“That’s what I hear.”
“And as your boss, I think you shouldn’t take life so seriously.”
“I’ll try not to.”
“Working with horse shit might help.”
Another laugh comes out of me. “Are you going for a record?”
She laughs with me. “How am I doing so far?”
Chapter 8
Laura
It’s kind of nice, I’ll admit, to be in the presence of another widow. That’s something you don’t stumble upon often, unless you’re at the senior’s center, which I don’t frequent. Being a relatively young widow has always been difficult, too. Living in a small town can go either way in that respect. On one hand, everyone knows what happened to Quentin, so they look at me differently, but on the other hand, I find that I don’t have to explain myself on a lot of matters. Like when I go to the bank, I’m not asked my marital status, and things like that.
It is my hope that Grayson’s wife didn’t die of some long, horrible disease. At least that’s something that kept me strong after Quentin’s death. He’ll be forever young in my mind and everyone else’s who knew him. His death was, although likely excruciatingly painful, it was quick. Lots of people aren’t graced with a quick death.
Grayson heads out to his quarters to take a shower and get ready for the day as Wendy and Grace arrive for theirs. I run upstairs and get dressed, and as I’m standing in my bedroom, I’m compelled to open my jewelry box. Inside it is the set of wedding bands that were once worn by me and Quentin. I didn’t tell Grayson that I only stopped wearing mine about a year ago. And the only reason that I stopped was because it got caught in a grate for the drain in the stable. If it hadn’t been for that, I’d probably still be wearing it.
Hanging on a hook in my jewelry box that looks like a humidor, is one of Quentin’s chains. Pulling it off the hook, I place it in my pocket. He hardly wore it. It was a gift from his mother when he was a teenager. Quentin always said that it made him look like a pimp or Liberace, so he only brought it out when it was a special occasion and his mother would be there. He hated jewelry. In fact, he hardly wore his wedding band, except for the above-mentioned circumstances.
As I go downstairs, I see that Grayson has almost finished his breakfast. Grace hands me a plate, and I stand off to the side, eating.
“Laura, sit here. I’m done.” Grayson says with his mouth full, taking the last bite.
“No, that’s fine.” I wave. “I always eat standing up.”
“She does.” Simon says. “I’m always offering her my seat, but she never takes it.”
“It’s not healthy to eat standing up.” Grayson advises. “Your food doesn’t settle properly.”
I give him a wink, but I don’t respond with the comeback that I want to, to respect his privacy. He winks back, as if reading my mind. Putting my plate down for a moment, I say to him. “Let me see you in the living room for a second.” I gesture with my chin.
“Yes, ma’am.” He says, following me.
Pulling the chain out of my pocket, I hand it to him. “It’s the least I can do. It belonged to Quentin, but he hated it. He never wore it. He would have been happy to give it away.”
His face falls. “Oh, Laura, I couldn’t. That’s too much.”
“No, really. It’s just collecting dust in my jewelry box.” I plead. “Quentin absolutely hated it. It has no sentimental value at all. I promise.”
He tilts his head. “Really, Laura. I couldn’t. It may not have any sentimental value to you, but it’s a memory all the same. There aren’t too many of those left once a loved one is gone. I simply can’t take it.” he says, handing it back to me.
“Well, let’s see if we can look down the patio floor. Maybe we can reach it from there somehow.”
“That’s okay, Laura. I appreciate it. I’ll have a look later. It’s quite alright.”
“Are you sure?” I ask, feeling so guilty for him losing it. I feel like it’s my fault somehow.
“It’s absolutely fine. But thank you.” He says, tipping his hat by lifting it off his head slightly.
We hear a knock at the door. “I’ll get it.” I say, trotting to the front door.
As I open it, I see an eight-year-old child on the other side of the door. It’s one of Louie’s children, Elizabeth. “Well, hello there, little Miss. What can I do for you? I say with a huge smile. Elizabeth, Louie’s eldest daughter, is just a delight. Next to her is a large dog; a collie.
“I was just wondering if you knew this dog.” She looks down at the beautiful animal. He’s got a shiny coat and his tongue is good and pink. His face and eyes are clear. I notice that he’s not wearing a collar. “We found him wandering at our place, in the yard.”
“Gosh, no. I haven’t seen him before.”
Her face brightens slightly. “Mama said we can’t keep him if he’s got a home.”
“Well, he certainly doesn’t live here.”
“Mama says that he’s a collie. And that collies are natural herding animals; that you might have better use for him.”
Grayson walks closer to the door, having overheard the exchange. “Have you got a shelter around here, Laura? Maybe I can take him over and see if anyone’s missing a dog.”
Elizabeth kneels, hugging the dog. “Oh, no, mister. Please don’t take him to a shelter. If they don’t find his owner, they’ll put him to sleep. He’s such a fine animal.”
“She’s right.” I admit. “We should take him up to the vet and get him scanned. If he’s got a microchip, we’ll hopefully be able to find his owners.”
“Can I come?” Elizabeth begs.
“Oh, now, did your mama send you over here?” I ask.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Then you should probably get back home, so she doesn’t worry about you, right?”
“Yes, ma’am.” She says solemnly. “But what if you don’t find his home? Can I keep him?”
“You better ask your mama, Elizabeth.” I warn.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Now you go on home. I’ll see you later, okay?”
Elizabeth nods, leans over to kiss the dog’s head, and runs off down the street.
“Cute kid.” Grayson comments.
I sigh. “That’s the last thing that poor Myrtle needs. A dog. She’s already got six kids and a nanny to house and feed.”
“You’re probably right. If he doesn’t have a chip, then we should post signs, in case someone’s looking for him.”
“Yeah. We can also go door-to-door. Word will get around fast enough here.”
“I’ve got to pick up different stakes for that trough, and the fence around the pasture could use more wire and fasteners.” Grayson says. “Why don’t we take my pickup truck and I’ll go with you to the vet?”
“That sounds fine.” I say. As we walk, the dog follows us, as though we’re his owners. When Grayson opens the passenger side door of his pickup truck, the dog jumps right in. “This boy has been properly trained. There’s no way he’s a feral animal.”
“He’s a full breed, too, from the looks of him. Someone paid big bucks to the breeder for him.”
The dog sits like a king in the cab of Grayson’s pickup, and he’s as well behaved as a well-trained animal. Grayson looks over at me. “You ever think about getting a dog? This breed suits horses really well. We had one when I was growing up. His name was Chip.”
“I don’t even have kids. I certainly wouldn’t know what to do with a dog.” I say with a chuckle.
“I never had kids, either, but save for the last two years, I’ve always had a dog.”
“Then if we don’t find him a home, he’s yours.” I lift my brows and tilt my head.
“How come you never had kids? You were married longer than I was.” He asks conversationally.
“It just…never happened.” I shrug. “We never discussed it. We never used any birth control, either, so I’m not sur
e what happened there.” I look out the side window contemplatively. “I suppose with all the work…we forgot to try for kids.”
“You mean you and your husband never…?” he trails off, letting me fill in the blanks.
“Well, I mean, we were married. Of course we did, but, I suppose we didn’t in the times when we were supposed to.” I look at him. “How come you never had kids?”
“For the same reason, I guess.” He explains. “Laura was a reporter for a national newspaper, and I was a full-time physician. Things got busy. Life got hectic. We never discussed it, either.”
“But you wanted to have kids?”
He looks at me from down his nose. “Laura, I come from a huge family. Making kids is what we do.”
“Same here.” My voice is flat and matter-of-fact. “So…how come neither of us had any?”
“Beats me. I’m too old for kids now.” Grayson states, pulling into the driveway of the veterinary clinic, five minutes from the ranch.
“You’re a year younger than me.” I state. “If it’s too late for anyone, it’s too late for me.”
“I hear ya.” He pulls the emergency brake up and unbuckles his seatbelt. “You ready to go, buddy?”
The dog wags his tail. He has no idea that he’s going to the vet. “I thought dogs were supposed to hate going to the vet?”
“Not anymore.” Grayson says, opening the door. “They have treats there.”
As Grayson opens the door for me, the dog trots inside first. He enters the building and immediately sits. “He’s not stupid.” Grayson says. “He knows what to do to get a treat.”
There is nobody in the waiting room at such an early hour. The clinic has just opened. A man in a white smock, with a stethoscope hanging around his neck, walks into the waiting room. “Good morning.” He says. The nametag on his right breast pocket says, ‘Dr. Green.’
“Good morning.” I say. “Do you have a scanner? This dog showed up in our neighbor’s yard a little while ago, and he has no collar or tag.”
Dr. Green nods. “Certainly. I’ll go get it.”
Grayson sees the bowl of dog treats on the counter and tosses one at the dog. He catches it and eats it up. A second later, Dr. Green reappears, carrying a contraption that looks just like a scanner at a department store. “Come here, little fella.” He says to the dog. The dog approaches and sits. “Well trained. Definitely not feral.” He slides the scanner over the back of the dog’s neck a couple of times, and then looks at the display. “Nothing is registering, I’m afraid.”
“What do you suggest we do?” Grayson asks. “Keep him and post signs…put an ad in the paper?”
“I’d offer to keep him here, but, my largest kennel is being used right now.”
I lift a hand. “No, that’s fine. We can take him. I own Kelsey’s Ranch. We have plenty of room.”
Dr. Green’s face brightens. “Oh yes, Kelsey’s Ranch. Doctor Burrows tends to your horses, doesn’t he?”
Dr. Burrows is the best equine veterinarian in town. “Yes, he does. Luckily, I haven’t had to knock on his door for a while.”
“Well, if you need any help with this dog, please give me a call.” Dr. Green says. Then he reaches under the counter where the dog treats are, and hands me a few small bags of food. “These are samples, but it should be enough to get him through a couple of days.”
“Thank you. That’s awfully kind.” I say.
“Have a good day.” Dr. Green says.
“Thanks so much.” Grayson says.
The dog trots along with us happily. “We should probably call him something. At least while we’ve got him.” Grayson suggests.
“How about Chip? You said you had a dog named Chip once.”
“That sounds good. I’ll remember that name.”
The dog seems to settle well once we get him back to the house, after visiting the hardware store. Grayson takes his supplies back to the barn, and Chip follows him around so naturally, you’d think that he belonged here. I print off a bunch of signs after taking a couple of pictures of Chip, and I take my tape gun and start taping the signs to light posts, I take a few over to the grocery store, the drugstore…you get the idea.
When I return, Chip and Grayson are sitting on the porch. Grayson has a large glass of ice water, and Chip has a metal bowl with water in it, half empty. Grayson’s shirt is beaded with sweat, and he looks to be still catching his breath. “You’ve had a busy morning.” He says to me as I approach.
“I was about to say the same to you.” I comment.
“Takes a lot of power to hammer those stakes into the ground.”
“How come you didn’t let Simon do it? He always handles the heavier stuff.”
“He did some, and then I did some. Believe me, there were enough of them to go around.” He looks at Chip, who is drinking out of the bowl. “I hope you don’t mind him using that bowl. Grace was careful to give me one that isn’t breakable.”
“Not a problem. A bowl is a bowl.” Then I remember something. I’m in charge of making my famous punch for Clint’s birthday party this weekend. “As long as she didn’t give him my good punch bowl, it’s fine. I need that this weekend.”
“Having a party?”
I nod. “Clint, my brother. It’s his birthday this weekend. He’s turning thirty-five. We’re having a thing here at the ranch. Everyone’s invited.”
“Everyone?”
“Including you and all the other boys.” I say, grinning. “It’s black tie.”
He cranes his neck.
I smile. “Gotcha.” A laugh. “But you should have seen the look on your face.”
He tilts his head sideways and shakes his head. “You’re something else, Laura. One of these days…”
“Go ahead. I have enough practice fighting with boys, seeing as I’m related to half of them in town.” A chuckle at the obvious exaggeration.
He grins. “That’s fine. But I’m…not much into parties.”
“Aw, come on, Grayson.” I say levelly. “A fat man still has to learn to be around food.”
“Well…that’s true, I suppose.”
“You’re telling me that in the last year, you haven’t been to one birthday party?” I’m feigning exasperation.
“I usually opt out of them, yes.”
“Well, let me tell you something, Grayson. If you keep opting out of all the fun things in life, just because you’re afraid of slipping up, you’re fixing to miss out on a lot.” I raise my brows and nod once for emphasis. “My family is very fun, and you might as well get used to birthday parties…with the number of siblings I have, we just about have one every month, if not for each other, for girlfriends, boyfriends, you name it, we get together a lot. And this is Clint’s thirty-fifth, so you’d best be there.”
“Can I bring my dog? For moral support?” the look on his face is adorable, as he bends down and pets Chip’s head.
“Yes, Chip can come, too. If he’s still here, that is.” I state. “I think every light post in Huttonville has a poster on it.”
He bends to pet him again. “To be honest, I hope he can stay. I’ve kind of grown to like the little fella.”
“I can tell.” I look over at the horses. “I feel like going for a ride.”
“Care for some company?”
Chapter 9
Grayson
My mare is in a trot, as is Laura’s stallion, as we ride out of the pasture. Chip follows us, not even a bark out of him towards the horses.
“Your stallion is riding well.” I comment as she tosses her long sandy blonde braid onto her back. With a hat on, and matching boots, she looks rather fetching. Laura keeps herself well, too. I don’t think she realizes how attractive she is.
“He’s tamed nicely. Simon and Johnnie have been great with him.” she responds, squeezing her legs together so the horse will go a little faster. “They’re my two horse experts.”
We break into a g
allop as we travel across a healthy patch of pasture, then into greenery. A few yards away, it turns into kind of a trail, and then back into open land. “This all yours?” I ask, raising my voice as the horses gallop.
“Yes. It ends where that manmade pond is over there.” She gestures with her chin to a small body of water barely visible in the distance. “We’ll stop there.”
As we approach, Chip runs straight for the water, dipping his nose in, taking a drink. Dismounting, we both lead our horses to the water, and they take a drink as well. “We dug this moat to mark the end of our property. That was before I bought that patch of woods back there.” She says. “It’s also a great place to stop for a break. Took a lot of work to do this, you wouldn’t think to look at it.”
There are large boulders on both sides, in graduated heights. Laura takes a seat on one of them. One of the boulders has an inscription chiseled out and stained black. It says, ‘Quentin Warner…Forever Young’ and his birth and death year underneath. “This is also where my husband died.” She says softly.
“Did he have a heart attack or something?” I ask, cupping water into my hands and taking a drink as I squat by the water.
“Before this pond was built, it was all overgrown and years ago my grandfather had put up fencing, for the same reason why this pond is here. The fencing fell over time and as it became overgrown. Quentin was out riding one day, and the horse tripped on the fencing. Quentin was crushed by the horse.”
His eyes bulge. “Jesus Christ. What a way to go.” I shake my head in disbelief.
“How did your wife die?”
“I mentioned before that she was a reporter.”
Laura nods.
“Always hungry for a story, Kelly was.” I say levelly. “So hungry that she put herself in danger chasing a story and took a bullet in the gut. Bled to death at the scene.”
“Good…Lord.” Laura gasps. “How awful.”
I nod.
“I thought Quentin’s death was terrible.” She looks at me. “You win.”
I chuckle a little. I think that’s the first time I’ve ever seen the slightest bit of humor in the situation.
No More Tears Page 7
