A Family For Rose

by Nadia Nichols

  “What kind of turbines?”

  “They’re Gamesas, rated at two megawatts per turbine, and they’re almost six hundred feet tall,” the young staffer said with pride. “They’ll generate enough clean energy to power over seventy thousand homes.”

  “We don’t have seventy thousand homes here in Bear Paw, maybe four hundred if you count the hunting camps,” Billy commented. “What’s the actual capacity factor of these turbines, and how much of the energy is lost in transmission? Isn’t it quite a bit, when you’re talking hundreds of miles? Wouldn’t it make more sense to put these machines near the population centers rather than way out in the boonies?”

  “There’s more space out here, and the power will be sent to other states to fulfill their renewable energy mandates,” the staffer said, avoiding Billy’s questions. “The transmission corridor’s going here...” The staffer’s finger traced a dotted line on the map that ran across the McTavish ranch.

  “Huh,” Billy said. “Are these plans permitted yet?”

  The staffer hesitated. “Patriot Energy’s well into the process. We held this barbecue so we could introduce local residents to the project and answer questions.”

  “Well, if it ain’t Billy Mac,” a loud, boisterous voice accompanied a vigorous slap to his shoulder. “Watch out for this one,” he warned the staffer. “Billy here hates renewable energy, ain’t that right, Billy? You’d shoot this whole project down if you could. Hell, between you and McTavish, you’re doing a mighty good job at keeping the wheels from turning. Don’t give him any of your free chicken barbecue, he don’t deserve it, and besides that, you’ll never win him over with your barbecue sauce, it’s terrible.”

  “Boyd,” Billy greeted the well-built middle-aged rancher with a nod.

  “Heard your truck tires got slashed,” Boyd Bannon said, knocking his tan Stetson back with his wrist and smoothing his sandy colored mustache. His blue eyes crinkled at the corners. “That’s a real shame.”

  “I needed new tires anyway,” Billy said.

  “Me’n the boys are sharing a few drinks at the Dog and Bull. If you dare to join us, I’ll stand you to a beer. We’d like to talk to you about a proposal we leaseholders want to make to McTavish. We’d invite him, too, but we heard he was busy pulling down Patriot Energy’s met tower.” Boyd shook his head. “Damn shame you dragged Shannon McTavish out of here today. You sure know how to spoil a good party.”

  “I’d say those hecklers Tom Carroll planted in the crowd made a pretty good job of that,” Billy said.

  “Well, Billy, if you want to hear what we have to say, we’ll be at the Dog and Bull. Might be worth your while to stop in. Folks around here are getting mighty tired of McTavish’s attitude.”

  Boyd turned and walked toward his pickup truck and Billy watched until he vanished into the crowd. Slouch chose that moment to reappear, balancing a paper plate heaped with food and a large paper cup filled with lemonade.

  “You should get some of this, it’s pretty good,” he said around a mouthful as he headed for the flatbed. “You’re going to need some tires on that truck of yours.”

  “Figured you might have some used ones I could buy.”

  “Come on back to the yard with me and we’ll have a look. Dang, I hate to leave, that band’s not bad, and I could sink another plate of food. Who’d you say was throwing this shindig? An oil company?”

  “Wind company.”

  “Wind company. Huh,” Slouch said as he wrenched open the flatbed’s door and carefully placed his plate of food and cup of lemonade in secure positions. “Well, their chicken’s okay, but their barbecue sauce stinks.”

  * * *

  SHANNON WAS DETERMINED to be gone before her father or Billy returned. She threw her suitcase on the bed and was cramming both her own and Rose’s clothing into it when Rose came upstairs.

  “Momma, why are you packing our things?”

  “We’re leaving, Rose. We’ve visited long enough.”

  “You mean, we’re leaving Grampy?”

  “Yes.”

  “And Billy?”

  “Yes.”

  “And Henry Crow Dog?”

  “Rose, we can’t stay here forever.”

  “Why not? Grampy likes having us here, and I really, really like Grampy and Billy and Henry Crow Dog. Is it because you’re mad about what happened today?”

  Shannon straightened with a sigh. “I’m upset about what happened today, yes, but it’s more than that. I want to visit California. I think we’d both have fun there.”

  “I have fun here, Momma.” Rose’s face was getting red. She was close to tears.

  One of the mustangs whinnied shrilly from the corrals and Shannon glanced out the window. The mustangs were staring up behind the machinery shed where, after a few moments, a man on horseback with one arm in a sling rode into view. “Damn,” she cursed beneath her breath, torn between being relieved her father was okay and mad she hadn’t made her escape before he got back.

  “Grampy’s home!” Rose cried out, then wheeled and clattered down the stairs. Shannon looked at the suitcase lying open on the bed, hastily stuffed with the remnants of what used to be an endless wardrobe. She sat down on the edge of the bed and buried her face in her hands.

  Billy had humiliated her today in front of the entire town, her father was wanted by the sheriff for destroying a meteorological tower, Travis Roy was in the area trying to snatch Rose from her, and as if all that wasn’t enough to deal with, she was caught in the middle of an ugly conflict between energy company proponents and a handful of people who stood in opposition—chief among them, her father and Billy. She’d come home seeking refuge, and ended up in the middle of an unholy mess.

  “Grampy!” She heard Rose’s young voice cry out as her daughter ran across the yard toward her grandfather. Shannon pushed to her feet, brushed her hair off her face with both palms and held them there as she stood and watched from the bedroom window.

  Her father swung out of the saddle, turned to the little girl and swept her up with his good arm. Rose hugged him around his neck and across the distance Shannon heard Rose say in her high, piping voice, “I love you, Grampy, and I wanna stay. Please don’t let Momma take me away from here.”

  Shannon groaned. Her father had unsaddled Sparky by the time Shannon reached the barn. With one arm he’d handily loosened the cinch and pulled the saddle off, heaving it atop the fence rail. He did the same with the bridle, hooking the crown over the saddle horn.

  Freed, Sparky shook himself like a big dog and then rubbed his head against her father’s shoulder. He slapped Sparky’s neck with affection and brought him a measure of oats from the barn, holding the bucket while the old horse ate. He paid no attention to Shannon, but made sure Rose stayed by the corral fence, away from the mustangs.

  “Ten miles is too far to ride an old horse like Sparky,” Shannon said when the silence between them had built up to the point of implosion.

  Her father cast her a questioning glance, but didn’t respond. He waited until Sparky had finished the oats in the bucket and wandered off to have himself a good roll in the grass, then returned the saddle and bridle to the tack room and headed toward the house. Only then, with Rose still dogging his heels, did he speak. “Rose tells me you were packing to leave. Were you planning to say goodbye?”

  “What difference would that make to you? You left here this morning without telling anyone where you were going or when you’d be back. Where’s Henry Crow Dog?”

  “She said you were going to California.”

  “The sheriff came by earlier. Said he wanted to ask you a few questions about some equipment belonging to Patriot Energy that had been vandalized over on Wolfe Butte. Daddy, did you and Henry Crow Dog pull down one of their meteorological towers?”

  Her father climbed the porch steps and walked into the kitchen without a
nswering. He drew himself a tall glass of water at the kitchen sink and drank it down, then drank a second glass. Shannon stood with her arms crossed, her spine rigid and anger boiling her blood. “Go upstairs, Rose,” she told her daughter.

  “I don’t want to.”

  “Rose!”

  Her daughter turned and reluctantly climbed the stairs. When she was out of sight, Shannon let her anger out. “Where’d you go with Henry Crow Dog this morning, Daddy?”

  Her father’s eyes met hers and didn’t flinch. “Henry’s gone back to the reservation. I rode with him a ways.”

  “The two of you didn’t pull that tower down before Henry headed south?”

  “That damned met tower’s been flat on the ground since May, probably earlier.”

  “And how would you know that?”

  He patted his shirt pocket and withdrew an envelope, handing it to her. “Photos taken this spring by one of Henry’s friends on the rez. They’ve used Wolf Butte for generations for tribal ceremonies. There was a pivotal battle fought there a long time ago between the Shoshone and the Crow, and some of their dead are buried up there.”

  “I know all that, Daddy. I grew up here, or have you forgotten?”

  He ignored her jab. “When they went up there for the ceremony this spring, the meteorology tower was on the ground. Henry brought the photos with him when he came to visit, not because of the met tower, but because he knows Wolf Butte was special to your mother. The pictures are date-stamped, in case you’re wondering, and he has plenty of witnesses to back up the facts.”

  Shannon slipped the photos out of the envelope and studied them. All three showed the tower from various angles, crumpled in a tangled heap of metal on the ground, but the focus of the photographs seemed to be a cairn of stones, a shrine built for some ceremonial purpose, she supposed. Perhaps to honor their dead warriors.

  Henry’s people and several saddled horses were scattered in their ceremonial tribal regalia in the background. The sky was blue, the grass was just greening up and there were patches of snow on the ground. The date stamp on the back of each photo read May 15.

  “Had Henry Crow Dog heard about the wind project and the turbines planned for Wolf Butte?”

  Her father shook his head. “Wind developers don’t advertise in advance. The fewer people who know about a project, the fewer people protest. They try to operate under the radar. They came in well over a year ago, got most of their leases lined up first, then started the permitting process. Henry thought the met tower on Wolf Butte was a cell phone tower, but he knows about the wind project now.”

  “Did he give you these photos today?”

  “Yep. Handed them to me right before we parted ways. Never mentioned them to me the entire time he was here.”

  “You’ll need to show them to the sheriff,” Shannon said, handing the photos back to her father along with the card the sheriff had given her. “His phone number’s on that card.”

  He uttered a humorless laugh. “Quite a coincidence that Tom Carroll calls the sheriff today of all days to report that I tore down his met tower. Speaking of which, you’re home mighty early from singing at his taxpayer-funded barbecue.”

  Shannon shoved her hands in her jeans pockets and lifted her chin. “Not by choice,” she said. “Billy dragged me away.”

  “Good for Billy. You’re too good to be singing for that bunch of snake-oil salesmen.”

  Her father turned away from her and walked out the kitchen door, letting it slam shut behind him. Shannon blew out her breath and felt something brush against her leg. Tess gazed sightlessly up at her. Her muzzle might have been white with age and her eyes milky blue with cataracts, but her tail still wagged with unflagging devotion and her fidelity brought tears to Shannon’s eyes. She knelt down, wrapped her arms around the frail bones of her loyal old friend and let the tears come.

  CHAPTER TEN

  BILLY HELPED SLOUCH replace the tires with a matched set he’d found in his endless stacks out back of the Quonset hut. They had good tread and Slouch gave him a good price.

  It was handy that Slouch had a vehicle lift and did mechanical work, as well. He told Billy it was fine to leave McTavish’s truck there, they could pick it up anytime. By three that afternoon Billy was driving his own truck back through Bear Paw, past the Grange Hall, where the barbecue was winding down, past Willard’s General Store.

  He pulled in to the Dog and Bull parking lot, which was filling up early with Saturday spillover from the barbecue. He sat for a moment, engine idling, wondering how wise it was to risk getting his tires slashed twice in one day, but Boyd Bannon’s comments had rubbed him the wrong way. How could he not show up at the Dog and Bull after being challenged in public that way?

  He cut the ignition and climbed out of the truck. It wouldn’t take long to find out what Boyd and his boys wanted him to tell McTavish. Then he’d head home and try to patch things up with Shannon. He pushed through the door of the Dog and Bull. The bar was full, the jukebox was blaring and the first person Billy recognized wasn’t Boyd Bannon.

  It was Travis Roy.

  Travis was holding court at center stage, signing autographs and chatting with several of the patrons, most of them pretty young women. He was wearing his signature black Stetson with the fancy silver conch hatband, blue jeans and a dark leather jacket. When he saw Billy, he finished signing the back of a placemat and started toward him. Billy edged through the crowded room, ignoring a hail from an unseen Boyd at the back of the room.

  “Stay away from Shannon, Travis,” Billy said when they’d come face-to-face, speaking loudly over the noise, his blood up. “She told us about the restraining order. If you show up at the McTavish ranch again, I’ll call the sheriff and have you arrested.”

  “Whoa. Easy, Billy.” Travis raised both hands in a gesture of mock surrender. “I’m not here to make life hard for Shannon. I’ve done enough of that already,” he said. “I have something for her and Rose. Something real important. All I want to do is make sure they get it. I heard she was going to be singing at the Grange today so I came into town, thinking if I talked to her in a public place she’d feel safe, but you dragged her away before I got there.”

  Travis pulled an envelope out of the inner pocket of his jacket. “I’d appreciate it if you’d deliver this to Shannon.”

  Billy eyed him suspiciously. “Why should I?”

  “Because it contains a lot of money. Shannon walked out on everything she worked so hard for all these years. She didn’t want anything out of the divorce, told her lawyer she just wanted to expedite the process. I didn’t argue because I was sure she’d change her mind and take me back, but she didn’t. And I don’t blame her. I made her life hell for years.” Travis held the envelope up. “I sold our big house in Nashville and all the fancies. The cars and the yacht we never used, the villa in Tuscany. This is her and Rose’s share of the proceeds, and she earned every penny of it. I can’t change the past, but I can make sure she and Rose have a comfortable future.” He extended the envelope to Billy. “Would you see she gets it?”

  Billy hesitated for a moment longer, then reluctantly took the envelope.

  “Appreciate it,” Travis said. He gave Billy a nod and then walked toward the door, ignoring the clamor of requests for his autograph. Billy glanced down at the envelope in his hands. Travis had written one word across the front of it—Shannon—and underlined it three times.

  Billy folded it in half and tucked it carefully into his shirt pocket, fastening the button just as Boyd Bannon slapped his shoulder hard enough to knock him off balance for the second time that day.

  “I took the liberty of ordering you a drink, Billy. C’mon, sit for a minute. We got a proposal we want you to take to McTavish.”

  At the table, four of the biggest landowners in Bear Paw were sharing a drink. A fifth chair had been drawn up to the table and Boyd
gestured for him to sit, then nudged a shot glass full of whiskey in front of him.

  Boyd dropped into his chair and leaned forward on his elbows. “No point beating around the bush. You know how we feel about McTavish blocking this wind project, so I’m not going to rehash any of that,” Boyd said, lifting one hand in a cautionary manner. “McTavish and I go way back. We went to school together. He’s a hardworking man and I got nothin’ against him. He’s had a rough string of luck, and I sure didn’t wish it on him, but when he stands up in front of God and country and acts like he’s the moral compass of Bear Paw, that’s where I draw the line.”

  Boyd’s voice intensified with emotion. “Let me be clear. I don’t give an owl’s hoot if these wind turbines ever produce one drop of electricity, all I care about is the lease agreement I signed with Patriot Energy that promises me a big chunk of money every year.” The other landowners nodded in agreement. “I got kids to feed, taxes to pay, college tuition for my daughter. You know how expensive it is to send a kid to college? So I don’t give a damn if this whole green energy thing is nothing but a big scam, like McTavish preaches. I don’t care. I want that lease money. I need it.

  “Now, here’s the thing,” Boyd continued, rapping his knuckles on the table for emphasis. “I own Wolfe Butte. When McTavish wanted to scatter his wife’s ashes up there because that’s where she released her rehabbed eagles, I went along with it. She was a good woman, and he told me how much she loved that spot. But I draw the line at McTavish going up there to haul down a met tower to protest the wind project.” Boyd sat back in his chair. “That’s vandalism, Billy, and it’s against the law.”

  “You got proof he did it?” Billy said.

  “Proof? Tom Carroll called me to report it first thing this morning. I went up there myself to check it out. Only way to get up there was on horseback because the road washed out this spring. Sure enough the tower was down.”

  “Any witnesses that McTavish pulled it down?”