Keeper of the Stars (11 page)

“That's what we'll have to call it.” Penny held the puppy up a little higher. “Ginger.”

“If you have a Ginger,” his dad said, “you're going to need a Fred too.”

“Who's Fred?” Brad asked.

His dad laughed softly. “You know, Fred and Ginger. Like the dancers in those old movies I like to watch.”

Brad failed to understand, but it was easier to just act like he did. “You don't even know if Ginger's a girl.” He took up another mewling puppy. “But if it is, then we'll call this one Fred.”

“If it's a boy,” his dad and sister added in unison.

Brad knew right then that he wouldn't be selling Fred or Ginger, no matter their genders. These two would remain on the ranch for their whole lives. With his dad's help, he would train them, the same way he'd trained Queenie and Queenie's parents.

An image of his mom, kneeling beside a box full of puppies, wafted through his memory. He could barely recall her face without the help of photographs, but he remembered her hands as she'd held one of the puppies. Hands with long, narrow fingers and a gentle touch. The way she'd drawn it close and rubbed its coat against her cheek. And the dogs had always loved her in return. In fact, they'd been obedient to all the family, but they'd been most devoted to his mom.

He glanced up at his dad. Was he remembering something similar? Could be, judging by his wistful expression.

“Come on, you two,” his dad said. “Time we were all in bed. Santa won't come if you're still awake.”

Brad and Penny exchanged a glance. Their dad had said similar words to them every Christmas Eve for as far back as they could remember. And it didn't seem to matter that neither of them had believed in Santa for over a decade. He just went on saying it. Brad wouldn't admit it to his sister, but he hoped their dad never stopped saying it. It was tradition now.

He put the black-and-white puppy into the clean bed with Queenie and its siblings. Penny followed suit a moment later with the ginger-faced pup. Then they both rose from the floor and headed for their upstairs bedrooms, Penny wrapping an arm around Brad's waist. She used to wrap it over his shoulder, but he was the taller one now.

“That's something I miss when I'm at college,” she said as they stopped in the hallway outside of her bedroom.

“What?”

“Seeing the baby animals born. Calves. Colts. Puppies. Kittens. Chicks. I didn't realize how much I loved being surrounded by all the new life until I was away from it my first year.” She gave his waist a squeeze before taking a step closer to her doorway. “I'm glad I was here for this.”

Brad thought he was too old to get all mushy and sentimental with his sister. So he swallowed the threatening lump in his throat and gave her a nod to say he was glad too.

She smiled. “See you in the morning.”

“Pen?”

“Yeah?”

“You're all right. You know that?”

“I love you too, buddy. I love you too.”

Chapter 7

T
HE FIRST TELEPHONE CALL THAT
T
REVOR RECEIVED
on the newly installed telephone in his apartment was from a man he'd met at Meadow Fellowship the previous Sunday. Chet Leonard, he'd already learned, was the largest landowner in the valley. Others had told Trevor that Chet and his wife ran a successful quarter horse operation year-round and some sort of luxury dude ranch in the summer and early fall.

After identifying himself, Chet said, “I know this is late notice, but Rodney Cartwright mentioned you might like to join a group of men in a Bible study. We gather on Thursdays at seven o'clock in one of the Sunday school rooms at Meadow Fellowship. I think you may have met a few of the men, in addition to Rodney.”

“Rodney attends? But I thought he went to the Methodist church.”

“Oh, he does. The men in the study attend different
churches and a couple don't attend any church . . . yet. We just happen to meet at Meadow Fellowship.”

Trevor was tempted to decline, but he hadn't been back to the Cartwright ranch since Sunday afternoon. His second week in Kings Meadow had been busier than expected, getting the hang of his new job and, with the use of his landlord's telephone, tying up a few unexpected loose ends back in Nashville. Attending the study would be an opportunity to remind Rodney why Trevor had come to Idaho, if nothing else.

“Okay. Sure. I'll be there.”

“Terrific. Bring your Bible and a notebook if you want. See you at seven.”

“Yeah. See you then.”

After hanging up the phone, Trevor glanced at the clock on the stove. He had better than an hour before he would need to leave. Plenty of time to fix himself a quick supper.

By the time Trevor left his studio apartment, night had fallen over the valley. An inky-black darkness that residents of large cities never experienced. The Christmas lights on Main Street twinkled from lampposts and storefronts, giving the small town a fairy-tale appearance, and he couldn't help but smile, knowing he'd worked on a few of those light strands this week.

There were four trucks and one minivan parked in the lot beside Meadow Fellowship when Trevor arrived a few
minutes before seven. He got out of his pickup, held his almost brand-new Bible to his chest, and hurried toward the entrance. Once inside, the sound of voices drew him in the direction of the classrooms off to the left of the sanctuary.

“Here's Trevor now,” Chet said upon seeing him.

Rodney Cartwright was the first to shake his hand and begin making introductions to the men already seated in a circle of chairs. As Chet had indicated, a few of them Trevor had met already. Not surprising, he supposed, in a town of this size.

A short while later, with everybody settled into place, the young man—Adam Carlton—who sat opposite Trevor took a guitar from behind his chair and began to strum it while singing. The other men joined in. All of them seemed to know the words to the song. Trevor didn't, so he was content to listen. At first he found himself critiquing Adam's performance. The young man's voice was on key but not strong, and his guitar playing consisted of only a few repeated chords, although that served as enough to keep the rest of the men in tempo.

But as the song continued, Trevor began to listen to the lyrics. They were words of worship and praise, a kind of love song to Jesus. Simple and full of trust. After a while something shifted in his chest. He couldn't have described the feeling if his life depended on it, but he believed God was in the midst of this circle of men. He closed his eyes, both shaken and soothed by the unexpected encounter.

It's about Me tonight. No one but Me
.

It was Trevor's own voice he heard in his head, yet the words didn't feel like his own thought. Once again he had the feeling he was in the presence of something beyond himself.
Someone
beyond himself.

The song came to an end. With the last chord still reverberating in the air, Chet began to pray. Like the song before it, the words of the prayer were simple, filled with love and trust. Different from the lofty kind of prayers Trevor had often heard in public gatherings. It made him think of Brad. The kid had had a quiet but strong faith. Brad had never hesitated to answer questions anybody asked about his beliefs, and he'd never seemed offended when those asking the questions weren't quick to agree with him. He hadn't joined other members of the band in drinking or womanizing as they traveled from gig to gig, and yet nobody had felt judged by him either. How had he managed to carry that off?

Chet's “Amen” drew Trevor out of his musing. When others grabbed their Bibles, so did he. Chet told the group to open to a chapter in Romans. Trevor was thankful he at least knew Romans was in the New Testament, although it seemed to take him too long to find the right place. The never-opened pages seemed to stick together in groups of twos and threes.

A glance at Rodney Cartwright's Bible proved the same couldn't be said of it. The open pages—obviously well read—had many highlighted and underlined passages. Handwritten notes filled the margins: top, bottom, and sides.

Chet began reading the designated passage. Trevor's translation was slightly different, but he was able to follow along.

As the other men in the Bible study began to discuss the passage in Romans, Rodney remembered something his son had said in one of their last telephone conversations.

“Dad, Trevor's a little rough around the edges, but he's got a good heart. He's so hungry for God.”

Rodney glanced toward Trevor and realized that God was already answering the prayer he'd whispered a few days ago. It was as if Brad's friendship with the singer had been transferred into Rodney's heart, full and complete. Deep and unexpected affection for Trevor washed over him.

One after another, he recalled things his son had told him, both in e-mails and when they talked on the phone. Mostly stories about Trevor. The kindnesses he had shown toward others. The words of encouragement he'd spoken to Brad. The loneliness that came with being on the road so much of the time. The times Brad had awakened and couldn't remember what town or city they were in. And eventually, the questions Trevor had begun asking about what Brad believed, about his faith.

Rodney was startled when he heard Chet begin the closing prayer. How had he allowed his thoughts to wander for the entire discussion? Had any of the other men noticed his
lack of attention? He feared it would have been hard for them not to notice.

A short while later, as the group began to break up for the night, Rodney turned toward Trevor. “Did you enjoy the evening?”

“Yes.” Trevor shrugged. “I got lost in some of the discussion. I can't claim to know my Bible well.”

“That comes with time, son.” He put a hand on Trevor's shoulder. “And remember, following Christ is a lifelong journey. Christians are foot soldiers, so to speak. Always on the march. Always learning. Always growing stronger.”

Trevor grunted. “I hope you're right.”

“I am.” Rodney stood, and his back gave him a painful twinge. He rubbed the sore spot with his left hand.

Trevor noticed. “Sir, I don't work tomorrow.” He rose too. “I thought I'd come out and help feed the cows and whatever other chores you might have for me. In fact, if you'll let me, I'd like to help with at least one of the feedings every day. On my days off, I could do more than one.”

It was on the tip of Rodney's tongue to refuse. But another spasm jabbed his back and he thought better of turning down the offer. As much as he would like to pretend he was a young man with a strong constitution, he could use the help. And if the two of them were to be of help to each other, what better way than spending more time together? “Sure,” he answered at last. “I'd be grateful for your help. Like the old saying goes, many hands make light work.”

“What time would you like me to come over?”

“Penny helps in the morning before she goes to work. Why don't you come at one?”

“One it is. I'll be there.”

At the sound of the back door closing, Penny looked up from her knitting, surprised when she saw the time.

“Dad?”

“Yes, it's me.” He appeared in the living room doorway.

She put the needles and yarn into a nearby basket to protect them from Tux, who delighted in unraveling unguarded knitting projects. “I didn't realize how late it is. How was your Bible study?”

“Good. But it's always good.” He entered the living room and sank onto his recliner with a deep sigh. “Always good to be home too.”

Did he look more tired than usual? “Can I get you anything?”

“No. I'm fine. But not sure I'll manage to stay awake for the news. It's been a long day.”

He
was
more tired than usual. “Dad, now that I'm back to work, why don't you feed the cows just once a day? Or even twice a day.”

“I've told you why.” He shook his head. “I'll go back to a single evening feed for calving season, but for now I want to stick with three times a day.”