by Tanya Hanson
“I’ll only let you if you let me help.” He tried to act all John Wayne on her.
Tilting her head, she actually flirted. He was certain of it. “All righty, then. So, cowboy, did you get all the critters fed?”
“Yep. All the trail horses. Draft horses. Kelley’s mules. Even loaded up Ma’s chicken coop.” He flirted back. “And I’ll get to do it all again at sun-up. You’re going to church with us, right? “
He thought she hesitated for a second, and a riff of alarm fringed the back of his neck.
“Of course. But I don’t really have anything to wear.”
“What you have on is fine. Ma likes to dress up, but lots of folks don’t. Some ride their horses in from the range. Pastor Hale doesn’t care a whit about such things. Do you know him?” Scott thought to ask. He didn’t remember beautiful Miss Wesley attending services when she taught at the high school. Her presence would really have made concentrating on the sermon a difficult thing to do for the teenaged doofus he’d been.
Her face pinked. “I don’t think so. I…didn’t get to church much when I lived here. I, um. Grant was always sending a private jet or a round trip first class ticket to get me to his games.”
“Wow.”
Her head shook, hard, her hair swinging against her face. He loved the look, loved the mannerism he’d noticed before. “Not so wow, Scott. Unreal. After about five minutes, none of it was glamorous, not at all.” Her smile, he reckoned, was forced. Then her face turned to absolute glory. “But I don’t regret a thing. Without Grant, I wouldn’t have my wonderful boy.”
Of course she missed him, who likely lived in another state with his father. He recalled his own Pa, never far from his kids’ lives in life, never far from their thoughts in death. A warm satisfaction rumbled through him at the wonderful memories, the true examples Pa had left behind.
After they’d stacked rinsed dishes on the counter, Scott came close to help Mary Grace load the industrial dishwasher. It seemed a foolish appliance for just the family, but the big machine helped during the tourist season. Her perfume swirled around him on the warmth of the hot water. Spicy, somehow. Just like fall. When she turned to load plates, she brushed against him, and his breath tangled in his throat. Perfect timing to draw her close…
…if she didn’t have all those complications she’d hinted at.
Then her face turned to him, glowing. “So…do I detect a bit of a romance between your mother and Mr. Calhoun?”
He had to chuckle. “Aw, she refuses to admit it. But since Christmas, Doyle has stopped by here more times than the total of all his visits in the past five years. He’s a widower.”
“How nice for her.”
“Yep. Pa’s death took a toll on her, but her faith and trust in God has helped her heal. Would be nice if she had a happy ending with a man as fine as Doyle.”
Mary Grace held up a glass. “Faith and trust, now, there’s some good things. Here’s to Elaine and Doyle, then. And happy endings, too.”
Scott saluted. “Hear, hear.” Suddenly the time seemed right. To ask her that all-important question. She was going to church, after all. He gulped and took a chance at being nosy. “You a woman of faith, Mary Grace? I don’t want to intrude. But…do you know God?”
For a long moment she was quiet, looking elsewhere. Then her tender smile covered him with truth. “Oh, goodness, yes. I could never have gotten through some hard times without Him at my side.”
Hard times. Her words both thrilled and frustrated him. Maybe someday she could trust him enough. Whatever it was, he could help her through it. Could and would.
During his amateur rodeo days, he’d never faced a bull ride with as many nerves cascading down his spine as he did now. “Well…” He started off slow, generic, in case he chickened out and changed his mind in a preemptive strike against getting shot down again. “…if I were to someday ask you to go to church with me, Ms. Gibson, and go to brunch afterward, what would you say?” Part of him wanted to take the words back, part wanted to hold her gaze. He gave in to the latter.
Her blueberry eyes brightened a hue in the overhead light. “Is this a date, Mr. Martin?”
He grabbed on to every ounce of courage he could find. “That it is.”
“Then I say yes.”
4
Late the next morning, Mary Grace rested her head against the passenger side of Scott’s truck as stands of fir and spruce blurred around her, and aspens blowing in the wind quaked off their leaves. For a second, she chuckled silently to herself. Eagle Ridge pass wasn’t as fearsome as Mrs. Martin had stressed. A woman happy with a new beau, no doubt eager to pair off her last remaining son, was likely to have a nose for matchmaking. Last night’s food and family in front of the fireplace, a cozy night’s rest in the patchwork guestroom now covered Mary Grace with a contentment that was almost frighteningly new. With Creighton out of her everyday life in the best way possible, was it the time, the place to search out something more for herself?
Lounging across the backseat of the stretch cab, the Cowboy snored happily. As the mountain air chilled with their ascent, Scott rolled up the windows, forcing the pup to draw in his head.
“Getting your fill of doggy breath?” Scott teased.
Mary Grace laughed. “No. Oh, I love him. I haven’t been around a dog for quite a while.”
Grant had “won” custody of their loving yellow lab; she’d had her hands too full with Creighton to protest. And there had never been enough time to devote to another family dog. But her heart panged now, thinking back on Tawny, her caring sweet nature and eagerness to please. In remembrance, Mary Grace reached back for a quick pat of the dog’s wiry fur.
“I’m not getting you carsick, am I?” Scott asked next, hands firm on the wheel, his driving competent and confident both. Eyes never off the road in front of him yet still engaged in conversation with her. He nosed the truck up a twist in the road. Down below, gleamed a sliver of river.—North Platte maybe?
She shook her head. Her tummy was full from a delicious brunch, but the tumbles it was taking had nothing to do with the curvy mountain road. Scott himself made her topsy-turvy enough as it was. “Nope,” she said aloud. “Don’t forget. I’ve driven this myself. But…thanks for driving me today.”
“Wouldn’t have missed it.” He tossed her a quick glance now, eyes full of flirtation. “Thanks for letting me.”
They both grinned at the same time, and she got the amusement they’d shared. Somehow he’d managed to wear her down, too.
No, there was no somehow about it. She knew right away what had caused her to melt. His affection for Heather and his interest in helping other developmentally challenged children. That had made all the difference in her world.
“I hope to meet Creighton someday. And I’m looking forward to meeting your parents. Now, don’t take that wrong,” he said, almost as if he’d read her thoughts.
“I don’t.” She laughed back to assure him he wasn’t getting cocky about the date. For once, Creighton was the safer subject. The way she felt right now, it wouldn’t be long before she introduced them. It just wouldn’t be today. Maybe next Saturday for the weekly visit at the group home, having switched the usual Friday.
No. Next Saturday for certain. She’d have all week to tell Scott depending, of course, how the week went. Today didn’t seem the day. After all, she’d only convinced him to ask her out last night. Take things slow. Ease into them.
“I think Creighton might be…might be available next weekend,” she said finally.
“Awesome.”
Scott fiddled with a country CD and soon, her favorite Brad Paisley song filled the car. With an incredible comfort between then, she relaxed even more against the seat.
This morning, arriving for Sunday services on Scott’s arm had sure raised some eyebrows, but the interior of Mountain Cove church had so taken her breath away the curious eyes hadn’t mattered. The whole front wall behind the altar, made entirely of glass, framed th
e rangeland and Rocky Mountain backdrop in a landscape so spectacular the artist in her got chills again just recalling it. Pastor Hale, kind and vaguely familiar from her life here long ago, had welcomed her warmly and invited her to singles Bible study on Tuesday night.
And brunch at the Butterbean had been as mouthwatering as any big city eatery.
But the best was the hour to Lost Canyon, and another hour back, with Scott Martin at her side.
“I hope you can go with me to Bible study on Tuesday night,” Scott mentioned as one song halted for a moment before segueing into another. “Pastor Hale always has something good to say. About Scripture, about relationships of all kinds.”
“I enjoyed his sermon so much. I’ll try. I really will.” Oh, and she would. It wasn’t exactly another date, but she’d get to be with Scott. The hard reality intruded; her real reason for being at Hearts Crossing. “I’ll have to see how much prep I have for the next day. What papers I might have to grade.”
“Kenn’s really putting you to work, eh?” Scott tossed her another quick grin.
“Well, not essays or short answers. He’s doing those. But I can do the true/false quizzes, vocab tests. Check pass or fail on whether they’ve finished filling in their study guides. Things like that.”
“Gotcha. But Bible study is a good bunch of people. Hope you can make it. With me.” His hand left the wheel for a flash, almost as if it was reaching for hers, and her heart pounded in glorious anticipation. Then in disappointment as he laid it back on the wheel to pump a drumbeat in synch with a guitar riff.
Marveling, Mary Grace realized she’d just been asked to a Bible study. Nothing like that had ever happened with the cynical Grant. And in those days, she hadn’t cared much. Her folks had raised her devout, but university had opened so many avenues of thought. Later on, though, after Grant left and Creighton’s syndrome seemed so hopeless, she couldn’t have gotten through her complicated life without God.
She rustled her feet against the floorboards, almost restless with remembrance of days gone by. Days both good and bad. Those first years with Grant, God had been the furthest Being from her mind. Parties, photo-ops. The glamorous car and perfect house. Credit cards with no limits. Sundays full of pre-game brunches before the fifty-yard line front-row seat. A nanny for the baby. Until Grant had said goodbye, and Mary Grace could no longer put her wounded little boy in somebody else’s hands.
God had held her up, held her hand. Given her the power of prayer and the privilege of grace. And with Scott at her side right now, something that she’d have deemed inconceivable the day before, she had to reckon His Hand was leading her. He had a purpose when He guided her to Mountain Cove again. Maybe she’d come full circle. From a faithless man with no dedication to one with deep down roots and conviction.
“He’s got an interesting name, your boy,” Scott mentioned.
Happier times claimed her memory. “It’s the name of a private university in Omaha. We drove by one day while we were in college. Grant and I both liked the name.”
“I like it, too.”
The warmth in Scott’s voice almost made her cave. But she couldn’t, not yet. It went against her vows to herself, her precautions. He might like little Heather and he might be eager to set up an equine therapy program at Hearts Crossing, but doubts assailed her. Those scenarios were far different from Scott having a disabled child as part of his life.
When he had a choice about it.
No. With all she had on her mind about starting school tomorrow, she deserved a day of simple peace in the company of a handsome man. That’s all it was. One date. No reason to read more into it than it was.
Even if, so far, this was one of the best days she’d had.
Around her, massive pines stabbed fat white clouds scuttling through the bright sky, and a small rivulet, leftover from last night’s shower, trickled down the roadside. Boulders bigger than cars hunkered up the mountainside. As a child, she’d feared they’d come tumbling down on her. Her dad had comforted her then.
Her Father comforted her now.
A weathered sign proclaimed Tall John’s Landing ahead in a half mile. Food. Gas. Hunting Supplies. Her heart tweaked at the last activity, but this was mountain man country, after all. But it reminded her.
“I want to pay for your gas today.”
“Not on your life.” Scott’s eyes narrowed beneath his brim even though he didn’t take his eyes off the road.
“Yes. It’s the least I can do, with today’s insane gas prices.”
In response, he tossed her a glare she entirely expected.
“Well, at least let me get you a huckleberry shake at the Landing. Besides, the Cowboy could use a leg-stretch. We’re not in that big of a hurry are we?”
His face softened, and he rolled his eyes. “Now, that’s something we can do.”
The tiny humble store, little more than a shanty, was nonetheless some pretty significant real estate, with views of rows of mountains on the left and Lost Canyon’s ranches and rangeland on the right down below.
Scott had barely stopped the truck in the minuscule parking area when Space Cowboy streaked off, and Scott was at Mary Grace’s side, opening the door to help her out. His gallantry thrilled her through, so she had to make it clear. “This is my treat. There’s nothing like these milkshakes. Even if they have to use frozen berries this time of year.”
The cold mountain air rushed across her face, hiding the heat of pleasure at Scott’s nearness. His hand at her lower back propelled her into the store. It wasn’t a romantic touch at all, but her blood raced anyway.
He whistled for the dog, who did his business and then promptly stood guard on the rickety porch.
A sullen teenager rustled up their shakes, and as Mary Grace paid for them, she grabbed a package of turkey jerky.
“A little something for the Cowboy,” she told Scott.
He grinned, his hand on a brown knit cap with braided yarn pulling down the ear flaps. “OK, but only if I can get a little something for Creighton.” His cheekbones flushed. “Not that I’m putting your boy in the same company as my dog.”
“He’d be honored,” Mary Grace said, touched, thinking of the cold months on the way, seeing Creighton’s head, slightly flattened from the syndrome, warmed by the cute cozy hat. “He’ll love those snowflakes knitted in it. It’ll be a darling Christmas card picture. Thanks.”
Content with their purchases, they hurried out from the stuffy little place and rejoined the dog outside. This time, Scott did take her hand, and his skin touching hers brought her heart into her throat to compete with the delicious drink. He led her up a path behind the store, the Cowboy a few steps ahead and in sniffing glory.
The view didn’t need words. And despite the height and chill, Mary Grace had never felt so warm and safe. It wasn’t just Scott at her side; she knew God was there, too.
“‘I will lift mine eyes unto the hills from whence cometh my help,’” she mused.
“What’s that?” Scott asked after swallowing a slurp.
“Oh, it’s a verse from a Psalm. One hundred twenty-one, I think. I always think of it whenever I see Colorado. Oh, I’m so glad I came back.” She squeezed his hand, thrilled at his own pressure in return.
“I’m glad, too. But that verse, well, it’s pretty special.”
She didn’t reply and waited for his response.
“Don’t know if you know yet, but Hoop battled cancer, testicular cancer, summer before last. Said looking out his window and up to the mountains helped get him through.”
Surprise frizzed the back of her neck. “Wow. He sure looks good now.” She’d never have expected such after meeting the strong, stalwart ranch foreman. “That must have been a pretty terrifying time.”
“Yep. It’s amazing how God gets you through something like that. Hoop got a good cure rate, God be thanked,” Scott said. “Now, Hoop’s like any of us. Heaven is our home. But he sure wants to watch Ella grow up. Same as you want Creight
on, you know.”
“Of course.” She choked down some of the cold soft ice cream concoction, berries big as grapes coming up the wide straw, glad to have a reason not to speak. Creighton’s life expectancy was normal, and he’d long outlive her. Her heart sank like a stone despite the pleasure of the day. Who would be there to love him?
She merely nodded, and they walked along the path for a while, simply enjoying the moment, the here and now. Fresh air whisking her face, an adorable dog padding at her side, a handsome man next to her.
****
Scott didn’t put any importance on it, Mary Grace taking him home to meet her parents. He, with Ma’s backing, had insisted on driving her to gather up some gear for the week. It had been impossible not to want to spend those hours at her side. Taking the Cowboy alongside had been icing on the cake.
He slowed down as they neared Hearts Crossing just before three-thirty that afternoon.
Just in time for the later-than-usual Sunday dinner planned for the day. Normally Ma liked to serve it mid-day, shortly after church. He grinned, noticing Doyle Calhoun’s helicopter. Ahead of him, the ranch, its outbuildings, busy corrals and bustling pastures hitched his breath like Hearts Crossing always did. All their tourists claimed it was something out of a story book, but for Scott, it was everyday life, and he loved it. Scott wondered if it hurt Mary Grace’s pa to give up his land.
“I liked your folks,” he said, meaning it. Friendly down-home folks offering strong coffee and a quick home-baked snack. Their place had been small, simple. No real room for a kid. “Wish we didn’t have to rush off.”
“They’re wonderful. I…” Her eyes cast a faraway look for just a flash. “They understood. They know I need the job. And they need their space. I’ll be getting a place of my own soon.”
Scott nodded even as he recalled them holding her close in a warm good-bye embrace. Recalled Creighton’s portrait on the mantelpiece. Cute boy. Wide grin. Big teeth. “I do hope you get more work. You’re thinking about teaching full time again then.”
“Yes. I need to build my résumé and work on my Colorado certification. Mr. Scovell said substitute teaching was a good way to get back in the fold.”
