“Is there a way we can convince them to leave her here with Gladys?” Laurel asked.
Carlie shrugged. “I’m not sure. Gladys injuring herself and having to spend time in the hospital and nursing home haven’t been the best thing for the case. I know Kylie West and Dr. West took great care of Rose, but we can’t have her shifted here and there every time Gladys has a health crisis.”
“It wasn’t a health crisis, it was a broken shoulder.”
“From falling off a half-broke horse,” Carlie said with a bit of admiration.
“Right.” Laurel sat down next to the caseworker.
“You can’t stay? I mean, obviously you have a job in Chicago—”
“I don’t,” Laurel admitted. “But I’m going back to college.”
“Of course. It’s too much to ask someone to change their whole life, move hundreds of miles, start over.”
“Yes, it’s a lot.”
Carlie shuffled papers, then dropped them in her briefcase. “Well, I have to go. I’ll get all of this done and send you the address for getting your fingerprints taken care of. And I’m leaving a book for you to study, just in case something changes.”
“Thanks, I’ll take a look.”
Laurel walked Carlie to the door, and then she stood looking at the book in her hands. The Foster Parent Handbook. Her cell phone rang and she rushed back in to answer it.
“Hey, Mom,” she answered.
“Laurel, I tried to call last night. Is everything okay?”
“It’s good. The caseworker just left.”
“How did that go?”
“There’s a January court date and supervisors who don’t think Gran is the best candidate for raising a thirteen-year-old. I’m not sure how she or Rose would handle it if they moved Rose.”
“No, I can’t imagine. We’ll have to pray they don’t make that decision. But how are you doing? I know this has all been more than you expected.”
Laurel thought about that. “Definitely more than I expected, but it isn’t terrible. Rose is funny and we’re doing fine together.”
“And that handsome caretaker of Mom’s?”
“Not a caretaker. He’s building a house on the property next to hers and renting her cottage and barns until his place is finished.”
“I see.”
“Nothing to see,” Laurel responded. She took a breath to address the elephant in the room. “Mom, we have to discuss Curt Jackson.”
“I know we do. I’m sorry.”
“Of course you are, but this is a whole lifetime of secrets you’ve kept from me. I’m angry. I’m hurt. I feel robbed.”
“Those feelings are all understandable. I made a really poor choice, keeping this from you. I hope you’ll forgive us both. I hope you can find your way to having a relationship with your father.”
“I think it’s a little too soon to call him that. I feel like that title has to be earned. It’s more than just DNA.”
“I want us to be able to sit down and discuss this. After Christmas.”
“Yes, I’ll be home and we can talk.” Laurel held the phone for a moment, unsure of what else she could say. “I need to go.”
“Laurel, I love you.”
“Love you, too.” She meant it, but sometimes love hurt.
Laurel glanced out the kitchen window and saw Cameron walking into the barn. She slid her phone in her pocket, grabbed a jacket and headed that way.
* * *
The filly wobbled next to her mother, but then she noticed him and took a hesitant step, watching him. She was perfect. She would eventually be a deep red, the same as her sire. The black of her mane and tail would deepen. She flagged that black tail and took a prancing step forward, already trying to show her pride.
“She’s beautiful,” the voice from behind him said. He turned, smiling at the woman who approached, slowly, as if afraid to frighten the horse.
“Just born this morning. Mama and I were up early this morning, playing some music and watching the sun come up together and then this girl made her appearance.” He felt all sentimental, maybe even a little teary. It wouldn’t do a lot for his reputation as a cowboy if he cried over the birth of a foal.
But Laurel had tears in her eyes as she watched the baby nuzzle against her mother. He’d let her be the emotional one.
The surprise was when she stepped close to the fence, on his right side, and put her arm around him. He froze as she leaned close, as if they’d been friends forever and not merely days. Who was this woman who’d come into his life, taking up space in a way he hadn’t expected?
He should pull away from her, because that’s what his sensible self would have done a week or two ago, back when he was still convinced he enjoyed his solitary life here on the hill. Instead he folded his arm over her back to hold her there next to him. They stood like that, watching the mare and foal, for some time.
“You okay?” he asked after they’d been there for several minutes.
She shook her head. “I just spoke with my mother about Curt Jackson. And worse, I don’t know what to do for Rose. The caseworker, Carlie, told me they might send her to a foster home.”
“I’ve worried about that. Gladys isn’t healthy, Laurel. I know she looks healthy. I know she’s active. But the truth is, she’s eighty years old and chasing after a thirteen-year-old wears her out.”
“I know that. I’m just not sure what to do about it. Rose loves my grandmother and she deserves to have this home.”
“I agree.”
“This is one of those moments when people say, ‘I’ll pray.’ It’s what they say when facing something difficult. But this situation really needs prayer. I know in my heart that God has a plan but I don’t know what it is.”
She moved out from his embrace and looked up at him. “And you, you’ve complicated my life. I don’t want to get attached to you and then find that it was just Christmas, twinkling lights, paper snowflakes and hot cocoa. Temporary things. All sweet and nice but then we pack them away for the rest of the year.”
“Because you’re leaving and I like solitude.” He got it, he really did.
“Exactly.” She cupped his cheek with her gloved hand. “But I do like you, Cameron. If my world wasn’t in Chicago...”
“I know.” He cleared his throat, needing to find new solid ground to stand on.
They walked back to Gladys’s house together but he stopped at the back door. It seemed the right thing to do. She stood on the steps, the breeze lifting the curls she seemed to try so hard to control.
She leaned in to kiss his cheek. “Thank you.”
She hurried through the door, and he stood there for a long few minutes, wondering about God and His plans. Because nowhere in his prayers for healing had he thought about Gladys, Rose or Laurel. But now, even if he didn’t want to admit it, he felt a lot more like the person he used to be.
Was that because of Laurel?
Chapter Eight
Sunday afternoon, with just over a week until Christmas, Laurel accompanied the youth group from Hope Community Church, as well as a group of adults, to Lakeside Manor nursing home. They had spent the morning putting together small bags of fudge for residents who were allowed sugar, and bags of nuts and fruits for those who weren’t. The kids had created artwork to be hung on the walls of the residents’ rooms. They’d brought an assortment of painted trees, manger scenes and bible verses. The folks planning Christmas at the Ranch, an event at Mercy Ranch, had donated socks, shirts, nightgowns and other small gifts.
As they entered the facility, Dora came out of her office.
“You thought I wouldn’t be here today?” she asked as she surveyed the group of teens waiting for Isaac West and his wife, Rebecca, the youth leaders from Hope Community Church. The couple hadn’t shown up yet.
“We brought you some Ch
ristmas cheer, Dora.” Rose handed over a plate of fudge with a big smile. “These kids have been hard at work preparing Christmas gifts for the residents. We won’t bother anyone who doesn’t want to be bothered, but we did want to do something for people who have lived their lives, worked hard, served their country and community.”
Laurel felt her heart melt just a little. And the administrator’s eyes shimmered with tears.
Dora stood there for a long moment, all serious professionalism. Laurel watched in wonder as the other woman seemed to thaw before her eyes. A smile hovered on her lips and she nodded.
“Bless you all,” she said. “This is so kind. I’ll have our staff bring the residents out to the activity hall, the ones who are able. And if a few of you would like to visit those people who can’t leave their rooms, I think that would be nice.”
Rose stepped forward and hugged the woman. “Thank you.”
“No, thank you. Now come on, let’s have an early Christmas.”
“I’m going to get my grandmother,” Laurel told Rose as the group headed for the activity room.
“You go on,” Rose said with an air of authority beyond her years. “We’ve got this handled.”
Laurel watched as the youth group marched down the hall.
She met Gladys coming out of her room.
“What in the world is going on?” Gladys asked, looking less than steady on her feet. Laurel’s grandmother reached for the door to steady herself.
“Gran, are you okay?” Laurel reached for her grandmother’s hand.
“I’m just fine. I woke up from a nap and heard a ruckus in the hall.”
“That would be Rose and the youth group from the church.”
“Well, now, this is a lovely surprise. That girl keeps me young.”
They were moving slowly in the direction of the main hall when they heard the beginning of “Silent Night.” They rounded the corner to see teens lined up down the hall, all singing. The song drifted sweetly through the home.
Gladys stopped, pulling Laurel to a stop next to her. They watched as the teens finished singing and then they all moved together down the center of the hall, in an orchestrated move. As they walked they began to sing “Joy to the World.”
More residents came out of their rooms to listen. Laurel watched as some of the older people sang along, and a few wiped tears from their cheeks. She was pretty moved herself. This was the faith of her childhood, put on a shelf and unused for so many years. It sparked inside her, the feeling of warmth spreading as she watched the display of love the teens had for these people.
“God is good,” Gladys said softly. “Being here has been tough but some good things came of it. This, for instance. And bringing you home.”
Laurel didn’t know what to say, but she didn’t have time to dwell on it. As she scanned the crowd, listening to the kids sing, she saw him. Curt Jackson stood at the end of the hall, and when she made eye contact, he smiled. All at once she felt cold. She felt hurt all over again.
“You have to forgive,” Gladys said, squeezing Laurel’s hand. “I know it isn’t easy. But you have parents who made mistakes. Forgive them both.”
She was silent, standing there watching as the song ended and the teens from the youth group were enveloped in hugs and kisses by the residents and the staff.
Curt Jackson moved through the crowd, heading her way. She knew that he meant to talk to her. She searched the crowd, seeking Cameron. She shook her head at that realization. He wasn’t her safety net.
Cameron gaze locked with hers and he gave a slight incline of his head, barely a nod, and smiled.
“Hmm, interesting,” Gladys whispered.
“What?” Laurel glanced at her grandmother, her cheeks burning at the knowing expression on Gladys’s face.
“Oh, nothing. Just that my vision is still very keen.”
“I’m sure it is.”
Curt Jackson appeared at her side. Laurel watched as students started delivering candy and artwork. They didn’t need her help. The teens were obviously the best gift the residents had received in a long time. Laurel had no doubt the memories of the teens bringing Christmas to the Manor would live on for a good long time.
“It’s good to see you still here,” Curt said.
“I’m leaving at the end of the week.”
“Before Christmas?” he asked.
She wanted to move past the small talk, to get to the real emotions. The holidays, the weather, her return to Chicago—none of that really mattered. Here was the man who she could have called Dad but he hadn’t been a part of her life. She couldn’t go from anger to acceptance so quickly.
“I have to get back. I’m starting classes, to finish my degree.”
“I see.” His gaze slid past her to Gladys.
“Why don’t the two of you take a walk?” Gladys suggested.
“Good idea.” Laurel kissed her grandmother on the cheek. “I’ll be right back.”
“I’m obviously not going anywhere.” Gladys smiled secretively. “Yet.”
“Gran...”
“Oh, go on.”
Laurel walked down the hall, next to her father. Father. She didn’t know if she ever would call him that. Curt Jackson. If things had been different she would have been Laurel Jackson.
“I know this is difficult,” Curt said as he motioned her into a small sitting room. “But I can’t tell you how glad I am that we’ve been able to meet. I want you to know that I am sorry for the way we hurt you, your mother and I. We were young and not thinking about the future. I know my explanations won’t change anything, but I do want you to know that I’m sorry.”
Laurel pulled two dollars from her purse and fed them to the vending machine. It gave her a minute to think as she selected a bottle of water. “I understand mistakes were made. But I’m not a mistake.”
“No, you’re definitely not a mistake. Your mom raised a strong, intelligent woman. I’m proud of that, of you. I wish I could take some credit for the person standing in front of me.”
“If just once you had called, asked to meet me, anything. I get that you were married, and I understand you didn’t want to hurt your wife. But I’m the daughter you hurt instead.”
His sigh was ragged with emotion. “I know. And if I had been a better person back then, I would have thought about that. I should have shown your mother more respect.”
“Thank you for that.” Laurel sat down across from him. “I know that things happen for a reason. I’ll probably look back on these weeks and know that my life is different because we met. Right now it just hurts.”
“I hope that moving forward we find some peace with each other, with God, and with this situation.”
“Me, too.” She stood. “I need to get back to my grandmother now.”
They walked down the hall together, talking about more inconsequential things. But the little details, those were the building blocks of a relationship.
This trip had changed everything for her. Her heart ached a little when she thought of leaving this place, the people. And as they walked into the activity room, she made eye contact with the person she hadn’t expected to meet. The man currently at the center of a crowd of teens.
She would definitely miss Cameron Hunt.
* * *
Cameron attached a lead rope to the gelding’s halter and led him to the small arena. The horse belonged to Gladys. The very same horse that had thrown her. He’d been telling himself for weeks that it wasn’t his business but he’d decided to stop lying to himself. Gladys was his business. She was more than his landlady—she was his friend.
Today seemed like a good day to work the animal. After the visit to Lakeside Manor he’d come home restless. There were times that the days were endless. Each day rolled into the next day with nothing to distinguish one from the other. At thirty-five year
s old, he knew there had to be more to his life.
He thought what he felt might be God pushing him, preparing him for the next chapter in his life.
The horse tugged on the lead rope. He kept a firm hand, walking next to the horse, making the animal slow his pace to Cameron’s. The gelding wasn’t a bad animal, he just had bad habits. He would get the bit in his teeth and when he did, Gladys couldn’t control him. He fought the reins and she sometimes just let him go wherever he wanted. Even on the lead rope, he thought he was the boss.
“We’re going to come to an understanding, Buck.” He led the horse to the center of the arena and patted his neck. “Buck? Who names a gray horse ‘Buck’?”
The horse pushed his big head against Cameron’s shoulder. Cameron corrected him and stepped away.
“What are you doing with him?”
The voice took him by surprise. He hadn’t heard her approach and was positioned so he couldn’t see the fence. He moved, drawing the horse with him.
Laurel stood at the fence, her dark blue coat buttoned tight, her head covered by a gray knit cap. The weather had grown colder throughout the day and a few flurries had fallen, melting as soon as they touched the ground.
“I thought I might try to help him overcome some of his bad habits. I’m hoping she won’t ride him but maybe he’ll be easier to handle.”
“You’ve got a saddle on him.”
“I’m brave,” he said, and winked. It was the last thing he expected to do.
“Of course you are.”
He put his hand on the horse’s neck, soothing the animal as he started to stomp, impatient to move.
“Yes, I thought I might ride him in the arena, just to see how he behaves.”
“Be careful.”
He grinned at the warning. “No worries, I’m always careful.”
Her cheeks flamed and she gave him a sheepish smile. “Silly for someone who has never ridden to tell you, a person who obviously has, to be careful.”
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