Argosy Junction

by Chautona Havig

  Matt climbed from the Jeep, stepping gingerly on the gravel. He shut the door firmly behind him and waved sheepishly. “See you around.”

  With a curt nod, Lane drove around the U-shaped courtyard coming full circle next to him once more. “Hey, what’s your name?”

  “Matt—Matt Rushby, why?”

  Lane smiled as she drove around the yard once more and out the gate. Matt stepped gingerly across the gravel to his small cabin porch and pulled the key from his pocket. At the sound of flying gravel, he turned. Standing in the open gateway, was Josiah Gideon a look of utter contempt etched in his face.

  ~*~*~*~

  “Then he says, ‘It might have something to do with those sheep crowding me and daring me to tangle with their horns,’ or something like that.”

  The Argosy family howled as Lane animatedly told of her afternoon excitement. Her brother Tad shook his head as he wiped tears from his eyes. “He just left his shoes and book and jumped into the Jeep because you said so?”

  “Well, I think he reacted on instinct. Most people find my presence quite commanding and worthy of respect.”

  “Well you can’t fool us,” Lane’s father retorted. “We know you better than that.”

  She grabbed a roll from the basket and lobbed it at her father. Warren Argosy caught it and grinned. As he cut it open and buttered it, he teased, “Thank you. I’m always amazed at how well you read my mind.”

  Two blue eyes peered around the vase of wildflowers in the center of the table. “Laney, what is his name?”

  Lane smiled indulgently at her little sister. “Matt Rugby or something like that.”

  Patience’s expression grew earnest. “Are you going to get him his boots and his book back?”

  “Are you crazy? He’ll have to replace them. I’m not risking an attack just so he can have his book and boots.” Lane knew, even as she spoke, that she’d be walking out to get Matt’s things before midnight. Patience had a way about her when she fixed her mind on an idea. If Lane didn’t promise to go get them, Patience would go do it herself and none of the Argosy’s would let that happen.

  ~*~*~*~

  Thankful for a full moon, Lane left the Jeep at the hill and walked the rest of the way. She had a flashlight, but the brilliant moon above made it unnecessary. At the gate, her eyes panned the pasture below her. It was a good half a mile or more to the cottonwood tree near where she’d found the man. The sheep were snoozing, as usual, in the far corner of the pasture. They usually kept to a grove of trees near the base of the mountain two miles from the gate. If she kept quiet, they’d never wake up.

  She pulled on gloves and climbed over the gate, muttering to herself all the way to the tree. Every argument, admonition, and reproof she hadn’t given Patience, she now spoke with abandon, even if under her breath. The man had no right to wear hiking boots anyway. Surely, the book couldn’t be too precious to him if he’d taken it on an afternoon hike.

  Items secured, she traipsed back to the truck, stripped the gloves from her hands, and set the boots on the passenger floor. Holding the flashlight against her shoulder with her chin, Lane read the cover of the dew-dampened book. “Shakespeare’s Sonnets? He reads Shakespeare? Sonnets? Oh, please. Now he’ll probably go home and write an Ode to a Ewe. Poetic license and all. Can sonnets have puns? And will it be self-fulfilling? Will it be an Eewie Ode?”

  Tempted to drive into Gideon’s and get the ordeal over with, Lane sighed. She couldn’t wake up an exhausted tourist just because she was irritated at her little sister, and if she saw Josiah or Carrie when she was there in the morning well, tough luck. Lane Argosy wasn’t going to hide like a coward just because she wanted to avoid her sister and the rest of the Gideon gang.

  Two

  Despite her bravado of the previous night, Lane dreaded another trip to Gideon’s. The temptation to call and ask for his cabin was strong enough to prompt her to grab her cell phone. She stuffed it back in her pocket again and started the engine. Five years of almost no contact hadn’t eased her nerves, maybe facing them would.

  As she pulled in front of cabin seven, Josiah Gideon, still too scrawny in his Wranglers and polished boots, crunched across the gravel driveway and held her door shut. “You’re not welcome here, Lane, and you know it.”

  “I’m not here to flaunt my sinful state; I’m simply returning the things your guest left in our south pasture. I’d be gone already if you weren’t leaning against my door.”

  Josiah’s head shook slowly. “No. Give them to me. I’ll see that he gets them and remind him to stay off private property.”

  It was an easy way out of an awkward situation, but surprisingly, Lane no longer dreaded confrontation with the Gideons. Thankful for her size and his bird bones, Lane shoved open the door sending Josiah spinning into the Jeep’s hood. “Sorry Josiah, but you don’t get to make that decision.”

  Lane knocked on Matt’s door, ignoring Josiah’s glare. Matt opened the door in his stocking feet grinning. “Good mor—my boots! My book! Thank you. I never thought I’d see them again.” A cheekiness added to his grin, “although it was more of a hope in regards to the boots.”

  “My little sister decided that you’d need them, and when Patience gets something in her head…”

  She saw him half-listening, watching Josiah from the corner of his eye. Why, she couldn’t imagine, but the guy was probably shooting daggers at her. “Let me take you to breakfast. It’s the least I could do.”

  Lane started to refuse, but a look in Matt’s eyes stopped her. She swept her eyes sideways, saw the look on Josiah’s face, and couldn’t resist. “Sure! Grab your shoes, and climb in!”

  Matt waved her back to the vehicle and scrounged for his shoes, wallet, and watch. Lane groaned as she tapped the steering wheel. What should be great fun would now become torture. Sure Josiah was satisfyingly ticked, but now she would be the gossip of Argosy Junction. Again.

  A woman exited one of the nearby cabins, leaning back to adjust the weight of her swollen midsection. The calico jumper and peter pan-collared blouse reminded Lane of a uniform, rather than the quaint garb of a prairie muffin. A wide ribbon held the woman’s dark hair out of her face, but allowed it to fall down her back and below her waist, showing a full six inches of dead split-ends that needed to be trimmed. Lane idly wondered if the lack of trimming was Carrie’s natural resistance to cutting her “glory,” or if this was Peter’s latest preference.

  Matt jumped into the Jeep, and they drove away from the glare of Josiah’s blatant displeasure. Lane felt terrible. Now that she’d accepted Matt’s challenge, she just wanted to drop him off somewhere and go as far away from town as she could get.

  “So, where do you recommend for a big breakfast? I’m starving. My feet were so sore last night that I just soaked them in the tub and ate the snacks I brought up from Spokane.”

  The temptation to take him to the bakery for coffee and a donut fizzled. You can’t feed a starving man a donut and expect him to make it to the next meal. Being a rancher’s daughter had taught her the delicate balance between caloric intake and masculine sanity. No rancher’s daughter would mess with that balance—not even Lane Argosy.

  “You want Homestead Cafe. They have the second best biscuits and gravy, pancakes, sausage, and omelets you could want.” Lane turned toward the center of town and the promise of a solid hour of social torture.

  “I want the best. Where do I go for those?”

  Her low, deep laugh rumbled through the Jeep. “I didn’t invite you home though, so you’re stuck with second best.”

  “You saying you’re a better cook than the local chefs?”

  “Nope. I can’t peel a potato, and my scrambled eggs are too crunchy for most people’s taste, but my mom—”

  “Well maybe if you cracked the egg and dumped the contents before you scrambled them…”

  Lane whipped off her hat and whacked him with it. “Listen wise donkey—” She swallowed hard. Before she could change her wo
rds, however, Matt laughed.

  “My mom used to call my Uncle Arnie, ‘Baalam’s relief.’ As a kid I couldn’t figure out if she was calling him the donkey or its excrement.”

  “He was probably both.” Lane’s dry wit was often lost on the locals, but Matt howled. In her opinion, that spoke well of his intelligence.

  “I wish I could have brought Mom. She’d like you.”

  A truck pulled away from the front of the café just as Lane neared. If she didn’t take the spot, he’d have questions. If she did, she’d antagonize half the town—literally. As feisty and spunky as she was, Lane’s orneriness had limits. She whipped around back and parked in her old “usual” spot. Here she could honestly claim habit.

  However, Matt didn’t ask. She suspected that tantalizing scent of sausage gravy made it nearly impossible to notice where they’d parked. Once inside, no one missed the instant lowering of the conversational decibels. Again, Matt said nothing. He pointed to a “Seat Yerself” sign that hung over the cash register, and scouted the room for a free table. A small ice cream settee near the corner window was the only open table available, and Matt gestured toward it.

  Sometimes, the oddest things are our biggest humiliations. That stupid settee was a thorn in Lane’s side. She’d tried to get Sister McKee to move it out years ago, but the owner of the café was adamant. When the café was busy, there was always room at the uncomfortable table, and today, that was her punishment.

  As they took their seats, Lane realized that Matt’s hands were empty.” You didn’t grab a menu.”

  “You order for me. I’ll have whatever you say is good.”

  Mitzi Treynor paused several steps from their table and did an about-face, stuffing the order pad in her ruffled apron pocket. The café quieted even more. Murmured discussions escalated the level of tension in the room. A loud bang echoed from the kitchen, the big doors swung open, and Sister McKee herself came hustling into the dining area.

  She stood at the table smiling broadly at Matt. “Welcome to the Homestead, what can I get for you?”

  The plan was obvious. Sister McKee would ignore her. She’d just take Matt’s order and walk away before Lane could order. Life is fun when an innocent bystander wads and tosses the best-laid plans in the garbage, and that is exactly what would happen.

  Matt, oblivious to the destruction of a perfectly planned shunning, smiled at Lane, and said, “Can you tell her what I want?”

  Lane took a quick breath and looked into Sister McKee’s stone gray eyes. “I think he’d like the Rancher’s Breakfast Plate, a glass of orange juice, and fruit on the side for his pancakes. Oh, and I think he’d like a side of corned beef hash and a cup of coffee.”

  Sister McKee spun faster than anyone knew her ample body could move, and stalked through the swinging door into the kitchen. Matt eyed her—hesitation hovering around him. He seemed torn between minding his own business and demanding to know exactly what was happening around him. Just as she was sure he’d ignore it, he asked, “Aren’t you hungry?”

  Lane’s wicked grin almost sent him into a fit of laughter. “Do you really think you can eat scrambled eggs, biscuits and gravy, sausage, bacon, pancakes, and corned beef hash?”

  “Well, it did seem like a lot of food…”

  “Mitzi will be back with coffee and orange juice in a couple of minutes. She’ll give them to you. You can have your choice. Oh, here she comes. Don’t forget to ask for water. And smile at her. She likes to feel admired.”

  Mitzi set a steaming cup of coffee and a glass of orange juice before Matt, and gave her nervous little curtsy-like bounce. “Can I get you anything else?”

  Matt flashed a charming smile that transformed his average features into one of the most appealing faces Lane had ever seen. “I’d love a glass of water, and I’d appreciate it if you’d bring one for my friend.”

  Mitzi gave a weak smile and went to get the water. Lane forced her jaw to remain in place as she watched the skittish girl return with a glass for each of them. As Mitzi started to set the second glass in front of him, Matt shook his head. “Oh no, that one is for Lane. The orange juice too. I couldn’t drink all of this myself.”

  Left with no way to refuse without being rude to a customer, Mitzi set the glasses in front of Lane, before scuttling to a nearby table to refill a cup of coffee. Matt sipped his own cup and eyed Lane with interest. “Care to tell me what is going on?”

  “Oh you know… just the famous local celebrity causes awe and amazement everywhere she goes.”

  He nodded. “Mm-hmm. Looked more like infamy to me.”

  “Famous… infamous. Same smell.”

  Matt laughed again, his killer smile flashing at stunned looks from nearby diners. “If the looks they’re giving you are the same ‘smell’ of fame, then fame stinks.”

  Mitzi returned with the huge rancher’s breakfast platter and side dishes. The table was too small to hold it all so Matt gathered the napkin dispenser, salt and pepper, jelly tray, and daily special notice and set it all on the window ledge next to him. Even still, Lane held the corned beef hash in her hand, and shoved half across the plate before taking a bite.

  “Hey, push one of those biscuits over would you? I’d like one when you’re done. I saved some hash for you.”

  They split the rest of the meal in silence. He slid a pancake off his plate and onto her empty hash plate. The entire meal would have been ludicrous if it hadn’t been so enjoyable. The restaurant patrons watched the scene in amazement, disgust, and confusion. By the time Matt paid for their meal and escorted Lane to her car, the town buzzed with the news that Lane Argosy had dined in the Homestead Café.

  Lane started to pull into Gideon’s, but Matt stopped her. “Uh-uh. You owe me one thorough explanation. That was the strangest restaurant experience of my life.”

  Why she accepted his terms, Lane didn’t know. Perhaps it was the earnest and sympathetic tone to his voice and expression. Maybe it was appreciation for the way he treated her like a lady rather than a simpleton. Most likely, however, it was the dawning realization that this was someone she could share the entire story with and not have to worry about condemnation.

  “Want to see a working sheep ranch?”

  Matt’s infectious grin was an answer in itself. She turned onto the long winding dirt road that led to the even longer driveway to their house, nestled at the base of the mountain. The ride was silent, comfortable, and yet part of her felt foolish. How she would explain to her family why she’d brought a perfect stranger to their home, she didn’t know.

  A border collie raced to meet the Jeep, giving Lane little time to warn Matt. “Here she comes!”

  Matt looked around and saw the dog. Horror-struck, he braced for impact with the dog. She could almost hear his screaming thoughts; they were written plainly on his face. You’ll kill that dog!

  Seconds later, Boozer sat on his lap, licking his face and panting. Maybe now Matt knew what she’d meant. “Boozer likes to jump in. She’s only missed once.”

  The Border collie nuzzled his shirt and panted happily, as Matt scratched behind her ears. “I thought you were going to hit her! I couldn’t understand why you didn’t slow down.”

  “She’s been doing that since she was a pup. Here we are. Argosy Ranch at your service.”

  A tall, lean man leaned against one of the stout support beams of the long porch.” Is that one of your cowboys or sheep boys or whatever you call them?”

  “We call them hands—as in the Amish saying about many hands and lighter work. That’s my brother, Tad. I should warn you; they won’t understand me bringing home a strange man.”

  “Well I’m not from around here, but I wouldn’t call me strange…”

  She whacked him with her baseball cap and climbed from the Jeep. “Hey Tad, come meet the Shakespearean Shepherd.”

  Nonplussed, Matt shut the door of the vehicle behind him and strode, albeit somewhat gingerly, to the porch, hand extended. “I’m Matt. Please
d to meet you. Lane offered to let me see a sheep ranch in action, and who could turn that down?”

  Tad stood silently for a moment before taking Matt’s hand.” Welcome.” He turned to Lane, a wry look on his face and said, “Funny one to be sharing the inner workings of a sheep ranch.”

  Lane bopped her brother with the hat on her way inside. What else is a sister to do when her brother gets in a dig under the watchful eye of an interesting man? Matt shrugged at Tad and followed Lane’s beckon. “Seems like I’m supposed to follow.”

  “She’s probably going to introduce you to Mom and Patience and find out where Dad is. If you want to rile her a bit, tell her you would assume that a sheep rancher might be in the barn with any injured lambs instead of galivantin’ about town.”

  Matt started to apologize and explain, but something in Tad’s eyes told him that this was another dig at Lane, and an expected one. “Will do.”

  Martha Argosy dried her hands on a faded apron as she turned to meet him.” I’m sorry; my hands are wet. It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Rugby.”

  “I’ve already enjoyed the hospitality of your sheep. It’s nice to meet you as well.”

  Lane eyed him curiously before she turned to her mother.” I got his name wrong. It’s Rushby.”

  “Oh I’m sorry, Mr—”

  “Matt. Matt’s just fine. It’s not a big deal. The world won’t end if someone switches a few letters in my name.”

  “Can you stay to lunch?”

  All eyes turned to Martha. Lane’s jaw visibly dropped. Tad, in the doorway, turned, and clamored down the steps, and Patience’s eyes grew so large it looked like Ping-Pong balls had replaced them.

  Martha Argosy hadn’t invited anyone to dine with them in over five years.

  “Thank you. I—”

  “We just ate. He’s probably stuffed, but we can try to shove more down him.”

  Lane turned to leave the room and stopped. “Mom, where is Dad?”