by Lexi Whitlow
I step up to her bed, slipping my hand into Grace’s hand. She looks so helpless, but at least her color is better. She’s no longer gray. Her cheeks are pink, and her lips have lost the blueish tint they had two hours ago.
“Can I stay with her?” I ask.
“Of course. I’ll be back around in a bit.”
I thank her, then add, “My mom is on her way here from Ronan. When she gets here, can someone bring her back?”
“Sure,” she says, half-smiling, looking me up and down.
I pull a chair up close and lean forward, lifting Grace’s small hand to my lips, gently squeezing.
“Wake up, baby. I’m here.”
Her eyelids flutter and she stirs, but it takes her a few minutes to open her eyes. When she does, her brow furrows. She glances about, obviously confused about her surroundings.
“The horses,” she whispers, her voice cracking, stifled by the poison in her lungs.
“They’re good,” I say. “Out grazing beside the river. We’ll round ‘em up in a few days.”
She smiles a little, then coughs hard into her mask, wincing.
“Don’t worry about them, or anything,” I say. “Just rest. Get better.”
Her eyes close briefly, then open again, this time regarding me with wild-eyed concern.
“The horses!” she croaks. “Where are the horses?!”
The doctor was right. She’s confused and incoherent.
“They’re okay. You got there in time,” I assure her. “You’re okay too. I’m here now. Settle down. Get some rest.”
I kiss her fingers, one by one, stroking her arm with my hand.
“I love you baby. I love you so much.”
Grace settles into an uneasy sleep, her breathing deep but labored. I sit with her, and in a few minutes, am joined by my mom. She hugs me tight, then slips her hand into mine, passing me the rings in a secret handshake. I slip the smaller band onto Grace’s ring finger on her left hand, then place the larger one on my own hand.
Mom shakes her head at me.
“You’re a handful sometimes,” she says, a proud smirk turning her lip. “But I like your style. And by the way, if you haven’t looked in a mirror recently, you really should. You look like you just walked through the gates of hell.”
What? I look down at my hands. They’re black with soot. Ash and black streaks mar my clothes. I wipe my face and grime comes off on my hand.
I was so worried about Grace I didn’t even notice. No wonder everyone is looking at me so oddly.
I smile at Mom, “I’ll go clean up in a bit, as soon as she gets moved upstairs.”
Two hours later we’re in a glassed in, private room in the ICU. I’m sipping coffee, watching Grace sleep, while Mom reads quietly from a book she bought in the giftshop. My phone rings. It’s Tyler. I answer quietly, not wanting to wake Grace, who’s been drifting in and out of wakefulness since leaving the ER.
“The stock is found and accounted for,” he says, his tone ebullient. “We haven’t caught ‘em all yet, but we’ll have them by dark.”
Oh, thank God.
“How?” I ask. “Who’s with you?”
“Everybody I could find,” he laughs. “The cell towers are either down or overloaded, so calling locally is hit or miss. I went house to house. And I got my dad’s hands to come out as soon as we found the herd. He’s putting them up at Heartland ‘til we can figure things out.”
“You tell your father how grateful I am,” I say. “I’ll tell him myself soon.”
“How’s Grace?”
I give Tyler the highlights. “They say she’ll be fine. It’s just going to take a while.”
“Well, she’s my new hero,” Tyler says. “I can’t imagine the guts it took to drive into that fire to do what she did. She saved us. She really did it. The horses look good. A little nervous, but they’re fine. She did a good thing out there last night.”
“I know.”
Buildings can be rebuilt, but those horses could never be replaced. They’re more than property. They’re like family. Losing them would have broken my heart.
Saving them and losing Grace would have killed me.
Chapter 26
Grace
Hospital. The smell of chemicals and disinfectant, cold-blown air, humming machines. Every hospital is the same, and I hate them all. I know I’m in one, but my head won’t clear enough for me to seize on why, just now. I’m so sleepy, but I want to wake up.
I want to wake up and go pee. I want something to drink.
I want… the horses? Are the horses okay?
I open my eyes in a panic, sitting up straight, heaving, coughing. My lungs feel like shards of broken glass have shredded them. My chest aches.
“Hey, hey… sit back… easy,” Cam says, leaning in close, urging me back down onto the bed.
Cam. His lovely face etched with worry, but his eyes bright, smiling.
The horses are fine. He told me that. I remember now. I remember the fire, the wind. I remember how fast it came and how it took everything.
“You’re okay,” Cam says, stroking my hair, holding my hand.
Outside the big picture window, the sky is loaming, filled with the colors of a vivid sunset, streaked with deep reds and shades of purple. A few stars glow bright, high in the sky.
I have no sense of time. I was in the fire. Now I’m here. Only a few moments feel accounted for, yet I feel like ages have passed.
“How long have I been here?” I ask, the sound of my own voice, croaking and hoarse, jars me. I blink back my confusion, the shroud of restless sleep slipping away.
Camden squeezes my hand. “The better part of three days,” he says. “In and out. Mostly out.”
I nod. “I remember some things.”
I remember leaving. I remember thinking that was the thing to do. I remember realizing that was the wrong thing after it was too late. I remember believing I was going to die, and wishing I’d done everything differently.
“Your friend filed a missing person’s report on you,” Cam says, a sheepish smile turning the corner of his mouth. “When you didn’t show up in Portland, I think they thought I’d kidnapped you, or worse. That was fun sorting out. The sheriff had a good laugh about it.”
Poor Tracey. She must have been beside herself with worry.
“Anyway, we had a nice conversation after she realized I wasn’t an axe murderer. She wants you to call her as soon as you’re up to it.”
I nod. “Okay,” I whisper. “I don’t think I can talk on the phone just yet.”
“Probably not,” he replies, a bemused expression turning his brow.
I beg Cam to help me get to the bathroom and to get something to drink. When I’m back in bed, sucking down sweet soda as fast as I can, he regards me with caution before picking up the thread of our conversation.
“So, I had to do something that I need to tell you about. And I don’t want you to get upset. It was necessary in the moment, and I can walk it back now that you’re awake. But I just want you to know, so maybe—”
“What?” I ask. What did he do? God, I hope he didn’t call my mother.
He squeezes my hand again, then lifts it, showing me. There’s a ring on my finger. He holds his own hand beside it. There’s a ring on his finger too. They match nicely.
“I told the hospital we were married so they would let me make decisions, and be with you. I had no idea how to get hold of your mom, and it just felt necessary. You needed somebody—”
I laugh, and it hurts like knives piercing my chest. But still, I laugh.
“That’s fine,” I say when I can speak. I manage a wry smile. “Better married to you than having my mother here.”
That would be suffocating.
Cams eyes soften. He relaxes.
“You’re not mad?” he asks.
I shake my head. “No, I’m not mad. You did what you had to do. I appreciate it.”
“Are you going to Portland when you get better
?” he asks me, a tight catch clipping his voice.
“Do you want me to?” I reply, feeling a knot in my throat, tears threatening. My heart seizes in my chest. The pain is very real.
“No baby,” Cam says, his tone dropping. “I don’t want you to go to Portland, or anywhere. I want you right here beside me every single day. I want you where I can keep you safe. And I want you to know just how much I adore and love you.”
“Okay,” I whisper, “Okay. I’m sorry. I’m not good at this. But… I love you. And it hurts to love you and think it won’t work out. That it won’t last.”
Cam shakes his head at me. “It’ll last if we want it to last. It only takes one to fuck things up. It takes two to make it work.”
He’s right. I know that.
And I know I almost fucked it up permanently.
Cam slips out of his chair, closer to my bedside, kneeling.
“This isn’t how I thought this would go,” he says. “I should have done it the right way, months ago. But I’m not stupid enough to risk losing you again.”
He pulls a tiny box from his jeans pocket, lifts the lid and shows me its contents. My heart nearly stops in my chest. The hairs stand up on the back of my neck. The ring is beautiful. It sparkles like ice crystals on snow in the winter sunshine.
“Grace Bradley, will you marry me?”
I try to catch my breath before my heart shatters into a million small pieces.
“Yeah,” I say, speaking the word quickly before my brain can seize on more reasons to fuck up this opportunity. I nod, tears welling up in my eyes, streaming down my cheeks.
“Outstanding!” Cam pronounces, beaming, his lovely blue eyes flashing. He doesn’t hesitate to slip the ring on my finger, pocketing the band that was there before. He gets to his feet, then leans over, giving me a kiss. His lips taste like coffee and cherries. He smells of aftershave and… just himself.
“When can I leave this place?” I whisper in his ear. “I want to go home.”
Just as I say it, I realize there is no home to go to. It’s all gone.
Cam kisses my cheek, then gives me a sad smile. “You’ll get out tomorrow. Right now, I’m staying with my mom. I’m trying to find us a place. It’s slim pickings. A lot of people are in the same boat we’re in.”
I nod. I understand. “We’ll pitch a tent and that’ll be fine with me. As long as I’m with you and Emma.”
Cam grins. “It won’t come to that. I promise.” He squeezes my hand. “How do you feel about a double-wide, just ‘til we get re-built?”
I laugh again, despite the pain in my chest. “No objections,” I croak, giggling. “Just no shag carpet or heart-shaped bathtubs.”
“Alright,” Cam croons, laughing with me. “I think I can accommodate that.”
Camden and I got married in late July, in a smallish, cowboy-formal affair at the Buffett Glenn Lodge at Big Sky. A Justice of the Peace read the ceremony, while Amanda held my flowers, with Kara and Tracey standing beside me, grinning like girls in their western style bridesmaid’s dresses. Tyler was Cam’s best man, with Jim Burke standing as a second groomsman. Jacob pulled duty as the cutest little silver-spur wearing ring-bearer anyone’s ever seen.
Emma glowed as our flower girl, dressed in blue silk ruffles and lace with matching cowboy boots. She littered the big Persian rug in front of the hearth with sweet-scented rose petals, before taking her place beside me. As Cam and I spoke our vows, she stole the show, making eyes at Jacob the whole time, teasing him.
My mother couldn’t make it to Montana for the wedding. She had a previous engagement that week, something about a beach house. Apparently she couldn’t get out of it. But she wished us well. Cam’s mom stepped up and helped me with all the mother of the bride sort of things, like finding a dress, and planning the details of the event. She told me the night before the wedding that I’d made her the happiest woman in the world.
She said that she felt like she wasn’t losing a son, but gaining a daughter, and she knew how precious that was. She kissed my cheek, hugging me tight, showing me affection that I never got from my own mother. Beck Davis is a wonderful mother to her son, and a perfect grandmother to Emma. She’s become a dear friend; I cherish her as the mother I never really had.
On the whole, the day was as perfect as a wedding day should be.
Instead of doing a contrived reception after the ceremony, we all changed into casual clothes and went out for steaks. We ate, drank, laughed, and enjoyed one another’s company until we were sated, tired, and wanted to put up our feet.
When Cam and I were tucked into our little honeymoon suite, with a view of the moon and mountains from the hot tub, he slipped his arm around me, pulling me onto him.
“Well, wife, now that we’re married, what should I call you?” he whispered in my ear. “Is it Mrs. Davis? Or Mizz Bradley? Or is it something else?”
I lean back into his chest, laying my head against a shoulder, smiling up into his eyes.
“On Tuesdays, I think you should call me Precious,” I say, teasing. “And on Fridays… My Love. But on Sunday mornings… on Sunday mornings you have to call me Goddess Divine.”
Cam smirks, sipping his whiskey. “Alright, Goddess Divine. What will you call me?”
I reach up, running my finger along the shadowed surface of his jaw, stroking his lines with my fingertips. “That’s easy,” I say. “I’ll always call you The Best Thing That Ever Happened to Me.”
I kiss him, turning in the steaming water to face him, making certain with my lips and the rest of my body, that he knows I mean every word with all my heart.
Epilogue
Camden
It’s surprising the things that life brings to you on the heels of what seems like bad fortune, loss, and catastrophe.
When I lost my father more than fifteen years ago, I thought it was the end of the world, but thanks to everything he taught me, I managed to build on his legacy, establishing one of the most successful ranches in the state, boasting the best working-horse bloodlines in the country.
When Emma was sick I was so full of grief I could barely function. But today she’s the light of my life. She’s thirteen years-old now, and as strong and smart as any kid ever could be. She’s a skilled rider and a more confident horseman than I was at her age, and she’s got the champion buckles to prove it. She won her age-group at the state competitions in three different events this year. Even more than her ribbons and trophies, she’s become a real hand on the ranch, training young horses and nurturing them so they’ll grow up to be champion’s too.
I thought when Beverly died any hope for a normal family life went with her. Then Grace came into my world. She challenged me, making a better man of me. Every single day is a surprise with her. I’ve never known a woman who could juggle so many different responsibilities at once, and do them all well.
She’s become a real mother to Emma. They adore one another, but more than that, there’s mutual respect. Emma sees Grace’s strength, sensible intelligence, and curiosity, and she emulates it. Grace, in turn, recognizes that Emma enjoys natural, spontaneous joy at the simplest things, and finds her greatest pleasure in reveling in the rush of experience. Following Emma’s lead, Grace has become a skilled horseman in her own right. When she realized it wasn’t her job to control her horse, but to bring him along on the thrill of the ride, she found her mount much more responsive in her hands. Since then, she’s discovered the pleasure of riding, rather than viewing it as an obligation.
Mirabel appreciates this alteration in her perspective. They’ve become fast friends.
That’s just one way that Grace has demonstrated her capacity for finding new ways to make life worthwhile.
Not long after we were married she began transcribing the journals left by my fifth great-grandfather, Camden Spencer Davis. She spent close to two years researching every detail, name, event, and date, contained within the writings. Last year she submitted her manuscript to the University of Mont
ana Press, with little hope that they would take it on for publication. A few months back Grace learned that her manuscript made it through the rigorous peer review process, and will be published later next year.
So, my wife is going to be a published author with the epic saga of my family’s history. It’s the tale of a man who shares my name, the son of a Welsh cattle drover who arrived in America with little except a knowledge of managing livestock, living frugally, and breeding horses for the hard work of the range. He crossed an entire continent with his best horses pulling a wagon and his family over the Rocky Mountains, finally deciding to settle on the western valley slopes of the Mission Range. The blood of those magnificent animals who brought him here run in the pedigree of every animal this ranch has produced since.
Grace has accomplished telling that story, on top of writing for various magazines and web sites, contributing her view of the ranching lifestyle, as well as some general history for tourists and locals alike.
The fact is that I have the smartest, highest-profile ranch wife in Montana. Her name is better known than mine in some circles, and that makes me proud.
We rebuilt the Kicking Horse ranch from the ground up. We upgraded the stables substantially, crafting luxury accommodations for our stock. We put in a state-of-the-art fire suppression system that should protect the stables and stock if another wildfire makes its way down the mountain in our direction. The new stables include an apartment for live-in groom staff. Hence forth, the horses will never be alone in the event of an emergency. We’ll never rely on blind luck for their well-being.
We rebuilt the house and barn too.
I thought that Grace would want something contemporary with exposed beams and tall glass windows, but as soon as we started talking to the architect, she said she preferred the traditional Montana ranch style home of the late 19th or early 20th century.
We made a few adjustments to the old house style to add extra private baths and higher ceilings, but in the end, we wound up building a home that resembled, in most respects, the century-old house built on the same spot by my ancestors. We used salvaged materials where we could to give the place an authentic feel, and put a metal roof on instead of shingles, to reduce the threat of fire from blowing embers. When it rains the roof sounds like a symphony playing above our heads. It took me awhile to get used to it, but now, lying in bed, wrapped up in Grace, listening to the music of spring rain, it’s comforting.
