“I’ll show you how the professionals do it.”
Again, she had no clue, but followed him through the room to an open area between the living and dining rooms. Cradled against her back, Gil demonstrated with his fingers between the laces how to hold the ball.
“When you throw, you want your index finger to steer the ball into a spiral spin.” One by one, he pressed her fingers in place, then guided her arm in a forward pass minus the release. All Mattie could think about, however, was how good it felt to have Gil’s arms encircle her — feel his breath tickle her ear. She closed her eyes, savoring the moment.
Too soon, Gil let go and positioned her in another stance. “Now, you be the quarterback, and I’ll hike the ball.” He bent over with the football between his legs and spouted off a bunch of numbers.
Before Mattie knew what happened, the brown missile shot from Gil’s hands and hit her smack in the stomach. In the millisecond it took to cycle thought with reaction, the ball bounced out of reach and crashed into a rose-patterned tea service, knocking the china pot to the floor where it splintered into a hundred shiny pieces.
Mattie gasped.
Gil straightened, his mouth gaping in a horrified expression.
“What in tarnation are you doing over there?” John McCray hollered, his afternoon nap disturbed. He got up from his chair and aided by his cane, crossed the room. When he identified the source of the commotion, his face contorted into an agonized scowl.
“You broke your mama’s tea set?” His blue eyes flickered from Gil to Mattie, then settled on his son. “Her favorite tea set?” He struggled to the wooden floor and picked up a shard of porcelain trimmed in gold. His shoulders slumped, outlined by defeat. “I gave this to your mama for her sixtieth birthday. Had tea and cookies with her every afternoon till the day she died.”
“I’m sorry, Dad.” Gil stepped closer. “We should have been more careful. I was just showing Mattie a few moves.”
John glowered at his son. Mattie sensed his rage building and bent to help gather the pieces.
“You always did care more about football than your own flesh and blood.” His words came out in ragged breaths as he brandished a portion of the teapot toward Gil. “Left your mother and me to run this ranch by ourselves and took away our hope of watching our grandkids grow up on this land. Broke your mama’s heart by denying her one last good-bye.”
Mattie glanced at Gil as the arrows shot into his heart.
“We were halfway around the world.” Gil pressed his hand to his forehead and squeezed his eyes shut. “Don’t you think I wanted to see her before she died? I loved her too. Would have given my right arm to hold her hand and tell her one last time.”
Tears stung Mattie’s eyes as the two grown men battled out their heartache, as though one’s pain was greater than the other. But what could she say? All she could do was be here for them, try to help mend their broken relationship.
No amount of glue would fix the shattered pot in her hand.
But surely Gil and John’s relationship could be restored.
Couldn’t it?
TWENTY-EIGHT
“ONE WOULD NEVER KNOW YOU CARED A WHIT ABOUT YOUR mama — never shed a tear at her grave.” Gil’s dad picked up another shard of the broken teapot.
At the hard tone, Gil froze, incapable of rebuff or movement. He checked Mattie’s stunned expression and a part of him withered in mortification. Would she think him a cold monster, incapable of feeling?
Gil forced himself to break through the icy crust to convince his father and Mattie that he wasn’t that cruel. He gripped his dad’s shoulder. “I never meant . . .”
His father shrugged his hand aside. “Go back to your football. I can clean this up myself.”
Gil stared at the high ceiling, wanting to make things better but not having the foggiest idea how to do so. He dropped his gaze to Mattie and offered a silent apology for putting her in the middle of this horrible mess. “I’m going to check on Dusty. Clear the air. Might do us all some good right now.”
Mattie rose and clutched his elbow. “Want me to go with you?” The warmth in her eyes offered the understanding he yearned for.
But Gil shook his head. “Stay here. You’ll do more for him than I can.”
He left the house and plodded across the snow-laden barnyard, his heart heavy in the crisp, cold air. When he opened the barn door, he spotted Jake on a bale of straw next to Dusty.
“Me and Dusty is having us a little chat.” Jake tapped his knee and grinned. “Us old fogies have a lot in common. His knees hurt, my knees hurt.” He spit a stream of tobacco to the dirt floor next to his father’s blue heeler.
Gil knelt beside the gelding and smoothed a hand across his neck. He could feel Jake’s eyes studying him.
“Been fussing with your dad?”
“How did you know?”
“I watched you grow up, remember? Seen you take your first ride. Not much has changed since then.” Jake scratched his whiskers. “You always wanted to tackle the world. I’m guessing you still do.”
Gil’s brow puckered as he contemplated the cowboy’s words. “I wonder if we’ll ever get along — find that place of harmony where we can both be content, or at least communicate with each other without turning it into a brawl.”
Jake rubbed his worn jeans as though massaging the tired muscles beneath. “Seems to me you always found your peace on the back of a horse. Might be snow on the ground now, but spring will come. There ain’t nothing like spring in the hills — blue skies, fresh green grass, new calves popping out left and right.” He twitched his mouth from side to side, then spit another wad of chew. “I’m thinking there’s harmony right under your nose.” The ranch hand eased from the bale and wiped the dark juice from his mouth. “It’ll come to you; jest have to give it some time — for the snow to melt, so to speak.”
Jake went off to oil saddles while Gil cleaned Dusty’s pen. What the old cowboy said about finding peace on a horse was true, and it solidified Gil’s notion of raising horses, top-quality horses like Dusty had been. The ranch he hoped to buy in California would be the perfect setup for a brood mare operation, and having already researched the horse industry, he knew where to find proven rodeo stock — right here in Kansas.
When Gil returned to the house, he found Mattie in the kitchen dipping chili into a blue bowl. “How is he?” Gil asked.
Mattie looked up and shrugged. “We swept the broken china from the floor, but he’s still upset. I finally convinced him to lie down in his bedroom. Hoped some rest might do the trick.”
“I doubt it. Where do you think I got my hard head?” Gil knew his dad would hold this grudge for a good long time. Perhaps as Jake said, the two of them just needed to let the snow melt.
MATTIE STIRRED THE POT OF CHILI UNTIL GIL STOLE THE LADLE from her hand. His clothes reeked of manure and hay . . . barnyard perfume. She didn’t mind the smell and embraced this side of Gil, hoping to see more.
“What would you think about riding out to Central Kansas with me to look at some horses this spring?”
She grabbed the spoon back. “I think you need to wash your hands before handling the food.” She smiled as he followed her command. When he finished wiping his hands on a towel, she handed him a bowl. The steam from the chili tickled her nose but smelled delicious. “What sort of horses are you looking for?”
“Brood mares, maybe even a stud. I want to hire you to do a purchase exam.”
“You’re serious about raising horses?”
“Dead serious.”
John McCray shuffled into the kitchen, one hand on his cane. “What are you dead set on now? Don’t tell me you’re going back to football?”
“Nope, my playing days are over.” Gil took his father a bowl of chili and placed it on the table. “If that’s too spicy, let me know, and I’ll make you something else.”
John scratched his bristly chin and sat down. After a respectable amount of grumbling, he blew on a spoo
nful and took a bite. He seemed to enjoy it, or at least he didn’t complain.
Gil hunched over the counter and attacked his meal with fervor. “I’m going to buy a ranch in California,” he said between mouthfuls. “Got it picked out and everything. Beautiful estate, giant barn with an indoor arena. It’s not as wide-open as this place, but it’s a nice spread.”
Mattie dipped a cracker into her chili and pulled it out before it turned soggy. Gil seemed so intent on California. What was he running from? She munched on the cracker and enjoyed the zesty flavor.
“How many acres?” John leaned his elbow on the table with interest.
“Two hundred. Considering the population of the area, that’s a lot of land.”
Mattie’s gaze swung from John to Gil. Populated or not, two hundred acres wasn’t enough land to spit on and certainly couldn’t compare to the Lightning M. City life had dulled Gil’s senses, made him forget the exhilaration of riding on untainted ground. A few weeks in the Flint Hills ought to renew his love for the land and convince him of his mistake. At least, she hoped it would. She ate a spoonful of chili. Within seconds, the fiery seasoning permeated her mouth and radiated from her pores.
John mopped his forehead with a red handkerchief.
“Maybe you ought to fix your dad something else,” she said. “You need an iron stomach to eat this stuff.”
Apprehension skidded across Gil’s face.
John waved off their worry and stared at his son. “Sounds like you got your life all figured out. Seeing as how you’re set on owning land in California, I don’t guess you have any need for the home place. That’s a shame — kind of hoped you’d changed your mind about living here.” He rubbed his chest and pushed the half-eaten bowl of chili away.
Mattie lost her appetite too.
“I suppose my niece in Council Grove might be interested in having it, though she’s married and has her own home.” John’s eyes settled on Mattie. “Or maybe I’ll hand the ranch over to our good veterinarian here. She’s been like a daughter to me these last few years — closer to me than my own kin.” He wiped his mouth with a napkin and rose from the table on unsteady legs.
The air in the room was so thick with tension the hair on Mattie’s neck prickled beneath her flannel collar. She wanted to diffuse the dynamite sure to explode any minute, but John’s statement held such a shock, her words jumbled inside her head.
A daughter to him? Land of her own?
“I never figured you’d give the place to me, anyway.” Gil spoke without a hint of offense.
Mattie studied him, suspecting the hurt went so deep it didn’t show. Wasn’t this exactly what Gil predicted? But John couldn’t be so cruel as to deny his only son his rightful inheritance. That would be worse than bankruptcy.
She stepped between the two men. “Now hold on a minute. You don’t want to say anything you’ll regret later.” Her lips twitched as she shot a warning glance at John. “You’re not dying, so there’s plenty of time to work out this misunderstanding. I know deep down you want Gil to have this place, so don’t try to tell me otherwise.”
Bunching her hands into fists, she shifted to Gil, prepared to tell him her mind. “And you, standing there as though you could care less. It would kill you if someone else owned this property. Even if you buy your land in California, this will always be your home, the place you grew up with Frank, where you have memories of your mom and dad. How could you let that slip from your lap without so much as a shrug . . . or a fight? Don’t you know how much this land means — to the both of you?”
Gil shook his head. “It means something to you, Mattie . . . not to me.” His voice came to her, soft and persuasive.
John let out a disgusted sigh. “I’ve heard all I care to. Don’t need to listen to anymore,” he said and ambled from the room.
When he was out of earshot, Mattie turned on Gil like a pit bull. “How can you say that?”
Gil closed the distance between them and lifted her chin, made her look into his eyes. What she saw there contradicted everything that came from his mouth — pain, regret, and a longing for peace. He’d never find that peace by running away from the source of his sorrow.
“I have good memories here, but there are also some really bad ones I’d like to forget. Dad’s going to do what he wants with this place. What good will it do to argue about who gets it? My life’s in California.”
Mattie wrenched her chin from his grasp and stared at the red tiled floor. “But you’ll stay until the ranch is repaired? You’ll do that for your dad?”
“I won’t leave until the work is complete and Dusty’s recovered. How about you? Will you help me purchase some mares?”
She stared down at her boots. “I guess I could make arrangements.”
“The other day after we caught the bull, you called me a coward. Do you still think that of me?”
Mattie considered their conversation from that day when she’d accused Gil of running away from the ranch and his responsibilities. “That depends on how you handle this mess with your father.”
In one smooth motion, Gil seized her hands. “I’m no coward, Mattie. One day you’ll see that.”
TWENTY-NINE
THE NEXT FEW DAYS, MATTIE SORTED THROUGH THE BOXES IN HER office. Still amazed by Gil’s generosity, she took inventory of every item, determined to settle with him cent-for-cent. By Friday, the room began to look like a veterinary office, complete with a sectioned-off examining space where she could perform minor operations.
Mattie sat at the new computer, forced to load client records from a local phone book. Her puppy lay at her feet as she typed in the missing information. She paused to sip her coffee and heard Gil hammering. All week he’d been repairing broken windows and shingles on his father’s house, hard-pressed to beat the ice storm forecasted to hit their area on Sunday. Although snow lingered on the ground, the temperature had risen above freezing, which at least made his job easier.
John McCray knocked on the clinic door and entered the room. “Mildred wanted me to check on you. See if you needed anything.”
Mattie shook her head, appreciating the gesture. She held up her cup of coffee and smiled. “I’m drinking my morning dose of caffeine now. Tell Mildred I’m good, unless she wants to trade places. I’ll gladly cook lunch, if she’ll perform a miracle on my accounts.”
“Mildred hates computers ’bout as much as I do. She did learn to work that email, though, so she could write to her daughter.”
“In Texas, right?”
“She and her family moved to Houston a few years ago. Breaks Mildred’s heart not being around her grandkids anymore.”
Mattie hoped this wouldn’t trigger another tirade about him not having grandchildren. From what she could tell, John and Gil were being civil to one another since their argument, and she prayed it would stay that way. She took another sip, and the robust liquid seared her throat. Her sister, Jenna, lived in Houston, but they didn’t talk often, by phone or email. “I ought to keep in touch with my family more than I do. A person gets busy, you know?”
“Everybody’s busy.” He jerked his thumb toward the house. “Boy’s up there making so much ruckus, I can’t even sleep. Bam, bam, bam. Runs that hammer like a machine.”
Mattie smiled. “Gil’s excited about the renovations — you should be too. Your house is getting a face-lift.”
“I guess I don’t mind so much what he’s doing — just have to wonder about his motivation.” John tapped his hand on his knee to play with the pup, and the beagle, eager for attention, licked his fingers. “Can’t understand why Gil came back. He’s made it clear he has no desire to stay — no interest in the place. Don’t make no sense to me.”
“Maybe he’s trying to compensate for the time he’s been away, all the years apart.” She hoped to show the man another view. “Gil’s told me he wants to put things right between you two. Says he’s tired of fighting.”
John snorted. “Could have fooled me.”
Mattie’s gaze didn’t waver. “You’re a cantankerous old cuss.”
His eyes widened at her frankness.
“What is the problem with you and Gil, anyway?” She got up from her desk and knelt beside him. “Aren’t you proud of his accomplishments? He’s retiring from fifteen years in professional football. I don’t care for the game, but even I recognize that’s a big deal. Why don’t you cut him a little slack?”
John wiped his nose with the edge of his hand. Mattie lifted the puppy onto his lap, and the man stared at the beagle without looking up. “Gil walked out on this family long ago. Walked out and didn’t look back.”
“But that’s just it. He was a boy . . . looking for answers, and now he’s a grown man . . . still looking for answers. Don’t you want to help him?”
“He don’t want no help from me.”
THE NEXT AFTERNOON, GIL LOOKED UP FROM HIS WORK ON THE roof and saw Mattie lead Dusty out of the barn. From this vantage point, the horse appeared to be in worse shape than Gil realized, the indentations between the ribs deeper and even more pronounced. How much weight had the old boy lost anyway? At least a hundred pounds, maybe more.
Braced against a bitter north wind, Gil bent to pick up a nail and as he stood, he watched Dusty suddenly drop to the ground. The horse then thrashed onto his back with his feet in the air.
“Uh-oh, that can’t be good,” Gil uttered, his cold fingers already unfastening his tool belt. In haste, he clambered down the aluminum ladder and rushed across the barnyard, making it to the doc’s side within seconds. His heartbeat raced as he helped Mattie regain control of the horse.
Dusty sat back on his haunches like a dog. “Colic?” Gil asked, but already knew the answer.
Mattie frowned. “It looks like it. The question is why?” Her warm breath fogged in the frigid air as gray clouds gathered in the sky.
For the next hour, Gil watched as the doc gave Dusty a thorough examination. When finished, Mattie returned to Gil’s side and deposited the plastic glove in the trash. “There doesn’t seem to be any inflammation of the intestine, which is good. We can pass a nasogastric tube to his stomach to relieve any gas or fluid building there. After that, we’ll see how he does.”
Snow Melts in Spring Page 14