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At least he appreciated common sense. Kam felt her hammering heart slow down a tad. She liked Rudd Mason. He seemed very laid-back, easygoing and able to communicate. “Yes, sir, I have. Usually on villagers. I never had to use it on myself.”
“You ever work with older folks, Ms. Trayhern?”
“Old as in…?”
“My mother, Iris Mason, is eighty-two. She’s the one who needs taking care of. She lives here with us.” He waved his hand in the direction of the rest of the ranch house.
“I’ve dealt with villagers in Africa and Eurasia who were very old,” Kam said. “And I used my EMT knowledge to help them. I think I put in my rеsumе that I had never actually been a caregiver.”
“Right,” Rudd rumbled, “you put that in here.” He poked at the paper. “You get along with the elderly okay?”
“I think I do. In my business as a photographer I meet all kinds of people of all ages and nationalities. I try to be a good listener and keep my own stuff out of the way.”
“Humph.”
A lump began to form in Kam’s throat. She saw Mason frowning and studying her rеsumе again. Struck by how lean and scarred his brown hands were, she began to understand how much this man battled the harsh elements of this state.
“Ever deal with a cranky senior?”
When he lifted his head and nailed her with that dark look, Kam gulped inwardly. “Well, uh, anyone can get cranky from time to time.”
“My mother is headstrong, opinionated and stubborn, Ms. Trayhern. You can’t sweet-talk her, and once she’s got her mind made up, nothin’ is gonna change it.”
“Oh, I see. That kind of cranky.” She saw the left corner of Rudd’s mouth twitch upward.
“Yes, missy. The doctor tells her she has high blood pressure and she won’t take her medication. She’s already had a TIA, a mild stroke, but she won’t take the medicine to lower her blood pressure so she won’t get another one.”
“Ouch,” Kam murmured sympathetically. Clearly, Rudd Mason was worried about his mother, but he seemed helpless to get her to change her mind.
“Yes, ‘ouch,’” Rudd dryly agreed. “My mother is a tough ol’ buzzard. She’s lived on this ranch since she married my father, Trevor, at age twenty. My father’s dead now, but she runs this family ranch in his stead.”
Kam nodded. “A true matriarch.”
“You could say that.”
His dry sense of humor rubbed off on her, and Kam met his slight grin beneath the mustache. There was nothing to dislike about this man so far. Kam wondered if she should just blurt out her real reason for being here. He seemed to be the kind of person who could handle any adversity. Something cautioned her not to rush. Still, the words ached to leap out of her throat and pass her lips. She longed to scream out, I’m your daughter! Maturity won out and Kam sat, mute.
“My mother is the boss,” Rudd told her. “She’s sharp, but the mild stroke has addled her memory somewhat. She’s got arthritis and sometimes needs help getting around. Iris loves to drive, but her license got yanked by a local judge about a year ago, thank God. If he hadn’t done that, she was bound to have an accident that killed her or some other person. You’d be expected to drive her wherever she wanted to go.”
“That wouldn’t be a problem.”
Rudd assessed Kamaria. “You a city slicker?”
“Uhh…no. I’m a country girl. Why?”
“Humph.”
Just what did that mean? Kam almost asked but decided against it.
“You got a young man in your life?”
“Not presently. My life as a photographer was pretty much on the go. I didn’t have time for something like that.”
“Humph.”
She blinked once. He scowled and put on a pair of bifocal glasses to study her rеsumе again.
“You like gardening?”
“I love it. My parents have a huge garden, certainly not the size of the one I saw at the side of your home, but my mother and I raised a lot of veggies over the summer.”
“How about flowers? You like them, too?”
Kam grinned. “Who doesn’t like flowers?”
“That’s what I always thought, but you’d be surprised,” Rudd muttered. He made some notes out in the margin of her rеsumе. “I’m curious about why a photographer would suddenly want to become a caregiver.”
Kam licked her lips and said carefully, “I’ve been on the move since I graduated from college, Mr. Mason. I’m twenty-eight now. I’ve been kicked around this globe and seen a lot. I guess I want to have a life. I don’t want to lie awake half the night scared out of my wits, wondering if some rebel is skulking about to behead me. Or, that I’ll contract malaria or yellow fever and die alone out in the bush.” Kam shrugged. What she said was the truth, but not all of it. “I figure I’ll continue to do some photography and make a little money on the side as a caregiver. It won’t interfere with my job here.”
“Your nesting phase, as my mother would say.”
“Pardon me?”
“Nesting. You know—settling down. You’ve been a tumbleweed rolling all around the world and you’re tired. You want to settle down and sink some roots like the rest of us.”
“That’s another way to put it,” Kam agreed. She liked his cowboy insight and use of colorful Western slang.
“Iris is unique,” he began, leaning back in the creaking chair, his hands resting on his hips. “My family came from a line of trappers who first discovered this area in the mid 1800s. My great-great-grandfather, Rudyard Mason, married a Blackfoot gal by the name of Buffalo Woman. This ranch became his home. He claimed it and worked it and eventually owned the land outright long before Yellowstone or the Grand Tetons were made into national parks.”
He tugged at his mustache. “It seems that each Mason man married an Indian woman, so we have a lot of that in our blood to this day. My mother’s father was a full-blood Crow. Her mother was white. Iris lives close to the earth and practices Native American ways. That’s her garden out there.” He pointed in that general direction. “She also has flowers that she grows in and around the ranch. Her company is Tetons Flower Essences, and she sells what she makes around the world. My mother spends from dawn to dusk with her plants and loves every second of it. I’m happy she’s happy. With her brain addled by the stroke, she’ll be needing someone to help her with the packing, shipping and making out bills to customers. Your job as her caregiver would be a lot more than that. I need a person who is very flexible, who loves nature, who can deal with a cranky woman who gets her back up every once in a while, but who can appreciate her passion for life.”
Kam swallowed hard over the fact that this fascinating woman could be her grandmother. What a rich gift that would be. Fighting back tears, Kam blinked several times and whispered, “I’d love doing anything to help her, Mr. Mason. I love the earth, too. Gardening is a healing meditation to me.”
“Humph. Iris says the same thing. Says that when she gets out weeding in that garden of hers, any bad feelings she carried out with her just go back into the ground. She always feels better afterward.”
Never had Kam wanted a job more than this one. Something about Rudd Mason struck a chord so deep. “Mrs. Mason sounds like a dream come true to me.”
“Plenty of people around here consider her an ongoing nightmare.”
Kam noted Rudd scowling, his gaze off in the distance. Who wouldn’t love a senior like Iris? “Maybe a person who didn’t work in a garden might not understand,” Kam said forcefully, “but my experience is that gardeners are some of the most peaceful, calm and centered people I’ve ever known.”
Rudd chuckled. “I hear you, Ms. Trayhern. There’s folks I’d like to throw into a garden and not let them out until they got it, but that ain’t gonna happen.”
Kam watched him as he looked up at the ribbed pole ceiling of the office, as if considering something. She had to be bold. “I’d really like this job, Mr. Mason. I believe I could get along very well with Mrs. Mason.”
“Call her Iris,” he said finally, glancing over at her. “She hates standing on protocol. And she loves her first name, Iris. Her parents named her an Indian name that means Iris Blooms in the Morning. It fits her. My mother is the backbone of this ranch, and she made it into what it is today alongside my father. She’s worked hard all her life. She’s got arthritic knuckles to show for it, too.”
As she heard the pride and love in his voice, Kam hoped he would speak to her in such a tone someday. It all hinged on this job. Gripping the leather purse, she waited for his decision.
“Okay, Ms. Trayhern, let’s give you a whirl. First, you gotta meet Iris. She will be the one who decides whether or not you stay or go. Fair enough?”
A shock of relief shot through Kam. “Fair enough.”
“Okey-dokey,” he said, unwinding and standing. “Let’s go find Iris. Chances are she’s out back in her greenhouse with her flowers.”
Joy mixed with dread as Kam followed him out of the office and down the hall. Her heart hammered again and she wondered if Rudd could feel her nervousness. She tried to steady her breathing and contain her excitement.
CHAPTER THREE
“IRIS, I want you to meet Kamaria Trayhern.”
Kam smiled as she approached Iris Mason, who sat on a stool in front of her baker’s table. In her hand she held dark, rich soil that she was putting into a small clay pot. The woman was about five feet six inches tall with short silver hair that seem to glow around her head like a halo. Her blue eyes were lively and sharp. Kam could easily see the Native American features in her deeply wrinkled, copper-colored face.
“Hello, dearie,” she said, holding out a long, lean hand caked with soil.
Kam didn’t hesitate but grasped her hand. “Hello, Iris. Just call me Kam. What are you planting?”
Iris chuckled and released her hand. “Not afraid of a little dirt, are you?” Kam took in the woman’s dress. She wore a T-shirt covered with a white blouse and a very old denim jacket adorned with Indian beading on the back.
Rudd stood behind his mother, hands on his hips as the two women conversed.
Kam knew he watched and assessed their interaction. However, Iris was the one in charge. “I love gardening. Mr. Mason said you had a huge plot and I got excited. I grew up with one about half the size of yours in Montana.”
“Maybe we got lucky, son?” Iris quipped, looking up at him and grinning.
“I hope so, Iris,” Rudd rumbled good-naturedly.
Iris gave Kam a keen, long look. “Ever since my head decided to get slightly addled, my son has been trying to fix me up with a babysitter. I’ve chased all of ’em off. I’m only eighty-two and I’m not in diapers—yet.”
Chuckling, Kam enjoyed the feisty elder and hoped they were related. Iris was small but mighty. She kept putting soil in each of the six pots in front of her. Several packets of flower seeds sat on the table. “I hope you won’t see me as a babysitter, Iris. I’ll be here to help you when you need it. Otherwise, I’ll stay out of the way. How does that sound?”
“Oh, you mean you aren’t going to tail me around like a proverbial shadow, waiting for me to stroke out? You aren’t going to jaw me to death for not taking a high blood pressure pill? Complain that you’re outside too long with me in the garden? Whine about pulling weeds?”
Kam grinned. “No, ma’am, I won’t. I grew up in the wilds of the Rocky Mountains. My mother always had a huge garden and I loved weeding it. We froze and canned everything we grew. My mother believes in living organically off the land.”
“You’re a healthy-looking specimen, I’ll give you that,” Iris said, raising her thinned, arched silver brows. She twisted a look up at Rudd. “Since you insist upon me having a babysitter, this one looks hopeful compared to the others you’ve dragged kicking and screaming in here.”
Kam noted the relief on Rudd’s weathered features. He touched his handlebar and smoothed it between his thumb and index finger. “So you’ll give Kam a whirl, Iris?”
Shrugging, the old woman eyed Kam slyly and winked. “Oh, I might just do that, son. Why don’t you fetch Wes and let him know I need to go into Jackson Hole later for a few things from the feed and seed store? Kamaria can ride along and get used to my routines.”
Hands slipping off his hips, Rudd nodded. “I’ll do that, Iris.”
“I can get my bags. Just tell me where I’ll be staying,” she said to him.
“Oh, you’ll be right across the hall from me, Kamaria. A nice suite with a lovely bedroom,” Iris said. “I made the quilt you’ll see on your bed. And the curtains, too. The other room is an office and living room. I think you’ll like the suite,” Iris said.
“I’m sure I will.” Kam watched Iris open up the first packet of seeds. “After I get my bags in the suite, would you like me to come out here and help you?”
Iris shook her head. She looked at the watch on her thin right arm. “Are you hungry?”
“No,” Kam said, grateful for the woman’s consideration. “I ate before I drove out here.”
“Rudd, you need to tell Hazel that we have one more for dinner tonight.”
Kam saw his face go tight, his eyes flash with shock.
“Iris? You never wanted your caregiver to eat with the family before.”
“Well, I do now,” she snapped, giving her son a look of finality. Iris poked her finger into the soft soil and then dropped in two seeds and patted more soil over them.
“I’ll tell Hazel,” he said abruptly, then turned to Kam. “Come with me. I’ll show you where your quarters are located.”
Kam felt the tension between mother and son. One moment there was warmth and then, just as suddenly, it was as if a storm had arrived. Iris seemed to be smiling over some secret known only to her as she focused on her seed pots in front of her. Rudd appeared suddenly nervous and began to twist the ends of his handlebar. What was going on? There was no way to tell. She’d just have to wait and find out.
“Meet me out front at 2:00 p.m.,” Iris called to Kam. “Wes will take us into town. I can fill you in on a lot of things at that time.”
“Of course,” Kam murmured. She smiled at Iris, said goodbye for now and followed Rudd out of the large, airy greenhouse. The glass panels were set into a steel frame. Across the roof, thicker glass handled the snow’s weight during the winter. Some of the panes were louvered to allow fresh air into the area. Everywhere Kam looked small pots of young, green plants sat on every available space. Iris obviously started her garden in here early so she could get a leap ahead for the June planting time. Kam knew from experience living in the Rockies that the growing season was short. Iris was smart and got around that by starting her veggies in the greenhouse.
As she followed Rudd down the immaculately clean concrete floor toward the ranch house through a screen door, Kam smiled to herself. She liked Iris a lot. Her next adventure would be with this guy called Wes who was Iris’s driver. One by one, she was meeting the people who made this beautiful ranch what it was. In so many ways, Kam felt at home. The only question left to ask was whether this was her real father and grandmother—or not?
“HEY, SHERIDAN,” the ranch manager called at the opening to the main horse barn, “Mrs. Mason wants you at the main house.”
Wes was unsaddling his big gray gelding when he heard Chappy Andrews’s booming voice echo down the concrete walkway between the airy box stalls. Bolt, his ten-year-old gelding, a mix of quarter horse and Thoroughbred breeding, stood quietly in the cross ties in the center of the barn. Wes had just taken off the saddle, brushed him down and was getting ready to let him out into a nearby pasture filled with spring grass. Lifting his head, brush in hand, Wes called back, “Okay, I’ll be right there.”
What now? He’d seen that blue Toyota Prius hybrid come crawling down the hill. After working with a bunch of cows and newly born calves in the pasture, Wes was hurrying to grab a bite to eat before Hazel, the cook, refused to let him in the bunkhouse kitchen between meals. He’d galloped past the parked car but liked what he saw as the driver had emerged from it. Wes figured she was the next applicant for the caregiver’s job.
Unsnapping the ties from Bolt’s halter, Wes turned the tall, rangy gelding around and led him out the end of the barn. A small corral nearby, containing several cow horses, was used by the wranglers during the day. The sun was warm and felt good across his shoulders. Bolt whinnied anxiously to a group of horses who eagerly munched on newly sprouted grass.
Smiling, Wes opened the latch on the gate and released Bolt’s halter. The gelding galloped into the pasture, silver tail held high as he hurtled toward the small waiting group. Horses were herd-oriented animals, and Bolt would slow down and pretty soon have his nose to the ground munching away. Horse heaven. Wes grinned wider as he watched his favorite cow horse slow and then drop his long, thin neck to grab at the grass. If only his life was this simple. But it never had been for him.
After closing the gate, Wes took off his elkskin gloves and tucked them in his belt. He walked back to the barn to put his gear in the tack room, unbuckled his chaps and hauled them off from around his hips and legs. Even though Rudd Mason had four-wheel ATV vehicles to herd the cattle, Wes preferred being in a saddle with a good horse under him. And he was thankful that his boss gave him that choice.
Once he finished his duties in the barn, Wes knew that Iris wanted to go to town. She did every day unless the dude ranch was in session, and right now it wasn’t. He always enjoyed the crotchety old matriarch even though she was hated by Rudd’s entire family. Iris was not tactful nor was she tolerant of fools. Wes liked those attributes in her.
He took long strides across the graveled ground and resettled the tan cowboy hat on his head. He made sure his dark blue shirt was tucked neatly into the waist of his Levi’s. He kicked off the worst of the mud and crud his boots had picked up, wanting to look somewhat presentable. Iris didn’t like sloppy-looking cowboys working for the Elkhorn. He didn’t, either. Rudd might be the day-to-day boss running this huge operation, and Chappy was the field boss, but Iris was the actual owner and creator of this viable and robust ranch. At eighty-two, the matriarch was the brains of the operation despite what Rudd’s Hollywood wife might like to think.
As he took the steps up to the office, Wes removed his hat and kicked his boots on a hog-hair brush anchored to the porch. This kept most of the mud and dust and manure out of the house. Feeling happy for no discernible reason, Wes entered.
“There you are!”
Iris stood near the entrance to the sitting room opposite the office. She was dressed in her fringed buckskin jacket, a pair of cranberry slacks, a pink sweater and the beat-up straw hat that rarely left her head. It had a chunk missing from the brim where a horse had taken a chomp. Iris said it gave the hat character. He smiled and nodded.
“Hi, Iris. We going into Jackson today?”
“Yep, we are.” Iris motioned for him to come into the sitting room. “Come here, I want you to meet my latest babysitter.”
Wes moved into the large room, admiring the white lacy curtains on all the windows. The room was filled with turn-of-the-last-century oak furniture over a large and century-old oriental rug that covered part of the blond oak floor. And then he saw her.
