The Construction of Cheer

by Liz Isaacson

  He started to detail a termite infestation at what he called the Ranch House. “Three of my brothers live there, but we’re going to relocate them during the construction. My eldest brother is on his honeymoon, and the co-owner, my cousin, is as well.”

  “Did they marry each other?” Montana asked, smiling at him.

  He didn’t laugh this time, and foolishness spread through Montana. Maybe he was just a happy-go-lucky guy. Maybe he hadn’t been flirting with her at all.

  Bishop hadn’t tried to touch her or hold her hand, and Montana turned serious. She couldn’t blow this job because he was tall and dreamy in a cowboy hat and a belt buckle.

  But oh, the belt buckle….

  Montana steadfastly refused to look at it as he stepped in front of her and turned around to walk backward. “There’s a barn up here,” he said. “I did a lot of the work on it, and that’s where we’re eating dinner.”

  “And signing contracts,” she said.

  He nodded and reached up to press his hat further onto his head. “Yeah, I imagine if you want to clean up a nest of termites, I’m not gonna object.” He fell into step beside her again, leaving her view wide open as a blue barn peeked its way around the corner of another building.

  “My goodness,” she said, her steps slowing. Everything about the scene in front of her should be on the front cover of a magazine. Perhaps one about old barns or country living or the perfect cowboy wedding.

  “You did this?”

  “Not all of it,” he admitted. “I worked with some family members on it.”

  Montana cut a look at him, and he was almost as stunning as the old grain silo that had rust stains in the aged cracks. She adored old things, and especially old farm things. “How many family members do you have?”

  “Six siblings,” he said. “Me and five other boys, and then Arizona.”

  No wonder she was just so pleasant to be around. Montana kept her sarcastic and biting words beneath her tongue. It wouldn’t do well to badmouth the man’s sister.

  “And my cousins. Three men, two women. My mother lives here on the ranch too. With Arizona.”

  “Oh, so she doesn’t normally live in that mansion?”

  Bishop chuckled and shook his head no. “What about you? You said you were from Alabama. Do you have family there still?”

  “Believe it or not, we all live in the Lone Star State now.”

  “Well, Texas is the best,” Bishop said without missing a beat. “Who’s we?”

  Montana swallowed, finding her throat sticky. “I have two sisters and a brother.” And a fourteen-year-old daughter.

  She took in Bishop’s rugged jaw and deeply tanned skin. He wasn’t a boy, but he couldn’t be much older than thirty either. Aurora was almost half that.

  “Parents?” he asked.

  “Divorced,” she said. Just like me, she added silently. “You said your mother lives here. Is your father…?”

  “He died when I was only eighteen,” Bishop said, looking toward the blue barn now. They approached the doors, and he slid the extravagant, carved piece of art to the side to reveal a spacious hall inside.

  This was no barn, that was for sure.

  “This is incredible.” Montana wanted to walk around and simply touch everything. Feel the energy of it and smile when her heart got full. “I mean, just stunning.” She couldn’t look everywhere at once, and she hated that she might miss something.

  “I can give you a tour later. Dinner is hot right now.” He led her across the space to a single table that had been set up with two chairs. A flurry of bluebonnets peeked out from inside a stone vase, and Montana wasn’t sure she was fit to sit on furniture this nice, inside a barn that was easily four times as big as the house she’d left behind in Austin.

  “Sit, sit,” Bishop said, and she realized he’d left and gone somewhere to get the two plates of food he now carried. He put one down in front of her chair and rounded the table to his. He’d just sat down when his phone rang. He glanced at it and swiped the call to voicemail.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I’m kind of on-call right now. My brother might call and want to know about the house. And well, our cabins have mold in them. I recommended we raze them and start over, and well, Bear doesn’t like that. Goes against the family motto.” He said the last two words in almost a cartoon voice, his head definitely bobbling in a way that wasn’t entirely human.

  “What’s the family motto?” she asked, picking up her fork.

  “Recycle, reuse, repair,” he said. “We don’t just replace. We work something to death, finally admit defeat, and then we replace.” He grinned as he lifted a speared green bean to his mouth. After he’d eaten it, he said, “We don’t use ATVs or anything besides trucks and tractors out here. When it’s time to round up the herd, we do it all from horseback.”

  “Wow,” she said. “How traditional.”

  For some reason, there was something very untraditional about Bishop she wanted to unwrap layer by layer.

  His phone rang again, and Montana put a slice of steak in her mouth. A moan came out automatically, because this piece of meat had been properly seasoned and cooked to a perfect medium temperature.

  “Where’d you get this food?” she asked as he once again swiped the call to voicemail.

  “I made it,” he said, looking up at her. His expression was so perfect—open and vulnerable.

  “Oh, that’s right. You cook,” she said, no question in sight.

  “Yes,” he said. “You?”

  “Yes,” she said. “But I don’t particularly enjoy it.”

  “I do,” he said. “It’s a nice release from the other stuff I do.”

  For some reason, she could see him relieving his stress by pounding out some bread dough, and it was a good picture in her mind.

  His phone rang again, and Bishop snatched it from the table. “I’m going to kill him.” He stood up. “Excuse me for two seconds.” He turned his back on her and lifted the phone to his ear. “What, Ward?”

  He stilled, and Montana lowered her fork.

  Something had happened.

  Something bad.

  Sure enough, Bishop spun back to her, all the razzle dazzle gone from his expression. He looked straight ahead as he hurried forward. He gestured for her to get up and come with him, which she did.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Bishop said. “I’ve got the retardant. I’ll call Wade.” He lowered his phone as they spilled back into the evening air. He took a big breath, and Montana suddenly felt like she should too.

  “Fire,” he said. “There’s a fire raging on Seven Sons Ranch.”

  Montana’s first reaction was horror. Everyone knew fire in the Texas Panhandle spelled disaster. They were coming out of winter though, and perhaps a few things would still be wet.

  Her second thought she would take to the grave with her. Everyone in Three Rivers and all neighboring counties, states, and countries loved the Walkers.

  They owned Seven Sons Ranch, and even Montana could admit they were all drop-dead gorgeous. How a family got blessed with that many good-looking men, Montana didn’t know.

  Some dark seed in her heart hoped the fire would burn down Micah Walker’s office. The one where he ran his custom home builds and kitchen remodeling business.

  Jealousy and bitterness swirled within her, and she prayed the dangerous and malicious feelings would leave.

  God granted her a miracle, because she suddenly no longer felt envious of Micah and his business success she’d spent many hours wishing was hers.

  “We have to go help them,” she said.

  “I’m getting the retardant we have,” he said. “Wade Rhinehart next door has a drone. We can drop it from above.” Bishop flew into action then, and it was all Montana could do to keep up with him.

  She could pray while she lugged a bag of fire deterrent, so she did that, hoping the Walkers wouldn’t suffer too much damage to their ranch, their animals, or their hom
es.

  Chapter Five

  Bishop pulled up to the pile of trucks parked right in the middle of the highway leading into Three Rivers, his heartbeat bouncing through his veins. “They closed the road,” he said, stating the obvious.

  “That’s because that fire is gonna jump any second,” Montana said. She didn’t unbuckle her seatbelt the way Bishop did.

  About a hundred yards down the road, all three of Three Rivers’s fire engines had been parked there, lights flashing and hoses out.

  “They’re not getting that out in the next few minutes,” Montana said.

  “It’s grown,” Bishop said.

  “Things shouldn’t be terribly dry,” Montana said as Bishop opened his door. “I don’t get it.”

  “Probably tons of dead grass underneath the new growth,” he said, heat licking his face from the fire despite his distance from it. The scent of ash and smoke filled his nose, and he choked and coughed. “You should stay in here.”

  “I will, unless you need help,” Montana said.

  This was not the way he’d imagined their evening would go, but he couldn’t turn his back on friends—good friends—because he’d been hoping to ask a pretty blonde on a real dinner date. Tonight, they’d barely sat down to eat before Ward had called. His stomach was unhappy with only green beans for dinner, that was for sure.

  He hadn’t even gotten out the contract he needed to go over with her, but he supposed that made tonight less professional, and he wondered if maybe he had been on a date for twenty minutes before Ward’s phone call.

  He lowered the tailgate as Wade Rhinehart pulled up in his truck. His sons spilled out of the truck without much delay, including Zona’s boyfriend, Duke. They all moved to the back of the truck too, and Bishop hefted a bag of fire retardant onto his shoulder and took it over to them.

  Wade poured it into the drone’s bucket, and he used a giant remote control to get the drone off the ground. “What do you think? The road?”

  “If it jumps the road, it can come up the hill,” Bishop said. Shiloh Ridge and Hidden Hill—the Rhinehart’s place—were up in those hills. A few minutes down the road, a couple of lanes of homes sat on that side of the road.

  “We need to keep it on this side,” Wade said. “I feel bad, because I’m sure the Walkers would like it to leave their land.” He looked at Bishop, concern in his eyes.

  Bishop wasn’t going to consult the man. He was thirty years his senior, and Wade could make his own decisions. Before he could get the drone dropping any retardant, shouts filled the air, and one of the fire engines honked its horn, the sound nearly deafening.

  Bishop spun to see flames shooting into the air, ash raining from the sky.

  “Holy cow,” he said, his heart pounding now. He shouldn’t be here at all. There was nothing he could do to stop this, or even to help the Walkers.

  He looked east, hoping they hadn’t lost homes or barns or animals. A man came over a fence, and Bishop started toward Jeremiah. The man looked utterly exhausted, and he had dirt and soot on his face and clothes.

  More shouts filled the air, and Bishop heard, “It’s on the other side!”

  He couldn’t help looking, but his attention turned back to Jeremiah quickly, especially when he stepped to his side. “What happened?” Bishop asked.

  “It’s our fault,” Jeremiah said. “I wish I could say it was lightning or a truck with a dragging chain.” He sighed and took off his cowboy hat. His hair was remarkably clean as he ran his hand through it. “But we were working on a tractor out in a field, and the welder sparked. That caught the grass on fire, and it grew like, well, like wildfire.”

  He hung his head, and Bishop wanted to tell him stuff like this happened all the time.

  “Not near the houses and barns, I hope, if you were out in the fields.”

  “No,” Jeremiah said. “Praise the Lord. That’s where all of us are—forming a line between the fire and fields and the rest of the ranch. We haven’t lost any animals or structures.” He looked past Bishop. “If it gets to the houses over there….” He trailed off, but Bishop heard the regret and agony laced in his voice.

  “They’ll make sure it doesn’t,” he said to reassure Jeremiah. He turned back to Wade, who was just now lifting the drone into the air. “Maybe you should dump that on the other side of the road, other side of the fire. Keep it from burning down the road toward the houses there.”

  Wade nodded, and he raised the drone into the air. Bishop moved over to the truck and transferred the bags of retardant he’d brought to the Rhinehart’s truck. He called Cactus and told him the fire had jumped the road, and they needed eyes on their northeast borders to make sure the fire didn’t burn onto their land.

  He finished a phone call with Ward, who’d been on his way down but turned back when Bishop said there wasn’t much to do down here.

  He’d just sighed when Montana came marching toward him. She wore a look of fury on her face, and Bishop paused. She was absolutely stunning with that fire blazing from her eyes. The red and orange flames had made the normally-blue hue in them seem navy and purple, and Bishop waited for her to come closer.

  She had a storm preceding her, and he felt her energy ram into him and flow over and around him for a few steps until she arrived. “They’re saying the road is going to be closed for hours now.”

  “I’ll bet,” he said.

  “I can’t stay on this side of the line,” she said. “I have to—I have—” She glanced at Jeremiah, her distaste growing. Bishop looked at him too, and if he felt the animosity Montana Martin had for him, he didn’t show it. Perhaps he didn’t care.

  Bishop assumed he was simply overwhelmed with that evening’s events, and he met Montana’s eyes. “We have plenty of room at Shiloh Ridge. My cousin’s suite is empty.”

  She shook her head. “No,” she said firmly. “There has to be another way back to Three Rivers.”

  “If you go all the way down to Pampa, you can come back north on the fifty-seven,” Jeremiah said. “A couple of turns, and you get to the forty-two, which comes in on the east side. It’s probably over two hours.”

  “You can’t drive for two hours tonight,” Bishop said. “It’s really fine. There are tons of bedrooms at Shiloh Ridge.” He didn’t understand the panic pouring from her. She was like a sieve, though; he could feel everything she did.

  “I’m not worried about a bedroom,” she said, her teeth clenched. She turned her back on Jeremiah and took a few steps away. Bishop went with her, his curiosity rising with every breath he took.

  He put his hand on her lower back and pressed in close to her. He wished he was doing so only a moment before whispering something sweet and flirty in her ear, but he’d have to save that for another time.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked.

  She shook her head, a long sigh coming out of her mouth. “You’re going to find out anyway.”

  Bishop just waited, his mind whirring. Maybe the source of her anxiety was the same reason she’d have odd hours on the job.

  Montana tilted her head and looked up at him. Oh, she was close, and she somehow smelled like something he wanted in his life, despite the ash and smoke and flames. The heat flowing through him wasn’t all from the fire now burning on both sides of the highway.

  “I have a daughter I need to get home to.”

  “Oh,” Bishop said, surprised but not to the point where he needed to freak out. He’d dated single moms before. “You don’t have a neighbor or someone you can call?”

  “I don’t need to,” Montana said. “We live with my aunt and uncle.” She dropped her chin toward her chest then, and Bishop slipped his hand along her waist and into hers.

  He didn’t know what to say, so he kept quiet. This was a new skill he’d started working on in the past couple of months. He’d lived most of his life trying to get his voice heard. As the youngest in a large, loud family, he’d had to fight for his opinion to matter.

  As a teenager, his
mouth had gotten him in trouble more times than he could count. As an adult, he’d learned to stand out by joking and calling attention to himself. But his loud mouth had ruined his last few relationships, and he was determined not to say everything that came into his mind, nor to insert himself into every conversation.

  Sometimes, he just needed to listen and let someone else have the spotlight.

  “How old is your daughter? Can you call her and let her know you’re safe?”

  “I’ve already spoken to her and my aunt,” Montana said. “I just…I don’t like being away from them.”

  “I understand.” He noticed that she’d dodged the question of how old her daughter was. But she could obviously talk on the phone, so she had to be at least four or five. “What’s her name?”

  “Aurora,” Montana said. “She’s fourteen.”

  “Fourteen?” came out of Bishop’s mouth before he could school the tone. His shock was loud and clear, and Montana nodded by the light of the fire. Darkness had settled over Texas, and Bishop just wanted to go back to the barn and pretend like they could have a normal dinner and sign the contracts.

  In that moment, he realized he was still holding Montana’s hand, and he slipped his fingers away.

  “Yes,” Montana said, shifting away from him. “Fourteen.”

  “I don’t think you’re old enough to have a fourteen-year-old daughter,” he said.

  “I am,” she said, but she didn’t volunteer her age.

  “I’m thirty-three,” he said. “Older or younger?”

  “Older,” she said.

  “More than a decade or less?”

  “Less.”

  Bishop nodded. “That’s all I needed to know.”

  “Why do you need to know that?” she asked, and Bishop backed up a step. Had she not noticed the fire sparking between them? Was she not present when he’d held her hand and touched her back? He thought he’d been blatantly obvious, but maybe he hadn’t. Maybe the electricity he felt zipping from her to him and back was only in his experience.