скачать книгу бесплатно
There was no easy explanation for death, especially when speaking to a child. Logan stood with the children he was in charge of and wondered again if he’d handled any of this in the right way. Granted, he’d had training in counseling youths from the minister who was about to conduct Brant’s funeral service. But talking with children was never easy. Children demanded complete and total honesty, and sometimes adults, by trying to protect them, hedged and pawed around the truth. Logan certainly knew all about that.
Looking over at Trixie now, Logan felt a stab of guilt. He hadn’t exactly been completely truthful with her, but then again, she had kept her distance, and her secret, from him all these years, too. As he watched her now, so cool and pulled together in her black linen pantsuit, he had to wonder what her intentions were. How could she come barreling in here again after all these years and rearrange his whole way of life?
Feeling a tug on the sleeve of his chambray shirt, Logan looked down to find ten-year-old Marco holding on to him.
“Hey, buddy,” Logan said on a low whisper. “How ya doing?”
Marco, a beautiful Hispanic child whose mother had abandoned him when he was three, shook his shiny black-haired head and said, “Not too good, Mr. Logan.” He put a hand to his heart. “It hurts here, inside. I miss Mr. Brant.”
“Yeah, me, too, bud,” Logan replied, his voice tight, his words clipped. “Tell you what, though. You just stand here by me and hold tight to my hand, okay? We’ll get through this together. Then later I’ll bring out Radar and let you exercise him around the paddock. Deal?”
Marco’s sad expression changed into a grin. “I get to ride the pony?”
Logan gave the boy a conspiring wink. “You and you alone, partner.”
Marco took his hand and held on. Soon, all of the children had shifted closer to Logan. Their warmth soothed the great hole in his soul and made him even more determined to hold on to what he’d helped Brant build here. Then he saw Caleb standing by Gayle. Motioning for the seven-year-old boy, Logan waited as the youngest of the group ran and sailed into his arms, then wrapped his arms around Logan’s neck. Holding the boy close, Logan decided right then and there that he had to talk some sense into Tricia Maria Dunaway. He wouldn’t stand by and let her sell this ranch. Not after everything that had passed between them. With that thought in mind, he glanced over at Trixie and held tight to the little brown-haired boy in his arms.
She chose that moment to look up, her eyes meeting his in a silent battle of longing and questions. Soon he’d have his answers, Logan decided. And maybe soon she’d have hers, too. Whether she liked it or not…
Then the minister preached to them about finding their answers through the word of God. “For the Lord is good, his mercy is everlasting, and his truth endureth to all generations.”
The truth. Could it endure between Trixie and him? Was it time to find out? Logan stared across at the woman he’d tried so hard to forget and wondered if someone up there was trying to send him a personal message.
Much later, after all the mourners had paid their respects, after Harlan had headed back down the hill to the lodge to rest a spell, after the sun had dipped behind the distant live oaks and loblolly pines, Trixie stood alone beside her father’s freshly dug grave and remembered all the good and wonderful things about Brant Dunaway.
And she cried. She’d never felt so lost and alone.
Until she felt a hand on her arm.
Turning, she saw Logan standing there, his eyes as dark and rich as the land beneath their feet, his expression a mixture of sympathy and bitterness. He didn’t speak; didn’t offer her any pretty platitudes or pat condolences. Instead, he simply stood there beside her and let her cry.
And finally, when she could stand it no longer, when he could hold back no longer, he took her in his arms and held her while the red-gold September sun slipped reluctantly behind the Arkansas hills.
Chapter Three (#ulink_31b78d52-0d98-5acf-ba4d-aa2606ad3ed2)
“He used to bring me daisies on my birthday,” Trixie said later as they sat on a nearby hillside.
The shadows of dusk stretched out before them, darkness playing against the last, shimmering rays of the sun. Off in the distance, a cow lowed softly, calling her calf home for supper. Trixie stared across the widening valley, her gaze taking in the panoramic view of the beautiful burgundy-and-white Brangus cattle strolling along, dipping their great heads to graze the grasslands.
“He always did like wildflowers,” Logan answered. “Remind me to show you the field of sunflowers he planted just over the ridge. The wreath on his casket came from those.”
Trixie glanced over at the man sitting beside her. Logan had brought her such a comfort, coming back up here to sit with her. “Thank you,” she said at last.
“For what?”
“For not pushing me. For just being you.”
He snorted, then threw down the blade of grass he’d been chewing on. Glancing toward her, he said, “I thought me just being me was the reason you never came back here.”
Not ready to discuss that particular issue, she ran a hand through her hair and leaned her chin down on her bent knees. “I had a lot of reasons for not coming back here, Logan.”
He’d like to know each and every one of them. But he didn’t press her. That wasn’t his style. “Yeah, well, we all have our reasons for doing the things we do, sugar.” He looked away, out over the lush farmland. “I take full responsibility for what happened back then, Trixie.”
Shocked, she glanced over at him. Did he know about the baby, after all? “What do you mean?”
Logan looked back at her then, his dark eyes shining with regret and longing. “Our one time together—I should have stopped before things got so out of control.”
“I played a part in that night, too, Logan.” And paid dearly for it She shrugged, hoping to push the hurtful memories away. “Besides, it’s over now.”
“Is it?”
She looked down at her clenched hands, not wanting him to see the doubt and fear in her eyes. “It has to be. We were young and foolish back then and we made a mistake. We’re adults now. We just have to accept the past and go on.”
He nodded, then lowered his head. “Well, one thing is still clear—our lives are still very different. That much hasn’t changed. Just like then. You were the boss’s daughter, and I took advantage of that. I won’t do it this time around.”
Ignoring his loud and clear message, she reminded him, “No, you didn’t do anything I didn’t let you do.”
“Yeah, well, I could have been more careful.” His voice grew deeper, the anger apparent in his next words. “Then you saved my hide by begging your father not to fire me. The rich girl helping the poor, unfortunate stable hand.”
She realized where some of his bitterness was coming from. By asking Brant not to fire him after he’d caught them together, she’d only added insult to injury. “You needed your job. Your mother would have been heartbroken if Daddy had sent you away.”
“So you went away instead.” His eyes burned through her. “I’ve had to live with that all of these years. I’ve had to live with a lot of things.”
Trixie reached out a hand to his arm, wanting to comfort him. What would he do, what would he think if he knew everything? “Logan, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize! I’m the one who blew it!” Suddenly afraid of being this near to her, of being this intimate with her, he hopped up to brush the dirt off the back of his jeans. “C’mon. You must be hungry. Mama’s probably got supper on the table by now.”
Trixie took the hand he offered down to her, her eyes meeting his in the growing dusk. With a firm tug, he had her up and standing in front of him. Too close. Logan dropped her hand, then turned without a word to stomp away.
She followed, wondering if she’d ever be able to figure out Logan Maxwell. She’d seen him at the service this afternoon, watching her with that bitter expression on his face. And…she’d seen him with the children. He obviously cared about his little wards. Especially that little boy who’d clung to him the entire time. What a cutie. Trixie had only glanced at the child briefly and then he’d been lost in the crowd of people trailing by to pay their respects.
“Tell me about the children,” she said now as she hurried to catch up with him. “Grandfather said he’d explain. But I want you to.”
Logan stopped to whirl around and stare at her. “You mean, you don’t know?”
“Know what?”
“That this ranch is now a part-time foster home for troubled kids?”
“What?” Shocked, she looked around as if searching for some sort of justification. “Well, no. No one bothered to tell me anything about that.” Sighing, she added, “I’m so tired of everyone trying to protect me. Why don’t you tell me all about it.”
Logan kept walking, but slowed his pace to a comfortable gait. “Your father wanted the ranch to be a place where people could come and learn about nature and about life. Through a program with the local church, he set up a foundation called The Brant Dunaway International Farm. We grow food and livestock for underprivileged countries, and we train volunteers to go into the villages of these countries and teach the locals how to live off the land. Most of what we produce here is shipped out of the country to help these people.”
Trixie had to let that soak in. Her father, the rowdy cowboy, doing missionary work for the church. “I don’t believe it.”
“I can’t believe you weren’t aware of it.”
“The only thing I heard from the lawyers was that I had inherited this land. Everything else got lost in the fog shrouding my brain.” Her head down, she added, “And well…I haven’t exactly kept in touch over the years.”
“Yeah, and who’s fault is that?”
Frustrated and unable to tell him her reasons for staying away, she said, “Could we just get back to the children?”
He shot her a hard look. “Ah, the children. Does having them here bother you?”
She didn’t miss the sarcasm in his question. “Well, no. I just want to know what’s going on.”
“These kids come to us through the church—from broken homes, from foster homes, from parents who’ve abandoned them, from law officers trying hard to save them. Most of them are juvenile offenders—petty stuff, like stealing from the local convenience store or vandalism. Small-time crimes that could lead to worse, if someone doesn’t intervene. They’ve seen some ugly things out there beyond our front gates.”
He stopped, taking a long breath. “We try to fix them—teach them pride and self-esteem, and how to be responsible and productive. We’re like a summer camp, only,” he glared over at her here, “only not for the rich and privileged few who can afford such luxuries. We cater to those who might never get a chance like this, and as corny as it might sound to someone like you, we try to teach them that there is some beauty and good in God’s world.”
“As hard as it might be for someone like you to believe,” she said, her words tight and controlled, “I do have a social conscience, and I do care about the other human beings existing on this earth alongside me.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really. I just had no idea my father had such…such lofty ambitions toward saving the world.”
“He didn’t try to save the world, Trixie. He just tried to make a difference on his own little piece of earth. And he worked long and hard and gave a lot of his own money to accomplish his goals. Things here were just starting to turn around when he got sick.”
“He worked himself to death, didn’t he?”
Logan heard the anguish in her question, but couldn’t find any sympathy for her pain. It was too little, too late now. “Yeah, Brant worked hard, as hard as anybody on this place. It was like…it was like he was trying to work off all his demons, you know.”
“I do know,” she said, understanding more than ever what her father must have gone through. It didn’t help to know some of his pain had come from her own foolish actions. “I wish—”
“Too late for wishes, sweetheart,” Logan said as they reached the house. Then he stopped just before the screened back door, and turned to face her. “But…it’s not too late for you to continue with your father’s dream. That is, if you don’t sell this place right out from under us.”
“I haven’t made a firm decision yet,” she said on a defensive note.
He smiled then, showing her the dimples she remembered so well. “That’s all I needed to hear,” he said on a low whisper.
His whisper, so soft, so sure, and his nearness, so exciting, so frightening, told Trixie that she was in for a long, hard battle. And she wasn’t sure if she had the strength to fight both Logan and her guilt.
She only hoped God would show her the right way to deal with this.
Gayle Maxwell was a petite, dark-headed woman who, because of the hard life she’d had, looked older than her fifty-one years. Trixie watched Logan’s mother, physically feeling the woman’s disapproval of her presence there. Gayle had not been pleased all those years ago when Trixie and Logan had formed an instant bond; she apparently wasn’t pleased now to have Trixie back in their lives. And, Trixie had to remind herself, the woman was probably concerned that soon she might be displaced and unemployed. Well, Trixie was worried about that, too.
“Hello, Mrs. Maxwell,” Trixie said as they entered the long, paneled kitchen of the lodge. “I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to speak with your earlier.”
“Hello, Tricia,” Gayle replied, her lips tight, her red-rimmed eyes looking everywhere but at Trixie. “Sorry about Brant. We’ll all miss your daddy.”
“Me, too.”
Trixie knew Gayle had been avoiding her, but she wasn’t prepared for the woman’s evasiveness tonight. Gayle looked downright uncomfortable. Her movements were erratic and jittery. Her brown eyes darted here and there, as if she expected someone to burst into the room and interrupt their meal any minute. Maybe Gayle was still upset about Brant’s death. They had always had a close relationship.
Wanting to soothe the older woman, Trixie asked, “Can I do anything to help with dinner?”
Gayle turned back to the stove. “No, everything’s under control.” Over her shoulder she said to Logan, “I’ve already fed all of the children. Samantha’s with them down at the bunkhouse, helping them with their studies.”
Trixie watched as Logan nodded, then told her that Samantha was a trained counselor who helped out during the summer. “She’s also a qualified teacher. Some of the kids aren’t ready to go back into the mainstream just yet, so we homeschool them.” He glanced at her, then back to his mother. “Where’s…where’s Caleb?”
Gayle dropped the spoon she’d been holding with a clatter. “Down at the bunkhouse with the rest,” she said, her gaze holding her son’s.
Trixie didn’t miss the look that passed between mother and son, nor did she understand what was going on. She was tired and still stunned by her father’s death and having to be here again, but it was obvious that these two had mixed feelings about her visit to the ranch. Not wanting to ask too many questions too soon, she could only lift her brows in a questioning expression.
By way of an explanation, Logan turned to Trixie. “Caleb’s the youngest of the bunch, so he spends a lot of time up here with Mama.”
Trixie nodded. “Oh, the little boy you were holding at the funeral.” With a poor attempt at humor, she added, “Goodness, he looks too adorable to be a juvenile offender. What’s he in for?”
A dark look colored Logan’s face. “His mother abandoned him,” he said in a low, tight voice.
Trixie fell down on a chair, all the energy she had left quickly pooling at her feet. Logan’s words felt like a slap against her suddenly hot skin. Of course, he had no way of knowing how close to home his words had hit. “How awful,” she said, her words barely above a whisper. “He’s so young, so little.” So like the child I gave up.
Gayle turned then to stare over at her, the look on the older woman’s face full of fear mixed with contempt. “Your Daddy told the boy he’d always have a home here. That is, unless you sell it out from under him.”
“Mama, hush,” Logan said, shooting Gayle a warning glare.
Trixie stood up then, determined to be firm and fair in dealing with the Maxwells. “I haven’t made a decision regarding what to do about this place yet, Mrs. Maxwell. You see, I wasn’t aware of the foundation my father had set up here.”
“You would have been, if you’d bothered keeping in touch,” Gayle said over her shoulder. “But I guess you had better things to do with your time.”
Trixie’s gaze flew to Logan’s face. He looked uncomfortable, but it was obvious from his cold, restrained look that he agreed with his mother.
“You’re absolutely right,” she said, her heart breaking all over again to think that Logan felt this way about her. “I didn’t stay close with my father, and I have only myself to blame for that, but now I’m trying to piece things together so I can make the right choice.”
Gayle whirled then, her eyes full of distrust. “The right choice for all of us, or for yourself?” Before Trixie could answer, the woman barreled ahead. “I know all about your fancy degree, Ms. Dunaway. And I guess you’re about as qualified and entitled as anybody to make changes at this place. Marketing consultant, is it? Fancy education, fancy title, fancy everything. But that don’t make you smart. Not in my eyes, at least.”
Shaking her spoon at Trixie, she added, “Your daddy used to say that it’s better to be kind than wise and that true wisdom begins with kindness. Brant had both of those qualities down pat. Too bad his only daughter never learned them.”
Tears pricked at Trixie’s eyes, but she refused to let Gayle or Logan see her pain. After all, she couldn’t just blurt out that she’d had a child out of wedlock with Logan and that her father had stopped talking to her afterward, and that was the reason she’d been forced to stay away from the ranch.
“Well, maybe I can learn all about kindness and wisdom while I’m here,” she said in a quiet voice. “And I assure you, I won’t make a hasty decision until I’ve weighed all of the facts.”
Mustering what little dignity she had left, she carefully walked around the table, then edged her way to the open back door. “I’m not really very hungry, after all. If you’ll both excuse me, I think I’d just like to go for a walk before I go to bed.”
Then she was out the door, out in the night air. The wind hit her skin, cooling the heat that radiated from her face, soothing the humiliation that radiated from her soul. From inside, she could hear Logan arguing with his mother, bits of scattered words echoing out over the trees. Was he arguing in her defense, or was he simply warning Gayle to tread lightly while the wicked witch was on the premises?
Trixie didn’t bother sticking around to find out which. Instead she headed down the sandy dirt lane to the stables, her feet taking her where her mind wanted to be. From the single security light shining out over the trees and shrubbery, she found her way to the looming structure to seek shelter from all of her problems, just as she’d done that summer so long ago.
As Trixie entered the corridor of the long building, a slender mare, a working quarter horse, greeted her with a soft whinny and a toss of her white mane.
Reaching out to rub the nose of the chestnutcolored animal, Trixie cooed softly. “Hello, girl. How ya doing?”
The animal nudged her hand in response.
Looking around for a feed bag, Trixie said, “Let me see. I’ll bet we can find you some sort of snack.”
For the next few minutes Trixie stood letting the mare eat the mixture of oats, bran and hay she’d found nearby. As she watched the animal munch, she remembered other times she’d done this same thing, always with Logan by her side. He knew everything there was to know about horses, and he’d learned it all from her father. Again she felt that stab of jealousy and resentment whenever she thought about Brant and Logan, here together like a father and son.
