A Family For Rose

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“I’m with you. I think he’s handsome and smart and talented. Now, let’s give Old Joe a treat. He’s a retired movie star. Your grandmother trained him, and he’s starred in more horse movies than any other. He’s a thoroughbred. See how much taller he is than Sparky? Sparky’s a quarter horse. Quarter horses can run really fast for a quarter of a mile, but thoroughbreds can run really fast for a lot farther.”

“Was Old Joe a racehorse?”

“He was a racehorse in most of his movies but not in real life,” Shannon began, then stopped when she heard the distant rumble of a vehicle approaching. Her heart rate trebled and she snatched Rose’s hand and pulled her out of the barn to find out who it was. Travis wouldn’t dare come here. He wouldn’t dare!

She craned to see up the valley, then felt the tension rush out of her when she noticed a big truck hauling a gooseneck stock trailer. “I bet it’s that new shipment of government mustangs for your grampy to train,” she said, light-headed with relief. “Let’s open up the corral gate for them.”

Ten minutes later the driver of the truck thanked her and departed, leaving behind six wild-eyed, scruffy-looking mustangs. Shannon kept Rose pulled tight beside her as they watched the horses circling the corral, the whites of their eyes flashing with fear. They were caked with dust and mud and sweat, and their manes and tails were tangled, yet they were wild and beautiful. “You stay away from these horses, Rose,” Shannon warned. “They’re wild and they could easily kill you if you went into the corral.”

“I won’t hurt them, Momma,” Rose said.

“I realize that, honey, but they don’t. All they know about humans is that we took them away from their band and brought them to a strange place. We robbed them of their freedom. They have no reason to trust us or like us.”

“Do you think they ever will, Momma?” Rose asked, watching them stampede around the corral, her eyes as wide as theirs.

“That’s Grampy’s job, to make sure they do, and he’s good at it. Come on, let’s turn Sparky and Old Joe loose and carry the saddles up to the house. We can work on them out on the porch and keep Tess company.”

Shannon carried the saddles and Rose held the bridles. Had saddles always been this heavy? Her arms were aching by the time she set them down on the porch. Tess lifted her head and gazed up at her for a long moment, thumped her tail twice, then returned to her nap. Shannon was just settling down to the job of cleaning the saddles when she heard the approaching growl of the old farm tractor. It was Billy, and he was making for the house at full throttle, still hauling the tedder behind him. He braked below the porch and cut the tractor’s engine.

“I saw the dust coming down the road,” he explained in the sudden silence. He followed Shannon’s gesture, spotted the horses in the corral and relaxed. Shannon realized he’d half expected to find Travis here. Maybe he’d been hoping Travis was dumb enough to come, so Billy could flatten him again like he had on prom night. The thought of Billy protecting her brought a flush of warmth to her cheeks.

“They’re a good-looking bunch,” she said. “A little spooked right now, but they’ll settle down.”

“They’d settle down a whole lot faster if it was the dead of winter and they were cold and hungry.” He paused.

“You find your father?”

Shannon nodded. “He was up at the windmill. How’s the haying coming along?”

“Fields are all mowed and turned once. With any luck we’ll be done by nightfall tomorrow. They’re predicting rain tomorrow night. Heard the forecast on my way back from town this morning.”

“That’s cutting it real close.”

“If the tractor doesn’t break down again we’ll make it.”

“Maybe.” Billy was looking a mite whipped, but Shannon wasn’t about to say so. “I can help you out, but we’ll need another hand or two to get it into the barn before it rains.”

“Thought I’d head into town after supper, see if I can scare up some more eager volunteers,” Billy said.

“Good help’s usually pretty scarce when it comes to pitching hay bales.”

Billy grinned. “True enough. But once I mention they’ll be working alongside a famous country-and-western singer, the whole town of Bear Paw’ll turn out.”

“Fine by me,” Shannon said. “The more the merrier when it comes to haying. I’ll start a big batch of spaghetti sauce tonight and plan for a big feed tomorrow.”

“Sounds like a plan. I’d best get to work.” Billy started the tractor, gave her a nod and pulled away from the porch. Shannon watched him, pondering what strange twists of fate had drawn both her and Billy Mac back to Bear Paw.

“Momma, can I help tomorrow?”

“Sure, Rose. You can ride in the hay truck and count the bales as we load them on.”

“How many bales will there be?”

“Lots and lots. Enough to feed a bunch of horses all winter long, and maybe some cows, too.”

“What if I can’t count that high?” Rose asked, frowning.

“I’ll give you a piece of paper, and when you count ten bales being loaded, you make a mark on the page. Then start counting to ten again and make another mark. Each mark will count for ten bales, and that way you’ll keep track for us. Now let’s get to cleaning these saddles. It’s almost time for me to start supper.”

They settled on the porch together, side by side, feet swinging over the edge, sponges in hand, saddles sprawled beside them. Rose made lots of suds with her sponge. Tess slept and twitched her way through the active dreams of a younger dog. Shannon breathed in the good smells of saddle soap and leather, and paused from time to time to look out across the broad sweep of McTavish Valley toward Wolf Butte. For the first time in years, she felt like she was truly home.

She wondered how long the feeling would last.

* * *

BILLY WAS DOG TIRED. His leg hurt. His side hurt. His shoulder hurt. The pain was acute, and the more he tried to ignore it, the worse it got. He tried to focus on the machinery. On loading the baling twine into the baler. On the anticipation of a home-cooked supper prepared by Shannon McTavish.

He’d overdone it today, that’s all. The pain would pass, along with the scare he’d gotten, seeing that big rooster tail of dust moving toward the ranch house, toward Shannon, and thinking it was Travis Roy.

He’d seen a lot of ugliness over the years. A lot of death. He should be immune to violence by now, but he wasn’t. Just the opposite. He’d been numb for a long time, but it was as if the pain in his body had become a conduit to all the pain and suffering he’d witnessed.

Seeing Shannon’s bruised face and how she’d tried to hide the bruises with makeup twisted him up inside. She insisted Travis wouldn’t come here. He hoped she was right, because he wasn’t sure what he’d do if he ever got his hands on that bastard. Or maybe he was sure, and that’s what scared him. Shannon was out of his league and always had been, but that didn’t keep him from caring about her, and it never would.

Billy gave up on the baler. He needed to walk the pain out. He’d go up to the windmill, check on McTavish. The wind was dying and the air was sweet with the smell of fresh-mown hay. It was going to be a pretty evening. A pretty sunset.

There was no one to see him, no one watching. He could limp. He could crawl on his hands and knees and it wouldn’t matter. That was the wonderful thing about living on the edge of nowhere. A man could find himself, re-create himself or lose himself, all without anybody watching.

McTavish was crouched at the base of the windmill, tools scattered around him, covered with grease. “I think I’ve about got ’er,” he said, wiping his hands on a rag.

Billy leaned against the front of the truck. He was sweating. He took off his hat and let the wind cool him. “I finished cutting the fields and turned them all once. Figured we could bale in the morning. I’ll head into town after supper and find us some help. With a good crew we might get all the hay in by dark, if we go at it hard.”

He let himself slide down the truck’s bumper, keeping his leg out straight, until he was sitting on the ground. “Shannon’s fixing supper, and you just got a new delivery of six mustangs from the government. Good-looking horses. Wild and wooly. I would’ve had ’em all broke by now except I’m plumb wore out.”

McTavish rubbed the stubble on his chin. He shook his head, wearing the faintest of smiles. “By God, but we’re a pair.”

Billy would’ve laughed if he’d had the strength.

* * *

TEN YEARS OF having a chef had spoiled Shannon. She’d forgotten all the basic cooking skills she’d picked up from her mother, who could shoulder a full day’s work on the ranch and still manage to produce savory home-cooked meals. As Shannon rummaged through the lower cupboards for the proper cookware, she tried to recall what she’d bought for groceries. She had two hungry men and a hungry daughter to feed in short order.

What to cook? How to keep them all happy?

“Momma, I’m hungry,” Rose said, pushing through the screen door with Tess at her heels.

She’d promised the men a good feed. They’d both be hungry. She had hamburger. Lots of hamburger. She’d fix the spaghetti sauce tonight and they’d just have to eat it two nights in a row.

“Eat a piece of fruit, Rose. It’ll tide you over until supper’s ready,” Shannon said, reaching for a skillet. “I’m making spaghetti. You like spaghetti, don’t you?”

“With meatballs?”

“With meat sauce. Sorry, no time to make meatballs. We spent too long cleaning the saddles.”

“They look nice and shiny, Momma.”

“They sure do, and they’ll look even nicer on Sparky and Old Joe.”

Shannon lit the gas burner and plunked the deep cast-iron skillet down atop it. She opened two cans of spaghetti sauce and poured them over the hamburger as it cooked. With a little doctoring, she could make the sauce look and taste like homemade.

Shannon paused, frowning. She’d forgotten about Sparky and Old Joe. They were probably down at the barn by now, wondering where their grain was. What about the mustangs in the corral? They had water, but they’d need to be fed. And what of her father? Had he been crying or drinking? If he’d been drinking, had he put the cork back in the bottle?

“Rose, I have to toss some hay to the mustangs in the corral. I won’t be two minutes. Stay here with Tess and I’ll be right back.” She paused at the door, scanning the small kitchen, the spaghetti sauce starting to bubble in the skillet, the old dog finishing her meal over in the corner, and the young child waiting and hungry. She wondered if she’d ever be able to juggle feeding horses and a haying crew while effortlessly mothering her own child.

She couldn’t leave Rose alone in the kitchen. What had she been thinking? “Grab an apple and come with me, honey. You can watch, okay?”

Rose took an apple from the bowl on the table, crossed the kitchen and took Shannon’s outstretched hand. “It’ll be okay, Momma,” Rose reassured her with all the trusting innocence of a child. And for one blindingly beautiful moment, as that small, perfect hand slipped into hers, Shannon believed that it truly would.

* * *

SUPPER WASN’T SERVED until 8:00 p.m., which was early for Shannon but very late for her father and Billy, who were both so tired they spoke in monosyllables as they methodically cleaned their plates and then made short work of seconds. The spaghetti was good, and she served it with garlic bread and a big salad. Her fears that her father might have been drinking up at the windmill had been laid to rest. He was stone-cold sober and dog tired.

“I’m afraid it’s the same menu for tomorrow, but I’ll bake an apple pie, too,” she promised as she cleared the table.

“Been a dog’s age since I’ve had apple pie,” her father said, leaning back in his chair. “Your mother could make the best pie crust. Light as a feather.”

“Well, Daddy, I hope you’ll settle for a store-bought crust.”

Billy was sitting quietly, finishing off his cup of coffee. “It’ll be great.”

“What’s that?” Shannon asked, her hands full of plates.

“Your apple pie.”

“Better save your praise till you’ve tried it,” she said as she piled the dishes in the sink. “Rose, it’s time for you to get washed up and ready for bed.”

“But I don’t want to go to bed.”

“Tomorrow’s going to be a big day. You’ll be counting the bales for us, remember? That requires a good night’s sleep.”

Billy’s chair scraped away from the table and he pushed to his feet. “That was a good supper, Shannon,” he said. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” She dropped her eyes from his and turned back to the sink to hide her blush.

“Guess I’ll head into town and see if I can rustle us up some recruits for tomorrow,” he said, reaching for his hat. He paused for a moment, fiddling with the hat brim in his hands. “It’s Friday night. Thought maybe I’d get a beer at the Dog and Bull. You’re welcome to come along if you like, Shannon. I’ll buy you a beer.”

Shannon froze at the sink, her hands dripping with soapy water.

“I’ll watch Rose,” her father volunteered in the awkward silence, “and I know how to clean up a kitchen. The two of you go out and have some fun.”

“Grampy and I can watch TV together, Momma,” Rose said, excited by this sudden turn of events. “Just one show won’t hurt.”

Shannon didn’t know which surprised her more, Billy’s invitation or her father’s offer to babysit. “All right,” she relented. “Just one little program on that little TV, and you’re off to bed. Daddy?”

“Just one,” he said. “And maybe some popcorn.”

“I love popcorn!” Rose said.

Shannon turned her attention back to the dishes, feeling Billy’s eyes on her. “Might be fun to see the old hangout again. Give me ten minutes.”

Billy pushed past the screen door and Shannon blew out her breath. Dove back into the hot sudsy water and finished the supper dishes. It felt good to do domestic things, to wipe the counters down, clean off the table. Her father and Rose were already in the living room, trying to choose a program. Rose picked a Western. Gunsmoke, from the sound of it. Shannon had just finished the dishes when she heard Billy’s truck pull up to the porch. He leaned out of the driver’s-side window when she stepped out. “Ready?”

“Almost. I need to change.”

“You look fine just the way you are.”

Shannon hesitated, wiping her hands on the kitchen towel. “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.”

Billy tugged his hat brim lower. “These are the same folks you used to rub shoulders with back when you had cow manure on your boots and horse slobber on your shirt. They don’t care if you aren’t dressed fancy.”

Blunt and to the point. Shannon blew out another breath and nodded. “I’ll be right down.”

She raced upstairs to the bathroom, where she washed up in furious haste, brushed out her hair, feathered more foundation over the greening bruise, glossed her lips and called it good.