A Family For Rose

by Nadia Nichols

  She regarded him for a long, somber moment, then shook her head. “Look at you. You’ve just been beaten to within an inch of your life by a bunch of Bear Paw’s rednecks, and you talk about me and Rose being happy here.”

  “Bear Paw’s as good a place as any to raise your daughter, Shannon. It’s the wind project that’s torn the town apart.”

  “That’s not going to change, not as long as my father refuses to sign the lease agreement. This town’s a powder keg waiting to explode, all over a bunch of wind turbines. If this energy project generates money for the local landowners and the town, I don’t see the harm in it, and I don’t understand why my father’s so dead set against it.

  “These neighbors are his friends, or at least, they used to be. He needs the income from the wind leases, same as they do. He’s living on canned beans and franks and driving the same old pickup truck he was driving ten years ago. I could make things easier for him here, but he wouldn’t accept my money. He’s too proud.”

  “McTavish is a man of strong principles. He knows the right and wrong of things.”

  Shannon gave a snort of laughter. “My father’s a stubborn, opinionated old cowboy, but I’ll say this much for him—he stands by his principles. Nobody’d ever be able to buy his vote, even if he was starving to death. And by the way, you’re just like him.”

  “I take that as a compliment.”

  “Don’t. I think you’re both crazy.”

  “Crazy about you, that’s for sure, even if you are way out of my league.”

  “I wish you’d quit saying that.” Shannon rose to her feet. “Keep the bottle. It’s time to tuck Rose into bed.”

  “You could come back afterward,” Billy said. “Watch the stars shine down with me.”

  She smiled, a sweet curve of lips in the gathering twilight. “You really need to get some rest.”

  “What I really need to do is kiss you.” The words came easy, after a few shots of Talisker 10.

  “That might hurt, cowboy.”

  “I’m tough.”

  For a moment he thought she was going to leave. Just walk away and leave him sitting there like a rejected fool. But she didn’t. She bent over him, her fingertips touching his shoulders, her lips barely touching his. The gentlest of kisses, and far too brief. But he took her good-night kiss as a very good sign.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  THE ONLY THING that could have possibly made waking up the following morning any worse would have been the sound of a rooster crowing before dawn. When Rose tugged on the coverlet to wake her, Shannon opened her eyes and closed them immediately with a groan. She hadn’t had a hangover in ages. Whiskey was the devil’s drink and she swore she’d never touch it again.

  “Momma? Grampy sent me up to check on you. He says the coffee’s ready and it’s time to get up. Are you sick?”

  “Go tell your grampy I’m taking a shower and I’ll be down soon.” After Rose left, Shannon forced herself out of bed. The hot shower brought her to life but her stomach was still roiling when she descended the stairs into the kitchen. Her father was washing up the breakfast dishes one-handed.

  He didn’t acknowledge her when she crept down the stairs into the kitchen. His back was a silent rebuke. Her father was sixty years old, yet even with a broken arm he could still outwork her. His years as a stuntman had toughened him in ways she couldn’t even begin to imagine. If he knew she was suffering from a hangover, he’d never let her live it down. Shannon murmured a good morning, quietly poured herself a mug of coffee, and carried it onto the porch, where Rose sat beside the sleeping Tess, brushing her.

  “She likes it, Momma,” Rose said. “She doesn’t even open her eyes.”

  “Just be real gentle with the brush, honey. She’s old.”

  Shannon sat on the edge of the porch, dangling her feet, nursing her pounding head and sipping hot coffee. No sign of life at the cook’s cabin. Was Billy still asleep? He’d been brash last night, asking her for a kiss the way he had, his mouth all broken and bruised, his body hurting. Yet he’d wanted a kiss, and she’d given it. He’d said he wanted her to stay, enough to sell her back the place of her dreams, but could she live out on the edge of nowhere and make her career work? Should she return to Nashville, where she knew the ropes and had all the right connections? And what about Rose? And Billy? And her father?

  The screen door opened and her father stepped onto the porch. He walked over to where she sat and poured a splash of something into her mug of coffee. When she glanced up, startled, he showed her the little bottle of pure vanilla extract. “There hasn’t been any liquor stashed around here for years, but there might be enough alcohol in the vanilla to help that hangover,” he said, then turned and went inside. Shannon stared after him, speechless.

  She heard the sound of hoofbeats and looked toward the corrals. Dust rose into the dawn, turning red in the sun’s rays. The mustangs were moving as if someone had entered the corral. Sure enough, she saw the shadowy figure of a man through the dust. Billy, out working with the horses when he was supposed to be in bed. Shannon sighed. He was just as stubborn and pigheaded as her father.

  “Stay with your grampy, Rose. I’m going to help Billy with the mustangs,” she said, pushing to her feet and carrying her mug of coffee and her aching head toward the corrals. Billy had already saddled Sparky and Old Joe. He was in the corral, shaking out a loop while the mustangs circled warily. The rope snaked out and the mustang’s quick duck proved futile. Within moments the gelding was tethered to the corral fence and Billy was coiling the rope to catch another horse. His movements were stiff but he was still a better hand with a rope than most cowboys.

  “I don’t suppose anything I say would make you get back in bed,” Shannon commented.

  He cast her a sidelong glance. “Oh, I don’t know about that. I can think of a few things.”

  Shannon flushed. Was he grinning? Hard to say, as he was angled toward the horses. “You need to rest up and heal, Billy Mac.”

  “Talisker 10 doesn’t seem to agree with you, Shannon McTavish.”

  “All I have is a hangover. You’re the one with the broken bones.”

  “There’s a lot riding on this government contract,” Billy responded, watching the circling mustangs as he started building his loop. “If we make good with this batch of mustangs, they’ll keep these corrals full all year round. Figured we could take a little ride with a couple of them before settling down for some round pen work.”

  “I’m sure a little ride would be just the ticket for your battered body.”

  “Old Joe’s a smooth-gaited horse.”

  “Old Joe’s so old he’s apt to drop dead on you and crush all your bones,” Shannon replied.

  “You want to work with Khola today?” Billy asked, ignoring her comment as he built the loop and studied the milling horses. “He’ll be the toughest to gentle, but Khola’s the best of the bunch. Bet you could race him at the fair this fall. There’s a big purse for the winner. He’s little, but he’s fast. Never saw any horse burn trail like he did the other day.” Billy dabbed the rope over Khola’s head as neatly as if he’d done it a thousand times, which he probably had. He patiently persuaded the reluctant bay to step up to the corral fence.

  Shannon held her hand between the rails so Khola could smell her. “That race is suicidal and Khola’s being shipped out for adoption with the rest of the bunch.” She sighed. “Sad, isn’t it? All he wants to do is go home.”

  “Being adopted is better than getting shipped to France and served up in a fancy restaurant.” Billy handed Shannon a dandy brush. “He could stand a good grooming.”

  Shannon opened her mouth to say she needed more time for the caffeine to kick in, but she shut it again and climbed through the fence rails. Khola shied away from her when she reached her hand toward him, backing away until the snub line brought him up short.

>   She spoke to him until his ears came forward and some of the fear left his eyes. It might have been ten years since she’d been surrounded by horses, but Shannon hadn’t forgotten. She moved slowly, quietly, talking all the while, and within minutes Khola had let her slide her hand up his forehead and rub between his eyes.

  “What a good horse you are,” she crooned, and when she started brushing his neck, he stood taut and trembling, but gradually began to relax. With the dried mud brushed off his coat and his long, thick mane painstakingly untangled, the young bay mustang had begun to gleam like a polished gemstone.

  “You’re a handsome boy, Khola,” she praised him. “We’ll take another ride this morning and this time maybe we won’t go for a swim.”

  Billy was working on grooming the other mustang he’d roped while the four remaining horses watched cautiously. McTavish came out of the ranch house and walked with Rose up to the corral.

  “We’re going to walk these two mustangs around before breakfast,” Billy said.

  McTavish nodded. “Me ’n’ Rose’ll hold the fort.”

  “We’ll take care of everything, won’t we, Grampy?” Rose said, reaching for her grandfather’s hand, and McTavish took it.

  * * *

  THE WEEK PASSED in a blur of hard work for Shannon, rising at dawn to a hurried breakfast, meeting Billy out at the corrals before breakfast and working with the mustangs all day while McTavish and Rose held the fort. Shannon rediscovered muscles she’d forgotten she had, and at the end of the day, dust covered and sweaty, she cooked supper as best she could, but nobody complained about the fare.

  Sometimes, as she stood over the hot stove stirring a pot of beans or frying up burgers, she’d have a flashback to her big gleaming stainless steel and granite air-conditioned Nashville kitchen. Of waltzing in to pour herself a glass of wine and ask the chef when dinner would be served before heading back to the studio.

  As she stood in her father’s sweltering kitchen, dressed in faded blue jeans and a T-shirt, hair pulled into a ponytail, up to her elbows in dishwater, she’d flex her shoulders to ease the ache and bite back a laugh at how much her life had changed in the space of just a few short weeks.

  As the heat of late August intensified, it became the routine to take Rose down to the creek after supper for a cooling dip in the Bear Paw. Sometimes Billy would head off to his home site to spend a few hours working there, or he’d go help Willard unload deliveries and stock shelves at the store to make some extra money.

  But he always returned before dark to sit outside the cook’s cabin and watch the last colors of sunset stain the big Wyoming sky. She’d join him there, and they’d sit side by side sharing cold beers and making occasional small talk about how the mustangs were coming along. Once or twice Shannon had brought along magazines to show him pictures of kitchen and renovation ideas for the ranch house, hoping for more feedback than her father provided, but mostly they just sat in silence, content to share each other’s company.

  On Friday evening, Shannon had just put Rose to bed and gone outside to watch the sunset with Billy when the sheriff drove up. He didn’t spot Billy and Shannon sitting outside the cook’s cabin because he was too focused on climbing the porch steps to rap on the kitchen door. Shannon rose to her feet, and without a word to Billy, crossed the yard and climbed the porch steps just as her father appeared. Before the sheriff could state the reason for his visit, Shannon spoke.

  “Hello, sheriff. Did you come here to tell us who vandalized Billy Mac’s truck?” she asked point-blank.

  The sheriff’s eyes flicked over her briefly, then he turned his attention to McTavish. “Ben McTavish,” he began. “Boyd Bannon and Patriot Energy have filed trespassing and criminal mischief charges against you for pulling down the met tower on Wolf Butte. Because that tower was valued at more than a thousand dollars, this could be a potential felony charge, with a potential sentence of ten years in prison and ten thousand dollars in fines, but Patriot Energy is going easy on you. I’m here to serve the papers.”

  He stated this in a hard, flat tone of voice, pulling a sheaf of papers from his jacket pocket and extending it toward McTavish.

  Shannon intercepted the delivery by stepping between them and squaring off with the sheriff. “My father had nothing to do with that tower on Wolf Butte being torn down,” she said. “Didn’t he already tell you that? Daddy, show the sheriff the photos. They’ll prove you weren’t on Boyd’s land last Saturday.”

  “I don’t believe I will,” McTavish said quietly. “Let them file their charges against me. I’ll see them in court.”

  “Daddy. Please. Just show the sheriff the photos. There’s no need to let this go any further.”

  “Keep out of this, Shannon.” Her father’s voice cut like a whip. Shannon closed her mouth and stepped aside. The sheriff extended the papers again, and McTavish accepted them. The two men nodded curtly to each other, then the sheriff turned and descended the porch steps.

  “Why, Daddy?” Shannon asked, rounding on her father. “Why make things worse than they already are?”

  “Boyd’s the one who’s making things worse,” her father responded, tossing the papers on the kitchen table. “If he thinks this’ll bring me to my knees and force me to sign the lease agreement, he’s dead wrong.”

  “Boyd used to be your friend,” Shannon said, a flush of anger warming her blood. “You’d always help each other out during hard times. When Mom was sick and they had that collection jar at Willard’s to help us with her medical expenses, it was Boyd who stuck a check in there for a thousand bucks. A thousand bucks! Remember, Daddy? He and his entire family came to the funeral, and they helped pay for it, too. The whole town did. Remember?”

  “Things’ve changed around here. Boyd’s turned against me. He’s all about the money now. This wind project’s corrupted him and half the town.”

  “Maybe so, Daddy, but it’s changed you, too. You used to care about your neighbors, and now you’re looking forward to dragging them into court.”

  “Boyd’s the one that’s filed the trespassing charges against me.”

  “You could stop this foolishness by showing the sheriff those photos that prove your innocence!”

  “The only person I have to prove my innocence to is the judge.”

  Shannon wanted to vent her anger and shout her way past her father’s bullheaded obstinance, but Rose was asleep upstairs, so instead she stormed down the porch steps and ran to the cook’s cabin.

  Billy sat in calm silence exactly as she’d left him. She plopped into her seat with an angry huff, staring straight ahead, heart hammering. “The sheriff just served my father with legal papers charging him with criminal property damage for tearing down Patriot Energy’s tower, and he wouldn’t even show the sheriff the photos that Henry gave him. He could get ten years in prison for this if convicted!”

  “They can’t convict him for something he didn’t do,” Billy reassured her. “They have no proof that anyone tore that met tower down. The wind could’ve blown it down, that’s happened more than once. As long as he has those photos, and as long as Henry backs him up, he’ll be fine. Don’t worry about it. McTavish’s dander is up, that’s all. They’re trying to force his hand so he’ll sign the lease. He wants to teach them a lesson.”

  “It’s a foolish lesson. I’ll go talk to Boyd myself first thing tomorrow and tell him the truth of it before they decide to duel it out with pistols.”

  “Let them resolve this matter between themselves,” Billy advised.

  “The way you worked it out with the vandals who slashed your tires? No, I’ll go over to Boyd’s and still be back in plenty of time to ride Khola. Tomorrow’s the big day—I’m going to give him his first ride, come hell or high water.”

  Billy gave her a cautious look. “You really believe he’s ready?”

  “Yep, I do,” Shannon replied with a wh
ole lot more conviction than she felt.

  * * *

  HER FATHER WAS already up with coffee made the next morning, and Shannon drank her first mug contemplating the pastel colors of the quiet dawn from the porch steps. Because it was Saturday, she fixed a real breakfast for them. Scrambled eggs and bacon, toast and juice. Breakfast was the one meal she could cook half-decently.

  “I’m going into town to run a few errands,” she commented when her father, Billy and Rose were seated at the table. “I’ll be back for lunch. Anyone need anything?”

  Billy gave her The Look, which silently cautioned, “Don’t meddle with Boyd Bannon.” She ignored it. Rose brightened and sat up straight in her chair.

  “Can I go, too, Momma?”

  “Of course you can. I’ll buy you an ice cream at Willard’s.”

  “Even if it’s still morning?”

  “Even if,” Shannon promised.

  It wasn’t until they were on the road to town that Shannon thought about how she’d handle having Rose along if her conversation with Boyd became confrontational, but she doubted it would. Boyd Bannon was an old family friend. She’d clear up this foolish misunderstanding about the met tower and everything would be okay.

  Hair in a ponytail, wearing jeans, a Hard Rock Cafe T-shirt and low-heeled riding boots, she drove the ten twisting miles to Boyd Bannon’s place.

  Shannon was taken aback by how run-down Boyd’s place looked when she pulled in to the yard. The Bannon ranch house used to strike her as being quite grand—a two-story sprawling structure with three matching dormers across the front and a porch with fancy newel posts.

  Now it looked as weary and unkempt as her father’s place. There were cattle, she’d spotted them on the drive in, but not many. And not a single horse. The haying equipment parked out by the barns was almost as old as her father’s. A white pickup truck and a small blue sedan were parked in the shade of a big cottonwood to one side of the house. A planter sat on the porch blooming with geraniums and petunias.