The Rebel of Copper Creek (6 page)

BOOK: The Rebel of Copper Creek
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G
riff followed Brady's directions and left the main highway to turn onto a gravel road. It seemed to stretch for a mile or more before coming up over a rise to reveal a modest ranch house and several barns and outbuildings. Everything sparkled under a fresh coat of paint, including the fence around the horse barn, where several mares and their young looked as if they'd been posed for pictures in a catalog.

As soon as Griff's truck came to a halt outside the main barn, a figure stepped out to peer at him.

The man was thin and wiry, standing no more than five and a half feet tall. His legs were so bowed, he could easily fit a giant beach ball between them with room to spare. He wore faded denims, a plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled above his elbows, and a wide-brimmed hat. Beneath the hat was a weathered face and blackbird eyes that widened as Griff stepped out of his vehicle.

“Creepers! You've got to be…” The old man swallowed. “Bear MacKenzie's other son. You're the spitting image of him.”

Since arriving in Copper Creek, Griff had become accustomed to this reaction. People stared at him as if seeing a ghost. And then, as recognition dawned, they would call him “Bear's other son.” Never “bastard” or “illegitimate.” They were too polite for that.

The sting of those words had long ago been erased. Now, they were as acceptable as any other greeting.

“Yes, sir. My name is Griff Warren.”

“Your mama's name?”

“That's right. I came looking for Jackie Turner. I guess that'd be you.”

“It is.”

The two shook hands.

“What can I do for you, son?”

“I paid a call on the Grayson Ranch yesterday. I know you used to be foreman there, and I wondered if you'd consider lending a hand to it again.”

That black, penetrating stare was like a laser. “The young widow send you?”

“No, sir. She doesn't know I'm here. But the place needs a steady hand.”

“What's that to you?”

What indeed? The old man's question had him searching his mind for something that could possibly explain his sudden interest. “I don't know the Grayson family. I never met Buddy. But I served in the Marine Corps, and I'd like to do something to help a military family in need.”

Jackie Turner seemed to mull that for some time before saying, “Come on up to the house. We'll have some coffee and talk.”

  

Griff studied the ground below, enjoying the sight of vast hillsides dotted with cattle.

The same question returned to his mind time and again. What kind of man had his father been, to turn this forbidding land into his own little kingdom? If even half the stories about Bear MacKenzie were true, he'd been larger than life, tough, demanding, arrogant, and driven. A man determined to take the legacy of his own father, Mad, and grow it into the stuff of legend.

Griff pondered how much of those qualities he'd inherited from his father and grandfather. Was he driven to succeed? Was that what had kept him alive while under enemy fire? And what of the famous MacKenzie temper? As a boy, he'd always been fighting, much to his mild-mannered mother's despair. In military school he'd learned to channel that anger into a useful tool to become a platoon leader as well as place at the top of his class by the time he'd graduated. Later, facing combat, the combination of quick temper and quick thinking had held him in good stead during the most deadly operations.

Today, knowing what to watch for as the plane's shadow crossed from MacKenzie land to Grayson land, the change in the landscape wasn't nearly as sudden and shocking. Instead of herds, there were small clusters of cattle spread out over barren hillsides. Instead of the occasional bunkhouse, there were a few deserted, windowless range shacks that appeared to offer shelter only to wild creatures.

As the plane circled the Grayson ranch house and barns, the neglect became even more obvious. A rusted truck was parked behind the horse barn, where several nervous mares began circling the corral at the drone of the plane's engines.

Juliet and her two sons stepped out of the larger cow barn to watch as the little Cessna began its descent. After a smooth landing, it rolled along the asphalt strip.

By the time Griff stepped from the plane, little Casey was racing toward him. “You came back,” he cried.

“I promised, didn't I?”

“Yeah.” He turned to call to his mother, “Look, Mama. It's Griff. He came back.”

“I see him.” She approached more slowly, holding on to Ethan's hand.

Griff smiled. “'Afternoon, Juliet. Hey, Ethan.” He glanced around, for the first time seeing the cluster of men in wheelchairs and on crutches inside the dimly lit barn.

He strode across the distance separating them and clapped a hand on Jimmy Gable's back, grinning at the look of his old military buddy. Now, with that shaggy beard and faded denims, he looked nothing like the buttoned-down kid Griff had known in Afghanistan. “I take it your equipment hasn't been repaired yet?”

Before Jimmy could shake his head, Juliet's quick frown was answer enough. She turned to the veterans. “I guess it was too much to hope this plane was from Endicott.”

“Told you.” Stan Novak, his skinny body looking frail in an oversized sweatshirt with the sleeves cut off, nodded toward the others. “Looks like another wasted day.”

Heywood Sperry spun his scooter around to give the man a withering look. “You shut that mouth. Even without riding a horse, you're on a ranch. We did stretching exercises.” He shot a sly smile at Juliet. “But it would have been a hell of a lot better if we'd get back and arm massages.”

Juliet's tone was controlled. “I've told you, Heywood, I'm not licensed as a physical therapist yet. I never completed all the classes. And I did caution you to check with me before driving the men all this way.”

His voice was a low growl of fury. “What else do we have to do but sit around all day waiting for you to call?”

“Having a pity party, Sperry?” Happy as a puppy at the sight of his old friend, Jimmy Gable was grinning as he pointed toward their bus. “I know what I want to do. Let's get back to town. I heard there was a hot gin rummy tournament going on all day at Wylie's.”

Sperry glared at him. “You'd rather play cards than be on a ranch?”

“And do what?” Jimmy demanded. “If we're not going to ride horses and make like cowboys, what's the point?”

Spurred on by his comments, the others began nodding and murmuring among themselves.

“Come on, Sperry,” one of the men called. “You dragged us out here for nothing. Now it's time to get moving.”

As they began filing out of the barn and using the hydraulic lift to enter the bus, Heywood Sperry remained behind, staring from Juliet to Griff and back again. “What about him?” He jerked a shoulder in Griff's direction.

Before Juliet could say a word, Griff nodded toward the pitchfork in her hand. “I guess I'm in time to help with some chores.”

She started to protest. “There's no need. The boys and I have it under control.”

“That's right.” Casey stood in front of Griff. “Mama's shoveling and we're spreading clean straw.” He pointed toward the bus. “And those men said they were our…” He turned to his mother for help with the word.

“…our audience,” she said.

“That's a lot of work. Maybe, instead of watching, I could lend a hand, and we can have it done in half the time.”

Sperry crossed his arms over his chest. “I don't care who does the ranch chores. What I'd like to know is when I can count on having that lift repaired so we can get on with the therapy we're paying for. Why don't you ask the cowboy here to fix the lift first?”

“That's not fair, Heywood,” Juliet said, quick to defend Griff. “Repairing the equipment isn't his job.”

“Neither is this ranch. Why is he sticking his nose in our business?”

Juliet looked shocked. “It's my business, not yours. Why are you being so rude?”

He scowled at Griff. “Maybe because you're so freaking determined to defend this guy.”

Before she could respond, little Casey began dancing up and down, staring hungrily at the Cessna, gleaming in the sunlight. “What about your airplane? You said I could sit in it.”

The muscled veteran fixed Griff with a look of fury. “Using the kid to get to his mother?”

Ignoring Sperry, Juliet pointed to her son's dung-covered boots. “Casey Grayson, you're not going anywhere near that plane until you've had a chance to clean up after your chores.”

The little boy looked so sad that Griff knelt in front of him. “How about finishing chores first? Then a tour of my plane will be our reward later. Okay, little wrangler?”

“Okay.” Casey sounded subdued.

When the men on board the bus began honking the horn and shouting for Sperry to join them, he swore and huffed out a breath before turning his scooter toward the door. Without a word he left.

Griff watched him leave before turning to Juliet. “How did you happen to hook up with them?”

She gave a quick shake of her head. “I started studying therapy when Buddy was in the hospital. When I came here, I hoped to put what I'd learned to good use. Heywood Sperry contacted me out of the blue and said he'd heard that I was offering veterans an alternate form of therapy. I have to say I was surprised, since very few people had heard about me, but when he told me he had a group of veterans willing to pay a great deal of money to visit a working ranch on a regular basis, I couldn't refuse. Especially since I remember how desperate Buddy was to get away from a hospital setting and back to his ranch. He would have given anything to be able to get therapy at a ranch, surrounded by the sights and sounds and smells he'd always known. These veterans have already given so much. They deserve whatever comfort they can get.”

He gave her an admiring look. “I guess that explains how you manage to cope with more than just their physical wounds. You're one of them.”

“My troubles are nothing compared to theirs. They have a right to be angry. Their lives as they once knew them are gone.”

Searching on a shelf, Griff located a pair of men's rubber boots, which he swapped for his leather boots. He helped himself to a pair of well-worn leather gloves and reached for a pitchfork hanging on a hook by the door.

By the time he was ready to work, the bus had left, with Heywood Sperry in the driver's seat.

While Griff began cleaning a stall, Casey climbed up on the wood railing to watch. “Wow. You do that a lot faster than Mama.”

“That's because I'm bigger.”

“When I get big as you, Mama won't ever have to work again.”

Though he didn't say a word, Ethan climbed up beside his little brother and watched in silence.

“That's a nice thought, Casey. And generous. But there's nothing wrong with hard work. Everybody does it.” Griff tossed a load of dung-filled straw into a wagon.

“But Mama never stops. Isn't that right, Efan?”

The older boy ignored him and studied Griff as he bent to his chore.

Griff finished cleaning the stall and moved on to the next, aware that the two boys had hopped down from their perch and were now spreading straw over the floor of the freshly cleaned stall.

As soon as he finished, little Casey climbed another rail and leaned his chin on his hands, watching every move Griff made.

“Did you and Mama fight yesterday?”

Griff saw Juliet's head come up sharply in the other stall.

“No.” He bent to his work. “Why?”

The little boy shrugged. “Mama didn't sleep last night.”

“And how would you know that?”

“I smelled coffee 'fore I fell back asleep. Whenever Mama can't sleep, she goes downstairs and makes coffee.”

“Well, if she's done this before, how can you think it's my fault?”

“'Cause Mama was sad when we got up from our nap. Isn't that right, Efan?”

His brother kicked at some straw.

“Maybe your mama was sad because the parts for her ceiling lift didn't come. And without them, she can't help all those vets.”

“Is that why you were sad, Mama?”

Juliet tossed a load of dung-filled straw into the wagon and frowned. “That's as good a reason as any.”

“And you're not mad at Griff?”

She gritted her teeth before snapping, “No.”

Griff couldn't hold back the grin. “Well, that's a relief, isn't it, little wrangler?”

“Yeah.” Casey returned his smile. “Mama, can Griff stay for lunch?”

“He just got here. I'm sure he's not hungry.”

The little boy swiveled his head. “Are you, Griff?”

“Not yet. But maybe by the time I've finished these chores, I'll manage to work up an appetite.”

“Mama's making grilled cheese. Is that okay?”

“That's better than okay. I love grilled cheese almost as much as I do peanut butter and jelly.”

“Hear that, Mama? Griff loves grilled cheese sandwiches.”

Juliet held her tongue, though Griff could tell it cost her. That only had his smile widening as he moved on to another stall. It gave him a measure of satisfaction to know, thanks to Casey's remarks, that Juliet had been as unnerved by yesterday's scene as he'd been.

An hour later Juliet announced abruptly, “As long as you three have this under control, I'll head up to the house and get lunch started.”

Griff and the two boys were so engrossed in their work, they didn't answer.

Just as Juliet set aside her pitchfork, a voice from the doorway of the barn had her pausing.

“Well, well. Mrs. Grayson. You're looking mighty hot and sweaty. Care to cool off down at the creek with me?”

Her voice was pure ice. “What are you doing here, Mitch?”

BOOK: The Rebel of Copper Creek
6.37Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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