by Amanda Renee
He crawled beside his father and cried. The man had been a bastard on his worst days, but a loving man on his best. They hadn’t seen eye to eye since Ryder’s early teens and he despised him for the way he’d treated his mother; nevertheless, the man was his father. And he’d watched his mother kill him.
When the police arrived, he told them he’d done it despite Tori pleading with him not to. His mother already had a DUI on her record although Ryder doubted anyone other than he and his father knew about it. She’d gotten it a few years earlier in another county after catching his father with his mistress. Ryder had bailed her out of jail and even ran all her errands when she lost her license for six months. He’d blamed his father for driving her to drink when he should have been blaming himself for enabling her. Those six months would’ve been the perfect time to get her into rehab. To call out her addiction. To at least get her to an AA meeting. Instead, he ran to the liquor store for her, bringing her back anything she asked for. He was just as responsible for his father’s death as she was.
Ryder shut off the water and sagged against the wall. The memories of that night had worsened since his release. At least when he’d been in prison, he’d been away from it. Nothing there had reminded him of home. Now he couldn’t escape.
He grabbed the towel hanging from the hook next to the shower and wrapped it around his shoulders. His head ached as if he’d drunk too much. But he’d only had one beer with Harlan. Did he drink at Chelsea’s? He remembered coffee but not driving home. He peeled off his wet jeans and left them on the shower floor. Wrapping the towel around his waist, he plodded through the kitchen and opened the front door. The Jeep was outside. Why couldn’t he remember?
He retrieved his phone from the nightstand and scanned through the call log and text messages. He had texted Chelsea earlier and then she’d asked him over. He remembered that much. He remembered sitting next to her on the couch and watching television. A movie...they’d watched a movie. Forrest Gump. But there was something he was forgetting. He closed the front door and finished drying off. Once he dressed and made a cup of coffee, he sat down at the kitchen table and attempted to replay the night’s events.
Dinner with Harlan had started great until his brother said he knew Ryder hadn’t killed their father. Harlan had hedged about it when he’d visited him in prison, but he’d never outright asked like he had tonight. Ryder had covered for their mother all these years never once thinking anyone would’ve suspected Tori. But Harlan did. Ryder had brushed off the question and talked about the at-risk youth program instead, all the while worrying if his brother would pursue his suspicion further.
But he hadn’t told Chelsea that, even though she already suspected he was hiding something. Did she think Tori was driving, too? Their conversation became clearer with each sip of coffee. He’d told her more about the night of the accident but kept it purposely vague even though he wanted nothing more than to unburden himself and tell her the truth. All of it. He remembered her hugging him and clinging to her for what seemed like an eternity. And then they’d watched the movie. He pictured saying goodbye at the door and even driving away from her house, but not coming home.
“Oh my God.” He flattened his hands on the table. “I drove to Mom and Dad’s ranch.” Only the ranch hadn’t belonged to his family in years. Ryder didn’t even know who the new owners were. But that hadn’t stopped him last night.
He closed his eyes, remembering...
Ryder turned off the Jeep’s headlights as he drove onto the ranch, not wanting to wake anyone. Halfway to the house, he slammed on the brakes. A new addition sat on the very spot his father took his last breaths. They’d buried it, just as they’d buried his father. He stared through the windshield.
He could still see his parents fighting. Mom could barely stand, let alone heave the suitcase she dragged behind her into the bed of the truck. She was drunk again and didn’t need to get behind the wheel. Dad was the last person she wanted to stop her. Not when she needed to get away from him most.
Ryder opened the door and climbed out. He had to get his mom back inside and in bed. Once she sobered up tomorrow, he’d drive her out to Dylan’s in Billings and get her away from his dad for good. But he wasn’t fast enough. She was behind the wheel of the truck, starting the engine.
“Mom, no!” he shouted. “Mom, stop!”
Dad ran behind the truck, as she revved the engine. “Bernadine, get out of there now.”
“Stay away from her!” Ryder yelled. “Why couldn’t you have left years ago?”
His father spun to face him and tripped, falling to the ground. The truck’s white backup lights suddenly illuminated the parking area and then he heard that horrible bone-crunching sound.
“Dad! No!” Ryder fell to his knees, trying to crawl toward his father, but he wasn’t there. He pressed his hands against the new addition, searching for what once was. Floodlights illuminated the front of the house and a tall slender man swung the screen door open so hard it smacked against the clapboard siding. He waved his fist in the air, shouting, “You kids get out of here! I’m tired of this shit!”
Ryder scrambled to his knees and ran toward the Jeep, grinding the gears as he threw it in Reverse and backed down the ranch drive. He pulled onto the main road and looked back at the parking area one last time. It had been his fault. If he hadn’t yelled at his father, he never would have turned around and fallen.
“Why the hell is this happening now?” Ryder jumped up from the table, spilling his coffee. “Shit!”
The prison psychologist had diagnosed him with post-traumatic stress disorder shortly after his incarceration. It had taken years for him to accept he hadn’t caused his father’s death. And he’d gotten a handle on the nightmares and random memory flashes back then, too, but now they were out of control. “I never should’ve come back here.” The draw to his family’s ranch had been too great. He’d ignored it for days until finally, it overpowered him.
What harm would a visit do? That had been his logic. Go there, see it and move on. Only he wasn’t moving on.
Hot coffee dripped off the table onto his bare feet, but he was numb to the pain. He grabbed a towel from the counter and mopped up the mess, cursing himself. He loved his mom, but some days he wished he hadn’t made the sacrifice. The courts would have been harder on her. With only Ryder and possibly Wes backing up the years of abuse, he doubted she’d have received a fair trial. Him pleading guilty gave her the chance to clean up her life. Five and a half years in prison had been worth it. Hadn’t they?
Ryder threw on his boots and jacket and stormed out of the bunkhouse. So what if it was only one thirty in the morning. He had work to catch up on since he’d spent so much time at the Bloodworth Ranch last week. He’d start with working on the tractor that desperately needed a tune-up. It needed to purr like a kitten once the snow fell. And in northwestern Montana that could be next week.
* * *
When noon rolled around, every muscle in his body ached. Good. Hard work meant he’d accomplished something. His stomach grumbled. He still needed to replace some tin sheathing on the main barn, but it would have to wait until after he grabbed something to eat. Maybe Chelsea was available for lunch. He felt the need to apologize to her for last night, although by the time he cleaned up and got into town it might be too late. Heck, it never hurt to try.
He saw Harlan’s police SUV turn into the ranch parking lot as he tugged his phone out of his pocket. Two text messages from Chelsea and one missed call from Harlan. Wonderful. He’d forgotten to turn the ringer back on his phone.
His brother parked behind the Jeep, blocking him from leaving.
“Hey, you avoiding me?” Harlan said through the open window.
“I just saw you called. Sorry. What’s up?” After last night, Ryder hoped this wasn’t another inquisition.
“A complaint came in last night from the owner of
our old ranch. The man said he chased someone driving a dark-colored Jeep off the property. Do I even have to ask if that was you?”
Ryder folded his arms and laughed. “What are you going to do, arrest me?”
Harlan squinted up at him from the driver’s seat. “The fact you’re driving a dark-colored Jeep is circumstantial, so no. Besides, half the kids in town drive Jeeps. I just want to know what’s going on with you.”
“I was only there for a few minutes.”
Harlan opened the SUV’s door, grabbed his hat from the passenger seat and stepped out of the vehicle. “Why did you go there? You were trespassing on private property.”
“I had to.” Ryder’s skin prickled, and for a second he wondered if Harlan would arrest him. “I thought I could get it out of my system if I saw it one more time.”
“I hope it’s out of your system because if you get caught doing it again, you’ll go directly to jail on a parole violation. Is that what you want?”
“I don’t know.” Ryder began to pace. He wanted to jump on a horse and ride for the rest of the day. No conversations. No interruptions. Just solitude with the best friend a man could ever have. “It was easier, man. In there I only had to deal with distant memories. Here it’s in my face every day. You don’t get it. You weren’t there that night.”
“If I had been, things would’ve been a hell of a lot different.”
“Please don’t start your conspiracy theories again.” Ryder walked to the Jeep. “I can’t deal with them today. Now, if you don’t mind, I have someplace else I need to be.”
“I came here for two reasons and I’m not sure if the second one will help you or hurt you.”
Ryder slammed the Jeep’s door. “What now?”
“A letter came in the mail for you this morning. It came to my house because she didn’t know where else to send it.”
“She?”
Harlan removed the letter from his inside jacket pocket and handed it to Ryder. “It’s from Mom. I haven’t opened it, but I can if you want me to.”
Ryder stared at his mother’s familiar handwriting on the plain white envelope. Neat and the picture of perfection. Exactly the way she and his father had portrayed their family to everyone.
“Or, we could just leave this for another day.”
Harlan started to tuck the envelope back in his pocket when Ryder stopped him.
“No, I’ll take it.” He held out his hand. “I don’t know why she wrote me now when I haven’t heard from her in over five years.”
“Make that three things I wanted to talk to you about.”
Ryder sagged against the side of the police cruiser. How much worse could the day get?
“I had planned to talk to you about it last night, but since I pissed you off with my question, I decided to leave it for another day.”
Ryder gestured for him to speed it up. “Tell me already, and while you’re at it, tell me everything else you thought you should save for another day.” His brother meant well, but Ryder was a “rip the Band-Aid off” type of guy.
“Mom’s coming for a visit.”
Ryder reached behind him to keep his knees from buckling. “Why now?”
“She wants to be here for Wes’s wedding next weekend.”
“But she didn’t come to your wedding. Or Dylan’s or Garrett’s. You told me she didn’t even come to her grandchildren’s christenings. What is so special about Wes’s wedding?”
“It’s not about Wes. It’s about you. She’s coming back to Saddle Ridge because you’re home. Her sons are finally all in one place again and she wants to see us all. Together.”
* * *
“Thank you for inviting me over for dinner.” Chelsea shrugged out of her coat and hung it on the hall tree next to Tori’s front door. “My lunch consisted of a granola bar and I’m famished.” She loved Tori and Nate’s impromptu cookouts, especially after a long day in court. “I brought you a bottle of wine.”
“We need to make this a weekly thing instead of always so last-minute. It’s so hard to plan anything around Nate’s schedule. I hope you don’t mind, but we invited another couple to join us,” Tori said as they walked toward the kitchen.
Another couple? Did that mean they’d invited Ryder, too? Not that she and Ryder were a couple. She’d only spoken with him for a few minutes this afternoon and his tone sounded strained. It had been the middle of the afternoon and she’d probably interrupted his job. She should’ve waited until the end of the day, but after last night, she wanted to check in on him.
The feeling he wanted to tell her more about the night his father died gnawed at her. Whatever happened, he definitely hadn’t told her the complete truth. If he would only trust her, she could help him clear his name, because no matter how many times he said he was the driver that killed his father, she knew in her heart he wasn’t. And Tori knew the truth.
When Tori invited her to dinner, Chelsea thought it would be the perfect opportunity to talk to her about it. Now not so much, since she’d invited another couple. It didn’t matter. She’d wait however long it took, but one way or the other, she’d find out who really killed Frank Slade.
“Why would I mind? It’s your home. I should’ve brought another bottle of wine.”
“We have that covered.” A tall slender woman with warm golden-brown skin rose from her stool at the kitchen island holding a wine bottle of her own.
“Chelsea, this is Dr. Lydia Presley and her husband, Calvin. Lydia and Calvin, this is Chelsea Logan.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Calvin offered his hand. “Your daughter is teaching our two boys sign language in the great room.”
“It’s wonderful to meet you, too.” She shook both of their hands. “How old are your children?”
“Joshua is seven and Eli is nine.” Lydia opened her bottle of wine with the corkscrew Tori handed her. “Would you like a glass?”
“Yes, please. I’m going to pop in the other room and say hello to my daughter real quick.” Chelsea heard Peyton’s laughter all the way in the kitchen. “I’ll be right back.”
She found Peyton sitting on the fireplace hearth holding class for her two eager students. The three of them were cute together. Joshua formed near-perfect signs while his older brother struggled a bit. She didn’t want to interrupt them. It was the first time she’d seen her daughter teach another child how to sign. Her ability to speak made teaching that much easier, and if she hadn’t had her heart set on becoming a veterinarian she’d make a great sign language teacher. Peyton had endless amounts of patience...except, at times, when it came to her mother.
She turned to leave when she saw Missy balled up on the couch, pouting. Chelsea sat beside the child and tapped her legs so she would look at her. “What’s wrong? Don’t you want to play with them?”
She shook her head violently. “No.” She signed with force.
“Did they exclude you or did you decide not to join them on your own?”
“I don’t want to play with them.” Missy’s expression darkened as her fingers sharply punctuated each word.
“Why not?”
“They asked me why I couldn’t talk like Peyton.”
By asking, Chelsea assumed one of the boys had written out their question on paper or on a cell phone. “Did you explain to them that not everyone in the deaf community can talk?”
“Peyton told them,” Missy emphasized the word told and that confirmed what Chelsea had suspected. Missy associated strongly with the deaf community, refusing to take speech classes. She likely felt she shouldn’t have to change the way she communicated to suit others. Peyton, having once been a hearing child, identified with both the deaf and hearing communities, and wanted to continue her education and work with hearing people. And for her that meant continuing to speak to them as she used to.
“Are you mad at Peyt
on, or are you mad at the situation?” Chelsea asked.
Missy shrugged and crossed her arms, ending further conversation.
“Okay, sweetie.” Chelsea kissed the top of her head.
“Mommy?” Peyton tugged on her shirt. “I didn’t mean to hurt Missy’s feelings,” she said as she signed.
“I know you didn’t, but you have to let her answer for herself when someone asks her a question. Just because you can speak, doesn’t mean you should.”
“But it was easier,” Peyton argued.
“Easier isn’t always better. You need to accept her way of communicating, the same way she’s accepted yours.” Missy had shown some outward animosity toward Peyton when they first met. Once Tori began watching her daughter after school, Missy realized Peyton needed to be taught many signs she hadn’t learned yet. A year older, Missy began tutoring Peyton. Now Peyton was trying to pass that knowledge on to Joshua and Eli. “You need to let Missy teach them how to sign, too.”
“Okay, I will.”
Chelsea stilled her daughter’s hands. “Without speaking for her. If she asks you for help, then that’s fine. Otherwise, you let Missy teach them her way. Do you understand what I’m saying and why I’m saying it?”
Peyton nodded. Chelsea gave her a hug and left the four of them to work out their differences. Children usually found a way to overcome obstacles, sometimes much better than the adults that walked through her office door.
She turned the corner and smacked square into Ryder’s chest. “Oh my God, Chelsea! I’m so sorry.” He reached out to steady her. “Are you okay?”
“Talk about almost knocking a woman off her feet.”
“I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
The concern etched in Ryder’s features made her smile and she fought the urge to reach up and stroke his cheek. It looked silky smooth, and she’d bet he’d just shaved for dinner. “I’m fine. I’m glad to see you.”
