Her Cowboy Soldier (6 page)

This Saturday they were shipping calves to the auction house in Junction. Josh worked with his dad and the two hands, Tomas and Ben, to round up the calves and confine them in the holding pens. From there, they’d be loaded onto a livestock trailer for the trip to the auction. It was hot, dirty work, the air filled with the bawling of the calves and the shouts of the men, dust rising in choking clouds around them.

Josh’s horse, Pico, had thrown a shoe on the way out of the corral this morning, so Josh was riding one of his dad’s mounts, a cantankerous sorrel called Pete, who wasn’t happy with the unfamiliar rider on his back. Josh had to work to keep the horse in check.

“Don’t know what’s up with him,” Tomas remarked as the horse danced back from the open gate of the pen as two calves streaked past.

“He don’t like that hook,” Mitch said. “Some animals are wary of anything that isn’t as it should be.”

Was this another subtle reminder from his dad that Josh “wasn’t as he should be?” No—Mitch was too plainspoken for subtle. He said what he thought without a lot of concern for other people’s feelings—certainly not his son’s. Part of Josh was glad his dad hadn’t coddled him after he came home from the war. If only Mitch trusted Josh to do more.

“You’re probably right,” Josh said. “But I can handle him.” He’d ridden practically since he could walk; a nervous horse and a missing hand weren’t going to defeat him.

At ten they stopped to water the horses and themselves, resting in the shade of a gnarled piñon.

“Bart Ogleby’s driving over about eleven and we can load ’em up,” Mitch said. “They ought to bring a good price over at the auction.”

“Snow’s melting fast this year,” Ben said. “Another month we can take the herd up to the high pasture.”

Moving the herd was a spectacle the whole neighborhood—and more than a few tourists—turned out for. The cowboys, including hands from neighboring ranches who came to help, drove the herd through open gates onto the highway, which had to be closed for the purpose. In a parade of cows, horses, ATVs and ranch dogs, all led by county sheriff SUVs with their lights flashing, they traveled a mile down the highway to gates leading to other pastures that fed onto high ground watered by winter snows. The cows would spend the summer in these lush pastures, then the whole process would be reversed in the fall.

The operation required precision, coordination and a little luck to run smoothly, but it was one everyone on the ranch looked forward to.

“Your mom tells me you got corralled into chaperoning the prom this year,” Mitch said to Josh.

“I did.” He’d planned to dress as he did for class, in a plain shirt and khaki trousers, but his mother had insisted he wear a suit and tie or she’d never be able to hold her head up in town again.

“You couldn’t pay me enough to spend the night in a gym full of teenagers,” his dad said.

“The prom isn’t at the gym. It’s in the ballroom, upstairs at the Opera House.” The Hartland Historical Society had restored the old Daniels Opera House five years previous, including redoing the upstairs ballroom, which hosted various community events.

“I guess that’s better than having all those kids drive into the city for their party. Where did they have it when you were in school?”

“The Bellflower Hotel.”

Mitch shook his head. “I’d forgotten all about that place.”

“It burned down the summer after my prom, so mine was the last class to celebrate there.” Josh had taken Sarah McKenzie as his date. She’d broken up with him a week later and had eventually married an accountant she met in college. They lived over in Durango, according to a letter that had gone out for their tenth high school reunion while Josh was over in Iraq.

The men grew quiet again. Ben and Tomas moved away to smoke, leaving Josh and his dad alone, the silence stretching awkwardly between them. For all the angry words they’d exchanged over the years, simple conversation came harder, as if neither was quite sure what to make of the other.

“So, you liking teaching?” his dad asked after a while.

“Yeah, I like it. The kids are interesting. Good kids, most of them.”

“I never figured you for a teacher. I always thought you wanted to be a rancher.”

Josh told himself that wasn’t a note of accusation in his dad’s voice. “Most ranchers these days have day jobs, don’t they?” he said.

Mitch nodded. “A lot of them. I’ve always managed without that, though your mom worked at the bank for a while.”

Josh remembered those years, the house empty when he got off the school bus in the afternoons, his mom at the bank and his dad working on the ranch. He hadn’t minded having the house to himself for those few hours, hadn’t even minded starting dinner and doing the chores his mom assigned him. But his father had minded. Mitch’s pride had suffered from knowing his wife had to work to support the ranch. The day cattle prices rose enough to cover their debts without her salary, he’d ordered her to give up her job, and she’d done so, though Josh sometimes wondered if she missed that taste of independence.

But she was the daughter of a rancher. She’d been raised to support the family business, and doing anything different may never have crossed her mind.

“Shipping the calves is always easier than handling the steers.”

The sudden shift of topic didn’t surprise Josh. His dad was always most comfortable talking about the ranch. About work. Mitch removed his hat and ran his thumb along the worn leather band. “That’s my least favorite job, shipping them, not to mention giving such a big cut to the feedlot.”

“I’ve been reading about these new portable operations,” Josh said. “They bring everything right to the ranch in an eighteen-wheeler. The ranchers come together in a co-op and own the unit, so they cut out the middleman. They get a bigger cut of the profit and it’s less stressful on the cattle—more humane.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard about those. But they sound way too expensive to me. And what do you do if the thing breaks down?” He replaced his hat on his head. “Time to get back to work.”

Josh clenched his teeth, swallowing angry words. Did his dad dismiss all his ideas simply because they came from Josh? He pretended to want his son’s help with the ranch, but had never once implemented any idea Josh brought to the table, or even seriously considered them. Josh didn’t know why he bothered to keep trying.

He swung up into the saddle, struggling to control the skittish horse. The rest break hadn’t done anything to calm Pete. The animal sidestepped as they neared the pen, where Josh’s job was to help usher the next batch of calves driven by Ben and Tomas into the chute.

“It’s okay, boy,” Josh crooned soothingly. “Everything’s all right.” He leaned forward to run a gentling hand along the gelding’s neck, but forgot he no longer had a hand. As soon as the metal of the hook touched the horse’s flesh, it panicked, twisting and bucking as it fought to rid itself of this alien rider.

Josh fought to stay with the horse, but felt himself slipping, falling. He kicked free of the stirrups and covered his head as he hit the ground, facedown. Sharp pain cut through his body as a trio of calves raced over him, their fright fueled by the horse’s antics.

“Son, are you all right?” Firm hands gripped his shoulder and turned him to his side. He looked up into his father’s pale face. “Don’t move. Let me check you out.”

“I’m okay.” He pushed aside his father’s probing fingers and staggered to his feet, brushing dirt and muck from his clothes. He’d feel the bruises tomorrow, but nothing was damaged, except his pride.

“You’re done here today,” his father said. “Get on up to the house and get those cuts seen to.”

Josh wiped his hand across the side of his face and realized he was bleeding from a gash there and another on his arm. “Take the ATV,” his dad said. “Tomas will bring Pete back.” Ben held the horse a little ways from them. The animal stood, legs splayed, glaring at Josh.

Josh started to argue that he could stay and keep working, but what would be the point? He was acutely aware of the others’ eyes on him, the hands’ expressions guarded, his father’s scrutiny equal parts concern and annoyance. Mitch saw Josh as a liability. Someone to be looked after, who couldn’t be trusted to do a man’s work.

Josh retrieved his hat from the dirt and stalked to the ATV. Thankfully, it started with no problem, and he gunned it away from the holding pens. But instead of heading to the house, he set off on a faint track to his favorite spot on the ranch. He left the dust and commotion around the shipping pens and headed across a series of low hills toward a distant knot of trees.

As the noise of bawling calves, clanging gates and shouting men receded, Josh’s shoulders began to relax, and he eased his grip on the ATV’s throttle. He reached a grove of scrub oak and cottonwood alongside a wide spot in the creek that was out of sight of any of the buildings on the ranch, sheltered in the lee of a hill dotted with wildflowers and sage. As a boy, Josh had spent hours here, fishing, swimming, reading favorite books or simply staring out at the land.

By the time he parked the ATV in the shade of a leafy cottonwood, his racing heart had slowed and the angry haze had cleared from his vision. He stripped off his boots and socks and left them, along with his hat and belt, on the seat of the ATV. He waded into the creek and dived under, letting the icy water wash away the dirt and muck and some of the shame. When the cold made his bones ache and his teeth chatter, he abandoned the water to sit in the sun.

The gentle heat began to dry his clothes and hair and the chattering ceased, replaced by drowsy inertia. Thoughts drifted through his head like the dragonflies that landed on his arm, then took off. He loved this ranch, but it was never his. It was always his father’s alone. He’d gone to college to study agriculture, thinking he could use his knowledge to help his father and improve the ranch, but Mitch only saw his son’s ideas as interfering. Or as criticism that the way Mitch did things wasn’t good enough. After a while, Josh had felt as if every time he opened his mouth his dad was prepared to argue.

He could admit now he’d joined the army out of spite. The military had offered a free ticket to see the world and the opportunity to serve his country, but he also knew his dad would be horrified at the idea. His mother had cried and his father had fumed when Josh had announced his plans, but they’d raised a flag in front of the house and written letters and sent care packages and been nothing but proud of him. His father had never served in the military, being too young for Vietnam and too old for the first Gulf War. This was one arena in which father and son didn’t need to compete.

And then Josh had been injured. He’d returned less of a man than he’d been, at least in his father’s eyes. His mother fussed and his father fretted until Josh wanted to explode. Only when he’d gotten the job at the school and moved into the cabin had things settled down. He’d hoped that, with time, his father would accept him as a partner in the family business, but that didn’t seem likely to happen anytime soon.

By now the sun was lower in the sky, sinking toward the horizon. His mother expected him for dinner and he still needed to clean up. He’d stop by his cabin to shower and change, and at dinner they’d talk about the prom or local politics or national news. Nothing important. Nothing to mend the rift between father and son.

CHAPTER FOUR

“I’
VE
GOT
a new assignment for you, Amy.” Ed Burridge, editor and publisher of the
Hartland Herald,
stopped beside Amy’s desk in the paper’s storefront office.

Amy looked up from her computer, wondering if the little thrill that ran through her at those words would ever go away. Of course, she was so new to journalism that every assignment was a novelty, but every time she hoped this newest story would be her big break—the one article that would catch the attention of magazine editors and help her land her dream job in the city.

“I want you to go to the high school prom. Talk to the kids, soak up the atmosphere then write a feature,” Ed said.

The smile with which she’d greeted Ed vanished. “The prom? Are our readers really going to be interested in a high school dance?”

“They are.” He held up one thick finger, prepared to lecture. A stocky man who favored brightly colored aloha shirts and faded khakis, Ed had taken over the paper two years previous and was constantly on the lookout for ways to boost circulation and make the weekly more profitable. “Small-town life revolves around the school. Every parent with a kid at the prom, every sponsor of the night and every chaperone is going to want to read about themselves. Parents whose children aren’t yet old enough to attend but will soon will want to find out what to expect. Other people will read just to see what’s going on, or to relive their own proms. We can’t lose with this one.”

“But surely there’s other news....”

“Honey, in a town this small, everything is news. Have you read our Police Report lately?”

The weekly Police Report was one of the most popular features in the paper, though it consisted mostly of the local cops responding to barking dog complaints, helping people who’d locked their keys in their cars and putting stray cows back into pastures. Amy hadn’t decided whether people read the report so religiously in hopes of one day reading about a real crime, or for the reassurance that crime so seldom happened in their hometown.

“Cody should go.” Relief flooded her at the idea. “After all, he’s a high school student. He’d be perfect.”

“Cody’s still down with mono. His mother isn’t letting him go anywhere.”

Amy recalled that Cody’s mother ran the local grocery—the paper’s largest advertiser. “Then we could ask another student. Some aspiring journalist.”

“I don’t want an aspiring journalist, I want you. Charla came around yesterday looking for chaperones, and I signed you up.”

“I might have known Charla had something to do with this. I already told her I wasn’t interested.”

“Why wouldn’t you be interested?” Ed asked. “It’s a prom, not a forced march. You’ll go, you’ll have a good time and you’ll write a great story. End of discussion.” Not waiting for her answer, he turned and strode back to his office.

Amy stared after him, frustration choking off any further words of protest. She couldn’t do anything about Ed—he was her boss and if he wanted her to go to the prom, she’d have to go to the prom. But Charla was her friend. She wasn’t supposed to be conspiring behind Amy’s back, and Amy could definitely do something about that.

In Hartland, three people waiting in line at a business constituted a rush. That was the number of patrons crowded around the front counter at Cookies and Cups when Amy jerked open the door, setting the string of sleigh bells attached to the doorknob jangling.

“Hey, Amy!” Charla waved from her post in front of the espresso machine. “Be with you in a sec.”

In closer to five minutes, Charla had distributed coffee orders to the waiting patrons and Amy approached the front counter. “We need to talk,” she said.

“Uh-oh.” Charla set aside the carafe in her hand. “The prom, right?”

“Yes, the prom. Ed said you talked him into ‘volunteering’ me as a chaperone. How could you go behind my back like that?”

“That is not what happened.” Charla moved from behind the counter and took Amy’s arm and led her to a table in the corner, away from the other customers. “I went into the office to see if Ed would run a free ad asking for volunteers to chaperone. He’s the one who brought up your name—not me.”

“But you didn’t bother to mention I’d already turned you down.”

“Wrong. I told him you weren’t interested and he’d need to find someone else. But you know Ed—once he has an idea in his head, he won’t listen to anyone.”

“You’re right.” She slumped in her chair, feeling worse than ever. “And I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have accused you.”

“It’s okay.” Charla patted her shoulder. “I’d have thought the same thing. And at least you rushed over to confront me, instead of avoiding me and holding a grudge.”

“I know everyone thinks I’m being silly, not wanting to do this. I just...since Brent died, I haven’t felt much like celebrating or socializing.”

“Maybe this is a good start. Nonthreatening. Low-key. And you don’t have to think of it as celebrating or socializing. You’re working.”

“Yes, but...” She ran her thumb along the metal rim of the tabletop. She’d already falsely accused her friend of betraying her; she owed Charla the truth. “Josh will be there, and every time we see each other things are so awkward.”

Charla tilted her head to one side, curious and alert. “Why is that, do you think?”

“He’s defensive because of the story I wrote about him.”

“And how do you feel about him?”

“You sound like a therapist or something.” In other circumstances, Amy might have been amused by the idea.

“What are friends for?” Charla’s gaze remained fixed on her, steady and encouraging.

“He makes me uncomfortable,” Amy said. Josh had a way of stirring up emotions, good and bad.

“Because of his missing hand?”

“That’s part of it—not because of the hand but because—well, it’s just one more reminder of Brent.” Of the things she and Brent would never be able to do. Of that last, unresolved argument they’d had. Of second chances not taken and dreams unfulfilled. “I know it doesn’t make sense.”

“Grief doesn’t have to make sense. After my mother died, I couldn’t eat ice cream anymore. Not for two years. It was her favorite food in the world, and about the only thing she could choke down at the end.” She patted Amy’s arm. “I wish I knew how to help. But I do know something that will make you feel better.”

“One of your mochas?”

“That, too. But I was thinking of a shopping trip to Junction with me. After all, you have to find a dress for the prom, right?”

“I could wear something from my closet.”

“No, you can’t. This is a special occasion, you need something a little fancy. Besides, it’ll do you good to get away, spend a day pampering yourself. I’m free Saturday afternoon—how about you?”

* * *

A
MY
COULDN
’
T
REMEMBER
the last time she’d gone shopping for the entertainment of browsing through stores and buying something for herself. She shopped for Chloe, or for groceries, or for practical things for her job or the house. The idea of an entire afternoon spent trying on clothes and shoes and choosing things with sheer frivolity in mind seemed giddily decadent.

“I don’t think I really need to dress up for this,” she said as she and Charla headed into a Junction mall Saturday afternoon. “After all, I’m there as a chaperone and a reporter. I should probably blend into the scenery.”

“Oh, no. We can’t have a bunch of teenagers upstaging us.” Charla led the way into the large department store at one end of the mall. “Besides, you should look your best to wow Josh.”

“I don’t want to wow Josh. I’d be happy if Josh didn’t even know I was there.”

“You’re looking at this all wrong.” Charla took her arm and steered her toward a display of formal gowns. “The last thing you want is to hide from the man—to let him think you have anything to feel guilty about. Instead, you want to be bold—show him his opinion doesn’t matter to you. You’re putting it all out there, proud of yourself.” She gave Amy a knowing look. “And maybe show him a little of what he’s missing by being so grumpy with you.”

“He’s not missing anything.” She pulled her arm out of Charla’s grasp. “I’m not interested in Josh—in any man—that way. And I don’t want to encourage him to think I am.”

“Wearing a pretty dress and shoes is not ‘encouraging,’” Charla said. She pulled a gown from a rack of evening wear. “What do think of this one? I hear orange is the hot color this year.”

Amy shook her head. “Not with your coloring. Maybe a royal blue.”

“You’re right.” Charla replaced the dress and rifled through others. “Even if you have no interest in diving into another relationship right now, I can’t think of a safer way to test the waters. Have some good conversation, maybe a dance or two, maybe flirt a little. All completely innocent and nonthreatening.”

Amy’s stomach knotted at the thought. “I’m going to be working. I’m not there to enjoy myself.”

Charla laughed. “The two aren’t mutually exclusive, you know.”

“I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. I’m not a complete stick-in-the-mud. But I’m there to focus on the kids, not the other chaperones, male or female.”

“I’m not saying you have to do anything,” Charla said. “Just be open to new experiences. New friendships.”

She started to say she didn’t see the point, since she wouldn’t be staying in town much longer. Her grandmother was healing well, and soon Amy would move on. But Charla might take that as a dismissal of her own friendship, and Amy didn’t mean that at all. “I’ve always had a hard time making new friends, and it seems even tougher now. I mean, I never even dated when I was younger.”

“You mean, not as an adult, right? You married pretty young, didn’t you—right out of college?”

“I never dated in high school or college. Not really. I didn’t even go to school for a lot of years growing up, and in college I was really shy and didn’t feel as if I had a lot in common with many of the students.” No one else had lived the kind of nomadic life she had. Their conversations were laced with pop culture references and talk of events that had passed her by. She could tell them about volcanoes in Italy, but she didn’t have a clue about rap music or the latest fashions.

She pulled a silver sheath from the rack and frowned at the price tag. “I joined the Peace Corps right after I graduated.” She’d headed to a foreign country, where feeling out of step with the natives was perfectly normal, something she was used to. “I met Brent at our orientation and...well, in that kind of situation there isn’t a lot of time for dating the way we think of it over here. We spent hours every day together and fell in love, and then we got married.”

“Wow. That’s really romantic.”

Amy forced a smile. “It was and it wasn’t. We never dressed up for each other or had dinner in a fancy restaurant or did things most people think of as romantic.” They’d gotten to know each other as they worked to build huts or dig ditches or teach food safety classes. Long walks and sitting up late talking had stood in for movies and dancing. “I’m not sure I’d know how to act on a date.”

“You don’t have to act any way at all. You just be yourself. That’s what the right guy would want. It’s finding that right guy that’s the challenge.” She pulled a deep purple gown from the rack. “Besides, this isn’t a date. It’s more like a party. It’ll be fun, you’ll see. When was the last time you dressed up and pampered yourself?”

“Probably my wedding.” Amy laughed. “I haven’t exactly lived a dress-up lifestyle.”

“So you and Brett met in the Peace Corps, but what did he do after you married?”

“Different things. Before he joined the army he was working for a big outdoor clothing company in Denver. I worked part-time as a receptionist in a dentist’s office. On weekends, instead of going out dancing or to fancy restaurants, we went camping or hiking or on bike rides.”

“No wonder you’re in such great shape. Is that what attracted you to him—that he was a rugged outdoorsman?”

“Not that, particularly, though that was the kind of man I’d grown up around. Brent was funny and sweet and smart and he was so confident. That was what impressed me about him the first time we met. He was so sure of himself.” She’d been anything but confident herself, still doubting her decision to commit a year of her life to working in a place where she knew no one and had only a rudimentary grasp of the language. Brent had sensed her insecurity and taken her under his wing. She’d welcomed his companionship and guidance.

“You seem pretty sure of yourself now,” Charla said.

“Brent joining the army was a real wake-up call for me. Suddenly I was a single mom. I had to do everything from shoveling snow to calling a tow truck when my car died. I had to find the confidence to look after myself and Chloe. I realized that, for all my world travels, I’d led a pretty sheltered life.” Her parents, and then Brent, had protected her from a lot of responsibilities.

“Well, you’ve done a good job. Chloe is a sweetheart, and I know your grandmother appreciates having your help with the farm. And you’re the best reporter the
Herald
has ever had.”

The praise warmed her, though she told herself Charla might be just a bit prejudiced in her favor. “The one thing I always wanted to do was to write. English was my favorite subject in school. I would have come to Hartland anyway, to help Grandma, but when she told me the paper needed a part-time reporter, she knew for sure I’d be hooked.”

“Stick around long enough and you could be editor,” Charla said. “Ed’s talked about retiring practically since he bought the paper. You might be the one to persuade him to do it.”

“Oh, I don’t think I want his job,” Amy said. “I’d really like to write books. Or maybe work for a magazine.”

“I don’t think we have any magazines in Grand County, but you could start one.”

“I might have to go away to write for a magazine. I mean, I don’t really know how long I’ll stay here.”

Charla added a white dress to the stack across her arm. “But you like it here, don’t you? Why wouldn’t you stay?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never lived in one place very long. I don’t even know what that feels like.”