“You should be. I’ll never catch that mustang. He’s probably in Utah by now.” She lifted the reins and Sparky stepped out.
“Wait. Please! I was hoping to talk to you. My name’s Tom Carroll and I’m the project supervisor for Patriot Energy, the company that’s been permitted to build a wind project in Bear Paw.”
Shannon drew rein briefly. “Mr. Carroll, I don’t own this ranch. It’s my father you need to speak with.”
As soon as Sparky had reached the top of the bank, Shannon touched her heels to him and he broke into his easy rocking-chair lope, leaving Tom Carroll, project supervisor for Patriot Energy, standing beside the creek in his fancy Tony Lama boots, slack-jawed.
* * *
BILLY WAS WORKING with another mustang in the round pen when he heard the staccato hoofbeats of a running horse coming toward the corrals. The other five mustangs were on full alert when the bay came into sight, trailing the long lead rope behind him in midair. Ears flattened back, mane and tail streaming, he streaked right past the corrals and headed up toward the hay fields, ignoring the plaintive screams of the mustangs left behind in the corrals.
“Damn,” Billy said softly, watching the mustang race past. He was thinking two things: first, that that horse could really run. And second, that all those years in Nashville had obviously taken their toll. Shannon had lost her touch. He leaned over the round-pen fence and waited for her to appear. Sure enough, a few minutes later, she came into sight. Sparky was jogging along and Shannon had her hat pulled down low over her eyes. Both of them were soaking wet. Behind her on the road and creeping cautiously along at a snail’s pace was a black SUV.
Shannon rode right up to the pen and reined Sparky in. “Sparky got pulled right off his feet in the creek,” she explained. “I had to let the mustang loose so he could get back up.”
“You okay?”
“Fine.” She indicated the SUV with a jerk of her head. “That’s Tom Carroll from the wind project. Spooked the mustang with his car horn. Said he wants to talk to me, but I told him he needed to talk to my dad. I’m going in the house to change out of these wet clothes, then I’m heading off to look for that mustang.”
“No need,” Billy said. “He’ll come back eventually. His buddies are in the corral and he’s going to get lonely. I’ll close the gate on the road soon as Tom Carroll leaves.”
The SUV pulled up near the round pen and Carroll emerged. Billy turned away from him, walked to the center of the corral and began moving the mustang in circles, first one way, then reversing directions. He kept the horse’s pace at a trot, but occasionally it would break into a lope, snaking its head and kicking out in protest before dropping back into the trot. Billy used a long carriage whip with a plastic bag tied on the end to keep the horse moving. He had only to flick the plastic bag and the mustang moved away from it, trotting as far from the man as he could get.
Tom Carroll leaned up against the rails. “Hello, Billy. That’s a good-looking horse.”
Billy ignored him, focusing his attention on the mustang.
“I came out here hoping to have a word with Shannon,” Tom said. “I wanted to invite her to the chicken barbecue Patriot Energy’s hosting on Saturday at the Grange Hall.”
Billy rotated slowly in the center of the round pen, eyes following the mustang. “I’ll be sure and tell her.”
“And her father’s invited, too, of course.”
“All the barbecued chicken west of the Mississippi won’t change McTavish’s mind about your project. It won’t change mine, either, for that matter. Not that you invited me.”
“The barbecue starts at noon,” Carroll said. “We’ve hired a band to play. Badlands, I think they call themselves.” He pushed his spotless Stetson onto his head. “I heard Shannon McTavish sang with them the other night and made quite a sensation.”
The mustang abruptly ducked his head, planted his forelegs and lashed his heels at the sky with an angry squeal. “That’s it, work it out,” Billy said softly. He shook the plastic bag on the end of the whip and the mustang jumped forward and began trotting in circles again.
“You’re welcome to come, too, Billy,” Tom said. “Everyone in Bear Paw’s invited.”
“Thanks, but I’m a beef eater.”
Tom pushed off the fence and glanced toward the barn. “Maybe I should ask her myself. I have a feeling you won’t pass any of this on.”
“She’s a busy lady,” Billy advised, but Carroll paid him no heed.
* * *
SHANNON WIPED SPARKY down thoroughly with a towel after removing his saddle and bridle, making sure he hadn’t been hurt in the fall. “You’re the best, always were and always will be,” she murmured softly to him as he stood patiently for her ministrations and nuzzled her gently when she’d finished. “Go find Old Joe and have a nap in the sun.” She turned him out of the barn and watched as he ambled off toward the tractor shed, where Old Joe usually hung out.
“Shannon?”
She turned. It was Carroll.
“I wanted to apologize again for scaring your horse, and to make sure you were okay,” he said. “That was a bad fall you took.”
“I’ll live. You shouldn’t scare horses that way. We didn’t hear you coming over the sound of the creek.” Shannon used the towel to dry off the saddle she’d slung over a stall partition.
He nodded, shoving his hands into his jeans’ pockets and hunching his shoulders. “I’ve learned my lesson. Listen, I came by to invite you and your father to a chicken barbecue at the Grange Hall this Saturday. There’ll be information available on the wind project, and we’ve planned some fun events for the kids. Your daughter might enjoy it. Greasy pig contest, three-legged race, a magician with a monkey.”
Shannon looked over her shoulder at him. “Magician with a monkey?”
Tom nodded. “Monkey’s really good. Not sure about the magician.”
“I’ll think about it.” When he didn’t leave, Shannon paused again. “Is there something else?”
“Actually, yes. I haven’t had much luck talking to your father about our wind project.”
“There’s not much I can do about that.”
“Maybe you could talk to him.”
“I do talk to him.”
“I mean, about the wind project and how important it is to this town.”
Shannon picked up the saddle that she’d slung over the stall partition and walked toward the tack room. “I just got back to Bear Paw a few days ago, Mr. Carroll,” she said, returning the saddle to its proper place. “I haven’t lived here for over ten years and I really don’t know anything about your wind project, so I’m not the one to talk to my father about it.” She hung the bridle on a hook and edged around Carroll as she exited the room. “As I said before, he’s the one you need to be having this conversation with.”
“I’ve tried. If he knew I was here he’d probably run me off at the end of a shotgun.”
“Sounds like my father.” Shannon started walking toward the barn door.
“The lease money would really help him,” Carroll said, hurrying to keep up with her. “If you come to the barbecue you’ll see the project maps and have a chance to ask questions. Your father’s land could host quite a few turbines, plus the transmission corridor. We’ve already signed leases with all the adjoining landowners, he’s the only holdout.”
Shannon stopped and faced him. “I’ll come to your barbecue because I should educate myself as to what’s going on in Bear Paw. But just so’s you know, I’m not going to try to change my father’s mind about anything.”
Tom nodded. “Fair enough.”
* * *
SHANNON’S LEG HURT enough that she had trouble climbing the porch steps. Her father was standing in the kitchen doorway, watching her through the screen door. He pushed it open with his good arm. “What happened?”
“Sparky got pulled off his feet by one of the mustangs. He fell in the creek.”
“You okay?”
Shannon nodded, flinging her hat onto the table with a discouraged sigh. “I’m fine, just a little wet and sore. Where’s Rose?”
“She just ran upstairs to get something. Was that Tom Carroll I saw out by the barn?”
“Yep.” Shannon met her father’s gaze. “He wanted to invite us to a chicken barbecue at the Grange this Saturday.”
“So he could spoon-feed you some wind industry propaganda, no doubt,” McTavish said.
Rose’s footsteps came down the stairs like scattershot. “Momma, look what Tess found outside this morning!” she said, thrusting her arms out and unfolding her cupped hands.
Shannon gazed down. “It’s a dead frog, Rose.”
“No, it’s not dead, Momma, Tess made it hop. I picked it up and Grampy said I could keep it.”
“Really?” Shannon took the limp green frog from Rose’s hand. “Rose, this frog is dead. You can’t keep it.”
“But Grampy said I could!”
Shannon shot her father an exasperated look and at that moment the wall phone rang. She answered it, glad for the diversion.
“Shannon? Spencer Wallace. Sorry if I’m bothering you.”
“Not at all, Spencer. I can’t thank you enough for helping out with the haying. How’s Jeb’s shoulder?”
“Oh, he’s fine enough to play a guitar. Listen, Patriot Energy’s putting on a chicken barbecue at the Grange Hall this Saturday for the locals and they’ve hired us to entertain. Me and the boys, well, we were hoping you might sing a few songs with us. I mean, we understand if you can’t, but we were just hoping...”
Shannon glanced at her father, then down at the dead frog lying belly-up in the palm of her hand. “I’d be glad to,” she said. “I said I’d do that in exchange for you helping with the haying, and the gig couldn’t be any closer to home than the Grange Hall. I’ll see you on Saturday.”
She hung up the phone, acutely aware of her father’s accusing stare. “Rose, we have to bury this frog. It’s dead.”
“No, it’s not, it’s just sleeping,” Rose said, her eyes welling with tears. “Grampy said I could keep it.”
“That was while it was alive, but it isn’t anymore.”
“It’s just sleeping, Momma. Give it to me, and I’ll take it back to bed.”
“Rose...” Shannon gave her daughter The Look as she held the frog out of reach. “We’re going outside to find a nice place to dig a grave.”
“No, you can’t bury him. He’s mine,” Rose wailed, tears rolling down her cheeks. “Make her give him back, Grampy!”
“Are you planning on singing at Patriot Energy’s chicken barbecue this Saturday?” her father asked over Rose’s protests.
“I promised the Badlands I’d sing a few songs with them in exchange for them helping with the haying,” Shannon said.
The kitchen door swung open and Billy came inside.
“Don’t let her take my frog,” Rose pleaded with Billy. “It’s my frog. She can’t take it. Grampy gave him to me!”
Billy quickly scoped out the situation, retrieved the dead frog from Shannon’s palm and nodded to Rose. “Come with me, Rose,” he said, extending his other hand. “We’ll take the frog outside for a swim in the creek. Maybe the water will revive him. C’mon.”
Billy led the still sobbing but hopeful Rose from the kitchen and Tess followed. Shannon looked at her father. “Tom Carroll wanted me to invite you to the barbecue.”
“I bet he did.”
“Daddy...maybe you should go. They’re going to have a lot of information about the wind project there.”
“If you want to sing at their barbecue, go ahead, but don’t be trying to convince me how to think or what to believe. This is my land. Nobody’s going to tell me what I can and can’t do with it. This wind project Tom Carroll’s pushing on Bear Paw won’t make a damned bit of difference to anything except their corporate bank account, and that’s the truth. He knows it, he knows that I know it and he’s wasting his breath trying to talk me into going along with his shell game. Once the federal subsidies dry up, these wind developers will blow away like tumbleweeds, leaving their mess behind them. You’d know that was true if you did some research.”
Shannon sighed. “I need to take some aspirin, get into some dry clothes, make some lunch and then chase down that mustang.” She started for the stairs but paused and looked over her shoulder at her father, who stood brooding by the kitchen door, arm in a sling and scowl on his face. “How does leftover barbecued ribs and beans sound, Daddy?”
* * *
BILLY TOOK ROSE down to the creek, where they squatted side by side on their heels as Billy held the frog in the water and let the current wash over it. Tess lay down beside Rose, who was peering intently at the frog in Billy’s hand. “Is he waking up?”
“Not yet.” Billy set the frog on a smooth wet rock at the creek’s edge. “He seems unresponsive.”
“He’s not dead. He’s just sleeping.” Rose wiped her cheeks on her shirtsleeve. “I put him in my bed and he went to sleep.”
“Where’d you get him?”
“Tess found him under the porch and Grampy said I could have him.”
“Have you ever had a pet frog before?”
Rose shook her head. “Before we came here I had a goldfish.”
“What happened to it?”
“It stopped swimming and floated, so Momma said the only way to wake it up was to put it in the toilet.”
“What happened then?”
“It swam in circles and then it disappeared. Momma said it would find its friends when it got to the ocean.”
“Huh.” Billy splashed some water on the frog. “Maybe we should try the same thing with the frog. Maybe letting it swim would wake it up.”
“Do you think so?” Rose’s big eyes were so full of hope that Billy felt a twinge of guilt.
“It might.”
Rose thought about this for a few long moments. She picked the frog up very carefully, gave it a gentle kiss goodbye, then lowered it into the creek water and released it. The swift current whisked it away in a flash, and she stood, watching for as long as she could see it, which wasn’t very long. She looked at Billy and her eyes welled with tears again, as if she weren’t quite sure what just happened. “I think he was swimming,” she said in a hopeful voice that trembled.
As he took her hand in his, Billy wondered how any parent explained the concept of death to a young child. “I think so, too,” he said. “Let’s go see what your momma’s making for lunch. Maybe we can lend her a hand. She’s worked hard this morning.”
When they got there, Shannon was at the kitchen counter dressed in dry jeans and a flannel shirt, sleeves rolled back to reveal slim, strong forearms. “Lunch’ll be a minute. I’m heating up some of those ribs and some soup. Rose, you go wash up.”
“My frog swam away, Momma,” she said. “He went to the ocean to be with his friends.”
Shannon gave her daughter a compassionate look. “I’m sorry you had to say goodbye to him. He was a very nice frog. Run upstairs and wash your hands.”
Rose climbed the stairs slowly, clearly still sad about her frog. Shannon watched her out of sight, then glanced at Billy. “You held a frog revival?”
“I told her the water might wake it up, so she held it in the water until the current took it. It did sort of look like it swam away.”
“That frog was dead. No amount of water was going to wake it up. You really shouldn’t mislead her that way. It’s important to be truthful with a child.”
“Is that why, when you flushed your daughter’s dead goldfish down the toilet, you told her it was swimming away to join its friends in the ocean?”
Shannon flushed, turned awa
y from him and finished washing the coffee mug she was holding.
“How’s your leg?” Billy asked. “I noticed you were limping.”
“I’ll live,” she replied cooly. “Lunch’ll be ready soon, maybe you could go find my father. He’s out in the barn, probably, sulking because I agreed to sing at the Grange Hall this Saturday, but he’ll get over it.”
“You’re singing at Patriot Energy’s barbecue?” Billy felt the same jolt of betrayal McTavish must have experienced.
Shannon faced him, her chin lifting in defiance. “I made a promise to the boys in the band, and I’m delivering on it. That’s why the hay’s in the barn. Besides, there’ll be information about the wind project there. I can educate myself like you said I should. Are you going to stalk off like my daddy did?”
Billy removed his hat, slapped it once against his leg, then shook his head. “Nope. I’m too hungry. But Shannon, think twice about the barbecue. Folks are angry, and there’s no telling where that anger might come out.”
“Billy, it’s just a barbecue.”
He shook his head again and left.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE BAY MUSTANG ran west until the fence line turned him to the south, and then he ran until it pushed him to the east. The rope streamed out behind him as he ran, and the hated halter clung to his head. After running to the point of exhaustion he stopped in the shade of a cottonwood and rubbed his head against the tree trunk, trying to rid himself of the contraption.
If he could find a place with no fence, he knew he could find his way home. The fence line was all that stood between him and his old way of life. When he had rested enough that the wind dried the lather of sweat on his body, he trotted along the fence, looking for a way through or around it.
And then he heard something. Soft, measured hoofbeats approaching from behind. He spun around and backed up two quick steps. His hind foot stepped on the trailing rope and jerked him to an abrupt stop.
“Sunk’ituya,” a human voice said. “That fence will not stop you from running forever, but that rope will.”
The two legged with the deep voice spoke to him from the back of a small spotted horse. The mustang snorted his alarm as the spotted horse approached. He jerked his head against the rope that was now anchored firmly by his hind hoof and wrapped around his lower leg. He was caught and didn’t know how to free himself.
A Family For Rose Page 10