“What’s the hatch?” he asked when she set the rock back down.
“Caddis.” The most common, and meant there’d be plenty of hungry fish. “I’ll go downstream,” she offered.
He smiled. “Lots of fish right here, Bree.”
Other than Zack, there wasn’t anyone else she’d liked to fish with, until she met Red. It took her a few minutes to settle in, but soon, she got into the rhythm of casting, and let herself get lost in it.
“Gettin’ hungry?” Red asked.
Hungry? Now that he mentioned it, she was starving. She pulled her cell phone out and saw it was just past noon. They’d been fishing for three hours and neither had said a word.
“You won’t be gettin’ a signal on that thing out here, better to forget you have it with you.”
“No, uh, I was just checking the time.”
“That’s right, you youngins don’t wear watches, do ya?”
“You’re right. It’s been a long time since I relied on a watch to tell me the time.” She waved her phone in the air. “Much easier to rely on this thing.” She put the phone back in her pocket.
“Whaddaya say we head up to Stanley for a bite to eat?”
3
When Red suggested they go to Stanley, Bree felt the air leave her lungs.
“Stanley Bakery okay with you?” he asked.
She nodded, and they made the rest of the ten mile drive north in silence.
“It’ll be crowded,” Red said when they pulled into town. “Me and the boys got a table in the back, though. There’ll be two seats open.”
She nodded but wasn’t really listening. The last time she’d been in Stanley was with Zack, five years ago.
Bree and Zack drove from Colorado, up through Wyoming, and into Montana before they went to Idaho.
The night before they got to Stanley, they’d been in Butte, Montana. Which, in its heyday, between the late nineteenth century and about 1920, was one of the largest and most notorious copper boomtowns in the American West, home to hundreds of saloons and a famous red-light district.
Driving in, the desolation of the city shocked her. The earth had been ravaged by mining. The disparity between it and the extraordinary beauty of the rest of Montana and Wyoming, was heartbreaking.
They spent that night at a bed and breakfast called the Copper King Mansion. It was originally built by William A. Clark between 1884 and 1888. The thirty-four-room, Tiffany-decorated, multi-million dollar home incorporated the most modern inventions available at the time, including a shower which the innkeeper referred to as a plumber’s nightmare. It looked more like an instrument of torture, with water shooting from all sides.
Without a wide range of options for dinner in such an economically-depressed place, she and Zack ended up at Mahoney’s Bar, where they spent the rest of the night talking to the authentically-Irish bartender.
Their drive to Stanley, the next morning, had been miserable because they were both so hungover. It was pouring rain, and they barely had enough energy to stop for lunch before they stumbled into another bed and breakfast.
That night they were lulled to sleep by the sound of the rain hitting the old tin roof of the one-time boarding house. The bed was small and the box springs, creaky.
“Everything okay?” Red asked when he came around to open her door.
“Zack and I spent time in Stanley,” she answered, hoping he wouldn’t ask anything else. If she closed her eyes, she could remember the feeling of the two of them being as close as two people could be.
As he’d predicted, there was a line out the door at the bakery. He took Bree’s hand in his big one and pulled her past the crowd to a room in the back, where the locals had their permanently-reserved table.
“Boys,” Red began, “I’d like you to meet the woman I spent the last few mornings fly fishing with. Who, I humbly admit, typically out-fishes me two to one.”
The men stood, and Red introduced her to them one by one. “Zeke, Emmet, Virgil, Branson…”
Bree lost track of the names, which sounded as though they could be a list of characters in an old Western. Each one shook her hand before sitting back down.
“Where did Red take ya this mornin’? I’m bettin’ mile marker 189,” said the one she thought was Zeke.
She looked over at Red, who was grinning.
“To his secret spot you mean?”
Her answer was met with laughter. “I take, it isn’t a very well-kept secret,” she continued.
“You got it, girl,” said the one named Virgil.
Red chuckled and ran his hand over his whisker-covered chin. “I’m curious about somethin’.”
Oh, no. Would he bring up her husband here, in front of all these strangers? “What’s that?” she stammered, hoping he wouldn’t.
“Every fish you catch, right before you release it, you hold it up real close to your face, so close I could swear you’re kissin’ the damn thing. What’s that all about?”
Bree’s cheeks flushed. “It’s a little ritual. I tell them I’m sorry for hurting them before I send them back.”
She supposed every man at the table figured she was bat-shit crazy after that story, especially given the way they were still staring at her and not saying a word.
“Well, ain’t that cute?” Zeke laughed.
She couldn’t tell whether he was confirming her insanity, or if he truly did think it was cute.
She looked at Red who was shaking his head, but still grinning. If nothing else, she’d just given them a story they could repeat for the next twenty years.
“What’s good?” Bree asked.
“The sticky buns are world famous,” answered one of the cowboys.
That sounded too sweet for Bree’s taste. When Red ordered corned beef hash, she did too.
“I know it’s well past breakfast,” he said, “but it’s about the best I’ve ever had.”
She nodded and finished every last morsel on her plate.
Jace’s days settled into a routine of physical therapy followed by a ride around the ranch. There wasn’t much he was up to doing, but it gave him the chance to make a list of the things that needed to be done when he recovered enough to start tackling them. As he learned the land, he tried not to let his mind wander.
He had no idea what to do about Tucker. His brother had every right to be angry, every right to hate him. Which was why Jace was hesitant to pursue a reconciliation. What he’d done was unforgivable. How could he ask it of Tucker when he couldn’t forgive himself?
He spent as much time thinking about Bree Fox as he did his brother. The harder he tried not to think about her, the more he did.
Other than at the funeral, there had only been two times Jace witnessed her break down over the death of her husband. Both times, he’d been the one who gave her comfort. He wondered who gave her comfort now. He hoped someone was.
He wanted to call her, but the last time they’d spoken, she accused him of using her to intervene with Tucker on his behalf.
“You can’t blame me for wondering about your motives,” she’d said the day he told her about the accident. How could he explain that his motives were about her? As much as he wished Tucker could forgive him, he needed Bree’s forgiveness too.
“How about a break for lunch?” his mother asked, riding up next to him.
“Mama, if you keep this up, I’m gonna weigh three hundred pounds before my leg heals.”
“Nonsense. You’re still as active as you were before you got hurt. If anything, you’re losing weight.”
She was right, and that was why she insisted on bringing him meals. He didn’t have much of an appetite, so if she didn’t, he wouldn’t eat.
“Your daddy doesn’t want to ask,” she began as she laid out a picnic lunch for them.
“Ask what?”
“There’s a bull he’s interested in, in Idaho. The folks at a place called Idaho Rocky Mountain Ranch contacted him about a bucker they were given.” She told him th
ey’d sent his father a video, and based on what Hank had seen, he thought the bull would be worth taking a look at. The ranch wasn’t interested in getting into the rough stock business, so they were looking to sell him.
“He has to stay here and oversee the stuff you aren’t able to yet, but he wants to get a look at this bull before someone else makes a bid on him.”
It was a six-hour drive from their place outside Helena, Montana, to Stanley, Idaho, where the ranch was. If he stopped every hour and stretched his leg, he could probably handle it. It was the least he could do, since his father had been picking up so much of his slack.
“Sure, I can do it. I’ll talk it over with him when we get back to the house.”
“Good. He’ll appreciate the offer.”
Each time he tried to ask his dad about the bull, Hank changed the subject. When Jace asked to see the video, he grumbled. “You don’t make a decision about a bull by watching a video,” he muttered, and glared at Carol across the dinner table.
Jace couldn’t figure it out. Maybe his father was irritated at his mom for asking him to go. When he offered to let him go instead, his dad waved him off.
“You go,” he said.
Jace set out the next morning, just after dawn. He’d be in Stanley by mid-afternoon. When he asked his dad whom he should ask for when he got there, he told him to ask his mother. As if the whole thing could get any stranger.
“Ask for Red,” she told him before he got in the truck and drove away.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” said the ranch manager when Jace asked him about the bull. “But that doesn’t mean much. Red doesn’t tell us everything he’s got a hand in.”
“Could you ask him?” Jace ran his hand through his hair. His leg ached, and more than anything, he wanted to get this over with so he could get back home and rest it.
“He won’t be back today. He’s in Salmon, at a fishin’ tournament. I think he said he’d be back sometime tomorrow.”
Jace didn’t know what to do. According to this guy, there wasn’t any way to get in touch with Red. But if his daddy really wanted this bull, Jace knew it only made sense to wait until tomorrow when he got back.
“Can you recommend a place to stay?”
“Sure. See that cabin over there? It’s what we call a two-fer. Got two sides to it. One is occupied by the lady Red’s off fishin’ with. We try not to book the other half, so she can have her privacy, but seein’ how she’s gone anyway, you can bunk there for the night.”
The man shook his head. “It’s damn sad.”
“What’s that?”
“She showed up here over a week ago, on some sort of sabbatical. That’s why we don’t book the other half of the cabin. You can hear her cryin’ somethin’ fierce sometimes, mostly at night. Lost her husband a while back, in the war. I doubt she thinks anyone hears her, but we do. Red took her under his wing right away. They spend a lot of time fishin’.”
“Who is this Red guy anyway?”
The man waved his hand in a sweeping circle. “Red owns every bit of land as far as your eye can see. He owns this place, too.” He laughed then. “Folks would pay good money to have Red as their fly-fishing guide for even a couple of hours, but he refuses to do it. For her, he does it for free.”
“Why?”
“Can’t say, but he seems to be enjoyin’ himself, so who are we to tell the boss to stop.” The man kicked at the dirt. “Red lost his wife about a year and a half ago. We been worried ’bout him since. He’s a generous boss and all-around good guy. If he feels like fishin’, he can fish. Name’s Wyatt, by the way.”
“Jace Rice, nice to meet ya.”
“Trail ride later on, with a damn good chuck wagon dinner if you’d like to join us.”
“Appreciate it.”
“Meet me at the main barn at six, and I’ll get you seated on a horse.”
“I spent a few summers working a dude ranch,” Jace told Wyatt as they saddled the horses.
“Oh yeah, where at?”
“In Colorado. A place called Black Mountain Ranch. Ever heard of it?”
“No, can’t say I have. Nice place?”
It was nice, but nothing like this place. Idaho Rocky Mountain Ranch was situated in the Sawtooth Valley, with a spectacular view of the mountains by the same name. The front porch of the main lodge offered a view of Heyburn and Horstman Peaks as the backdrop to Pettit Lake, where their sunset ride would take them.
Jace gorged himself on applewood-smoked baby back ribs and soy-glazed local salmon, which were served at the fanciest chuck wagon dinner he’d ever seen.
“Damn, this is good,” he said to Wyatt.
“Red likes the best.”
Jace looked forward to meeting Red more than seeing the bull he had for sale.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Ask away, Bree. Ol’ Red Dugan only keeps his fishin’ spots a secret, everything else is fair game.”
“You aren’t very good at keeping those a secret either.” Bree smiled. “You’ve spent almost every day of the last week playing my fishing guide. It isn’t that I don’t appreciate it, but are there things at the ranch you’re supposed to be doing? I mean, other than babysitting me?”
“First of all, what makes you think you aren’t babysitting me?”
Bree raised an eyebrow.
“And second, they’re pretty good about lettin’ me do whatever I want over at the ranch. Ain’t like I’m much of a hand anymore at my age.”
“You could probably run laps around any of the other cowboys over there, and you know it.”
Red laughed and threw his arm around Bree’s shoulders. “You’re good for this ol’ guy’s ego, but I know better.” He stopped and opened the door for her. Bree put her hand on his shoulder and climbed up into the truck.
“My daughter used to do that,” he murmured.
Red closed Bree’s door and walked around the front of the truck. He got in but didn’t start it up right away.
“Tell me about her.”
“She was a lot like you. Tiny, but feisty. Smart as a whip. Could out-fish me any day of the week. Could out-ride and out-rope me too. Whatever she set her mind to, that girl could do.” Red looked away and took a deep breath. “The only thing she couldn’t do was beat the damn cancer.”
Bree recognized the quiver in Red’s voice. She heard it in her own so often. She also knew that he’d continue his story when he wanted to, and that might mean never.
They were almost to the fishing lodge in Salmon when Red pulled off the side of the road.
“See that there?” he pointed.
Dusk was easing quickly into nightfall, and Bree couldn’t see whatever Red was talking about. “What is it?”
“Looks like a grizzly.” He pulled out a pair of binoculars from under the seat of the truck, and looked in the direction of the hillside.
Suddenly there was movement and Bree realized a herd of pronghorn antelope was scattered on the hillside.
He handed the binoculars over to her. “Look that way,” he pointed again. “She’s stalking them.”
Bree moved the binoculars back and forth until she caught sight of the grizzly. “How do you know it’s a female?”
“Look there,” he said.
Bree lowered the binoculars and looked where he pointed. When she raised them, she could see a bear cub staying just off to the side.
“She’s goin’ in,” he said.
And sure enough, the grizzly bounded forward and caught one of the smaller antelope. Bree lowered the binoculars, not wanting to see the rest.
“Circle of life, young lady,” he said, putting the binoculars back under the seat and starting the truck.
“I know,” she answered with a sigh.
“My daughter would’ve done the same thing. Watched to a point, then set the binocs down.”
“How long has it been, Red?”
“Goin’ on thirty years now.”
“
She must’ve been very young when she died.”
“Twenty-seven. ’Bout your age, if I’m right.”
“You are.”
When Red asked Bree to enter the tournament with him, she knew she’d be fishing the same places she and Zack once fished. She tried to convince herself it would be good for her.
What it ended up being was gut-wrenchingly painful. And it started as soon as they drove up to the main office of Salmon Creek Outfitters. She’d taken her first fly-tying class right here. She wondered if the owners, Annie and Dave, would recognize her.
Before Red could introduce her, Annie pulled her into a bear hug. “Bree Fox, is it ever good to see you! Where is that devilishly handsome husband of yours? Parking the car?”
Bree took a deep breath. She looked at Red, whose soft eyes told her he was right there with her.
“Annie,” she began, hoping her voice wouldn’t quiver. “He was deployed to Afghanistan two years ago. His convoy hit an IED. Zack didn’t make it.”
Annie gasped and threw her hand over her mouth. “Oh, Bree,” she said, pulling her back into the hug. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I don’t know what to say.”
There, thought Bree, she’d done it. She said it out loud and she hadn’t fallen apart. Red rested his hand on her shoulder and squeezed tight.
“Let me go get Dave, honey. He’ll want to see you. Wait, how do you know Red?”
“Kind of a long story. I’ll wait until you get Dave, and fill you both in,” Red answered for her.
“How ya doin’, Bree?” Red asked when they walked back to the truck.
“If I said I was fine, would you believe me?”
“Nah. But I wouldn’t question ya ’bout it either.”
The next morning they got out on the water early. Bree walked farther downstream than she normally would’ve when she was with Red, but today she needed time alone. She and Zack had fished this very stream. She hadn’t told Red, though. It might have made him feel bad about bringing her here.
“This is what I’m here for,” she told herself. She looked up at the sky. “I’m gonna do this, Zack.”
Stay with Me (Cowboys of Crested Butte Book 4) Page 3