Once when he noticed her watching he gave her a wink. “Didn’t realize how much I missed those gals. Sure is nice to have them home for a bit.”
“I couldn’t agree more.” She dug her pitchfork under some wet bedding and hefted it onto the wagon in the center aisle.
The girls had brought Tuff to the barn, and made a safe spot for her in the feed room, using sacks of oats and supplements to cordon off an area, setting up a blanket for Tuff to sleep on and a bowl of water. It didn’t take long for the barn cats—Harry and Hermione—to come and check out the newcomer. Harry kept his distance, arching his back, then sticking up his nose and prancing off. But Hermione seemed entranced by the puppy’s antics. She perched on the top of one of the feed sacks and watched as Tuff gnawed on one of the chew toys Wren had brought out from the house.
Once the outside work was done, Mattie and the girls returned to the barn to fetch Tuff—and found the puppy and the cat cuddled together on the blanket, fast asleep.
“Oh my gosh. So cute!” Portia took out her phone to take pictures, and so did Wren. While they tweeted and instagrammed—Mattie didn’t really understand what either of these things were—Mattie gently extracted Tuff.
Hermione stretched, gave her a disgruntled look, then fell back asleep.
Tuff wiggled to get free, but Mattie waited until she and the girls were out of the barn before setting the pup down. As they all headed for the house, Mattie reminded Jake that dinner was at six.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” Jake said.
Then she and the girls went inside to shower and start cooking. First a big breakfast, then it was time to truss the turkey.
All this time, Mattie’s phone sat, silent, on the kitchen counter. No messages. No missed calls.
She noticed neither girl asked about their father again. Instead, they focused on preparing their dishes, asking for her advice when the recipe directions weren’t clear. If Wes had been home, he’d have been watching football on TV. Since he wasn’t, the girls took turns plugging their phones into the docket on the kitchen counter, sharing new songs that they’d fallen in love with during the past few months.
After the turkey was in the oven, there were potatoes to peel, the table to set. Mattie put out just five plates. No questions were asked then, either.
At five o’clock they changed for dinner, Mattie putting on a gray and black shift dress with leggings and sparkling earrings. Portia wore another cute sweater and skirt combo and even Wren, who rarely wore anything but jeans, came out in a dress with a long belted sweater over-top.
Mattie checked the time. They still had more than thirty minutes before the guests would arrive. “Let’s Skype Grandpa and Aunt Callan and wish them a happy Thanksgiving.”
“Hey Mattie! Hi Portia and Wren. You all look so gorgeous! Wish you were here!” Callan’s face appeared on the screen first. Petite and pretty, the youngest of the Carrigan sisters was often underestimated by strangers. In fact she was the toughest and most fearless of them all.
“We’ve got a full house,” Callan said, carrying the laptop around the kitchen so everyone could say hi.
Sage was there, her face glowing with happiness. Helping her with the turkey was her handsome cowboy Dawson, and his cute daughter Savannah.
Sitting at the table, enjoying a glass of wine, was Dani. She blew them a kiss when Callan passed her the laptop. “I was going to stay in Seattle for the holidays, but a last-minute seat sale changed my mind. How are you guys doing? Where’s Wes?”
“We’re fine,” Mattie responded, ignoring the question about Wes. “Just about to put the turkey on the table. Say hi to Dad for us, okay?”
“Hang on,” Dani said. “He just came into the kitchen. You can tell him yourself.”
Mattie gave her girls a grim smile. Talking to Hawksley Carrigan in person was hard enough. Over the phone, or on Skype, they’d be lucky to get five words from him.
The screen blurred, and then Mattie’s father’s face came into focus. He was uncharacteristically clean shaven for the special holiday, which made him look younger than usual.
“Hi Dad! You must be happy to have so much company for Thanksgiving.”
He just grunted.
“It’s great to have Portia and Wren home from college,” Mattie gamely continued, carrying the conversation forward on her own.
Her Dad’s blue eyes, grown paler over the years, narrowed as he studied the computer. “Is that a dog?”
Mattie relaxed a little. She’d been afraid he was going to quiz her on her husband’s whereabouts. “Her name is Tuff. Nat Diamond gave her to us.”
“Nice-looking dog.”
The girls both said hi to their grandfather and soon after that the conversation stalled. No one could silence a room quite like her father. Even now that she knew her mother hadn’t been perfect, Mattie still couldn’t feel any warmth for the man. She wished she could, but he had never fostered closeness with any of his children, least of all with her.
“Well, so much for that.” Mattie closed the laptop, then glanced around the tidy kitchen, looking for something that needed doing. The spool of cooking twine was on the counter, but as she reached for it to put it back in the drawer, it spun away from her fingers and fell to the floor.
Tuff, roaming the room, probably searching for the source of the delectable aroma of roasting turkey, pounced.
Mattie tried to catch her, but Tuff was much too fast. Ball of twine in her mouth, she looked up, jubilantly, then took off in a sprint, running under the stools at the counter, around each of the girls, then all the way to couch before she reached the end of the roll and was yanked to a dead stop.
The girls, legs trussed as tightly as the turkey’s, looked down and then laughed so hard they were doubled over.
“I wish we’d caught that on video. It would be amazing on YouTube.” Wren grabbed a piece of the twine and tried to free herself. But as soon as Tuff felt the tug, she pulled back harder, causing the line around Wren’s ankles to tighten again.
Overcome by giggles, the girls fell to the floor. This provided the solution as the twine finally went slack and Mattie was able to unwind it from their legs, the stools, and, ultimately work the ball from the puppy’s grasp.
Tuff cocked her head on one side, as if to say, “But I was having so much fun...”
Her quizzical look had the girls laughing again.
And that was when a knock sounded at the front door. Mattie felt as if her heart had jumped to her throat. As the girls fell silent, her eyes went to the clock on the microwave. Quarter to six. Was her company early? Or had Wes finally come home?
* * *
But Wes wouldn’t knock. Mattie gripped the edge of the counter and took a deep breath. She had to stop expecting her husband to show up at any second. If he was coming, he would have called. Or answered her text message at least.
Portia and Wren both ran to get the door and Tuff, excited by the action, followed. A moment later, Mattie heard Nat’s voice and seconds later he was in the kitchen, offering her flowers, already arranged in a glass vase, and a jar of huckleberry jam.
“Happy Thanksgiving.” He gave her a polite hug and peck on the check. He’d dressed in a dark green sweater that for some reason made the blue of his eyes even more intense. “I nipped the jam from Eadie’s pantry. It’s good.”
“Eadie’s jam always is. Thanks Nat. And the flowers are lovely.” As she added water, then placed them on the sideboard in the dining room, Nat gave both girls a bear hug.
“You’re both too skinny,” he said. “What happened to the freshman fifteen?”
“I don’t understand why people gain weight when they go to college,” Portia said. “The food is way better at home.” She gave Nat another squeeze. Both girls were as comfortable around Nat as they were around Jake. They’d known him forever, had been going on the spring and fall roundups ever since they could sit on a horse.
“You smell like Christmas,” Portia said.
&nb
sp; He laughed. “I was chopping up an old pine tree this afternoon. I did shower, but that resin sticks like crazy.”
“Would you like a beer?” Mattie offered. “I’m sorry, I forgot to buy wine.”
“Just water is good.”
“Want it fizzy? With a little cranberry?” Wren offered. This was their usual drink for special occasions and a pre-mixed pitcher was ready in the fridge.
As Wren filled the tall crystal glasses, Mattie went to pull the turkey from the oven. Right away Nat was at her elbow. “Let me get that. Looks like a twenty-pound bird.”
“Only eighteen,” Mattie murmured, but she handed him the oven mitts and let him lift the roaster out to the counter.
Nat inhaled deeply. “Can’t beat the aroma of freshly roasted turkey. Looks amazing, too.”
“We’ll let it sit for about half an hour before we carve.” Mattie passed him two big forks, which he used to transfer the roasted bird to a wooden cutting board, so she could make gravy from the drippings.
Jake arrived next, exactly on time, and the girls gave him an equally warm welcome. Jake had bought a gift too, a potted ivy in a pumpkin-shaped ceramic container. Mattie gave him a solid kiss on the check. “Oh my gosh, you even shaved.”
He patted his face as if he could hardly believe it, either.
It felt good to have men in the house again. Their solid bodies and deep voices added balance and stability. When it came time to carve the turkey, Mattie proffered the knife to Nat. But he shook his head. “Let Jake have the honors.”
Was he being courteous to the older man? Or overly sensitive about not stepping into the role of man of the house? Unsure, Mattie was grateful when Jake stepped up and got the job done, turning the conversation to cattle prices at the same time and smoothing over what might have been an awkward moment.
Wes wasn’t so much as alluded to after that. Even when they sat around the table no one commented on the one man who should have been here, but wasn’t.
The meal was a success from both a food and a conversation perspective. Nat had a friendly, non-judgmental way of talking to the girls that drew them out and Mattie heard tidbits that until now hadn’t been shared.
Like that there was a boy who’d gallantly walked Portia home one night but hadn’t told her his name.
And, even more surprising, that Wren had met a boy in her political science class who’d asked her out to coffee and who wasn’t “a total loser” in Wren’s words.
Once everyone had their fill of turkey and vegetables, they bundled up and went for a walk to Chatterbox Creek, as was family tradition. With temperatures hovering above zero and a full moon and clear sky, conditions were perfect. The girls took turns throwing small sticks for Tuff, who was already showing signs of becoming a master retriever.
After the walk, Nat pulled a couple decks of cards from his coat pocket and announced it was time the girls learned how to play poker. “What makes you think we don’t already know?” Wren asked slyly, taking the deck and shuffling like a pro.
From her bedroom, Mattie brought out the penny jar and they played for over an hour, everyone surprised when it was she who ended up with the largest pile of pennies on the table.
“Mom! How did you do that?” Portia wanted to know. “You acted like you didn’t even understand the rules.”
“When it comes to playing poker, it’s smart to let people underestimate you.”
Nat grinned. “Well done, Mattie.”
After that everyone was hungry enough to eat two pieces of pie each and Mattie gave Jake a smug wink.
The men wouldn’t leave until all the dishes had been washed and the kitchen was spotless. By then it was almost midnight and Mattie thought the big talk she’d been planning to have with the girls would wait until morning. But Nat and Jake were no sooner in their trucks, than Wren shut the door and faced her mother.
“So what’s up, Mom? What’s the real reason Dad isn’t here?”
* * *
In her mind Mattie had delivered the news to her daughters hundreds of times in a hundred different ways. Now she found the words wouldn’t come. Wren’s expression softened and she put her hand on Mattie’s shoulder.
Speaking softly, as if she were the mother, she led Mattie back to the family room. “Let’s sit down here, by the fire. Portia, can you grab Mom a glass of water?”
Mattie took the arm chair and waited until the girls were side by side on the sofa, facing her. They looked so young and sweet, and she hated the apprehension and worry on their faces.
“Are you okay, Mom?” Wren finally blurted out. “You look so skinny. You’re not sick are you?”
“No. Not sick. And neither is your father.”
She could see the momentary relief wash over them. But it didn’t last.
“Then what’s going on? I can’t remember Dad ever missing a holiday or important family gathering before.”
It was true. Wes traveled a lot, but he’d always made a point of being here for birthdays, anniversaries, and holidays.
Mattie realized she couldn’t avoid it anymore. She had to say this. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this. But your father—left me. He said he needed some time alone.”
“When?” Wren asked, at the same moment that Portia burst out with a “Why?”
Poor Portia looked instantly devastated. But Mattie could tell that Wren had been expecting exactly this news.
“Two weeks after the Copper Mountain Rodeo. Your Dad came home from Billings and that was when he told me that—he wasn’t happy.” She stared down at her hands, fingers linked, lying placidly in her lap. Then she glanced up. Wren looked stunned. Tears were already streaming down Portia’s cheeks.
Mattie felt bulldozed by sadness. She felt like she’d just laid waste to her daughters’ happy childhoods. Today would be a dividing line for them. The before... when they were a family. And the after... when they weren’t.
“I was worried it was something like this,” Wren said quietly. “But actually hearing you say the words... I can’t believe it.”
Portia’s tears turned to sobs then. The poor girl looked broken, her face crumpled, black tears laden with mascara rolling down her cheeks. Mattie wiped them away with her thumb, then sat between her daughters, wrapping her arms around their slender backs, wishing they were small enough to gather into her lap.
“I’m so sorry. I wish I could explain how this happened. But—your dad and I, we haven’t really talked. He was supposed to be here tonight. We were going to break the news to you together. I don’t know where he is.”
No excuse he gave would be acceptable. Unless, of course, he’d been in an accident or something. But Mattie didn’t think that had happened. On some level she’d known he wouldn’t show up.
Once she’d been able to count on Wes keeping his word. Now she wondered about the other promises he’d made and realized she’d been a fool to think they would bind him in any way.
“Th-this doesn’t make sense,” Portia took a gulp of air. Steadied her voice. “Why wouldn’t he be happy? You two are perfect together. Even my friends are always saying they wished their parents would be more like you guys.”
“Even the strongest of marriages can sometimes come undone if they’re tested too hard. Do you remember last spring, when one of the cowboys was killed at that rodeo in Texas?”
Wren nodded soberly. “He was a bull-rider, like Dad.”
“Yes. Your Dad took that hard. He’d seen plenty of injuries in his career. But not a death. That cowboy was younger than him by quite a few years. I believe it made him re-evaluate a lot of things in his life. Not just his career...”
“But that should have made him appreciate you more.” Wren had never been as quick to cry—or to laugh—as her sister. But a fat tear had been accumulating in the corner of one eye and Mattie watched as it slid slowly down her young, perfect skin.
“Tragedy affects people differently. I can’t explain it, Wren.” She gathered her nerve. There was so
mething else she had to prepare them for. If she could have thought of a way to cushion the blow, she would have.
But they simply had to be told.
“There’s something else your Dad is considering...”
She could feel the girls holding their breath. They could tell by her tone that this was serious. But what could be as bad as the family breaking up...?
“Selling Bishop Stables.”
That took longer to sink in. Portia fell back into the sofa cushions. Wren brushed her hair away from her face and squared her shoulders. “He can’t do that, can he? It belongs to you, too, right?”
“Why would he want to sell in the first place?” Portia moaned. “He grew up here. He was always talking about heritage when we were growing up and telling stories about when he was a kid. He made it sound like this place was important to him. And that it should be important to us.”
Yes. That was the unfair part. Both she and Wes had instilled values in their children that had taught them not to be selfish but to respect the land and put the ranch and the horses first, in almost all things. To then turn around and sell out, denying them the birthright they had been implicitly promised, was against everything they’d stood for as parents.
“He may change his mind. I hope he will. But just in case—I didn’t want you to be blind-sided.”
Little Tuff picked that moment to scamper over. She placed her paws on Mattie’s knees, waiting to be picked up. As soon as she was, she cuddled in among them.
It was odd that a cute little puppy should be able to offer comfort in the face of so much awful news. But she did. The three of them curled in around Tuff, arms entwined, and Mattie could feel their strength returning.
“At least we have each other,” Wren said.
“You still have your dad.” The words were hard to say without breaking into uncontrollable sobs. Mattie had to take a breath between each word. “He left me. Not you.”
“It doesn’t feel that way,” Portia said softly.
No. Mattie supposed it didn’t.
* * *
Her daughters clung close for the remainder of their five-day visit, turning down opportunities to go to town and visit with their high school friends. Mattie felt bad about that but she couldn’t deny their presence was a comfort. On the day they were to leave and fly back to their respective colleges, no one had much of an appetite except Tuff.
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