Near & Far (15 page)

“You look like you need this, sweetie.” A steaming cup of coffee appeared in front of my face. “And this, too. It might be unseasonably warm, but the nights are still plenty chilly.” A heavy blanket dropped over me.

“Thanks, Mom.” I yawned, took the cup of coffee, and forced the dark thoughts back where they belonged: in the grave I’d buried them in years ago.

“Look at that hair.” Mom teased with a few pieces, trying to get them to behave, then gave up. “It didn’t matter what I put in your hair when you were younger; it always had a mind of its own.”

“Good thing I pretty much live in a hat.” I took a long drink of coffee, retrieved my hat from where it had fallen off last night, and slid it into position.

“Did you two stay out here all night?”

I nodded. “All night. I’ve got the bug bites and frost bite to prove it.”

“Good thing you’re a rough and tough cowboy then.” Mom gave me a smile before sipping her own coffee.

“Good thing.” I stretched my arms high above my head. I was stiff, too. “What time is it?”

“Almost six.”

“Was there a day off announced I wasn’t made aware of?” The fact that I hadn’t been woken up with a cold bucket of water meant I’d missed some kind of memo.

“Not so much a day off, but your dad decided today would be a fun day to have all the guys make breakfast for us girls.” Just then, a crashing sound came from the kitchen. “They’re working a bit slower than we do. Breakfast might be ready by dinnertime.” Another crash, that one even louder. Mom grimaced. “Or maybe in time for tomorrow’s breakfast.”

“Sounds like I’d better get in there and throw my pathetic cooking skills into the mix. I’m pretty sure I can manage to not ruin toast.”

“No. Stay.” Mom shoved off the railing like she was going to physically stop me if I tried moving. “It’s nice to see you like this. When she’s with you.”

It was kind of nice to feel like this when Rowen was around. “What? Am I hopeless or something the rest of the time?”

She laughed a few notes, her smile shifting from me to Rowen. “Not hopeless. Just kind of . . . lost.”

“I feel a bit lost when she’s not around.” My arms tightened around her instinctually. I couldn’t decide if that was the possessiveness from my past or of today.

“I know you do, Jess.” The corners of Mom’s eyes creased, like she was concentrating on what to say, but after a moment, they ironed out.

When she didn’t speak, I said, “Well, it will be summer break soon, and she’ll be back for a long time. You won’t have to put up with me wandering around like a lost puppy dog.”

“And after summer break? What then?”

“Then she’ll go back to school. We’ll see each other as often as we can, and the rest of the time, I’ll be a lost puppy.”

Mom took a long drink of her coffee. She didn’t normally down it in one long sip like the guys, which meant she was stalling. She was looking for just the right way to word what she wanted to say. “And when Rowen finishes up school in a few years . . . then what?”

I had a reply on the tip of my tongue for most any question—I’d been given the gift of gab after all—but that one stumped me. I had given it plenty of thought, but I didn’t have an answer to that question. I knew what I wanted. I also knew what Rowen wanted. Pretty much most of her wants and my wants aligned, but our commitments columns had a tough time aligning.

I worked at Willow Springs. Ranching was what I knew. It was in my blood, and I knew it always would be. Rowen lived, breathed, and dreamed art. That’s what she knew, and that’s what was in her blood. If five hundred miles of land separating us decided to up and relocate one day, that would make Rowen’s and my future a lot easier to piece together. If Seattle and its vibrant art scene was an easy drive from Willow Springs, our problems would be solved. Maybe not all of them, but at least some of them.

“I guess we haven’t really worked out the details yet,” I answered Mom. I would have scratched my head if it hadn’t been such a terrible cliché.

“It’s time you start thinking about what you
think
you can’t live without and what you
actually
can’t live without.” When Mom’s face got all serious like that, I’d learned to sit up and listen.

“I knew I must have inherited my genius from you.”

Her face softened when she smiled. “And your dashing good looks.”

I motioned between Mom and me who were, as two people could go, about as opposite as opposite could get. I doubted we had a single strand of DNA that was even close to matching. “Obviously.”

She patted my cheek as she headed for the door. “I’ll let you get back to your bug bites and frost bite, sweetie.”

“Mom?” I glanced down at Rowen and swallowed.

She paused with her hand on the door and smiled, waiting. I wanted to tell her about the dreams . . . the nightmares. I wanted to admit my fears about why they’d come back. I wanted her to comfort me the way she had that first year I’d come to Willow Springs and woken up every night screaming. I wanted someone to know . . .

But admitting them out loud to another person seemed like I was giving power to my fears. If I kept them to myself, would they eventually die off? Or would keeping them to myself make them that much worse? I didn’t know, and I hated that feeling. So instead of bringing Mom into the dark world I’d resurrected, I forced a smile. “Never mind.”

She was observant, though. Always had been, and my weak attempt to reassure her had done nothing but put her on alert. Just then, another loud sound came from the kitchen: shattering. Mom and I winced.

“I’d better get in there.” I shifted nice and slow so I didn’t disturb Rowen, who hadn’t even stirred from the noise. “If everything turns into a burnt, inedible mess, I’ll at least make sure there’s toast and coffee.”

Mom wiped her brow. “You’re a good son.”

Before heading through the door, I glanced back at Rowen, peaceful, resting, not a worry in the world. And there I was—anxious, troubled, unsure.

Not wanting to give it any more thought, I headed for the kitchen. None of the smells I associated with breakfast were present when I stepped into the kitchen-slash-chaos room. The air was permeated with the scent of burnt, and the smoke curling from the fry pan and toaster oven told the rest of the story. That wasn’t breakfast; it was a massacre.

We hadn’t hired on all of our hands for the summer yet, so about ten guys, plus Dad and Garth, were fumbling around like
domestic
was a foreign concept.

“It’s breakfast, guys. Not open heart surgery.” I went to the sink to wash my hands, dodging piles of batter and raw egg on the floor. By the time all was said and done, Mom and the girls had about ten times as much work whenever us guys made them breakfast. Mom had complained about finding dried pancake batter weeks after the last breakfast we’d “made.”

“Says the guy standing there doing nothing.” Garth didn’t take his eyes off of the pan on the stove. I think he was attempting to scramble eggs. The only thing that looked scrambled, though, was his expression.

“Nice to see you preparing for your future. Behind an oven, spatula in hand.” I clapped my hands over Garth’s shoulders and gave them a hard squeeze.

He shrugged me off. “Go blank off, Walker.”

“Touchy. Even you must recognize there’s a kernel of truth in what I just said.” I poured a glass of orange juice, downed it in one long gulp, then poured another. I needed my Vitamin C and energy to survive one of the all-time worst breakfasts in history.

“At least I’m living it up now and saving my pussy-whipped period for when I’m old and ugly. Unlike someone else I know.”

“Are you calling me old and ugly?” I asked with a straight face.

“Yes. And pussy-whipped.” Garth poked at the eggs with the spatula like he was afraid they were about to come to life.

“I love you too, Black.” Finishing my second glass of orange juice, I dropped the glass in the sink.

Garth mumbled his response while I shouldered up beside Dad. He had a grave expression as he manned the griddle.

“Where do you need me, Captain? I’m suited up and ready to go.” I had to nudge him before he acknowledged me.

“Oh. Hey, Jess.” Dad’s gaze didn’t shift from the handful of runny pancakes on the griddle. “Sleep good?”

I grinned, remembering who I’d gotten to sleep with. “Slept
great
.” Then I remembered the nightmare that had jolted me awake. My smile fell, but I didn’t let it disappear completely.

“Pussy-whipped,” Garth said with a loud cough.

“Good, good. Glad to hear it.” Dad stepped aside and handed me the spatula. “Why don’t you take over? See if you can get those devil pancakes to behave.”

“How long have you been cooking them?” I tried to keep my amusement contained. Watching a man like my dad, who I’d watched leap in front of a charging horse, back away from an electric kitchen device like it was the most frightening thing he’d ever seen was all kinds of funny.

“Twenty minutes. Maybe thirty.”

I didn’t know jack about cooking, but I knew enough to realize something was way wrong if pancakes were taking a half hour to cook. Studying the griddle, I saw the problem. “It helps if you turn it on, Dad.”

“I plugged it in,” Dad said, sounding almost defensive.

I reminded myself not to smile. “And for that, you get partial credit. To get full credit, you needed to turn the dial on.”

Dad scowled at the griddle. “Okay, since you’re the expert, you’re on pancake detail. I’ll go man the coffee.”

I chuckled and turned the dial to the right heat setting. “You mean you’ll
drink
the coffee.”

“Someone’s got to be in charge of quality control.”

I’d just wrestled away one of the spatulas Garth was hoarding when the back screen door whooshed open. A familiar voice exclaimed, “Holy cows on crack! Are you frying up entrails or something because the smell coming from this kitchen was burning my nose before I even stepped out of my truck.”

I was about to greet Josie when a yelp sounded beside me. Garth was shaking his hand furiously and glaring at the fry pan. He was biting his tongue so hard to keep from swearing, he looked close to drawing blood.

“There’s no shame in losing. You’ve put up a good fight, but how much longer are you going to torture yourself?” I said. After putting up with a hefty dose of abstinence last night, I knew there was no way I could go another night.

“I’m going to torture myself a whole two seconds longer than you, Walker. Just long enough to bask in my victory. Then I’m letting loose every last word I’ve been holding back.”

He really was the most stubborn person I’d come across. “I don’t know that waving your hand around like that is doing much good. Other than making the rest of us laugh.”

Garth stopped waving his hand, shot me a glare, and stormed over to the fridge. “Where’s the butter?”

Josie intercepted Garth at the fridge, grabbed his wrist, and marched him over to the sink. “Butter?! No, absolutely not. That is, like, the worst possible thing to put on a burn.”

“Hey, Pushy, think you could lock that chick-crazy instinct inside long enough to let me tend to my wounds?” Garth tried to pull his hand out of her grasp, but all that did was make Josie tighten her hold.

“Hey, Asshole, think you could shut the snarky up and let someone actually help you for once in your life?” Josie cranked on the faucet and tested the water with her wrist before guiding Garth’s palm beneath it.

“Cold water? Really? No, butter’s what you put on burns.” Even though he was still fighting, I could see relief flood Garth’s face as the cold water streamed on his hand.

“Says who?”

“Says my dad.”

Josie practically snorted. “Yeah, and we all know your dad deserves the father of the year award.”

Garth’s whole body went stiff right before he snapped his hand out of Josie’s grip. “I think I’ve had enough of you and your
help
for two lifetimes.”

Josie didn’t flinch like most people would have. She didn’t even blink when Garth turned his most potent glare on her. “And I’ve had enough of you and your lack of help for three lifetimes.”

“No arguing in my kitchen. It’s a rule.” Mom and the girls entered the kitchen, doing their best to not look appalled. The expression on Clem’s face made up for the absence of one on the rest of theirs. From her utter horror, anyone would have thought she’d just walked in on us shaving a litter of puppies.

“Sorry, Mrs. Walker. There’s just something about Garth that brings out the worst in me.” Josie shut off the sink and glared at Garth’s back.

“At last. A compliment.” Garth stopped in front of the oven again, grabbing the spatula like it was a weapon and the fry pan was the enemy.

“I didn’t realize it was the guys’ attempt and sequential failure”—Josie practically spat the last word at Garth—“to cook this morning. I just stopped by to check on Jo. Is she up yet?”

“I’ve been up for two hours, thank you very much,” Jolene said as she joined everyone in the kitchen.

When Josie passed me, she gave me her greeting slug. “Two hours? What in the world have you been doing for two hours? Lord knows you weren’t out collecting eggs or cleaning out stalls.”

“Getting ready.”

“For what? You expecting it to rain Hollywood hotties this afternoon or something?” Josie was in a mood. She was about as stubborn as Garth and could be as moody too. When both of them were like that, it was best to keep all things of a breakable nature out of arm’s reach.

“No, but a girl never knows when her future husband might lay eyes on her for the first time. If that day were today, I sure wouldn’t want him to see nothing but a country bumpkin.” Jolene came up beside me. I was watching the pancakes like a hawk. If nothing else, the pancakes would be edible. “Hey, Jesse.”

I nodded my acknowledgement. “Hi, Jolene. How’s the ankle?” I took a brief look at her bandaged ankle. It looked pretty swollen, but at least it was just a sprain. After the fall she’d taken, I was afraid she might have broken her leg.

“It’s just peachy. Thanks to my hero making sure I got such speedy medical attention.” Jolene leaned in closer.