Peace in the Valley

by Ruth Logan Herne

  He whispered the words near her ear, and the husky note in his voice said he might like whispering near her ear.

  She liked it too. She bent her head back and gazed up into his eyes. “Much.”

  “Well.” He smiled down at her.

  She smiled back, and she wasn’t sure if she reached up for the kiss, or he reached down, but it didn’t matter once they were kissing.

  Nothing mattered then.

  Not trees or music or clippers.

  Just the kiss, a romantic mix of shade and sun and all things good. His mouth on hers, his arms circling her from behind. And when he paused, she thought he was going to end the kiss and apologize for it, but she guessed wrong.

  He turned her so she faced him, then kissed her again, snug in the shelter of his arms, held in an embrace so sweet and true it felt like she’d come home at long last.

  And then he stepped away. “Lucy. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

  And there you go. The expected apology because the poor widow next door had little to offer except a stolen kiss, here or there. “Neither of us should have, and I can promise it won’t happen again.” She started for the house at a brisk pace. “Good to know we’re on the same page.”

  “Lucy, stop.”

  She didn’t stop.

  She didn’t want to hear lame Stafford excuses, and she had to take her share of the blame. She’d wondered what it would be like to kiss Trey Stafford, and the reality was far better than the imaginings.

  But she knew better. So did he. From now on she’d keep her distance. Easy enough with work crews and kids milling around. Cozy moments alone like the one they’d just shared?

  She’d be sure to make them one hundred percent impossible.

  He’d kissed Lucy Carlton.

  Trey studied the large stand of cattle in the uppermost pasture, but he wasn’t seeing genetically chosen bovine birth mothers. He was seeing those pretty blue eyes, the purest blue he’d ever seen, and he’d kissed her.

  It was the best kiss ever under the worst possible circumstances. He was scheduled to undergo life-threatening surgery, and she was a reformed drug abuser, two major negative considerations if he was being sensible. Maybe sensible was overrated.

  The romantic songwriter in you would love to think that. Experience tells you otherwise. Why would you take the risk?

  Because it felt right, even when he knew it was wrong. What if she backslid? What could he do then? And what if his surgery was unsuccessful? What kind of person put a wonderful woman and kids deliberately at risk of loss? Losing a handyman was sad.

  Losing someone beloved was crushing. How could he put her in that situation? And if things went well, was he strong enough to trust again?

  He wasn’t a fearful man. He hadn’t been a fearful kid. But the thought of dealing with another drug user loomed like a thunderhead rolling over the mountains and sinking into the valley like a full-force tornado.

  Lucy’s not a dark cloud. If a mental voice could sigh, his just did. She’s a woman of strong faith and resolve. She’s proven that, and she shouldn’t have to go on proving it. Maybe that’s the problem. If she falls for you, she’d have to prove herself every single day. No one wants to live life that way.

  “Hey.” Colt’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

  Trey hadn’t heard his brother’s approach. He turned quickly. “You need me?”

  “Nope.” Colt braced his arms on the fence and gazed out. “Just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

  “I’m fine.”

  Colt snorted.

  “I signed the papers, didn’t I? I’ve given this a lot of thought, and I’d be stupid not to be concerned, but I’m doing it, so that’s that.”

  “That’s not why I’m here. We already talked that to death.”

  In cowboy world, talking something to death meant six sentences, more or less.

  “I meant Lucy.”

  Lucy? Trey frowned, concerned. “What about her?”

  Colt didn’t shift his attention. He kept it right there, on the grazing cattle, a scene of utter contentment.

  “You came home like a bull on a charge and headed for the field. There’s only a couple of things that make a man that crazy. An angry cow mama protecting her calf. And a woman. And there’s not a cow to be seen at Lucy’s place.”

  “I don’t want to talk about this.”

  Colt sighed, nice and loud.

  “It’s not up for discussion.”

  “And if it was?” His brother still didn’t look at him. He kept his attention on the rolling hills of the Kittitas Valley, filled with nature’s bounty.

  “You know she was a drug user.”

  “Yup. When she was a kid. If I got ostracized for every mistake I made as a teen—and then for some time after that—” Colt admitted, “I’d still be making penance. Kids do stupid things. And then most of us grow up.”

  “And that’s a logical argument from someone who didn’t bury a wife from a similar scenario.”

  “Lucy’s different.”

  Trey bristled.

  “I’m not about to compare the two women.” Colt’s tone softened. “I know you loved Cathy. America loved Cathy. She’d won acclaim and fortune at a young age, and her mother took advantage of her good fortune. But she slipped back down the slippery slope the minute she felt like her career was threatened.”

  “When Blue Ridge Productions wouldn’t renew her contract.” The professional rejection should have been a slap in the face, not a crushing blow. But his late wife took it hard.

  “Lucy, on the other hand, turned things around and has faced a barrage of obstacles, including our father. She’s never slipped once. Three kids, a falling-down farm, a hands-on business, a no-account husband who let her down repeatedly. And still she climbs in the choir loft every Sunday, singing God’s praise. Holding weekly meetings to help kids stay off drugs. From where I’m standing, Lucy’s got nothing to prove to anyone.”

  Colt was right. But he was wrong too. “We only met a few days ago.”

  “I found out the hard way that it’s not about the length of time. It’s about how they grab hold of your heart and don’t let go. And after a while you don’t want them to let go. Listen.” He turned his back on the cattle and faced Trey. “I’m not telling you what to do. I had a lot of growing up to do when I walked back onto this ranch last winter. But when Angelina yelled at me, it meant something.”

  Knowing Colt, that sounded about right.

  “And when she talked about life and love and forgiveness and moving on, I listened.”

  “She came along at the perfect time.”

  “Now you’re getting it.” Colt slapped him on the back. “We’re all here at this time for a reason. God’s reason. I don’t know the whys and wherefores, but I believe it, Trey. And whatever happens between you and Lucy—or you with this surgery—it’s in God’s hands. You said that exact thing to your father today.”

  He had.

  “Maybe it’s time you applied that to other areas of your life.”

  “And if something goes wrong in San Francisco?”

  “Better to figure out what to do when everything goes right,” Colt advised. “There are three kids that need a good man in their lives. And a wonderful woman who doesn’t fall at your feet like the tens of thousands of groupies that follow you.”

  “She’s got a mind of her own.”

  “Just what a Stafford needs. Even if they don’t realize it at the time.” The dinner gong sounded from the side porch. “Let’s go eat. Maybe take a few kids to catch some frogs. Or let the puppies out for Puppy Rumble.”

  “The kids will miss them when they go to new homes.” The seventeen rough-and-tumble baby pups had provided a lot of amusement for children. Adults too.

  “Until a new season of pups arrives. And calves. And chicks. I even heard my lovely future bride saying something about miniature goats. That goat milk is great for making cheese and soap and candy.”
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  “What did you tell her?” Back in the day, Sam would have gone ballistic by the thought of adding in nonessential work.

  “I took the coward’s way out and pretended I didn’t hear her. Because Trey,” Colt paused long enough to highlight his message, “she’s going to do what she wants pretty much, and if sheltering a few little goats makes her happy…” He put his hand on Trey’s shoulder to mark his words. “Then we get goats.”

  Small children, dashing around. Miniature goats.

  Glee-filled shouts came from the far side of the ranch house. The kids were playing some kind of tag, racing up and down the hills, trying to catch one another. And there was Lucy, holding Belle, talking with Elsa about something.

  Peace marked her profile, but then she turned. Saw him. He witnessed the flash of pain in her eyes, pain he’d put there with his rejection.

  There was no fixing it now. Not in front of a crowd of Staffords and friends. But tomorrow, he’d try to make things as right as he could because Colt made a good point. If he truly trusted in God, then he needed to live that trust. Not just talk about it.

  An e-mail from Ed the next morning celebrated Trey’s second week on top of the charts with “You Only Live Once,” a nice way to start the day.

  Then an early morning phone call from his former mother-in-law reminded him that Cathy’s family really knew how to put the “fun” in dysfunctional. He couldn’t help wondering if maybe her death wasn’t all his fault. Maybe the hot mix of crazy she called family could have worked harder to be less greedy, more kind, and more supportive. He didn’t answer the initial call, but when Sallie Somersby texted an SOS with multiple exclamation points, he caved. “What’s up, Sallie?”

  “Nothing to fret over except that they’re throwing me out of my house, Trey! Not that I expect you to do anything about it; you’ve made it clear that you’re moving on. Only when you’re the mother…” She hiccupped and sobbed, part real, part drama for his benefit, no doubt. “You don’t get to move on. You don’t get to have another relationship down the road, because your kid was your relationship, and God doesn’t sell replacement parts.”

  She sounded drunk. Or stoned. When she started berating the cat for yowling, the slurred words indicated his first guess was most likely. But he wouldn’t put it beyond her to use booze and drugs together, an example that took his wife to the grave.

  His heart pinched tight, remembering.

  Cathy’s years of sobriety were wonderful. When not under the influence, Cathy Somersby was sweet and kind and good, longing to help others.

  That was the woman he fell in love with, the woman he pledged his life to.

  America’s Sweetheart, that’s what the tabloids dubbed her. Straight for five full years, then gone in a crazy, wild weekend party while he was on tour.

  “I miss her, Trey. I miss her so much. She was my baby.”

  “I know.” He also knew that she’d bilked her teenage daughter’s bank accounts for almost a cool half million before Cathy turned twenty-one. Stealing from her own kid. Who did that kind of thing?

  Sallie Mae Somersby.

  “If you choose to let Cathy’s mother push your buttons, it’s as much your fault as hers.” The blunt words of his therapist hit home today. He’d thought her unfeeling at the time because Sallie had lost something precious that day too.

  Now he saw the truth in her counsel. “Sallie, I’ve got to get back to work.”

  “But you’re up here in the Northwest, Trey, and you haven’t come to visit.”

  Nor was he about to. “Helping my dad, Sallie.”

  “Portland’s not that far,” she scolded. Her voice took an edge, not unusual when she didn’t get her own way instantly. “It’s the least you could do, Trey. If you’d been with her that weekend this wouldn’t have happened, and I’d still have my beautiful daughter. She’d have done anything for you, Trey. And you know it.”

  He used to think so. But if that was true, why go on a bender? Why party? Was the chemical lure that intrinsic? The therapist’s advice made him square his shoulders. “Gotta go, Sallie. You’re in my prayers.”

  He hung up.

  He’d never been able to do that before. Sallie’s grief had reined him in every time. He’d sent money, he’d paid bills, and it was never enough.

  “Cut her loose,” his therapist told him. Clara Johnson had looked him square in the eye when she said it, and she was right. Sallie’s greed and grief had been a millstone around his neck. Why did it take so long to see that?

  He parked his SUV, grabbed the trimmers, and stopped by the house before heading to the evergreen grove. He knocked lightly on the screened door.

  “Mom! Trey’s here!” Cade raced to the door, happy to see him, and when he opened the door, the boy hurled himself into Trey’s arms.

  Lucy came into the kitchen from the basement door. She saw him holding her son. She kept her expression easy but her eyes went stern. “You’re here early.”

  “Couldn’t sleep.” Did she hear the regret in his voice? If so, she was real good at ignoring it.

  Belle came into the room, sleepy-eyed and dressed in summer jammies, toting a satin-trimmed pink blanket. The sight of her moved him. So sweet. So innocent. And the boys, longing for example and experience. He could fill those roles. That wasn’t a question. Not in his head. He’d been rescued by an adoptive father. He knew the drill and could return the favor.

  Was Colt right? Should he trust that everything would be all right? Should he trust his feelings? “Hi, sweet thing.” He tipped the brim of his baseball cap to the little girl, and she grinned around the thumb in her mouth.

  “I’ll be in the grove.” He stepped beyond the door. “See you later, guys.”

  He moved off to the third section of evergreens. The sounds of engines and power tools clued him in about the work crew arrival. He heard Lucy join him an hour later. She didn’t stop to work in his section. She moved on to the fourth quarter, beyond the small, roughed-up plank bridge spanning a narrow swale branching off the creek. She was giving him wide berth, a smart move. A wise man didn’t kiss a woman like he’d kissed Lucy yesterday, then say he’d made a mistake. What woman wanted to be labeled a mistake?

  As he neared the last trees, he received an e-mail from the transplant center in San Francisco, confirming the timeline for the upcoming surgery. The message came with multiple signature-requested forms attached.

  Lucy was singing three rows over, something soft and sweet. He couldn’t hear the words or discern the tune, but occasional sweet notes swept high, then low.

  He stared at the e-mail while her song went on.

  What right did he have to woo her, with this looming? What if something happened?

  He wasn’t stupid, he knew the odds, but he also understood the reality behind odds. If everyone who had the surgery survived, there’d be no posted percentages to consider.

  How thoughtless it would be to deliberately engage someone’s heart, only to risk breaking it.

  He pictured the kids, learning and growing.

  Sounds of the ongoing farm rehab provided a reminder. He wasn’t here to win Lucy’s heart and then break it if something went wrong in California. He was here to make her life better.

  Focus on her. Let the rest work itself out after the surgery. You’re going into this eyes wide open. You can’t build a relationship with a wonderful woman like Lucy, then blindside her. Colt’s right about trusting in God, but things happen. Protect her first. And then see what happens.

  “Trey?” Lucy came his way with her short-handled trimmers. It would be so easy to romance this woman, to follow the sweet path this week had set before him, but could he set her up for disappointment? Or grief ?

  Not and call himself a good man.

  “I’m done over here,” she said. She’d tucked the small trimmers into her tool belt. “I’m going to load up the van with everything I need for market tomorrow. Are you okay finishing this corner?”

  She
kept her tone matter of fact, as if determined to put the kiss behind them. He motioned to the last row of trees.

  “I am. Then I can help you.”

  “No help needed, but thanks. And the trees look great. Thank you for your hard work.”

  It took everything he had to keep his words casual. “Just being a good neighbor.”

  His generic words made her hesitate, then she squared her shoulders and walked on.

  Focus on the farm, not the farmer.

  Wise words, hard to follow.

  Lucy was an “all-in” kind of woman. She demonstrated that in everything she did, and Trey was pretty sure no one had gone out of their way to protect her, ever.

  He needed to. She might hate him for pulling back, but better a small jab now than a full-on crash later.

  “Trey!” Cade came racing when Rye dropped Jenna and the kids off later that afternoon. “I got to ride Pegasus!”

  “For real?” Pegasus had been his mount as a teen. Sam had taken pity on the abused colt, raised him, and trained him, then handed Trey the reins when he was ten years old. They’d matured as a unit until Trey left, a pair of castoffs bound together. “How’d it go?”

  “So good!” Excitement widened the boy’s eyes and smile. “I listened to everything Mr. Hobbs had to say, and kept my heels down super tight, and he told me I did okay!”

  Hobbs, a man of few words and fewer superlatives. “That’s a compliment of the highest order from Hobbs.”

  “I’ve got to go tell Mom!”

  He ran back up front, shouting for his mother. Trey greeted Rye as he exchanged three little kids and a teen for the three teenage boys he’d dropped off earlier. Where else but in a small town did the sheriff provide occasional taxi service to help folks out?

  Trey put up the ladder and his tools, and followed Cade to the house.

  Jenna had Belle tucked onto the weathered porch swing. Belle snuggled a baby doll in each arm while Jenna read all three of them—Belle and the two dollies—a story.