by Tanya Hanson
He shrugged, looking away. “I suppose. I liquidated some companies to get better severance for the folks I had to lay off. I…don’t know how I could have slept at night, otherwise.”
“You helped many people out by buying the Red Hill. Not to mention the saddlery.” Her voice was gentle, as was the squeeze of her fingers now on his arm. “Keeping the hands employed when things were going under. That has to mean something. Saving all those horses, too.”
“I never quite looked at it that way.” As if to keep her fingers there, he laid his own hand over hers, warmth and pulse seeping into him. “At times I almost felt like I was taking advantage of somebody’s misfortune.”
“Well, I kind of understand. But I’ll bet folks looked at it as the solution to a problem. The answer to a prayer.” Her voice slowed, and their hands disconnected as she moved against a post. She took several deep breaths. “I think I’ve slowly been learning that about Nick. The Lord expected great things of him, and he gave back. I don’t understand why, back home again, he had to suffer more. But God was there to lean on. For Nick and for me. It was our choice that we didn’t. That I haven’t been. But…” She didn’t say any more, but he read her eyes. She was leaning on Him now.
Before he could reply, a smile split her beautiful face.
“Come on.” She pulled a halter hanging from the fence. “Go get Curiosity. She isn’t getting much exercise these days, tourists done and Tiffany so near her due date. There’s something about the trail.” She raised her face as if smelling the air, tasting the word. Then she looked him straight on. “Something that helps us get things figured out. Someone.”
“You finding your way back, Rachel?”
“Yeah.” She shook her head with a little laugh. “And it must be showing. Ma just said the same thing.” Then her eyes widened with questions that stabbed his heart. “But Brayton, if you don’t want to seem like a bragger...why did you name your enterprise after yourself. I mean, come on.”
Heat brushed his cheekbones. “The arrogance of youth, I guess. I made it big, quick and pretty easy. It was Marianne who kept my head on straight. Who kept me humble.” He tossed her a look he hoped she understood. “That was part of her legacy.”
It didn’t hurt to say Marianne’s name, or to think of her. Hadn’t for a while. His heart swelled. Time had come to move on for good.
“I think I get that. Nick taught me things, too.”
“For what it’s worth since I’ve known you...” He pushed on, else lose courage. “...It hasn’t hurt to mention her name, or to remember her. I knew the first time I met Marianne she was somebody special. It took her a bit longer, but we gave ourselves the chance to find out for sure. Just like…” He hesitated the same time Rachel did, as she prepared to slip between the fence slats into the corral.
“Just like what?” Her soft voice mixed with the whicker of horses as she jumped to her feet on the other side.
“Just like I hope we have the chance…to find out.”
Inside the corral, she faced him. “You might be onto something. Since meeting you, I haven’t had bad dreams.”
“That’s good.” He reached for the hand she held out and the spark traveled down his spine.
“Very good.” Her shy gaze focused on the ground. “So I guess that might mean what you mean right now. Or what I think you mean.” Her fingers twiddled against his. “You know. That you and I should give ourselves the chance to find out. What this is. What it might be.”
He nodded. “I can’t stop thinking about you. And I know Marianne wouldn’t mind. I can’t stop seeing you. Inside my head. Invisible but visible at my side. It was you who walked all through the townhouse next to me today.”
He leaned against the corral post and grinned at her. “I’m not about to give up. But I am aware I moved too fast.” He might as well confess. At first, Marianne had run scared, too. “But it’s my nature. Lest the best deal get away from me.” Her eyes widened, and he reconsidered his flippant words. “Or the best girl.”
Rachel laughed out loud. “You sound like my brother Kenn. He proposed to Christy after a three-day wagon train trip. He just couldn’t let her go.”
“Sounds like a smart man.”
“But I’m not much like that. I’m not one to jump into things. I can’t deny I feel something. Something for you. Something that could go somewhere. Felt it from the first. But…” She whistled and a horse came to her side. After tying the gelding to the post, she lifted the saddle over his back like she’d done a thousand times. And probably had.
Home on the range. Home in his heart.
“But what, Rachel?” He had to know.
She faced him squarely. “The thing is, Brayton, it might be hard for me to be with a guy who rushes in.”
Abashment glazed him. She was right. Far too often, he’d rushed head-first. This time, however, was heart-first.
“I know, Rachel. And I’m sorry. I was so enthused. But the art exhibition isn’t a done deal. It’s all up to you to begin with. And the exhibition has to pass a bunch of administrative rigmarole.” He might as well tell her the whole truth. No might as well. This is how it would be between them from now on. “Thing is, I’ve meant for years to endow an art gallery in Marianne’s name.”
“Then why right now?”
You. His heart all but shouted her name. “It’s something I feel deep down. The art gallery is for Marianne’s memory. The art show is for now. For us. For Hearts Crossing. Somehow binding our two households together. And I never meant to overstep. To rush things. We can take all the time you need. I’ll slow down. I promise. I’ll wait a lot longer than three days.”
“Three days?” Rachel’s face crinkled. “Are you talking about Kenn and Christy?”
“No. It’s a reference to Esther. You know. The three days she prayed and prepared to face Xerxes.” A flush warmed his neck. For years he hadn’t given God’s word and the lessons of His people much thought at all.
She smiled, and his heart slammed into a rib. “So you’re comparing yourself to a great historic ruler?”
“Not on your life.” He barked out a laugh. “I’m just a guy, hoping you’ll give me a chance.”
“Hmmmm.” She squeezed through the fence to stand next to him, facing him. Eyes squished closed like a little kid’s. “I can see Grim-Gram’s stuff in an art show. Her message is a brilliant one. A blessed one. I’m thinking she wouldn’t mind her faith on display for others to see. After all, it’s the Great Commission.” Her voice sobered. “Seeing her art has sure helped remind me of what’s important. As for the three day deal, I’m not waiting that long.”
“Waiting that long for what?” Brayton’s breath hitched. Another date?
She lowered her eyelashes. “For this.”
She stepped closer and instinctively, Brayton opened his arms to gather her against his heart. She had to feel it pummeling into her body. Against his pounding chest, she rested her head, hair smelling of spice and autumn. Then he gently moved a hand to tip her face, savoring the sweet moment of desperate anticipation. The moment right before the first kiss.
His mouth met hers, mingled, and the thrill running through him heated the blood in his veins. Better than his wildest dream. She sighed against his lips, and then raised her arms to clasp his neck. Oh, she belonged there, she surely did, and he’d never let her go.
“Good one,” she muttered finally, breathless, leaning back a bit to look into his eyes. “Kinda makes me wish I’d gone for it the other day.”
“No. No. This was perfect as is. Right now.”
“I’d say so.” She moved into him again. Sublime moment tinged with crisp breeze and bright sun.
Suddenly Rachel pulled away, eyes glazed with something like panic.
“What is it?” Alarm grabbed him.
Then she laughed out loud, and he relaxed. “I just figured it out. Why Ma got so cuddly with me, talking about Doyle. Doyle Calhoun, her gentleman friend. And why Kelley’s got chip
munk cheeks and needs to get off her feet. Oh me, oh my.”
Brayton pulled her close once more. “Explain it later.” He mumbled into her hair, moving his mouth to hers once more and tasting the hope of tomorrow.
…Tomorrow, next week. Next month, next year. And no matter the outcome, He will care for us
Epilogue
The following June
After a quick toss of her bridal bouquet, Rachel took Brayton’s hand. The simple touch had her heart pounding as he helped her step into the flower-strewn carriage drawn by two of Addie’s rescue horses. A stiff breeze off Old Joe’s Hole rustled the rosemary and white roses that wreathed Rachel’s head.
“Did I tell you how beautiful you look today?” He leaned close as she settled against him, breath ruffling her hair, his nearness setting her on fire.
She caught her breath. “Only fifty times,” she said, dabbing a quick kiss on the tip of his nose. “You’re mighty good-looking yourself.”
Indeed, his well-cut black suit with just-broken in boots added the perfect combination of dress up and outdoors. Perfect, in tune with the outdoor wedding grotto at Old Joe’s Hole. The venue’s scent of shadowed pine lingered in the wind.
“This was absolutely the perfect place for a wedding,” Brayton mused as if reading her mind. “And your dress…”
With a rush of pure love for him, she smoothed the skirt of the dress he’d picked out. Second time around, they neither believed in bad luck. The detachable tulle ball skirt would leave behind a cream lace sheath for the party.
Chelsea separated from the swarm of giggling females, ran close and waggled the bouquet at them. “Did you really have to throw me this?” she grumped with both a grin and an eye-roll. “It’s weird enough, being my own mother’s maid of honor.”
“Not quite as weird as having a double wedding with her,” Rachel said, chuckling. For a second, she caught sight of their mother, almost majestic in a lovely but practical tea-length gray jacket dress, her one splurge the elaborate concoction of silk roses and feathers on her head. Hands clasped with her new husband, Ma steered him toward his helicopter in a clearing a hundred yards away. They’d be back at the ranch in ten minutes, but the other guests on horseback or riding in hay wagons would slowly follow Rachel and Brayton to the ranch for the reception.
“Can’t believe she hooked Doyle Calhoun.” As Brayton shook his head, his manly ocean scent drifted over her. “What a guy. I’ve watched his ‘Last Real Rancher’ reality show for years.”
Rachel shrugged against him. “Maybe that’s part of why you came here.”
“Could be. Our God works in mysterious ways.”
“That He does.” Rachel pondered the mystery of His grace. Both she and Ma would be splitting time between Hearts Crossing and their husbands’ ranches–the log cabin Brayton had designed on Rachel’s inherited acres was nearly complete. After much prayer, both had decided to return to Hearts Crossing and leave Woodside Meadows to other happy families. And the horse rescue operation at Red Hill was strongly underway, with folks from everywhere—including Crusty and his Scout troop and Carol and her kids—helping out.
“I guess we better make tracks. Matty’s in good hands,” she said, unworried. Kelley, who had declined to be anybody’s matron of honor in her ninth month, had undertaken nanny duties along with Jason. Addie, although she adored the little ring bearer, had been too occupied standing up for Rachel in a sweet lilac dress she’d worn to the seventh-grade spring dance.
With a loud laugh, Brayton pointed. Right now, Rachel’s new daughter and her little boy chased through the trees the military service dog they’d taken into their “forever home.” Stanley, a black and tan German shepherd, was magnificent even with the white satin bow around his neck. Nate, Brayton’s best man, corralled the kids and critter. Rachel laughed, too. Joy all but choked her. “Once we start off, everybody will follow.”
“Step up.” Brayton soft voice and gentle hands on the reins set the horses to a brisk trot. Such a good man, she mused. So gentle with kids, with animals.
Rachel had long forgiven Nick forever and for real. But she’d never forget his goodness, the good times, and would always keep him alive in Matty’s mind.
God had known it all, all along. Each tomorrow, each week, month and year. Leaning hard against Brayton’s shoulder, she breathed out a prayer that had no real words.
God was listening anyway.
Cross Your Heart
1
“Dutton? What on earth are you doing here?”
Dutton Morse fought for breath at the sound of his name. Chelsea. Chelsea at last. She stood motionless at the front porch of her family’s big ranch house, the mountain breeze tussling her long hair and chilling his shoulders. But her voice warmed him through.
Walking toward her, however, Dutton lowered his gaze, not liking the whiteness of her face against her black Stetson and dark red hair. The wide eyes almost wild, body tense against the porch post. Well, she was beautiful no matter what, and the sight was sure better than the pale, tear-streaked cheeks he’d left behind three years ago. Better because, then, he was walking away. This time, he was coming back. Things in his life had changed. He had to let her know.
A flash of guilt flickered. Well, he wasn’t about to let her know everything. Not yet. She wasn’t the entire reason he was here, but he had to take full advantage of her presence while doing Gramps’s errand. He walked faster.
“I’m here to take a Hearts Crossing wagon train adventure,” he said in the same easy voice he’d used years ago as the unofficial “tour director” of their little group’s hobble across Europe. Right now, he ached to reach for her. Instead, he forced into his pocket the hand that, back then, had taken hers for the first time while crossing the Ponte Vecchio in Florence. Dutton ran his tongue over his mouth as if tasting once again their first kiss in the shadow of the Eiffel Tower.
Hoped against hope his playful tone at this moment would make her smile. “Come on,” he urged. “You always said how much fun a wagon train is.”
Clearing her throat, she scraped the toes of her boots across the dusty gravel. “It will be. Welcome.” Finally, she looked him straight in the face.
“Chelsea…” Even he heard the plea in his voice. Didn’t she long for him to reach for her? Surely she’d imagined a moment just like this. Them back together.
“You’re a surfer,” she blurted. “What are you doing wearing a Stetson?”
“Aw, I just bought it in your mom’s gift shop.” He held out his other hand, and as though she weren’t really thinking, she placed hers in it. And there was a jolt, no denying. Without really thinking himself, he pulled her against him. Not an embrace. Just a hug like long lost friends did. Her arm was between them anyway. Her hat knocked to the ground, and for a second, he rested his chin in the old wonderful way against the top of her head. Her hair smelled like same peaches it had before.
Then, she stepped back and bent down to retrieve her hat. Her fingers moved restless against it to wipe away any dust, but her troubled gaze was firm and direct. “Answer me, Dutton. What are you doing here now?”
“I’ve changed, baby.”
“Don’t call me that.” She bristled. “Answer me.”
“Can we sit and talk for a minute?”
“No. You need to listen to my brother’s orientation. He’s the wagon master. Maybe then you can tell me what you’re really doing here.”
“I already said—”
“I sorry I can’t believe you. Summer is when you yacht somewhere with your mother. Or, I don’t know. Hunt down the next big wave.”
“Those days are gone.” He almost felt weak at the loss, wished he could lean against her for support. “No more yacht.” Her eyes widened again, in the motionless shock of a minute ago. “No more surfing. No more sail boat. No more trust fund.”
“Wha—” she started, but he rushed on.
“Honest. That Wall Street Ponzi mess? There it went. “ He shook his
head, a colder breeze rushing down his collar. His late father’s fortune, his mother’s generous pre-nup support. Life as he knew it. All gone.
“Dutton, I—” She reached for his hand and let out a deep breath. “Maybe we should sit down.” Holding tight, he led her to a rough-hewn bench against the bunkhouse wall. They sat, not touching other than fingers still knit together.
“But your grandfather’s oil company?”
Dutton shrugged so he didn’t shudder. “Gramps merged with Charisma Oil eighteen months ago. Everything went down in flames when that rig exploded off Rio. The lawsuits and settlements. Fines. Fees. Investors gone just like that.”
But there was hope. There was always drilling and fracking and oil shale somewhere like Colorado. He didn’t say the words out loud. The lawyers and planners had managed to find five hundred acres near the Idaho border entailed to Dutton upon his birth. And Dutton owed it to the broken old man to find something useful there.
“I’m so sorry. But at least nobody died.” Her lips tightened, though. Prim.
Without her speaking one syllable, he heard her sorrow about those awful months of ecological destruction.
“That spill was a terrible thing. You OK?”
“More than OK,” he said, but he didn’t mean it, not entirely. His mom’s current stint in rehab cost money nobody had, and his grandfather had long despised her as a gold-digger. Well, Gramps had proven right. Truth was, she wasn’t easy to love, but she was his mom, and he loved her no matter. Chelsea knew all about his childhood fraught with its custodial drama after the car crash that had killed his father and grandmother. Knew all about his longing for a real family. He might as well let her in on most of the last three years. “I sold my sailboat to pay tuition to finish my MBA. After graduation, I went to the Big Island of Hawaii and worked for a surf clothing corporation. Every time I drove by Parker Ranch, I, well...you came to mind.”
