Now and Always (6 page)

Katie's cell phone rang
and she reached for it. “Yes? Oh, Jan. What's up? . . . I didn't sign the check? No, it's just an oversight. Don't shut off the electricity, Jan. I'll drop by before noon and sign the check. I promise . . . Thanks a bunch. It won't happen again.”

She sent Warren an apologetic glance, realizing this was the second time today he had caught her in an awkward situation. Embarrassed, she tried to explain. “Uh, things are a little tight right now, but it will ease up soon.”

“And you took in four horses? How are you going to feed them? The agreement for you to keep the horses is that you have to foot the bill.”

Her chin rose to a defiant angle. “I'll manage.”

The phone rang again, and she shot him a glance of pure frustration. “Hello? Oh, Mr. Brown . . . Yes, I know the premium is due. The bill is on my desk . . . Yes, I just overlooked it. I'll get it in the mail tomorrow . . . Yes, I know I can't afford to be without insurance. Thanks for reminding me.”

She turned off her phone and sighed. Warren looked her, his expression questioning. She shrugged. “All right, things are more than a little tight. They squeak.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

“No, I can work it out.” She thought about what she had just said. No, she couldn't work it out. She'd been trying, but the money just vanished in thin air. Too little income, too much outgo, and she was dismal at keeping track of everything. If she kept on like this, there was a chance she might lose everything Grandpops had worked all his life to build. And the shelter would have to close. She couldn't imagine what else she would do. Helping these women was her ministry, her way of serving God . . . it was her life. Warren was known to be a shrewd financier, and she couldn't let pride stand in the way of her getting help.

“On second thought, there is something.”

“Sure. What can I do?”

“I admit I'm not good at figures. Remember back in high school that math wasn't one of my best subjects?”

“That's the understatement of the year. Mr. Johnson hated to see you coming into his class.”

“Did you really mean it when you offered to help?”

He hesitated, and she was afraid he would retract the offer. But he nodded. “Sure, what do you need?”

“I'm not sure — I know I need a steady source of funding — but I think I need a budget too. A workable one.”

“Workable one?”

“You know, one I can live with.”

Warren lifted his hat and released a breath. What had he got himself into now? Judging from the phone calls she'd been getting, she didn't have a clue how to handle money, and chances were she wouldn't be willing to buckle down and make the needed changes in her lifestyle to get her finances under control.

She was looking at him now like he was the answer to her prayers. He'd helped people with financial matters often enough to know they seldom appreciated being told what to do, particularly when it went against what they wanted and old habits.

A horse whickered, and Warren watched as Katie went from stall to stall, petting the injured animals and talking softly to them. She had a heart as big as Devils Tower and a whole lot softer. In school she hadn't made any effort to run with the popular crowd, picking her friends from the ones left standing on the sidelines. She'd befriended him. He'd not fit in with the jocks, the kids with money and cars. He'd been the nerd, the one left out, but Katie hadn't seemed to mind.

He stepped in to assist her when she tried to calm a mare. “These are the best conditions they've had since they left home.”

“I'm thankful the owner agreed to let me care for them.”

“The original owner didn't have anywhere to keep them. She'd had to sell out when her husband died, couldn't keep up with the work required on a ranch. She thought she'd sold to a private party; it turns out the buyer was purchasing for a slaughterhouse. The owner is relieved that they'll have a good home, but she'll reclaim them once they've healed.”

Warren couldn't blame the owner for taking Katie's offer. The horses had basically been stolen from her. She'd lost the stock that had died with no chance of reimbursement. Katie took care of people and animals. He sighed. Now he was going to agree to help her work out a financial plan.

The back door opened, and Clara sauntered out in their direction. Her bruises were less evident today, but what was she thinking, making herself so public? She was supposed to stay out of sight, not arouse curiosity. The foolish woman didn't have a clue who Warren was. He could be a reporter for the Little Bush
Banner
for all she knew. Katie was going to have to have another rule discussion. Apparently Clara was used to doing things her way, making the rules fit what she wanted. Clara paused, lighting a cigarette. She gave Warren the once-over.

He politely doffed his hat. “Just dropped by to deliver Katie's horses, ma'am.”

“What horses?”

Katie took her arm and turned her toward the house. “They're in the barn. Why don't we go inside and have a cup of coffee?”

Clara shrugged off Katie's friendly embrace. “I want to see these horses.”

“Oh?” Katie smiled. “You're interested in horses?”

“I don't know anything about animals, but I like them.” The two women walked toward the barn and entered. Clara paused in front of a stall, studying the occupant. “What happened to him?”

“He was in an accident. They all were.”

Clara turned back to Warren. “You're a neighbor?”

“Yes, ma'am — and longtime friend.”

“Clara Townsend, you may have heard of me. I'm running for the Senate, and I'd appreciate your vote.” She reached out to shake his hand.

“Warren Tate.” He accepted her gesture. “Nice to meet you, Clara, but I'm voting for your opponent.”

Clara's features froze. “Why?”

Warren shrugged. “Party policies.”

“Is that sensible? My opponent will raise taxes and opposes the hike in minimum hourly wage.”

“Ma'am, I make it a practice to never discuss politics or religion.” He tipped his Stetson. “I'll call you, Katie. We'll set up a time to work on that budget.” Warren returned to his truck, slammed the door, and drove away.

Watching his dust, Katie took a deep breath. “Clara, why are you out here?”

“I wanted to see what was going on. Why?”

“I've explained the rules. Your contact with outsiders is to be limited, not only for your protection but for the other women's safety. You just walked up to Warren and introduced yourself and asked for his vote. How do you know he won't go spreading around town that he's just met Clara Townsend?” Hadn't the woman heard a word she'd said yesterday?

“I need every vote I can get.”

“Rules are for everyone. That includes you, and I expect you to at least try to follow them.”

Clara flicked a cool glance and lit a Salem.

Katie's fingers itched to rip the cylinder out of her mouth and grind it underfoot. Instead, she took a deep breath, tempered her anger, and went
in search of coffee.

Six

There ought to be a law against the amount of junk that came through the mail. Bills, bills, and more bills. Katie thumbed through five catalogs hawking everything from gourmet foods to designer clothes before trashing them. Her name must be on every sucker list in the country. If they could see her bank account, they wouldn't waste postage sending catalogs to this address. Neither she nor the women living here, with the exception of Clara, could afford their wares. She thought of the stack of bills waiting on her desk. Sometime today she'd have to go through them and decide what to pay and what she could put off until next month.

Janet was helping Tottie in the kitchen. The others were in the living room watching television. Katie could hear the murmur of their voices, but couldn't distinguish words. At least they weren't arguing. Clara had been a disturbing influence, the fly in the ointment. Obviously she was used to better accommodations than she received here. The food wasn't up to her standards, and while she didn't come right out and say so, Katie got the impression she wasn't impressed with the other women.

Cleo, Tottie's tiger-striped tabby cat, was stretched out on a bench next to the door, and Goldie, the one dog Tottie allowed in the house, was curled up at Katie's feet. Goldie had shown up one day, dirty, slat thin, and half starved, carrying her left hind leg. Tottie thought she'd been hit by a car. She had mended okay but still walked with a limp. Katie pitched a half-eaten cheese curl.

Janet glanced up from
Jeopardy
. “You're spoiling that animal shamelessly.”

“I know.” Katie pitched another curl. Goldie's gentle disposition and warm brown eyes had endeared her to everyone. The women babied her, and Katie knew she was good for them. So Goldie was free to stay in the house if she wanted, and most of the time she did.

Meg got up from the sofa and wandered to the door. She slipped outside without saying anything to anyone, but that was Meg. Sometimes she needed her space. She worried about the baby and what she would do after it came. Although it was the goal of the shelter to help the women be self-sufficient and supported, it would be hard for Meg to find a place to live, take care of her baby, and work a full-time job. Hard for anyone — almost overwhelming for someone like Meg who'd been a street urchin. Maybe they could let her live here and work in town.

The doorbell rang, and Katie got up from the table to answer it. The women stopped talking when she walked into the living room and opened the door. She knew they were wary of visitors. To her relief, Warren stood there, Stetson in hand and smiling at her.

“Have you got a minute?”

“Yes, certainly.” Katie reached for a sweater on the coat hook and draped it around her shoulders before walking outside and pulling the door shut behind her. He'd stayed to himself after coming home from New York, but this was the second time he'd been here this week, and she was surprised at how glad she was to see him. They stepped off the porch and she smiled. “Let's go out to the barn. It should be private there.”

As their footfalls kept pace, Katie noticed their rhythms were in sync. She had resented her height all her life, always towering over her friends and boys. The boys were the worst. She'd felt like a giraffe, tall with a not-so-graceful lope. Warren was tall enough to top her six foot height and still not be mistaken for Goliath. Walking beside him was a pleasure.

Every now and then Katie thought about the old gypsy's prediction and laughed. She had grown to the allotted six feet, but Mr. Right hadn't materialized.

They crossed the barn lot and headed for the barn. Katie guessed the surprise visit had something to do with the horses. Otherwise why would he be here?

They'd reached the barn, and Katie jerked to a stop, one arm stretched in front of Warren blocking his progress. A soft, murmuring voice, drenched with tears, drifted out to them. Katie sighed. She had forgotten Meg leaving the house. Of course she came to the barn, the one place she could let down her guard. Katie peered around the edge of the door to see the young woman standing before one of the stalls, stroking the horse's nose and talking softly. Her voice dropped to a whisper, barely audible, but Katie knew what she was saying. Meg was telling the horse about Nate, her abuser and the father of her unborn child. The horse would listen without being judgmental, and nothing said here would ever be repeated. Meg hadn't learned that she had friends yet. Nothing in her young life had taught her about trusting or forgiveness.

Katie stepped back, motioning for Warren to do the same. The animals were a blessing to the women — that is, most of the women. Clara hadn't taken to them yet, but the others seemed to draw strength from the animals that had been battered too. Even though the horses' wounds were accidental, they had been bound for a slaughterhouse, which seemed to connect them to the women.