Hope for Tomorrow

by Elizabeth Maddrey

  Morgan twisted the knob and cracked the door open. “Ms. Hewitt? Skye?”

  Nothing again.

  He pushed the door wider and took one step in, pausing at the sight of her sprawled on the bed, the quilt pulled up half-way, her light brown hair fanned around her head. She looked impossibly young and fragile, though from what he could dredge out of his memory of conversations about their grandchildren, she was twenty three or twenty four. Only five years younger than himself.

  Dragging his gaze from her sleeping form, he set the suitcases down gently at the foot of the bed and settled the backpack on the rocking chair in the corner of the room. Considering, he tugged the quilt up to her shoulders and barely resisted smoothing back the wisp of hair that slanted across her forehead.

  She sure was pretty.

  And that was an unproductive line of thought. He backed out of the room and closed the door.

  “Skye settling in?” Wayne was in the hallway, a knowing smile on his lips.

  Morgan shoved his hands in his pockets as heat crawled up his neck. Had Wayne been watching? Morgan jerked his chin. “She’s asleep. I set her things by the bed, but there’s a lot still in the trunk. I get the feeling everything she owns is in that car.”

  Wayne’s eyebrows lifted. “Hmm.”

  “About that, yeah.” Morgan fished the car keys out of his pocket and offered them to Wayne. “Take these. You can give them to her at supper.”

  “You aren’t joining us?”

  “Not tonight.” He gave a quick nod. “I should get back. There’s a lesson coming this afternoon.”

  Wayne’s smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. Morgan figured his boss had a pretty good handle on what everyone at the ranch was thinking. Usually before they figured out for themselves. If he’d been caught admiring Skye while she slept, well, so be it.

  Morgan left through the mudroom off the kitchen. It was the fastest way back to the barn and the most likely to avoid another run-in with Betsy. Wayne might have kept quiet about Morgan watching Skye sleep, but she wouldn’t. That woman saw hearts and flowers everywhere she looked.

  And that wasn’t something in the cards for Morgan.

  Not anymore.

  “Hey there, girl. It’s a brand new day.” Morgan chirruped to Blaze and ran his hand up the flat of her nose to her ears. It wasn’t good to have favorites, but she was special. He eased into her stall to check on the water in her trough and the condition of her bedding.

  Morgan quickly flicked a brush down Blaze’s side from neck to rump before moving back to her head and crossing to give a quick groom to her other flank. He checked her hooves—clean—and gave her a final pat on the nose. “Let me go through the others and I’ll take you out to the lower pasture. It’s going to be a nice day. You might as well have some time in the field again today.”

  He moved to the next stall and repeated the process with its occupant. The ranch had six horses, though the stable had room for sixteen. Right now, they only had three boarders, but that number would go up as they moved into summer. It always did.

  Morgan worked steadily through the stalls before slipping halters and leads on Blaze and Marshmallow. The two horses got along well, so he led them together when he could. It was an easy walk to the pasture. He eased them through the gate and surveyed the area. There weren’t any obvious hazards, but he’d take the time when all the horses were down to look more closely.

  “Morning.”

  Morgan fought to keep his expression neutral. For no reason he could discern, Skye’s voice made him want to smile. That wouldn’t do. He nodded.

  “Can I walk with you? They—the Hewitts—said I should see the horses.” Skye shrugged. “I’ve always thought they were pretty.”

  The “they” in that sentence probably referred to horses. From what Morgan understood, the Hewitts hadn’t had any real contact with their grandchildren until Cyan started calling them a little over a year ago. Then Azure had come in person, followed closely by Cyan himself. Now Skye was here. It was a regular Hewitt grandkid reunion. “Suit yourself.”

  Skye fell into step beside him as he strode back toward the barn. “It’s a nice morning. Maybe a little cool.”

  Were they really going to talk about the weather? “Probably get up to the mid-sixties around lunchtime. Do you have a job that lets you work anywhere like your brother?”

  “No.”

  He waited, but she didn’t elaborate. “On vacation then?”

  “Currently unemployed.”

  Morgan glanced over, his brows knitting at her expression. She seemed more okay with that situation than most people tended to be. “Taking a break?”

  She glanced over at him and lifted a shoulder. “Sure.”

  Oookay. He wasn’t going to pursue it. There were horses to move. And apparently Skye was going to hang out with him while he did it. He stepped into the stall with Cinnamon and ran his hand up her nose. “Have any experience with horses?”

  “Me? No. I just like to look at them. From a distance.”

  Morgan shook his head. He whistled and led the next two horses out of their stalls. After a moment of consideration, he crooked a finger at Skye. “Time to get some.”

  “Some what?”

  “Horse experience. Come on, they don’t bite.” Well, they would, if you riled them up. Anything would. But it was unlikely she could mess up holding onto the lead for a horse that knew where it was going. He pointed to where he stood. “You want to stay on her left. Hold this.”

  Skye swallowed and held her hands behind her back. “I don’t think this is what the Hewitts had in mind.”

  “Sure it is. You’re seeing the horses, aren’t you?”

  “Seeing isn’t touching.”

  “You don’t have to touch them. Just the rope.” He thrust the lead into her hands and nodded. “There you go. Hold it tight, but let her have some slack. She’s not going to pull and she knows where we’re headed.”

  “Now what?” Her wide eyes met his.

  Maybe this was a bad idea? She looked like she was going to pass out. “Breathe. And don’t lock your knees. I don’t have time to dig up smelling salts.”

  Color rushed into Skye’s cheeks, and she pushed the rope toward him.

  Morgan just shook his head and clucked at the horses as he started toward the front of the barn. Both animals fell into step with him. And so did Skye. At least she had the sense to keep up rather than letting go. “See? Easy.”

  She snorted and looked away.

  “So if you’re not working and you don’t seem super interested in horses, why are you here?” He winced. That could have come out better. No going back now.

  “It seemed like the right place to come. Like I said yesterday at lunch. There weren’t a lot of options, and my grandparents won out over my parents any day of the week.”

  Grandparents she’d never met were better than her parents? “They must be interesting people.”

  Skye hunched her shoulders. “They’re not that bad. They’re just . . . I don’t know how to explain it.”

  “That’s okay. I think I get it. You’ll notice I don’t live at home, either.”

  Morgan opened the gate to the pasture and unclipped the lead from his horse as it sauntered in. He took Cinnamon’s lead from Skye and repeated the process.

  Skye turned and started back toward the main house.

  “Wait a sec.” Morgan checked that the gate was latched before jogging over. “Just stop. There’s two more horses to bring down.”

  “I’m sure you’re capable of handling it.”

  He grinned. There was some feisty under there after all. “Wouldn’t mind the company.”

  Skye shook her head.

  “Suit yourself. One question, before you go?”

  “What?” She crossed her arms.

  “What’s with your trunk?”

  “My trunk?”

  Morgan gestured toward the Hewitt’s house. “Of your car? It looked like you had
enough packed in there to set up house. You planning on staying a while?”

  “I don’t have anywhere else to be.” She shrugged. “Surely you’ve heard about my family from Cyan or Wayne and Betsy? We grew up in a bus, driving around from place to place whenever the whim—or a new job prospect—struck. My siblings and I all ended up pretty rootless.”

  Morgan started back toward the barn, pleased when she fell into step beside him. “Cyan’s settling here. And I think I heard something about another sister who’s making a home in Virginia?”

  “Azure, yeah. She and Matt are getting married over Labor Day weekend. He’s pretty settled there from what I can tell, so she’s making it her home, too. It’s not like we aren’t allowed to settle down. My other sister, Indigo, was the first to do that, actually. She and her partner have been in an artist commune for several years now.”

  Morgan clipped a lead to the next horse and led him out of the stall, handing the rope to Skye. “Partner?”

  Skye snorted. “I know. That’s what she calls Wingfeather, although I believe they did have some sort of tribal ceremony. I’m not sure if it constitutes a legal marriage. And I guess I figure that’s their business.”

  “Not God’s business?” Morgan moved to another stall and prepped the horse inside.

  “She doesn’t believe in any of that.”

  He wasn’t sure that mattered—God’s truth was the truth, whether or not people believed it, but he also understood that wasn’t the going opinion in the world today. “And you?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  He started walking, leading the horses down toward their pasture for the day. She wasn’t wrong. Life was complicated—every bit of it. “So other than helping me with the horses—thanks, by the way—what will you do with your day?”

  “Not sure. I guess I’ll see if there’s something I can do to help out.”

  He smiled. She was still pale, and he could tell the walking was wearing her out. It was likely Betsy would take one look at her and suggest another nap. “There’s always something to do to help out.”

  “Here’s hoping.” Skye tentatively ran her hand on the horse’s face, her lips curving as she did. “Thanks.”

  “My pleasure.” Morgan swung the gate closed and watched her walk back to the house. There was something about Skye. Having her around was going to make life a lot more interesting.

  3

  Skye stepped through the back door into the little mud room area and looked down at her shoes. Was she supposed to take them off? There were shelves under the coat hooks and an assortment of boots and sneakers lined up somewhat haphazardly on them.

  Off or on?

  She didn’t know what to do.

  Off or on?

  The words spun in her head, louder and louder. Skye covered her ears and sank to her knees as the clamor of indecision rattled inside her head.

  “I thought I heard—Skye, honey, are you okay?” Betsy’s knees popped as she squatted in front of Skye.

  Skye forced herself to look up and lower her hands. Heat seared her neck and face. She tried to force a chuckle. “Yeah. Of course.”

  Betsy tilted her head.

  “I’m fine. Really.” A hot tear escaped, belying her words and she swiped it away. She looked down, unwilling to meet her grandmother’s concerned gaze. Her grandmother. Who was wearing shoes. So at least that question was answered.

  With an exaggerated groan, Betsy pushed herself to her feet. “All right. Why don’t we have some tea? Or coffee? Maybe sneak a cookie.”

  “Tea and a cookie sounds nice, thanks, but I don’t want to be any trouble.”

  Betsy waved away her words. “Please. I’m always happy to take a break and drink tea. Is it still chilly out there?”

  Skye slid onto a stool at the breakfast bar and watched as her grandmother filled a kettle and put it on the stove. “It’s not terrible with a sweatshirt.”

  “Good. Spring’s coming. We’ll still get another snow, maybe two, but you can smell spring in the air if you’re paying attention.”

  Snow? In April? It was the mountains, but still. “Is that usual? The snow?”

  “Oh, sure.” Betsy reached into a cupboard and drew out a small, wooden chest. She carried it over to the counter and set it in front of Skye before flipping it open to reveal rows of tea bags. “Choose your flavor. We’ll get snow into May. But it doesn’t stick around more than a day or two usually. Looks pretty on the flowers brave enough to try and grow.”

  Skye flipped through the colorful packets and they all kind of swirled together. She didn’t know much about tea—it just sounded easier to try and choke down than coffee. She wasn’t anti-coffee, but after her first cup in the morning, it wasn’t something she sought out. The doctors suggested that keeping the caffeine to a minimum might help with the anxiety. “What’s your favorite?”

  “Hm? Oh, well now, let’s see. This early in the morning, I think we could still go for something with some zing, don’t you? How about Earl Grey? It’s a classic for a reason.” Betsy smiled and slipped two teabags from the box.

  “Um. Maybe no zing? I get wired.” Skye glanced over her shoulder. Her room was just through the family room and down the hall. If she hadn’t had that . . . moment. She was going to call it a moment. If she hadn’t had that moment in the mud room, she could be safely ensconced in her room, not trapped in the kitchen while her grandmother made tea.

  “Sure. How about peppermint? Did you enjoy seeing the horses? They’re beauties, aren’t they? Wayne sometimes fusses at the expense of keeping them year round when we really only need them during the summer, but I can’t help myself.” Betsy swapped one of the tea bags for a bright green wrapper, moved to the whistling kettle, and pulled it off the heat. “And he enjoys riding as much as I do. We do get a few who come to take lessons, plus they pull the sleigh during the winter.”

  The sleigh? Why on Earth did they have a sleigh? If they were the kind of religious nuts her father had painted them as it seemed unlikely that they’d be into Santa. She hadn’t seen evidence of that, but still, it was probably best not to even take a step down that road. “They seemed nice.”

  Betsy caught her gaze and held it. “And Morgan? Was he nice?”

  “Sure.”

  “Mmhmm. He can be prickly. Just ignore him. Sometimes he forgets his manners.” Betsy set a steaming mug in front of Skye and added a plate piled with cookies to the counter before coming around with her own drink and slipping onto a stool. “Have a cookie while you wait for that tea to steep.”

  Skye took a cookie. Chunks of chocolate broke through the top, offering a promise of something decadent. She should probably defend Morgan. He hadn’t been rude. Or even brusque. Just nosy. And since she could practically feel the questions pumping off Betsy, he wasn’t alone in his curiosity. She stuffed as much of the treat in her mouth as she could manage, her eyebrows lifting as flavors exploded on her tongue.

  “Good, right? Maria makes them once a month. She’d do it every week if I let her. Of course, if I did that, they’d be rolling me around like Violet Beauregard at the end of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.”

  “You like Roald Dahl?”

  “Of course. Although,” Betsy glanced over her shoulder before leaning closer with a conspiratorial glint in her eye, “I haven’t actually read Charlie. But I do love the movie with Johnny Depp.”

  Skye laughed. “That’s my favorite, too. Although the old one is still fun. Campier. And yet, the book’s better.”

  “Oh, I know. They always are. I wasn’t able to get into it. I guess I should try again sometime.” Betsy slipped the tea bag out of her mug and dropped it on the empty saucer she’d set out. She nodded to Skye’s drink. “Yours is probably ready, too. Milk and sugar?”

  Too many choices. Why did everything in life have so many things that required a decision? How was she supposed to know what was right? “I haven’t—I don’t know.”

  Betsy patted her hand. “I like
mine with milk and sugar. If I recall a lesson my grandmother gave me, since mine is black tea, it’s meant to be served with lemon, but since the Queen isn’t here, I think we can do what we want. Why don’t I fix yours the way I’d do mine, and if you don’t like it, we’ll dump it out and try again?”

  “Sure.” Skye twisted her fingers in her lap as Betsy doctored the tea. She studied the cookie plate. Would it be okay to have another?

  “Of course it is. You’re slender enough. You could have three if you wanted.” Betsy winked. “You get that from your dad, who, sadly, got it from Wayne. I don’t have the Hewitt metabolism. It’s unfair.”

  “That’s what Mom always says.” Skye reached for the second cookie. Had she spoken aloud or was her grandmother just good at reading body language? She’d been known to mutter, so it could go either way. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Anything.” Betsy blew across the top of her tea before sipping.

  “Why would you just welcome me with no questions like you did?”

  “Why wouldn’t we? Honey, we’ve wanted to meet you and your siblings since we found out you’d been born.”

  “But . . . you didn’t even ask for proof that I am who I say I am. I haven’t reached out before. I just showed up on your doorstep.”

  “And we’re glad you did. We’re grateful that we get the chance to have you here.”

  Skye turned away from her grandmother’s kind gaze and stared out the window. A flicker of movement caught her eye and she focused on it. Morgan. That figured. Coming here? Why would he be coming here?

  Feet stomped, then a door closing, and a crash. And then Morgan stepped into the kitchen. “Oh. Hi.”

  “You all right?” Betsy frowned. “What was the crash?”

  “Boots fell off the shelf where I tossed them. Got enough muck on them I didn’t think Maria would appreciate me wearing them inside. But I figured I’d have to come find you in the office.”