Love Finds You in Romeo, Colorado

by Gwen Ford Faulkenberry

  “So I can keep you safe. I don’t want you going in that men’s bathroom where I can’t see you.” Claire had heard too many news reports about disappearing kids to let him out of her sight.

  “Mom! I’m in kindergarten!” Graeme protested.

  “Precisely my point. Now come on.”

  When they finished in the bathroom, Graeme pulled Claire toward the concession stand. Several people looked familiar to her and a few seemed to smile in recognition, but Graeme was in too much of a hurry for her to stop and talk.

  “Can I have one of those giant pickles?” He pointed to a jar he could see on the counter.

  “Okay,” Claire answered, “but we have to get in line.”

  They took their place behind a tall, stout man with a bushy braid down his back. Graeme, on a five-year-old’s impulse, reached out and pulled it. The man turned around sharply.

  “Hey, big guy!” It was Carlos. “I thought I was going to have to take somebody out! What you doing playing with my hair, boy?”

  Graeme was suddenly shy. “I’m sorry.”

  “Oh, Carlos, I’m sorry, too,” Claire apologized. “I don’t know what got into him—”

  “It’s okay, it’s okay. No problemo, right, big guy? Give me five.” Stooping down to Graeme’s eye level, Carlos held out his hand.

  Graeme gave him five, slowly coming out from behind Claire’s legs.

  “How are you guys doing? How’s the breathing?”

  “We have an appointment next week with the specialist in Salida.”

  “I see. She’s good—muy buena. You’ll like her,” Carlos promised.

  “Are you here to watch the Manassa Mauler? He’s our friend,” Graeme bragged, finding himself again.

  “Sí, I am, hijo. I am a great fan of the Grizzlies, as I once was one myself.”

  “I’m going to play football when I grow up.” Graeme confirmed what his mother feared.

  “I bet you’ll be a fierce player—Graeme the Grizzly!” With that, Carlos growled and held his hands up in the air like a bear’s front paws.

  Graeme growled back.

  “Oh, look, Carlos, it’s your turn,” said Claire. Thank goodness.

  On their way back to their seats, Graeme spotted Billy Sanford, a friend from school, standing by the fence that bordered the field. He asked Claire if he could talk to him and she agreed, saying she’d wait and watch him. The fence was only a few feet away.

  Claire’s eyes were glued to Graeme and his friend when someone tapped her on the shoulder. “It’s Claire, right?”

  She turned her face to see Stephen Reyes standing beside her. He was dressed in jeans and a green polo shirt with a leather bomber jacket over it that matched the warm brown of his eyes. He smelled of wood smoke.

  Claire looked back at Graeme, who hadn’t moved. “Yes, Claire. And you’re Dr. Reyes.” She held out her hand stiffly. “Forgive me; I’m just watching my little boy.”

  “Graeme.” He took her hand, squeezed it, and released it. “That’s quite all right. But you can call me Stephen.”

  “Thank you, Stephen.”

  There were people milling about between the fence and where they stood. Claire could not be distracted from watching Graeme. What if he got lost? But Stephen just kept standing there. Finally, she laughed softly at herself. “I’m sorry; would you like to go with me over to the fence? It’s this crowd—I guess I’m paranoid about losing Graeme in it.”

  She moved to within inches of Graeme and his friend, and Stephen trailed behind, sidling up to the fence on her other side. The boys didn’t notice him.

  “Hi Mom, this is Billy.”

  “Hello, Billy. Graeme’s told me lots about you.” Claire smiled at him warmly.

  “Hi.” Billy had red hair, a cowlick, and an ornery-looking face that was covered in freckles.

  The two little boys went back to their conversation about the game and the Manassa Mauler.

  Claire turned her attention to Stephen.

  “Do you live here in Manassa?” he asked.

  “Just outside,” she replied, “In Romeo. What about you? Do you live nearby? Do you have a son playing?”

  “Uh, yes and no.” Stephen kicked at the dirt with his boots. “I live in Romeo, too, and I’m a friend of Coach Riggins. He’s my running buddy.”

  “Oh,” said Claire. “I see.” She was suddenly aware of how attractive this man was, standing by her side, and the awareness was not entirely comfortable.

  “How’s Graeme’s breathing?” Stephen queried.

  “Good, since that day we saw you. I’m anxious to get it taken care of, though. Every time he sighs I get nervous, and I worry about him at school now. It will be good to go to Salida next week.”

  “Maria is a first-rate pulmonologist—and great with kids. I’m glad you’re going to see her.”

  “That’s what everyone says. Thank you for the referral.” She smiled at him, revealing the perfect alignment of her teeth.

  “Mom!” Graeme was pulling on her sleeve. “I need to go to the bathroom again!”

  She turned to Stephen. “I guess I’d better go. Thanks for saying hi—it was nice to see you.”

  “You, too, Claire,” he said, sounding completely sincere.

  Chapter Four

  The next morning Stephen had to make early rounds at the hospital in La Jara, but he was back home in Romeo by noon. Placing his keys in the pottery plate on the table just inside the door of the mud room, Stephen was waylaid by Regina and Duchess.

  “How are you lazy girls today?” He rubbed each one, in turn, on her face and behind her ears. Their tails beat the floor like a set of drums.

  “Ready to go out?” They sped through the door and it closed behind them. Stephen took off his Birkenstocks. Heading across the wood floor and into the kitchen to find something for lunch, he noticed the red light on his answering machine blinking. He went over to his desk to listen.

  Beep. “Steve, this is Maria. Hope you’re having a good weekend. I didn’t know if you were on call. I was going to see if you were interested in coming up for a movie. That one we were talking about—Small Town Girl—well, I borrowed a copy. I haven’t watched it yet; I’m waiting for you. I thought we could get dinner and watch it at my place if you want to. Let me know.”

  Beep. “Are you tired of credit card companies who charge higher interest rates after the low introductory rate expires? If so, we can help…” Stephen pressed ERASE.

  Beep. “Uh, yeah, Steve, this is Joe. I was just wondering if you’re up for a run this weekend. I’m watching film this morning at the field house, but I could do it later. Give me a call. See ya, man.”

  Beep. “Well, I guess you’re already at the hospital or somewhere. Gene and I are headed to Sam’s. I just thought I’d see if you needed anything. We’ll talk at you later.” It was Nell. Stephen grinned.

  He went over to the fridge and stared into it for a while. Taking out some organic greens, petite carrots, strawberries, an orange, and a pear, he placed them onto the counter. Then he grabbed a bag of dried cranberries, dates, walnuts, and almonds from the pantry. To Stephen, this seemed like the makings of a good salad. He congratulated himself on his heart-healthiness.

  When the thought of Claire came into his mind, he tried to shoo it away. But the thought came back like a butterfly landing on his shoulder. He couldn’t seem to shake it off. Is she married?

  He washed the greens and fruit in the kitchen sink using a colander, and then, picking the greens off the fruit, wished he’d done them separately. Next he read on the bag of carrots that they were “washed and ready to eat.” He mused for a while about this and decided to wash them himself anyway. While all of that was drying on paper towels, he cut up the fruit, nicking his finger in the process and getting a spot of blood on his kitchen towel.

  Maybe Carlos would know. But Stephen couldn’t ask him. No way.

  He placed the salad in a bowl as a mental lightbulb went off. Maybe it’s on her son’s
chart.

  Resolved to look first thing on Monday morning, Stephen added the nuts and dried fruit to the bowl and tossed it. Then he stirred together a little vanilla yogurt and honey and drizzled it over the salad. Grabbing a fork and some water, he went out to his sunroom. He settled into a leather chair to eat, enjoying a distant view of the San Juan Mountains in front of him.

  Stephen’s eyelids were heavy by the time he finished his lunch. Shrugging off the temptation to lean back in his chair and nap, he rose to his feet abruptly. There was too much that needed to be done on the ranch. Placing his dishes in the dishwasher and turning it on, he quickly changed into work clothes and boots.

  The sun was high and the sky a vibrant blue when Stephen headed out the back door.

  “Hello there, Miss Kitty,” he called affectionately to the calico cat who called his barn home. “Any mice today?” The cat purred as she wrapped herself around one of his legs and then the next.

  He went from stall to stall, looking at the rest of his animals. They’d all been fed early that morning, but he checked their water again and talked to them as if they were his friends.

  “Oreo, you are the fattest pig in the county,” he said to the six-hundred-pound sow he’d had for seven years. “I’m never going to sell you, and I certainly can’t eat you—what am I going to do with you?”

  The black-and-white pig sauntered up to the rails that were keeping her in, and Stephen leaned over them to scratch her on the back. She grunted her approval, did a little dance around the perimeter of her oversized stall, and then lay back down on some clean hay, looking up at him contentedly.

  Stephen moved into the next stall to examine a sheep whose leg he’d been treating for an injury. “Looks like you’re healing up just fine, Woolworth,” he declared. “Good for you!”

  Gathering his tools, Quickrete, and some barbed wire, he left the barn and loaded the back of his truck. Regina and Duchess jumped in before he closed the tailgate, and he drove over the cattle guard and out to mend the fence that marked the southeast section of his property. It had been damaged over a month ago by a wild teenage driver.

  He called Joe Riggins on his cell phone as he drove.

  “Hello?” Joe’s rich baritone voice boomed out of the phone and seemed to fill the cab of the truck.

  “Joe, this is Steve.”

  “Hey, man! You got my message?”

  “Yeah. I was making rounds when you called.” Stephen could hear adolescent voices in the background—locker room banter—and it brought back memories.

  “Oh. You working this weekend?”

  “No, just this morning. I’m home now. I’ve got to fix some fence.”

  “Oh yeah, Farmer Brown. You want to go running?”

  “Yeah—that would be great. I can do it this evening or tomorrow. Either one.”

  “You want to do both?” Joe asked.

  “Well, sure. Let’s go for it.”

  “What time this evening?”

  Stephen suggested, “You want to come over here?”

  “That’d be all right. I’m open.”

  “Why don’t you come around five o’clock? I ought to be ready by then.” Stephen stopped his truck and turned it off.

  “All right, then. I’ll see you at five o’clock.”

  “See ya, Joe.”

  Stephen snapped his phone shut, got out, and surveyed the damage to his fence. Even though it technically had been repaired, the fence line still sagged in places like ruined guitar strings. The girl had been doing sixty—at least—when she hit it. Her car, a sporty red thing (according to Nell), had gone right through it, taking out a section thirty feet long. It came to a halt in the middle of the field, with the girl and the car sustaining only scratches. When Stephen was contacted at the hospital, his first thought was that she needed a doctor.

  “No, amigo,” the Romeo police officer had chuckled. “She’s fine. These teenagers. Maybe it scared her enough that she’ll get off that cell phone and slow down. We’re calling you about the fence.”

  “Oh,” Stephen had been relieved.

  “Her daddy said he’d fix that fence for you this afternoon, but I thought I’d better call and let you know so you could decide.”

  “Hmm. Well, I guess that’s all right. I’ll need to come home, though, and move some cows before then, or they’ll get out….”

  “Your neighbor—Mr. Patrick—he’s got that covered.”

  Stephen had marveled at the role this officer was playing in the drama. “Is this a normal day’s work for you?”

  “Yep. Welcome to the life of a small-town cop. It’s about like The Dukes of Hazzard—only we’re out west.” He had laughed good-naturedly.

  Stephen had hung up the phone, thinking about his cows and reminding himself of all of the reasons he’d left the city.

  And today, as he unloaded his tools and supplies from the back of the truck, he was reminded again of why he left that life. The splendor of the San Luis Valley wrapped itself around him like mother-love. Along with hundreds of other settlers through the ages who had come here seeking peace, he had found solace in the valley. And on this patch of three hundred acres, Stephen was home.

  The air—fresh and full of sunlight—smelled like cedar. Stephen breathed it into his lungs and exhaled slowly, just like he told patients to do when he wanted to hear their heartbeats. In a rare moment, he thought, This feels like worship. He let the moment be.

  Thankful for the space around him and the absence of noise, Stephen walked up and down the new section of fence put up by the girl’s daddy. Her father had reset the cedar posts and strung new barbed wire, but Stephen thought the posts needed bolstering. He wriggled each one to test its strength.

  Going back to the truck to mix Quickrete in a bucket, he saw that Duchess had chased a butterfly across the road. In that same moment, a red car came roaring toward them, seemingly from out of nowhere.

  Stephen’s heart was in his throat as he waited for the dust to clear. When it did, Duchess came ambling toward him, emerging from the dust like a Phoenix. She slipped under the sagging fence and nudged him with her nose. Stephen’s face burned as he patted her head. That was too close.

  He shook his head, wondering if it was the same red car—and the same teenage driver—who’d hit his fence.

  By four o’clock, Stephen had shored up the wobbly cedar posts and restrung the sagging barbed wire. Driving along the fence row before he turned across the field toward his house, he took inventory of the new section of fence. Eyeing the order that he had restored—the straight lines of gleaming wire, the strong, honest posts standing erect like soldiers—Stephen sighed with contentment. Even his cows looked happier.

  Joe arrived promptly at five o’clock. He banged on the back door of Stephen’s house and then backed up a bit. When Stephen came to the door, Joe was stretching his hamstrings.

  “I do have a doorbell, you know.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t wanna wear it out.”

  Stephen joined him in the yard but didn’t mimic his contorted position. “You’re wearing me out. What kind of a stretch is that?”

  “It’s one I learned from Frieda.” Joe switched legs.

  “Frieda? Who’s Frieda?” Stephen lunged right and then left, slowly.

  “Man, she’s the cheerleading sponsor at Manassa. I thought I told you.”

  “Oh! I see.”

  “She knows her stuff, too. She’s made me a lot more flexible.”

  Stephen raised an eyebrow. “I bet she has.”

  “Flexible’s good. You might ought to try it yourself.” Joe finished his stretch and moved to knock Stephen over.

  They wrestled around a little bit, ending in a bear hug. Joe, the massive former linebacker, lifted Stephen, who had been a quarterback, off the ground. Stephen slapped him on the back.

  “Good to see you, man. I haven’t run since last time we went. I hope I can keep up.”

  Joe smiled. “I’ll go easy on you.”
/>   They headed down the driveway and then turned left on County Road 7 toward the Patricks’ white clapboard house. Stephen waved to Nell, who was in her yard taking laundry off the line. He could see Gene through the picture window, leaned back in his chair with his boots still on. There was a faint blue glow to the window, which signaled Headline News, but Stephen couldn’t see whether Gene was watching or snoozing. Probably a combination of both, he mused as he ran by.

  At the end of the road, they turned right onto Highway 285, which would take them past the grain elevator and right through the middle of town. Their normal route was to follow 285 out of Romeo and turn around when they were half way to Antonito, at a mile marker celebrating the Cumbres and Toltec Scenic Railroad. This would give them a little more than seven miles, which to Joe was Tiddlywinks but to Stephen was like climbing the Matterhorn.

  It was six thirty when they finally arrived back to Stephen’s. He grabbed two water bottles from the fridge in his garage and sat down beside Joe on the back steps.

  “I’m about to pass out. There’s no way I can do that again tomorrow.”

  “What?” Joe kidded him. “You cryin’, weenie?”

  “We can’t all be superstuds like you. Anyway, tomorrow’s supposed to be a day of rest. Let’s do it again, say, Tuesday.”

  “I’ve got J.V. games Tuesday night. It’ll have to be early morning.”

  “How early?” Stephen asked him.

  “Five o’clock. Let’s do it at my place.”

  “Okay, I can handle that.” Stephen finished off his bottle of water. “Do you want to hang out a little while? I’ve got some steaks we could grill.”

  “Thanks, man, but I can’t. Prior engagements.”

  Stephen stared down at his shoes.

  “What are you doing tomorrow?” Joe offered. “You want to go to church with me?”

  “Oh, you know, I’ve got farm stuff, or I may go up to Maria’s. She called. We’re thinking about watching a movie.”

  “That’s one good-looking sister.”

  Stephen ignored the remark. “Tell me more about Frieda,” he quizzed.

  “She’s a good-looking sister, too.”