right now I want to see the town projects finished and polished. I put myself first for a lot of years. Way too many. Let’s put the idea on hold for now, and if Hugh finds someone else to run with the ball, so be it. Currently the thought of that steak seems mighty nice. And an ice-cold bottomless glass of tea.”
Resignation marked his face and his voice, because Sam Stafford wouldn’t have been drinking tea with his steak, back in the day. “I’m even learning to almost like tea.”
“I’m buying,” said Colt. He held open the first door, while Nick pulled open the interior door for his father. “It’s the least I can do if Trey’s giving up his liver.”
“And we’ll all pitch in and help Lucy and the kids while you’re recovering, Trey,” Nick added. “We’ll keep things running smooth over there, like we should have been doing all along.”
“When you’re off singing and touring, and our lives go back to normal, I’ll be the one picking up the pieces.”
Lucy. Her words, planning ahead. Mothers didn’t have the option of letting life just happen around them. He saw that as she guided events and skirted absolutes. But he saw more too. He knew more. He knew how easily the past could rise up to ruin the present, but Lucy’s past wasn’t anything he could talk about now, although his family must be aware of it. He was the one left unaware. The outsider, come home to play his part and leave. The heart that had felt real good twenty-four hours before pinched tight. “That would be good.”
“I thought so.” Nick met his gaze with a sympathetic expression, but not about Cathy this time.
About Lucy. Maybe because he knew her past and saw the impossibility of the situation.
And then Nick smiled, thumped him on the back, and positioned the chairs so Trey’s back was to the door and the other diners. Eating in public was rarely simple, but maybe today would be different. Four guys, on their own, enjoying a peaceful, wood-fired steak dinner together. Family, bonding over food, words, and laughter.
He’d missed this. No matter what he did next door, no matter how awkward his work with Lucy might get, the chance to be here with his brothers and Sam filled one hole inside him. Maybe that would have to be enough.
The rasping grind of the metal saw challenged the metallic buzz of pneumatic screwdrivers as Benson’s crew applied the new roofing to the house. The combination sounded like a dental office on steroids, the kind of high-pitched noise that put fur on your teeth and goose bumps up your arms, despite the warm midday sun.
Lucy let herself out the back door of the house and circled the barn.
The porch radio was cranking country music. The workmen’s voices competed with the sounds around them, but with the kids safely tucked up the road, the grove felt relatively peaceful, and Lucy made the most of it. She trimmed, shaped, and scissored the wide variety of trees in the near section first. A lightweight aluminum ladder helped her reach the upper branches.
The scent inspired her.
Growing Christmas trees was a six-week sale window, mostly compressed into four weeks of insanely busy, but when it was done, there should be a solid uptick in her cash flow. Last year had been the first year she’d been able to open the first two groves for shoppers. Areas three and four would be opened this year, more than doubling her sales potential. And once the weather turned cool in late October and early November, she’
d start creating wreaths, boughs, and swags, and then evergreen centerpieces post-Thanksgiving.
The intricate work with spiky needles chapped her hands. Her knuckles would bleed, but in the end, satisfied customers would decorate happy homes with Carlton Trees and Greens, the culmination of eight years of tough times.
She wouldn’t think of her dwindling bank account. The envelope Trey had given her made up for the lost flowers. She loved the new van and Trey’s generosity, but she had no idea how she was going to stretch one day of market sales into covering two months of summer.
Birds twittered above her, chased from their comfortable perches by her attention. They scolded, reminding her that God took care of them and saw to their needs.
Why wouldn’t he take care of her? Hadn’t he always, one way or another?
He had, but now there was another mouth to feed, and Ashley would need new school clothes. So would the boys. They’d both shot up an inch or more over summer recess.
She shouldn’t worry. Worry was a fruitless exercise. Fretting sapped strength, but objective reasoning went to war with simple faith in the real world. If there wasn’t enough money to take care of basic needs, how could she earn more to make a difference?
Maude had made no effort to contact her or Ashley, and she sure hadn’t dropped a check in the mail, which meant she and Ashley would have to figure this out.
They’d do it, too, because there was no other choice. She sang softly as her task moved away from the robust sounds of construction, watching the classic shapes spring to life beneath her hands.
The poignancy of Lucy’s voice drew Trey as he moved into the evergreen grove that afternoon.
The Sirens tempted Odysseus, too, and how’d that work out? You can be nice without being entrenched. You’re too smart to fall into this trap again.
He needed to heed the mental warning. He would draw a firm line in the sand because he knew the heartbreak of drug addiction. It would never be allowed to test his soul again. “Pretty song, Lucy.”
She hadn’t heard him approach. She turned quickly, startled. “You scared me.”
“Sorry.” He held up a pair of loppers and a handheld trimmer he’d brought over from the Double S. “If you show me how to trim, I’d like to help.”
Concern wrinkled her brow. “You’ve got enough to do with the barn and the porch, don’t you? I can handle this on my own. But thanks,” she added.
He did…but the thought of her working the rows of trees all by herself didn’t sit right.
“Too many people running too many cords right now. They’ve tripped circuit breakers a couple of times already. No need for me to add to the problem when I can work here.”
His explanation must have made sense because she relaxed a little. “I’d like that, then. If you’re sure.”
He wasn’t sure but he couldn’t exactly avoid her for the rest of the summer. “Show me how it’s done and I’ll get started.”
“All right.” She began nipping the next tree with sure hands. “It doesn’t look like I’m doing much, but those trimmed ends will sprout. In three months the tree will look fuller.”
“Better eye appeal.”
“Yes.”
She slanted a quick smile his way and his heart jammed again. Talking with Lucy about eye appeal wasn’t in his best interest. Being this close to Lucy probably wasn’t smart either, but if he couldn’t work on the barn, he wasn’t about to slack off because he couldn’t trust himself working side by side with her. His problem. Not hers.
The wholesome scent of freshly trimmed pine, spruce and fir filled the grove. The sweet smell seemed to follow her as the warm sun strengthened the aromatic air. He was in the middle of his first attempt when Nick’s voice rang out.
“Trey? You back here?”
“Yup.” They both turned as Nick came up behind them.
“Lucy, the barn’s looking good.” Nick grinned and gave Trey’s right shoulder a good shot. “Nice to see the kid hasn’t gone completely soft with his cush life in Music City.”
“Cush. Right.” Trey rolled his eyes. “I left you five minutes ago. Why did you chase me down, and couldn’t you have texted me?”
“I tried but I think the noise level over here makes communication next to impossible. Isabo sent me, and you know the unbreakable cowboy rule about the cook. Whatever Cookie wants, Cookie gets. When Isabo says jump, I jump because she’s got ribs simmering, and she wants Lucy to come up for supper and hang out for a while. Something about a quilting project? Babies?”
“The Quilting Ministry needs volunteers.” Lucy made a face. “I was invited to join them, but once school starts, I need to find part-time work. I don’t know how to juggle that and the kids and the Christmas tree business and have time left to piece quilt tops.”
“You like sewing?” Why was he surprised? Sewing was normal and nice. Was it because he was trying to blend the drug user with the industrious woman before him?
“I love it.” She motioned to the trees. “I love doing hands-on things. Growing food, making clothes, tackling projects. It suits.”
“None of that sounds the least bit restful.” Nick looked disturbed and Lucy laughed. The sound came like a summer breeze jangling the wind chimes on the Double S porch.
“I suppose you think riding range, driving rigs, putting up hay, and delivering calves is simple?”
“No, but each has its own season. Your stuff is like every day, same thing, wake up, get up, do it again. Like that movie about Groundhog Day.”
“I thought it sounded nice.”
Trey didn’t mean to leap to her defense, but it did sound nice, like the dreams a little boy fashions when he imagines the perfect kind of mother with his two brothers. Kind. Busy. Helpful. Forgiving. The type of mother he’d never known. He shifted to face Nick. “So you had to tell me this in person?”
“Isabo said if I texted you and you forget to ask Lucy, I’m the one in big trouble, and there’s a sizable blueberry cobbler cooling that tipped my hand toward personal notification. And I had to make a run to pick up the replacement cutting bar. You guys were on the way.”
“Tell Isabo I’d love to come over.” Lucy lofted her trimmers slightly. “My hands aren’t used to gripping like this, and they’ll be aching by tonight. And the food sounds amazing.”
“Will do. You sure you trust this bozo with your trees, Lucy? He’s not exactly experienced.”
“With three sections to go, I’m not about to refuse help, regardless of experience. And he appears to be educable. All right, cowboy.”
She turned back to him once Nick left and nodded to a Fraser fir. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
“You’re going to watch?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.” He eyed the tree, then the one she’d just done. It took him a little while, but when he was done, he’d given the fir a trim look.
“You did okay.”
He stood back and examined the tree from all directions. “Are you sure? I don’t want to mess up your trees.”
“I don’t want you to either,” she said truthfully. “This is my winter budget. If we mess them up, kids don’t eat.”
He could see she was glad when he took her words seriously. “I’ll work on this row while you do that one. I won’t be real fast, but I’ll do okay. I promise.” He’d focus on trees, one by one, and not on the woman beside him. He’d come to do a job and do it well, but with Lucy nearby, humming a tune and smelling of pine-oil summer, keeping a distance might be the hardest thing he’d ever done.
—
Lucy didn’t need a degree in meteorology to sense Trey’s cooler attitude. Yes, it burned a little…but just a little because she couldn’t afford to let it matter. Famous country singers didn’t go around falling for impoverished single moms except in made-up lyrics of “today’s new country.” Not in real life.
“Are you singing in church on Sunday?”
He’d picked a safe topic of conversation. Good. �
�Yes.”
“Reverend Stillman invited me to join the choir while I’m in town.”
She’d had a hard enough time paying attention to the beautiful words and the pastor’s sermon the previous Sunday. What would she do with Trey in the loft? “And you said…”
“I said I was going to be busy in the pew with three little kids, so I’d sing from the pew while you sing from above.”
Her heart sped up despite efforts to slow it down. “You told him that?”
“Someone needs to sit with the kids, right? And Ashley was actually polite to me yesterday.”
As much as she hated to admit it, putting confidence in Ashley might not be in his best interests. “She must want something. Or maybe she’s starting to grow up. Or she doesn’t want you to mess up her job opportunity at the ranch.”
“It couldn’t just be because she’s starting to like me?”
“An unlikely option at this juncture, but think what you want,” she assured him. “You’re really okay with not singing in the loft?”
He kept right on working as he replied. “A low profile is a welcome change. It’s been awhile since I could just walk into a church and sit and pray without ten pews of conjecture going on around me. It’s peaceful.”
She understood that more than she wanted, and for different reasons. Tongues had wagged at her expense for quite a while. Small towns could be cruel when you messed up. Reearning local respect hadn’t been an easy task.
They worked in tandem until two areas were completely done. And when the sound of car engines announced the work crews leaving, Trey straightened and worked a kink out of his shoulder.
“It gets tight, doesn’t it?” Lucy noticed him rotating his upper right arm.
“Does yours do that too?”
“Yes. Hot water and muscle cream helps.”
“How about this?” Trey’s hands settled on her shoulders from behind. He used the heel of his right hand to work out the tension in her right shoulder, with slow concentric circles, radiating comfort to the overtensed muscle. “Better?”
Peace in the Valley Page 17
