Ransom Canyon (10 page)

CHAPTER TWELVE

Lauren

L
AUREN
B
RIGMAN
HAD
always been glad February was the shortest month of the year. She hated it. First, the weather was usually crummy. Second, nothing was ever going on in school. And who cared about Valentine’s Day. In March she’d be sixteen, so she’d just as soon February got out of the way.

Her father usually got her one of those small hearts with five chocolates inside and a frog or cartoon character on the outside saying something like,
Have a hopping good Valentine’s Day
.

Her mother, whom she’d called Margaret since she was five, mailed an expensive card with the usual twenty dollars for every holiday. She always signed
x
’s and
o
’s, but she had no idea what her one child would want on any occasion.

But now Margaret was coming for the weekend, and Saturday was Valentine’s Day. At least, Lauren thought she would come by then; she’d already canceled twice, once at the end of January because a storm in Dallas promised a dusting of snow and again in February when she said something came up at work.

Lauren’s father had simply shrugged, but Lauren had no trouble reading his mind. Silently he was cussing, knowing Margaret the Great could have driven in if she wanted to, and she was the boss at work, so she could probably have moved her
something came up
to Monday. Crossroads was only five hours from Dallas, but for Margaret Brigman, it always took a Mount Everest effort to get to Lauren.

Work had always been more important than anything else to Margaret. It was important to Pop also. Dan Brigman considered himself the guardian of every person from county line to county line, but Lauren knew his first and last thought every day was saved for his daughter. Even when he wasn’t at home he texted her, listing rules and checking in. During the first few years after her mother left, if he had to work late, he’d have Mrs. O’Grady walk over and stay with Lauren or take her back to their place for dinner. The O’Gradys lived a few hundred yards along the lakeshore, so having someone to watch over her was never a problem.

Her mom and dad had separated soon after Pop had taken the job of county sheriff. Evidently, Margaret thought they should move up, which meant a bigger city than Crossroads, Texas. For her, the move to a lake house in the middle of nowhere was definitely down. She couldn’t see the beauty in the sunsets on the plains or the colors in the canyon walls as shadows stretched. For Margaret, Crossroads was no more that its name: a wide spot in the road where two highways crossed. A place where travelers stopped for gas or a meal and drove on.

She went off to Dallas to intern with an advertising agency. After all, she’d said, her master’s degree
was
in marketing, and how could she practice her skills in a small town? She’d left Lauren’s father to manage with a kindergartener and the promise to be back in six months. The internship stretched into a job offer she couldn’t turn down, and that slipped into a partnership. The trips home once a month quickly changed to weekly phone calls and apologies.

Pop had done his best when Margaret left, but even at five Lauren had known he was broken. For the first two years she’d expected her mother to come back and fix him. There had been weeks sometimes when they ate nothing but cereal or hamburgers. The house had become a mountain range of piles: work piles, school piles, dirty clothes piles, clean clothes piles. Plus, there’d been ever-growing foothills of shoes, toys and trash that might be needed at some point, like empty boxes and old Popsicle sticks.

Then one day a letter had come. She’d watched her father read it slowly, before folding it back into the envelope and putting it in his work satchel. “Well, honey,” he’d started in a voice that sounded forced with calmness. “Looks like it’s going to be just you and me. How about we clean up this place and make it right for the two of us?”

They’d redecorated the dining room and called it Lauren’s library, and every month they’d driven to Lubbock and added half a dozen new books. He’d let her paint her room, which she did every summer. He’d moved his favorite chair to the porch and sat out there until sundown almost every night. They ate at the kitchen bar or in front of the TV.

They set rules and patterns to their lives. Two trips a year to shop for clothes and once a month for groceries. Lauren became the only kindergartener to pack her own lunch. If she needed anything new, she picked it from a catalog, and he ordered whatever she circled. By age eight she was ordering all her clothes, shoes and supplies that way.

Her mother sent fancy dresses that Lauren never wore and little purses she never carried.

Pop tried to do holidays. He bought the meal-in-a-bag for Thanksgiving that became leftovers all weekend. He stocked up on pizza and frozen dinners for the Christmas break and hung one string of lights on the porch. They always picked out three presents each from all the catalogs that came in December. He’d bring home a tree the day she got out of school and let her decorate it with ornaments she bought at the Dollar Store.

When she was little, he’d take her fishing on the lake. She begged to be left at home as soon as she got old enough to stay by herself. Every Friday night they fought over what movie to watch. He’d burn popcorn and she’d make the sandwiches.

Once a month he found a babysitter and left for the night. It was usually a school night, so she barely missed him. When she was little she used to think he went to see Margaret. Now she doubted that was true. Lauren had never asked him where he went, but he’d only been thirty when Margaret left, so once in a while maybe he wanted to get away to be young again. Maybe one night a month he just needed the load of being a single father and a county sheriff off his shoulders.

Lauren had grown comfortable with her life. She visited her mother for a few weeks during summer break. Margaret would work, and Lauren would spend the days reading or hanging out at the pool at her mom’s condo complex while she counted the days until she could go back home. Pop wasn’t much fun, but at least he was there.

As far as she could remember, this was the first time her mother had come back to the Ransom Canyon lake house in ten years. On the rare occasions she
came to visit
she usually stayed at a hotel in one of the small nearby towns. Pop always dropped Lauren off wherever she booked the room. The three of them tried dinners out during those times, but it was usually a disaster. Sometimes Lauren wondered how her parents had ever gotten along well enough to make her.

“You got everything you need?” Her father poked his head into what they called the spare bedroom.

She smiled. The sheriff looked nervous, something she rarely saw in Pop. “I got it all. In an hour you won’t recognize this place.”

“Good. I have to wash down the porch, and I think we’re ready for her. She’s had a month to build her case against me for not taking proper care of you, so I figure she’ll be yelling at me for hours. Try to hide that scar on your leg as long as possible.” He smiled. “Oh, and be prepared to take her out to the old house. She’ll want to see where you got hurt.”

Lauren giggled, knowing if Margaret saw the tiny scar left by her stitches she’d be angry, very angry. “I made snacks, so we won’t starve, no matter how long the yelling lasts.” Lauren was very familiar with the fights. Most were over her. He wasn’t raising her right. She needed to see more of the world. He should watch her closer, make sure she did her homework. Give her piano and dance lessons. Expose her to more than county fairs and rodeos. The Gypsy House disaster was a forest worth of fuel.

Margaret criticized, but she never offered to take over the job, either. Her role seemed to be simply to yell at him.

“If it gets bad, Pop, I’ll walk down to Tim’s place. Since he’s permanently grounded, he could probably use the company.”

“Good idea. Have a plan of escape.” He smiled, suddenly in a good mood. “In fact, I might let you date Timothy O’Grady. With a broken leg, he’s not likely to step out of line, and I could remind him that it really wouldn’t be hard to break his other leg.”

“I’m not dating injured boys just to make you happy, Pop. In fact, I’m not dating anyone.”

“Good,” he said. “Let’s keep it that way until you’re in your twenties, then we’ll talk about group dating, or maybe online dating. That seems germ free, and, of course, I’ll be the one meeting them with you those first few times. Maybe I’ll even go on the first dozen or so dates. After all, it could be fun.”

She tossed a new accent pillow at him. “No way.”

He caught it, examined the pillow, frowned and tossed it back. It was the rustic red of the canyon, with lace trim framing it. He’d let her order a whole bedding set: comforter, pillow and sheets, even curtains for the room. The place looked almost like the picture in the catalog.

As he turned to leave, she said, “I love you, Pop, I really do.”

“I know. I love you, too. We’ll get through Margaret’s visit. This time, whatever your mother says, she’s right. I should have watched over you, told you not to go in old houses. I shouldn’t have been working late, so I could have picked you up.”

“It wasn’t your fault. You let me learn a lesson, that’s all.” Since that night, things had changed between them. The lectures were still there, the questioning about every detail of her life, the hovering to make sure she was fine, but she saw something else. The love.

The doorbell made them both jump, but Lauren reacted first. “It’s only Quinn O’Grady. I asked her if she’d bring some lavender to put in Margaret’s room.”

He followed her down the hallway. “We ordered flowers delivered?”

Lauren took time to turn around and glare at him. “Of course.”

He shrugged. “Of course. That’s probably why Margaret left. The house didn’t smell like lavender.”

When Lauren opened the door, she saw Quinn O’Grady standing outside with an armful of flowers. “I picked a few wildflowers to mix in, Lauren. It’s too early for most, but I found a few near the well house.”

As Lauren welcomed her, Quinn passed Pop and smiled shyly. “If you’d like, Lauren, I’ll help arrange them?”

“I’d be thankful for the help, Miss O’Grady. You’re very kind to have brought them by.” Pop stiffened. He was back to being sheriff again.

“No problem,” Quinn answered with her head down.

Quinn was almost as tall as Pop. They were about the same age, but since he called her Miss O’Grady, she supposed he didn’t know her very well.

Lauren thought of adding her to an ever-growing list of possible women her father could date, but Quinn seemed very, very shy and they had nothing in common. Her father tended to yell when he was mad, drink when he was off duty, and smell like fish when he’d been out on the lake more than an hour. Quinn always smelled of lavender, never raised her voice, and barely talked to anyone. If Lauren hadn’t done a report on different types of farming in the area, she would have never met the kind woman.

Today, Lauren appreciated the help. Quinn spread her flowers on the table and began to do her magic. In what seemed like minutes, the house smelled like spring. She even helped Lauren finish off the bedroom and suggested rearranging the furniture so Margaret could see the lake from her bed.

“It’ll be a beautiful view for her to wake up to,” she claimed.

Lauren doubted Margaret would even open the curtains. For her, the only great view was of the skyline of downtown Dallas.

When Quinn left, Lauren found herself wishing she had a woman like her for a mother. She didn’t seem to know anything about fashion or makeup or hairstyles, but there was a gentleness about her.

Her father must have noticed it, too, because he insisted on walking Quinn to her car.

Lauren heard him ask what he owed for the flowers, and Quinn replied nothing. “They are a gift to your lovely daughter. She’s a great kid.”

“You’ll get no argument from me,” he answered. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m raising her, or she’s raising me. I’ve heard you used to play piano. You wouldn’t be interested in teaching her?”

“If I ever teach, she’d be the first in line,” Quinn said and smiled at him.

Lauren doubted they were flirting, but at least Pop was talking to a woman. That was progress.

Pop leaned down to her window and said that if she ever needed a favor that didn’t involve where to bury a body, all she had to do was call. He owed her one.

“I’ll remember that,” she answered as she started her old pickup and turned toward Tim O’Grady’s place. “I thought I’d stop in on my cousin and see how her boy is doing. I heard he was hurt.”

Pop stepped back and waved, then went around the side of the house to clean the deck.

Lauren walked around the place, checking every detail. They’d cleaned the first weekend Margaret was supposed to come and the second. Now, after the third cleaning, she feared she would scrub off the finish if she dusted anymore. Even after ten years, there were still touches of Margaret in every room.

Apparently when Margaret left them, she’d only taken her clothes. The chest that had been her grandmother’s was still in the hallway. Half the books in her father’s study must have been her mother’s because he never touched them. The nightstands in the guest bedroom, the dishes, the pots and pans had all been abandoned, just like Lauren.

Suddenly, Lauren wished she hadn’t fussed so much over Margaret’s coming.

But it was too late to take the flowers out or put the old quilt back on the bed. She could hear the hum of a car coming down the drive.

Margaret had arrived.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Lucas

L
UCAS
R
EYES
RODE
his horse slowly along the sandy breaks that snaked between Kirkland’s Double K Ranch and the Collins’s Bar W border. He liked taking this way home. No matter the season, there was a beauty about this quarter mile of in-between land where all he saw was nature in every direction, and the sounds were the same as those that must have floated over this land a hundred years ago.

The slender thread of dried-up creek bed wasn’t claimed by Kirkland or Collins. A no-man’s-land, where outlaws could have roamed in the early days of Texas. The stillness here was like music to Lucus. All he heard were the low sounds of the wild and his own breathing. He wondered if in the big cities people might live their whole lives without ever knowing this kind of beautiful silence.

His grandfather had told him that this path had once been a hidden entrance to Ransom Canyon where in the 1800s tribes and Comancheros traded hostages and slaves from one tribe to the other. Texas Rangers had traveled to the bottom of Ransom Canyon now and then, without their badges showing, so they could pay the ransom on children and wives stolen from early settlements.

Lucas felt like it could almost be years ago tonight, and he might accidentally ride into a campsite that followed no law.

Slowly, as he crossed onto Collins land, he turned his thoughts back to the present.

Mr. Kirkland had hired him to string wire most of the day. Every muscle in his body hurt, but the money was good. He had already saved enough for one semester of college, and, with luck, he would have the next semester’s money in the bank before summer. Then he’d start working on a cushion. If he worked part-time during the year, he could cover food and housing on campus, but he’d have to make tuition by working every summer and break.

Every cowboy around knew the Double K was the best place to work. Staten Kirkland paid well, and his ranch bordered the Collins place, so Lucas could ride his horse the few miles home when he finished.

Lucas’s father was the head wrangler at the Bar W, Davis Collins’s ranch. Lucas and his family lived at the headquarters in a house only slightly smaller than the foreman’s place. The Collins family lived half a mile away on a rise that offered a full view of the land they’d owned for generations, but Reid Collins’s dad wasn’t like Staten Kirkland.

Davis Collins was several years older than Kirkland and ran his ranch from his office. The cattle they raised and horses they trained and sold were no more than numbers to him. On the rare occasion Collins was seen on his land, it was in a four-wheeler. His two sons were far more interested in riding dirt bikes across unbroken pastures than learning the business their family had been in for over a hundred years.

To put it simply, Kirkland was a rancher and Collins was a businessman. If a drought came, Collins would sell off his herd. Kirkland would haul in feed and keep his best stock to rebuild for when times were better. Kirkland would weather any storm. But Lucas feared that if Reid or his brother didn’t show some interest in ranching, the Collins place might be up for sale in ten years.

When he reached the barn, Lucas took care of his horse like his father had taught him, before heading in to supper. It was Saturday night, and he had nothing planned. Maybe he’d ask his papa if he could borrow the old pickup and drive over to see Tim O’Grady. Lucas had noticed that since the accident, Tim and Reid weren’t hanging out at school, and to his knowledge, Reid hadn’t dropped by to visit Tim. Their friendship apparently hadn’t survived the Gypsy House.

The great thing about stringing wire all day was that it gave him time to think. Maybe Tim had seen the light as far as Reid Collins was concerned. Maybe Reid didn’t want a constant reminder that he wasn’t a real hero hobbling behind him. They’d been friends for as long as Lucas could remember, but football season was over, and Tim was grounded. He would only slow Reid down this last half of their junior year.

After grabbing a bite, Lucas lifted the keys off the nail by the door, held them up and jingled them. His father nodded. With five other kids at home to worry about, his father never asked questions. Lucas often wondered if his dad trusted his oldest so completely, or if he just didn’t have the time or energy to ask.

It was almost eight o’clock when Lucas pulled up to Tim’s house on the lake. He liked to park down the road a little and walk along the shoreline. Tim’s house wasn’t big like Reid’s, but the O’Gradys were both artists, so it always seemed to be bursting with life and color. Tim’s dad taught art, and his mother was a painter. Lucas had no idea if she ever sold any paintings to anyone other than family, but there were so many O’Gradys around this part of the state, they could probably keep her busy.

Tim’s mom answered the door. “Evening, Lucas, I wondered if you’d make it tonight.”

“I worked until almost dark. Mr. Kirkland ran me off in time for me to ride home before sunset. He said I wander around his place enough after dark. I didn’t think he noticed. I’ve done roundup work several times for his foreman, but the other night when he offered us a ride was the first time I think he really saw me, you know, as a person.”

“Do you think he minds you walking his land?” she asked politely.

Lucas shook his head. “I told him I was just watching the night sky, and he reminded me to always close the gates and don’t spook the damn cattle.” Lucas grinned. “You know, I’ve figured out that Kirkland thinks
damn
and
hell
are adverbs or adjectives to toss into any sentence.”

Tim’s mom laughed and turned down the hallway leading to Tim’s room.

She didn’t need to show him the way. Lucas had dropped Tim’s homework off for two weeks after the accident, but he guessed, like Tim, she enjoyed the company.

It didn’t take much to know few kids came by to visit Tim. Lucas wasn’t really sure why he did.

Mrs. O’Grady grinned. “You boys will have a third person for the visit tonight. I want you both to be on your best behavior. No ‘adverbs,’ if you know what I mean.”

If Mrs. Patterson was the company, Lucas had better think of an exit plan fast. The Baptist preacher’s wife could have been the next plague to hit the Egyptians if Moses had needed another one.

“Lauren Brigman walked down from her house just to bring Tim cookies.” Mrs. O’Grady relieved Lucas’s panic. “She’s such a sweet girl.”

Lucas heard the laughter behind Tim’s closed bedroom door.

When he shoved it open, he saw Lauren sitting in the desk chair rocking back and forth like she was on a mechanical bull. Tim had his cast propped on a pillow on his half-bed. They were both staring at the floor.

Tim spotted Lucas and grinned. “Hey, Lucas, look what Lauren brought me.”

Lucas glanced down at a box turtle slowly climbing across a shaggy rug. “I was hoping she brought cookies.”

When Lauren raised her head her eyes were full of laughter, and he couldn’t look away.

“I brought chocolate chip cookies, too. They’re in the bag. But, I found this turtle on the way over. Since Tim can’t walk around the lake, I brought a lake friend to visit him.”

“Tim,” his mother’s voice came from the hallway. “You are not keeping that turtle.” When no one commented, she added, “I’ll bring milk to go with the cookies.”

All three waited until they heard her footsteps retreating before Tim whispered, “Mom’s driving me nuts. If I could get this cast off I’d beat myself to death with it. She’s been babying me since I got home from the hospital. If you two didn’t come over now and then, I’d go mad, and, believe me, you don’t want to see an insane man on crutches.”

Lucas winked at Lauren. They’d seen each other at school in passing, different times, different days, but tonight they’d managed to accidentally bump into one another. Neither was paying any attention to Tim as he rambled on about how his mother tried to spoon-feed him.

“What can we do to help?” Lucas finally broke the rant. He took a seat on the other side of the bed, where he could talk to Tim and look at Lauren. “You’re in a cast. I guess waterskiing is out, and it’s too cold to swim. You’d sink anyway.” When no one laughed, he added, “We could watch a movie.”

“No, my parents got the bill for all the movies I’ve rented on cable.” Tim frowned. “I can’t buy another one. My mom says we’ve got eighty channels, surely I can find something free to watch.”

Lucas shook his head. “It would almost be worth the trouble of sawing that cast off to watch you try to beat yourself to death. At least it’s something the reality shows haven’t thought of yet.”

All three laughed and began to just talk. About everything: school, sports, graduation, movies they hated. The one topic no one of the three brought up was Reid Collins or the night at the Gypsy House. Lucas figured each had their reasons for letting the legend live about what had happened that night at the old abandoned house. Lauren was too shy to go up against Reid. Tim might be foggy about what really happened, and Lucas simply wanted to stay out of trouble. If he said anything, Mr. Collins might let his father go.

It mattered little who’d done what that night, but Lucas would never get to go to college if his dad got fired and he had to help out his family.

After an hour, when the cookies were gone and Tim looked tired, Lucas offered to walk Lauren home. “It’s on my way. I’m parked about halfway between your place and here.”

She nodded like it wasn’t necessary, or maybe she didn’t care.

As they left Tim’s house, Lucas said, “I don’t have to walk you if you’d rather be alone.”

“No. It’s not that. I just don’t want to go back. My mother spent the night last night. She was all nice for a while, even drove me to Bailee so we could get our nails done today, then we spent time going through old photo albums at the house. But at dinner she started arguing over how bad pizza was for her diet as well as mine, and my father jumped right into the fight. From my dietary habits they spun off on why I’m second in the class and not first and how the high school isn’t good enough for someone with my mind.”

“What did you say?” Lucas took her hand as they stepped onto the damp grass near the shore.

“I said goodbye. Pop and I already agreed I could use visiting Tim as my escape plan.” She laughed suddenly. “I didn’t really make the cookies. I got them at the bakery, but since my mom freaked out over the pizza, I decided I’d better make sure the cookies disappeared.”

They walked for a while in silence. The night held the smell of a storm in the thick air, but he barely felt it. He knew this moment would only last for a short time, and he wanted to remember everything. The wind whipping up off the water. The new moon so thin it looked like a tear in the night’s canvas. The feel of Lauren’s hand in his as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

He thought of asking her out on a date, but she was fifteen and he was seventeen. Her father, or mother, probably wouldn’t let her go. Plus, he didn’t have the time or the money to date. “How long do you have before you have to be home?”

“Why?”

“I’d like to show you something, but it will take half an hour.”

Her fingers laced with his. “Let’s go.”

Then, they were running as if every second counted. A few minutes later they were laughing as they climbed into his truck. He shoved ropes, spurs and all kinds of cowboy gear out of the way to clear enough room for her to sit beside him.

“I could always ride in back,” she offered.

“Nope. It’s a mess back there. Saddles and bloody chaps from working yearlings. I leave it back there so it can air out before I put it in the tack room.”

They both laughed again as he piled books in her lap. He slipped in beside her and shifted the pickup into gear.

She ducked low as he slowly drove past her house as if they were running away on an adventure.

Lucas never felt lighthearted, he had too many plans, too much to do, too much responsibility on his shoulders as the oldest child. But at this moment, with Lauren at his side, he was Peter Pan and she was his Wendy. They were flying.

Five miles out, he turned at a back entrance of the Double K Ranch. No one but cattle trucks used the road, and it was too far from the headquarters of the ranch or town for anyone to see his lights.

She giggled as they bounced their way across open land to an old windmill painted in black across a shadowy sky. The stars were out now, the Milky Way sparkling like a cluster of tiny diamonds scattered above them.

He cut the engine, stepped out and offered his hand. “I found this place one night when I was late going home.”

They moved over the uneven ground to where a water trough stretched below the windmill. “If you step in something soft, you’ll know cattle have been here lately getting a drink, but I don’t think this pasture is used much in the winter.”

Neither looked down as he whispered, “Listen. It’s like a symphony out here.” The clank of the windmill as the rusty fan blades turned in the wind did seem like music. Closing his eyes, Lucas heard it all. The slough of the water, the dripping from the pipe. The rustle of the dried leaves. The swish of buffalo grass. The lonely sound of a meadowlark’s call.

Somewhere in the stand of trees a quarter mile away, an owl hooted and a hawk’s cry sounded on the breeze. This was his idea of heaven.

“I love standing here listening and knowing that it must have sounded just the same for years.”

“It’s beautiful.” She moved against his shoulder.

“I hoped you’d hear it. I come out here once in a while. It makes me feel at peace. Around my house it’s never quiet. When the noise gets too much for me, I come here and listen to the quiet. Sometimes when the crowd at school is nothing but nervous yelling and giggling or I’m somewhere I don’t want to be, I think of here.”

They were silent for a while. He put his arm around her shoulders, and she cuddled against his side.

“You know, Lauren, it’s Valentine’s Day.”

“I know. My pop gave me his usual candy heart.”

Lucas pulled her against him and kissed her forehead. “Happy Valentine’s Day. If you were older and my girl, I’d get you flowers, not candy.”