A Family For Rose

by Nadia Nichols

  He’d overdone it today, that’s all. The pain would pass, along with the scare he’d gotten, seeing that big rooster tail of dust moving toward the ranch house, toward Shannon, and thinking it was Travis Roy.

  He’d seen a lot of ugliness over the years. A lot of death. He should be immune to violence by now, but he wasn’t. Just the opposite. He’d been numb for a long time, but it was as if the pain in his body had become a conduit to all the pain and suffering he’d witnessed.

  Seeing Shannon’s bruised face and how she’d tried to hide the bruises with makeup twisted him up inside. She insisted Travis wouldn’t come here. He hoped she was right, because he wasn’t sure what he’d do if he ever got his hands on that bastard. Or maybe he was sure, and that’s what scared him. Shannon was out of his league and always had been, but that didn’t keep him from caring about her, and it never would.

  Billy gave up on the baler. He needed to walk the pain out. He’d go up to the windmill, check on McTavish. The wind was dying and the air was sweet with the smell of fresh-mown hay. It was going to be a pretty evening. A pretty sunset.

  There was no one to see him, no one watching. He could limp. He could crawl on his hands and knees and it wouldn’t matter. That was the wonderful thing about living on the edge of nowhere. A man could find himself, re-create himself or lose himself, all without anybody watching.

  McTavish was crouched at the base of the windmill, tools scattered around him, covered with grease. “I think I’ve about got ’er,” he said, wiping his hands on a rag.

  Billy leaned against the front of the truck. He was sweating. He took off his hat and let the wind cool him. “I finished cutting the fields and turned them all once. Figured we could bale in the morning. I’ll head into town after supper and find us some help. With a good crew we might get all the hay in by dark, if we go at it hard.”

  He let himself slide down the truck’s bumper, keeping his leg out straight, until he was sitting on the ground. “Shannon’s fixing supper, and you just got a new delivery of six mustangs from the government. Good-looking horses. Wild and wooly. I would’ve had ’em all broke by now except I’m plumb wore out.”

  McTavish rubbed the stubble on his chin. He shook his head, wearing the faintest of smiles. “By God, but we’re a pair.”

  Billy would’ve laughed if he’d had the strength.

  * * *

  TEN YEARS OF having a chef had spoiled Shannon. She’d forgotten all the basic cooking skills she’d picked up from her mother, who could shoulder a full day’s work on the ranch and still manage to produce savory home-cooked meals. As Shannon rummaged through the lower cupboards for the proper cookware, she tried to recall what she’d bought for groceries. She had two hungry men and a hungry daughter to feed in short order.

  What to cook? How to keep them all happy?

  “Momma, I’m hungry,” Rose said, pushing through the screen door with Tess at her heels.

  She’d promised the men a good feed. They’d both be hungry. She had hamburger. Lots of hamburger. She’d fix the spaghetti sauce tonight and they’d just have to eat it two nights in a row.

  “Eat a piece of fruit, Rose. It’ll tide you over until supper’s ready,” Shannon said, reaching for a skillet. “I’m making spaghetti. You like spaghetti, don’t you?”

  “With meatballs?”

  “With meat sauce. Sorry, no time to make meatballs. We spent too long cleaning the saddles.”

  “They look nice and shiny, Momma.”

  “They sure do, and they’ll look even nicer on Sparky and Old Joe.”

  Shannon lit the gas burner and plunked the deep cast-iron skillet down atop it. She opened two cans of spaghetti sauce and poured them over the hamburger as it cooked. With a little doctoring, she could make the sauce look and taste like homemade.

  Shannon paused, frowning. She’d forgotten about Sparky and Old Joe. They were probably down at the barn by now, wondering where their grain was. What about the mustangs in the corral? They had water, but they’d need to be fed. And what of her father? Had he been crying or drinking? If he’d been drinking, had he put the cork back in the bottle?

  “Rose, I have to toss some hay to the mustangs in the corral. I won’t be two minutes. Stay here with Tess and I’ll be right back.” She paused at the door, scanning the small kitchen, the spaghetti sauce starting to bubble in the skillet, the old dog finishing her meal over in the corner, and the young child waiting and hungry. She wondered if she’d ever be able to juggle feeding horses and a haying crew while effortlessly mothering her own child.

  She couldn’t leave Rose alone in the kitchen. What had she been thinking? “Grab an apple and come with me, honey. You can watch, okay?”

  Rose took an apple from the bowl on the table, crossed the kitchen and took Shannon’s outstretched hand. “It’ll be okay, Momma,” Rose reassured her with all the trusting innocence of a child. And for one blindingly beautiful moment, as that small, perfect hand slipped into hers, Shannon believed that it truly would.

  * * *

  SUPPER WASN’T SERVED until 8:00 p.m., which was early for Shannon but very late for her father and Billy, who were both so tired they spoke in monosyllables as they methodically cleaned their plates and then made short work of seconds. The spaghetti was good, and she served it with garlic bread and a big salad. Her fears that her father might have been drinking up at the windmill had been laid to rest. He was stone-cold sober and dog tired.

  “I’m afraid it’s the same menu for tomorrow, but I’ll bake an apple pie, too,” she promised as she cleared the table.

  “Been a dog’s age since I’ve had apple pie,” her father said, leaning back in his chair. “Your mother could make the best pie crust. Light as a feather.”

  “Well, Daddy, I hope you’ll settle for a store-bought crust.”

  Billy was sitting quietly, finishing off his cup of coffee. “It’ll be great.”

  “What’s that?” Shannon asked, her hands full of plates.

  “Your apple pie.”

  “Better save your praise till you’ve tried it,” she said as she piled the dishes in the sink. “Rose, it’s time for you to get washed up and ready for bed.”

  “But I don’t want to go to bed.”

  “Tomorrow’s going to be a big day. You’ll be counting the bales for us, remember? That requires a good night’s sleep.”

  Billy’s chair scraped away from the table and he pushed to his feet. “That was a good supper, Shannon,” he said. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” She dropped her eyes from his and turned back to the sink to hide her blush.

  “Guess I’ll head into town and see if I can rustle us up some recruits for tomorrow,” he said, reaching for his hat. He paused for a moment, fiddling with the hat brim in his hands. “It’s Friday night. Thought maybe I’d get a beer at the Dog and Bull. You’re welcome to come along if you like, Shannon. I’ll buy you a beer.”

  Shannon froze at the sink, her hands dripping with soapy water.

  “I’ll watch Rose,” her father volunteered in the awkward silence, “and I know how to clean up a kitchen. The two of you go out and have some fun.”

  “Grampy and I can watch TV together, Momma,” Rose said, excited by this sudden turn of events. “Just one show won’t hurt.”

  Shannon didn’t know which surprised her more, Billy’s invitation or her father’s offer to babysit. “All right,” she relented. “Just one little program on that little TV, and you’re off to bed. Daddy?”

  “Just one,” he said. “And maybe some popcorn.”

  “I love popcorn!” Rose said.

  Shannon turned her attention back to the dishes, feeling Billy’s eyes on her. “Might be fun to see the old hangout again. Give me ten minutes.”

  Billy pushed past the screen door and Shannon blew out her breath. Dove back into the h
ot sudsy water and finished the supper dishes. It felt good to do domestic things, to wipe the counters down, clean off the table. Her father and Rose were already in the living room, trying to choose a program. Rose picked a Western. Gunsmoke, from the sound of it. Shannon had just finished the dishes when she heard Billy’s truck pull up to the porch. He leaned out of the driver’s-side window when she stepped out. “Ready?”

  “Almost. I need to change.”

  “You look fine just the way you are.”

  Shannon hesitated, wiping her hands on the kitchen towel. “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.”

  Billy tugged his hat brim lower. “These are the same folks you used to rub shoulders with back when you had cow manure on your boots and horse slobber on your shirt. They don’t care if you aren’t dressed fancy.”

  Blunt and to the point. Shannon blew out another breath and nodded. “I’ll be right down.”

  She raced upstairs to the bathroom, where she washed up in furious haste, brushed out her hair, feathered more foundation over the greening bruise, glossed her lips and called it good.

  Billy’d said she looked fine. He was being polite, she knew, but right now she needed to hear it. She needed to feel pretty. Like she still had talent. Still mattered. And he was right. The sooner she went into Bear Paw and resumed life on a Wyoming scale, the sooner she could plan her future, whatever that was and wherever it might take her. After a tiny spritz of perfume to fend off odors of leather, hay and horses, she snatched up her denim jacket and purse, and headed back down the stairs feeling like a young girl on a first date.

  She smelled popcorn before she reached the kitchen. Her father was standing at the stove, shaking the pot over a high flame. It struck her suddenly how old he looked, and she stopped dead at the foot of the stairs, caught in a painful time warp, wondering how this had happened to them both.

  “Thanks for watching Rose, Daddy,” she said. “You be good.” She bent down to plant a swift kiss on Rose’s soft cheek. “One TV show, that’s all, then off to bed.”

  “One show and popcorn,” Rose corrected her.

  And then Shannon was climbing into Billy’s truck. As he swung out of the yard, she caught a brief glimpse of the familiar outline of Wolf Butte, glowing in the sunset. Then her eyes rested on Billy’s profile. Lean and chiseled, as strong and rugged as the mountains. She wondered how her life might have turned out if she’d said yes when Billy first asked her out to cheer him on at the rodeo.

  “Do you ever miss rodeo?” she asked. His sidelong glance was brief and it took him a few moments to reply.

  “I figured out a while ago there’s more to life than riding snuffy broncs, Shannon. I couldn’t ride like that anymore even if I wanted to, but you can still sing. You don’t have to give it up if you don’t want to. You could stay right here and raise your daughter, and sing, too.”

  * * *

  BILLY WASN’T SURE if it was the right thing to say, but the words were spoken. Shannon turned her gaze away and folded her hands in her lap, her fingers twining around that little glimmer of a purse.

  “You can’t live way out here on the edge of nowhere and be a country-and-western star,” she said quietly. “But that doesn’t matter anymore. My singing days are over.”

  After that she was as quiet as a church mouse until they reached his house. Billy pulled in to the driveway and sat with the engine idling. He’d been planning this house for years. Drawing floor plans and elevations on scrap paper while sniper fire pinned him down. Revising them on paper towels in the mess tent. Using up an entire pad of graph paper during those endless months at the hospital stateside.

  “Your father told me what you said about wanting this piece of land to build your house on,” he said. “He wouldn’t have sold it to me if he knew you were coming back.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Shannon said quietly. “I shouldn’t have said anything to him. It’s just a piece of land.”

  “It isn’t just a piece of land. You used to wait for the school bus right here,” he said. “For two years I rode that bus with you, and I never forgot how you used to look, standing there by the side of the road with your books and your guitar. You had greatness in you then, Shannon, and you still have it. You don’t need Travis Roy or anyone else to prove how good you are. Everything you’ll ever need, you already have inside of you.”

  Shannon shook her head. “That was another lifetime ago. Whatever I had back then is gone now.”

  “You’ve been through a lot. Give yourself time to heal. It took me a while to get beyond what happened to me in Iraq. Don’t make any big career decisions until you’ve had a chance to think things through.”

  Shannon gave him a wry smile. “Oh, I’ve been thinking things through for the past two years. I’m not a dreamer anymore. I won’t lie to you, Billy. When I found out my father had sold this piece of land to you, at first I was mad as a wet hen, but now I realize how selfish I was being. He needed the money, you needed a place to call home and the truth is, I don’t even know if I’ll be sticking around. My dream about that piece of land was a foolish one.”

  Billy looked down toward the Bear Paw. He considered what she’d just said and wondered how he could make it right. “This valley’s a good place for you to raise your daughter. I can’t think of a better one. Your dream was a fine one. Just say the word and this land is yours.”

  Shannon shook her head. “It’s your dream now, Billy. Now, how about that beer you promised me?”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THE DOG AND BULL was a busy place for a town the size of Bear Paw. Pickup trucks filled the parking lot. Even as Shannon and Billy approached the front door of the town’s only saloon, two more vehicles arrived, parking side by side. The occupants discharged and started for the saloon as a foursome, spotting Shannon en route and coming to an abrupt stop.

  “Well, I’ll be hanged if it isn’t Shannon McTavish! I heard you were back in town,” the heavyset guy with the dark-rimmed glasses and short beard said. “Remember me? Ralph, Ralph Sayres, we were in algebra and college writing class and history together. This is my wife, Kitty.” He slung his beefy arm around the shoulders of a petite smiling brunette who looked about ten months pregnant. “She was Kitty Clark then. You might remember her, too. She was a year behind us but she finally caught me up. The short, ugly dude on my right is Steve Little. He’s the mayor of this one-horse town. And the gal with him is Holly Duncan, she’s a lawyer with Patriot. You planning on singing tonight, Shannon?”

  After Ralph’s onslaught, Shannon appreciated the firm placement of Billy’s hand on the small of her back as he guided her inside the Dog and Bull.

  And they left her alone, all of them. There was no stampede. The patrons nodded, smiled, raised their glasses in typical Western salute, but there was no paparazzi-like invasion of her privacy. Shannon and Billy sat at a table to the rear of the room, farthest from the band and the bar. Billy ordered two beers, and when they came in frosty mugs she took a sip and looked around the crowded room at all the people drinking and dancing. She glanced back at Billy and smiled. Lifted her glass to him. “Thanks.”

  He raised his own mug and smiled.

  “What’s Patriot? Ralph seemed to assume I’d know.”

  Billy set his beer mug down and leaned toward her. The band was loud and not all that good.

  “There’s a company called Patriot Energy that wants to build a wind farm in the valley. They’ve bought up leases on thousands of acres around town, but the key piece of land they need is owned by your father, and he won’t talk to them. Won’t sign their leases. Wants nothing to do with the project.”

  Shannon pressed closer, not sure she’d heard him right. “Seriously? But he needs the money. The ranch is falling down. Why won’t he sign?”

  Billy removed his hat and set it on the table. “He thinks wind power’s the biggest taxpayer subsidiz
ed consumer fraud going, as well as being an environmental disaster, and he wants nothing to do with it.”

  Shannon sat back in her seat, confounded. She drew her mug of beer close and watched the band for a few minutes. “Can’t you talk some sense into him?”

  Billy shook his head. “I happen to agree with him.”

  She frowned. “Then you’re both crazy. Seems like a no-brainer to me.”

  “You haven’t done your homework.”

  Stung, she changed the topic. “If we’re going to recruit helpers for tomorrow’s haying, we’d better start before everyone gets too drunk,” she advised him.

  “Wait a few sets. They’ll have to be drunk before they volunteer to help hay,” Billy said.

  Shannon laughed. “That wasn’t what you told me back at the ranch. You said all you had to do was mention my name and the whole town would show up to pitch in.”

  “True enough, but a lot of ’em are real mad at McTavish for holding out against the wind company. Bunch of folks stand to make a lot of money from leasing their land for the turbines. They’d be building the project by now if McTavish wasn’t holding things up.”

  “What’s so special about our land? If my father’s being that pigheaded, can’t they just go around him?”

  “That ridge you drive over to get to the ranch house? That’s the section they need to join the project to the transfer station down on the black road. They want to put twenty turbines, each of them nearly five hundred feet tall, along the ridge that runs down your valley, paralleling the Bear Paw, along with transmission lines to the substation, also on your father’s land. That would connect the two other proposed groups of turbines, including a bunch on Wolf Butte. One hundred seventy-five turbines in all. Going around your father’s land would add four miles or better to the transmission corridor. That’s a huge expense.”

  “I passed lots of those things driving across the Midwest. They’re all over the farmlands, but they didn’t seem that tall.” She took a sip of beer. “How much would my father get if he leased the land?”