by Carol Grace
So she went in and made small talk. She noticed that Brandon did, too. She noticed everything about him. His sharply creased khaki pants. Who on earth pressed them for him? His navy blue polo shirt that probably cost more than her entire wardrobe. His dark hair that was now longer and more casual than when she’d first seen him. She had an irrational desire to run her hand through it, push it off his forehead. She wondered what he’d do if she did.
She realized she was never so glad to see anyone as she had been to see him on the road. Just when she was feeling helpless and forlorn, stuck there in an old truck she couldn’t afford to fix, and without any way to contact anyone, he’d shown up.
She didn’t believe in waiting for a knight in shining armor. She believed that women should be strong and independent. But when she saw him standing there, she just wanted to throw herself into his arms and let him take care of her. Which he’d done. The only problem was that she was greedy. She wanted more from him. She wanted him to want her as much as she wanted him. And she wanted to do something for him in return.
He looked so different from when he’d first arrived, with his granite jaw and his steel-gray eyes. Oh, his jaw was still firm and his eyes were still gray, but his face was suntanned, his eyes no longer steely. The lines in his forehead had relaxed; he’d even smiled. She wanted to make those worry lines disappear. To make him laugh. To make him realize that there was life for him after the death of his loved ones.
He’d come a long way already. Just like Dylan, he’d made progress this summer. But what about her? Had she really changed? The bitterness she’d felt toward Jason had melted away. But was she ready to take another chance on love? If she was, there was only one person she’d consider.
She watched Brandon talking to her aunt and David in the corner, looking relaxed and almost as comfortable as if he’d lived here all his life. Gone was the lonely hermit who’d practically chased her off the property the day he’d arrived. Yes, he’d changed, but had he changed enough?
Her aunt caught her eye and winked at her from across the room as if she knew what she was thinking. Perhaps she did. Aunt Emily had always had the gift of clairvoyance.
Willa Mae was the ultimate hostess, handing Laura a cracker with a dab of cheese on it and a glass of punch she’d spiked with champagne.
“If I’d known how much fun farewell parties are, I’d have had one years ago,” she said, her eyes twinkling behind her new azure blue contact lenses.
“You’ve certainly outdone yourself today,” Laura said, tearing her eyes from Brandon and focussing on her hostess. “I think everyone in town must be here. We’re going to miss you.”
“I was afraid you weren’t going to make it,” Willa Mae said.
“My truck broke down,” Laura said. “Fortunately Brandon happened by and rescued me.”
“That man,” Willa Mae said. “He’s rich, good-looking and nice, too. I swear, if I was fifty years younger, I’d set my cap for him. If I had a cap, that is.”
Laura smiled. “Maybe it’s not too late. Not too late to get a cap or set it. Maybe he likes older women. Not that you’re old….”
“Maybe if I’d met him thirty years ago,” Willa mused.
“Then he would have been about five, wouldn’t he?” Laura asked.
Willa Mae chuckled and patted Laura on the shoulder. “I’m just kidding. We all know who would be perfect for him.”
“We do?” Laura asked.
“I only had to mention that you hadn’t arrived at the party and he went off like a shot. He was worried about you. By the way, I hope everything worked out on the Fourth of July. I felt terrible about letting you down that way. After I’d promised to put you up.”
“Everything worked out fine,” Laura said as coolly and calmly as she could. It wouldn’t do to blush or stutter in front of Willa Mae. The woman had been known to meddle in more than one life while she was postmistress, shamelessly reading post cards and spreading news or starting rumors. “I hope your sister had a nice time in Silverado.”
“My sister? Oh, yes, my sister,” Willa Mae said, snapping her fingers. “Just because I’m moving in with her in Reno, she assumes she can just drop in on me anytime. What can I say? Blood is thicker than water, you know. Let me get you a glass of apricot brandy.”
“Did she enjoy the fireworks?” Laura asked, amused at Willa Mae’s attempt to change the subject, wondering if the ex-postmistress was devious enough to have plotted the whole thing. “Your sister, I mean, the one from California.”
“You never know with her,” Willa Mae said vaguely. “She’s hard to please. Where did you say you’d spent the night then?”
“I didn’t say,” Laura said.
“Smart girl. Speaking of fireworks, take a look out the window. There’s a storm brewing in the mountains up above your ranch—I mean—”
“His ranch. I know what you mean,” Laura said. She wasn’t the only one who had a hard time adjusting to the ranch changing hands.
“Looks like Mother Nature is putting on a show for my guests,” Willa Mae said. “A kind of spectacular farewell, wouldn’t you say? Excuse me. More guests at the door.”
Laura went to the window where a small crowd, including Brandon and her aunt, had gathered to listen to the muffled sounds of thunder and gaze up at the streaks of lightning over the peak behind the ranch.
“Good thing your dad build the dam and the reservoir,” Aunt Emily said. “Put an end to any threat of flooding on the ranch once and for all. Otherwise I’d be mightly nervous.” Her aunt gave a little shiver and Laura noticed David Ray patted her shoulder comfortingly.
“I’m not too old to remember one stormy night your mother called and said they were evacuating. You were just a baby. You and your mom spent the night with me while your dad was out on his tractor all night channeling the water away from the house. After that, he built the dam. And there’s never been a problem since.”
Brandon listened to her story while he watched the clouds move closer to town. Although it was only five-thirty, it was already dark outside. He was a stranger there, and he’d never seen a flash flood or knew anything about building dams, but he was worried. He hated to tear Laura away from the party, he hated to tear himself away from her. But he couldn’t stay there any longer and watch the storm hover over the mountain so close to his ranch. Just as he was about to excuse himself, the phone rang.
When Willa Mae came back from the kitchen, her face was pale and her eye were wide.
“Brandon,” she said. “That was Bart Foster, the rancher out by your place. He says he heard a deafening roar coming from the mountain. He thinks it might be a landslide and the stream’s overflowing.”
Chapter Eleven
The room was silent for a moment, then everyone started talking at once.
“I’m on my way,” Brandon said to Laura. He turned to speak to her aunt from the open door. “Would you take Laura and Dylan home?” he asked.
Laura looked like she’d been struck by lightening herself. “I’m coming with you,” she said.
“No, you’re not,” he said. “There’s nothing you can do.”
“It’s my ranch,” she said.
He shook his head. “No, it isn’t.”
His words cut her to the quick. He could tell by the way her face fell, but at that moment it was more important to keep her away from any misplaced sense of obligation to the house or to the land. He had no idea what he was going to do. He just knew he was going to do whatever he could to protect the house and the land, and if there was danger, she was going to be as far from it as possible.
“If it’s a landslide, you’ll need your tractor to move dirt and divert the stream,” David said.
“We don’t have a tractor,” Laura said, her lower lip trembling. “Not anymore.”
“Bart has one,” someone said.
“Let’s go,” someone else said.
There was a rush toward the door. A man Brandon had just met at the part
y insisted Brandon leave his car in town and they’d take his truck. Other men followed and they caravaned out to the ranch, staying in touch by CB radio.
“Never seen such a storm.”
“Came up mighty fast.”
“If it is a landslide…”
“Gonna need all the help we can get.”
“Call the Fairleys.”
“That reservoir can only hold so much.”
“What about the dam?”
The question went unanswered.
Brandon could only imagine what would happen if the reservoir overflowed and the dam broke. The house could be washed away. The house that held all Laura’s memories. He couldn’t bear for her to lose that along with everything else.
The more the men discussed the strategy for dealing with the potential catastrophe, the more impressed Brandon was with the camaraderie and the team effort that was going into it. He’d never experienced anything like it. It was his house, his land, but every one of them was putting his heart and soul into saving it.
When they reached the ranch, Bart was there with his tractor in the pouring rain. So was another neighbor Brandon had never met. He was a stranger, yet the man was ready to risk his equipment and maybe even his life to help his neighbor. Brandon wondered if he would have done the same.
“Here’s the plan,” Bart shouted over the thunder, which rolled overhead, to the men who were dressed for a farewell party, not a rescue operation. “We take the tractors on the trail up to the reservoir, use our front loaders to cut a channel between the reservoir and the streambed. That forces the water to flow out of the reservoir so it won’t overflow.”
“If it does,” a man named Joe muttered, “we’ve got a big problem on our hands. There goes the house.”
LAURA GNAWED on her thumbnail all the way to Terry’s house to pick up Dylan. Storms, floods, thunder and lightening. She’d never been afraid of them. Why should she? They happened to other people in other places. They were safe in their valley. Silverado had been there for over one hundred years. It would be there for another hundred. So would the ranch. Even though it wasn’t hers any longer, it would always be a part of her consciousness. A part of her history. A part of her heart.
Dylan’s friend Terry came to the door of the brightly lighted living room. The television set was booming in the background. A group of boys were eating popcorn and watching an action video. “He left, Mrs. McIntyre,” Terry said. “We were all talking about the storm and he said he had to get to the ranch and get something he left in the tree house before it got wet.”
Laura’s heart stopped beating for what felt like minutes. “What? How did he…? When…? Is your mother here?” She couldn’t believe an adult would have let him go out in the storm on his bike.
“Nope. She’s down at the church setting up for the potluck tonight.’ Case the power goes out, folks’ll have a place to go. The babysitter’s in the kitchen making macaroni for us. Maybe Dylan…”
“Okay,” she said, pressing her hand against her heart. She raced back to David’s car where her aunt and David were waiting for her.
“He’s gone to the ranch. I’ve got to go,” she said breathlessly.
“The road’s flooded. We just heard,” David said. “You’d need four-wheel drive. And even then…”
“My truck,” she said, blinking back the tears. “It’s broken.”
“Can you call Brandon at the ranch?” her aunt asked. “Tell him to look out for Dylan.”
“Brandon wouldn’t be in the house,” David answered. “And if he was, the lines are probably out.”
“He has a cell phone,” Laura said. “He gave me his number.” If she could only remember it. Her mind was spinning. Her throat was so dry she could barely speak. While she was thinking, David was driving them to her aunt’s bed-and-breakfast. They dodged the raindrops and ran up to the house. Her mind cleared and she punched in the numbers.
Brandon answered, but his voice faded in and out.
“Dylan went to the ranch,” she shouted. “He might be in the tree house.”
“What?”
She repeated it.
“Okay…do it…worry.” His voice broke apart. She set the phone down and buried her face in her hands. She didn’t know what he’d meant to say or if he’d really heard her or not.
“I’ve got to get out there,” she said, jumping up to pace back and forth in front of the window. “How am I going to get out there?”
“Laura, you can’t go,” her aunt said. “You don’t have a vehicle, and even if you did…Don’t you see you’d just endanger yourself along with Dylan? Then they’d have to send two rescue parties.”
“But what if Brandon didn’t hear me? What if Dylan didn’t make it to the ranch? What if he’s on the road somewhere and the water’s rising…?” Her voice shook.
“He heard you. He’ll find Dylan, I know he will,” her aunt said. Then she put her arm around Laura’s shoulders and led her to the couch while she signaled something to David.
He went to the kitchen and returned with three cups of coffee laced with Irish whiskey.
In the midst of her anguish and uncertainty Laura noticed in one part of her brain that David was very much at home in her aunt’s house. So much so, he was playing the host, even starting a fire in the fireplace while her aunt comforted her. The three of them sat side by side on the couch, sipping their strong coffee and staring into the flames. Laura didn’t know what she would have done without them. Just sitting there, listening to the rain on the roof with them on either side of her was some kind of comfort. If only she didn’t keep visualizing Dylan, somewhere out there, alone and in danger. Please, Brandon, find him. Find my little boy.
DYLAN PUMPED the pedals of his bike as hard as he could, but he felt like he wasn’t moving at all. He’d ridden from town to the ranch so many times, but he’d never had to fight the wind and the rain at the same time. Even as he pushed forward, the wind pushed him back. His rain-soaked T-shirt and jeans clung to his skin. Rain dripped off his hair and into his eyes so he could hardly see. He had to get to the ranch. He had to.
He told his mom he knew his dad wasn’t coming back for him, because that’s what she thought. That’s what she wanted to hear. Because she’d given up. But he hadn’t. Deep down he kept hoping he’d come back. But ever since he’d left the note in the secret place that only him and his dad knew about, he was free to leave the place. He didn’t have to stay there waiting. It was fun building the house with Brandon, but maybe his dad wouldn’t like it. Maybe he’d be mad when he saw they’d used up his wood and stuff. All this time he’d been thinking that when his dad came and didn’t find him there, he’d read the note and come and get him.
But if the note got wet, if the note dissolved in the rain, then how would his dad find him? He wouldn’t.
His tires skidded on the wet pavement, and he decided to take a shortcut through the fenced range land to the ranch. He dragged his bike under the barbed wire, scraping a hole in his pants as he pulled himself and his bike through the mud.
He thought it would be faster, taking the shortcut, but he hadn’t thought about the rocks and the thick, bushy sagebrush he’d have to ride through. It was so bumpy his head hurt, and his teeth chattered so loudly, his front tire refused to plow through the thick vegetation, he got off and walked his bike.
Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to take the shortcut, he thought. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to come back to the ranch tonight. But what about the note? What about the rain?
The rain was coming down harder now, so hard, he couldn’t see where he was going. The puddles were deeper, up to his knees. Maybe he should leave his bike here and come back tomorrow to get it. He propped it against a scrub oak tree and continued on toward the ranch. His legs felt like they weighed about fifty pounds each, and he couldn’t tell if the drops flowing down his cheeks were rain or tears.
THE MEN HAD WORKED STEADILY, digging, piling rocks, working against tim
e, working against the water, but they hadn’t gotten there in time. The water had already been washing out of the reservoir, rushing so fast that it cascaded down the mountain toward the ranch. Brandon had watched it pass by, imagining it filling the valley, creeping up the front steps to the veranda, destroying the ranch that had had been home to the McIntyres for four generations. Until he came along.
While he’d stood there, shovel in hand, his shirt and pants plastered to his skin, the rain running off his forehead, Bart, his neighbor whom he’d never met before tonight had slapped him on the back.
“Don’t give up,” he’d said. “We’ve almost got it under control. We’re gonna save your place for you.”
Brandon had nodded and said a silent prayer. Please save the ranch. Don’t let it wash away. It means too much to them. It means too much to me. Then his cell phone, still in his pocket, still working, had rung. It was Laura. Dylan was on his way to the ranch. He couldn’t hear her very well. But he knew he had to find him.
“I’m going down to the ranch,” he told Bart.
Bart frowned, told him not to go. The water was heading that way. It was too far. Too dangerous. Told him to wait.
But he couldn’t wait. He turned and ran down the road. He stumbled. He fell on the rocks. He skidded on the slick trail. His shins were raw, his hands were bleeding. Aeons later he landed on ranch land, trudged across the range and waded through the knee-high water to the house.
“Dylan,” he yelled, but his voice came out as a hoarse croak. “Dylan, where are you?”
Where would he be? Brandon knew the answer to that. If he was there at all, he’d be in the tree house. If he’d made it. He dragged himself through the water that was rising higher and higher even as he walked out to the tree house. He stood beneath the ladder and shouted the boy’s name.
In the dark he made out a shadow in the branches above, a foot hanging over the edge. Thank God. Let him be all right. Let him be okay. He climbed the ladder and found the boy curled up, half inside the house, half on the small deck, and he thanked God he’d finished the tree house. Because now the water was swirling dangerously around the trunk of the tree. They’d have to stay in the tree house until the water went down or they were rescued.
