Back in the Saddle

by Ruth Logan Herne

  With her family out in the open, the reason for secrecy disappeared. “I’m a cop,” she told him. “Was a cop,” she corrected herself.

  Rye snorted. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  Surprised, she started to turn his way as Colt and Noah drew near.

  “Mom! L-look at me!” Noah pseudo-shouted to her, following Colt’s direction to keep his voice soft. “I th-think this horse likes me a lot!”

  She fist-pumped the air, quietly cheering him on. “I’m sure she does.” She looked at Colt, but he wasn’t looking at her. He was staring at Rye as they passed, a back-off-my-girl expression on his face.

  “So that’s how it is.” Rye pushed back his faded cowboy hat and looked sideways at her.

  Was it? She’d been telling herself she didn’t want that. Didn’t want him, the financial guy. Yet watching him with Noah, she realized maybe she’d been lying to herself. She left her confusing thoughts and went back to the former topic. “How did you know I was a cop?”

  “Simple observation, sweetheart. You’re always packing, you’ve got the cop eye, and you never have your back to the door. So then I asked myself, ‘What’s a cop doing washing dishes and slinging hash on a ranch? What happens to make someone toss the badge aside and take up a spatula instead?’ ”

  She wasn’t about to launch into that topic now. “Life changes things. This”—she breathed deeply as she watched Colt and Noah make an easy turn around the paddock—“is peaceful. Look how happy he is.”

  “I see that.” Rye watched as Colt swung himself up behind the boy and urged the horse to a faster gait. “But if you’d come here for peaceful, you would have had your kid and mother with you. I figure that something happened somewhere. I’m not prying, Angelina.”

  She disparaged that with a look, and he shook his head. “I’m not. I just want you to know that if you need anything, the sheriff’s department is here for you. More than one person told me about how you stopped by to see my mother before she died.”

  “Your mother was a good woman. Kind and caring. And those kids had enough to deal with. I was happy to do it.”

  “When folks do things like that in small towns, people notice,” Rye said. “You need anything at all”—he aimed a look across the paddock—“let me know. And if Colt isn’t smart enough to know a good thing when he’s got it, I’ll be glad to pick up the pieces when he heads back east.”

  “Rye Bennett, are you flirting with me?” She looked right at him.

  Rye winked. “I’m not stupid enough to get in Colt’s way, but he’s a Stafford, and they’re uncommonly dense about what they want.”

  She sighed because she’d seen that firsthand, but since she didn’t know what she wanted either, that made them evenly matched.

  “Can we go faster, Colt? Like real fast?” Noah peeked up at the big guy behind him, eyes wide with excitement.

  “A little faster,” Colt promised. He winked at Angelina and urged the mare into a faster clip, and when Noah laughed out loud, Colt grinned.

  Sweet longing grabbed hold of her.

  This is what she’d wanted for her child. A loving man dedicated to raising Noah with her. She’d chosen poorly and that was her fault, but why was she tempted to repeat the error in judgment? She pushed back from the fence. “I’m going to help my mom with dinner. And Rye, thanks for the kind words. I appreciate them.”

  He met her gaze, then tipped his hat briefly. “Meant every word, ma’am.”

  She strode back into the house, perturbed at herself, Colt, Noah’s father, and life.

  “What’s happened? What’s wrong?” Concern deepened Isabo’s voice as she looked up from the roasting chickens she’d taken out to baste.

  “Nothing. I’m just ticked off at the world in general. Choices, good and bad. Lack of choices, good and bad.” She yanked off her hat and scarf and flung them onto the bench inside the back door.

  “I think it is because you do not wish to leave here,” her mother said, eyes down.

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “I am not ridiculous; I am fairly sensible.” Isabo kept her tone mild, a trick Angelina needed to practice more often. “But I see what is at hand, and there are looks that pass between my daughter and Sam’s son.”

  “No law against looking,” Angelina said as she scrubbed her hands. “We’ve got two different agendas, and I will never let myself be fooled by a smooth-talking money mogul again.”

  “I think you have to actually have accessible funds to be considered a mogul,” offered Colt from the doorway.

  Chagrin and embarrassment made her voice gruffer than she intended. “You followed me in?”

  “My little cowpoke needs to use the facilities, ma’am.” He rubbed Noah’s hair, dropped his hat onto a pile of other hats, and set him down in the kitchen. “And then I promised him hot chocolate.”

  “Well, kick those shoes off and head down the hall, partner.” Noah laughed at her lame attempt to talk western, tossed his shoes aside, and raced down the hall to the bathroom as she redirected her attention to Colt. “Thank you for riding with him. You gave him the thrill of a lifetime.”

  “I expect it was the smooth talk that did it.” He winked, using her words against her, and backed out the door. “Temperature is dropping. I’m going to call Jenna in and have the horses put up. Feels like a blow coming on.” He strode away as a gust of wind whistled beneath the side porch eaves.

  “He is not one to hide his interest. I like that,” Isabo said as she slid the double roasters back into the oven. “A man who stakes a claim is more likely to be trusted.”

  “There is no claim to be staked. You know it. I know it. He knows it.”

  “He will never accept that,” Isabo replied. She dropped potatoes into the kettle of water with infuriating calm, one after the other. “He is not that kind of man. Like his father, when he sees something he wants, he finds a way to get it. You can see that as you look around this home, this land. It takes a person like that to accomplish what they’ve done. You have Colt thinking of new things and old. He weighs what was with what could be,” Isabo noted. “This is good.”

  “You’re assuming too much, Mami. He is simply dealing with the ghosts of old memories, the loss of his mother, his father’s anger, and attempts to make things right.”

  The sound of the front door opening cut their conversation because everyone on the ranch used the back door. Then Nick came in with both girls, and as he attempted to close the solid wood door, a brisk wind snatched it from his grasp and smashed it against the wall. He grabbed the door and pushed it shut as Rye, Hobbs, and the older kids came through the back door.

  “Did you hear?” All traces of Nick’s midweek animosity disappeared as he faced the men in the spacious kitchen and dining area.

  “Hear what?”

  “Two weather systems have merged off the coast. They’ve upgraded the wind force to hurricane levels.”

  Rye withdrew his keys and started for the front door. “Jenna, Brendan, gotta go.”

  Jenna looked disappointed but started to follow him. “Okay.”

  Brendan stepped in the other direction. “Why can’t we stay for a while? For supper, at least. You promised.”

  “If there’s trouble coming, I’ve got to get things moving.” He held up his radio as an emergency broadcast signal blared the recognizable warning. “When things get dangerous, I’m on duty. It’s my job,” he said as Colt came into the kitchen through the back door.

  “It’s always about your job,” grumbled Brendan. “It’s not like you’ll even be at home. You’ll go off to work, and Jenna and I will be stuck alone with no food and nothing to do.”

  “Can they stay here?” Colt asked Rye. “Food’s almost ready and that way you’ll know they’re safe. You’ll be free to work, and we could use Brendan’s help if there’s fallen trees or moderate damage to the ranch.”

  “After last year’s wildfires, we’ve got mudslide dangers in multiple area
s if we get hard rain,” Nick said. “Angelina, is it okay if the girls stay here while I work? I don’t want to ask Cassie to watch them if there’s trouble at the house or we lose power.”

  “It’s fine.” She winked at Cheyenne and Dakota as Sam came down the hall.

  “Another storm?” Sam asked.

  “Welcome to spring,” Hobbs said as he put in calls to the other men. “One season comin’, another goin’ means just about anything can happen and often will. A blizzard one week, a deluge the next.”

  “The thaw’s softened soil layers,” Sam reminded them. The frustration in his face said he hated not being able to layer up and join them as they guided cattle toward the safer sides of the rangeland. “Big wind and soft ground can uproot spruce real quick.”

  “And when you add gale-force winds, no side is really safe.” Colt turned as Murt came through the side door to join them. “Murt, thanks for coming right over. Can you and Hobbs bring the ATVs up?”

  “We sure can. I brought Joe along; he’s ready to jump in.” Murt’s teenage great nephew came through the door just then, dressed for work. “The missus is none too happy with me for leavin’ when the kids are there for Sunday dinner, but weather’s weather I told her. If this storm is anything like Columbus Day back in ’62, we’ve got a fight on our hands, and me and Joe aren’t ones to miss a good fight.” He clapped a hand firmly against Colt’s arm. “How you doin’ missin’ that climate controlled office on Park Avenue now, Colton?”

  Colt shoved his hands into thick gloves. “Ask me again in three hours. Let’s go.”

  Colt turned, then swung back. He sent Angelina a look across the room that said more than words, a look that hit her heart. “Take care. And tell my little buddy I had a lot of fun workin’ circles with him.”

  “I will. Go with God, Colt.”

  “Yes’m.” He tugged a double knit hat onto his head, then pretended to tip a nonexistent cowboy brim her way. “I’ll call.”

  Two simple words, spoken just to her in front of everyone.

  The men heading into the hills were too busy to make much of it right then, but she saw Sam’s eyebrow hike up and heard her mother’s soft hum, which communicated that both had noticed.

  Rye disappeared out the front door. Brendan and Joe went out to secure anything loose around the stockyards, and Angelina set Jenna to work overseeing a reluctant Cheyenne’s homework. If the wind was bad, it might mean another round of days off for the kids. But just in case it blew by with little notice and there was school in the morning, getting weekend homework done was worth risking Cheyenne’s glare.

  —

  “Pinch me. Tell me I’m not dreaming,” Jenna stage-whispered after dinner when a burst of ice-cold wind blew through as the front door opened from outside. “Because if this is a dream, I’d be okay with never waking up. Seriously.”

  Isabo crossed the kitchen toward the open door to the great room, concerned. “You are wide awake! Why do you think you are to dream? What kind of nonsense—? Oh.” She paused at the entrance to the kitchen, turned, and motioned Angelina over. “I think you need to call Sam.”

  Cheyenne looked up from the floor of the great room, homework spread out before her. So did Dakota. They stared too, and it wasn’t until Angelina made it around the corner that she understood.

  Country music superstar Trey Walker Stafford had come home.

  He waved to Cheyenne and Dakota as he shut the door, then made Jenna half swoon when he flashed her a stage-worthy smile. When his eyes landed on Angelina, he took off his cowboy hat, set it on the newel post, and moved forward, hand outstretched. “I’m Trey.”

  “Angelina, your father’s housekeeper.” She clasped his hand.

  “I’ve heard a lot about you from Nick.” Trey smiled right into her eyes. “He says you’ve been downright good for my father, so I’m mighty grateful. And when I talked to Colt earlier, he said it was past time for a visit, so here I am.”

  Colt, again, drawing folks back. How was it that the one who left the flock the longest managed to somehow bring people together?

  Sam’s shaky voice interrupted their introduction. “You…came.”

  Angelina turned, alarmed.

  The falter in Sam’s voice was caused by more than surprise or storm concerns. It was evident in the dusky pallor beneath pale skin. As he walked toward them, he listed hard to the right.

  Angelina caught him on one side.

  Trey took hold of the other. Angelina noticed that despite how badly Trey and Sam had parted years before, the youngest son’s grip had a tenderness to its strength. “Couch?” he asked with a quick look to the great room beyond.

  She nodded. Isabo raised a phone in question. Angelina nodded again, and her mother slipped down the hall to place the 911 call.

  She didn’t know if it was Sam’s liver or his slowly mending ribs or something else going on, but she knew his deterioration in the last few hours wasn’t anything she could handle at the ranch. Sam needed help and he needed it now.

  Colt’s phone vibrated. He yanked it out, saw the house number, and took the call. “Ange, what’s up?”

  “It is Isabo,” her mother corrected him. “Your father is sick. We have called for help, but Angelina said I should call you.”

  Colt’s heart went tight. So did his gut. Was this how it was all going to end, with his father fading away and nothing fixed? Had the great Sam Stafford finally run out of time? “We’ll come right in.”

  “No. I’ve got this, Colt.” A different voice took over the phone, a distinctly Stafford voice.

  “Trey. You came.”

  “Grabbed a quick ride and just arrived,” Trey replied. “Keep on with what you’re doing. Dad will be calmer knowing you’re moving cattle.”

  “Too many cattle and not enough time, but we’ll do what we can. Put Angelina on.” A moment of silence answered his command before Angelina’s voice came through.

  “Don’t boss your brother around like that. Be nice.”

  Her words felt good because if Angelina was scolding him, Dad couldn’t be at death’s door. “What’s up with Dad? Is it serious?”

  “It looks serious, but I’m not a doctor, hence the ambulance call. Mami is staying here with the kids. The ambulance just rolled in. I’ll call you.” Click.

  With anyone else, the quick put-off would have scorched, but with her, he accepted it.

  Because you’re falling for her.

  He knew it. He’d known it from the beginning—well, maybe not when the gun was pointing at his heart, but not long after. She drew him. Worse? He wanted to be drawn. But what possible end could there be? His future wasn’t here. It had never been here. And from the sound of things, neither was hers.

  And yet as he backed up Yesterday’s News to stop a rush of cattle from missing the gate to the eastern pasture, it felt right to be with the others on the windswept hillside. Moving cattle to safer ground and directing Banjo and Kita to gather up strays meant something. Other than making boatloads of money, when was the last time his work had meant something?

  He couldn’t remember, but right now he needed to focus on getting these pregnant cows into a lower pen and pray the fences held. Deep snow, mud, or high wind could wreak havoc with fencing, and loose cows weren’t all that bright. He had no intention of watching their specially developed herd of seed cattle go to ruin at the hands of Mother Nature. Not if he could help it. As the wind rose, moaning through thick stands of hillside trees, Colt realized this outcome wasn’t up to him. This one was between Mother Nature and God.

  “Colt!”

  He locked the second gate and turned toward the urgency of Nick’s voice.

  Thick black smoke poured out of the village below. From their higher vantage point, they could see Gray’s Glen fanned out along the valley floor, surrounded by a patchwork quilt of farm fields and pastures. This evening the postcard image was marred by wind-fed smoke and fire. He urged Yesterday’s News to follow the other men down the hi
ll at a much faster clip than was safe and pulled up in the stockyard. “Brendan! Joe!”

  Joe rushed out of the barn, Brendan on his heels. “Take the horses and see to the barn stock. There’s a fire in town. It looks bad. We’re taking the SUV.”

  “Got it, Colt.” Joe wasted no time and quickly gathered the reins.

  Nick jumped into the driver’s seat. Colt grabbed shotgun, and Murt and Hobbs climbed in behind Colt. Brendan scrambled in the other side. Nick gave him an instant thumbs-down. “Brendan, go help Joe. You can’t come down there. Your brother would kill me if anything happened to you.”

  “I’m fourteen. I’m not a kid. And folks might need help,” Brendan insisted. “If you don’t take me, I’ll run down there anyway. It’s got to be smarter to take me along, Nick.”

  Colt kept his mouth shut. The kid was right. Besides, he remembered being bullheaded at fourteen.

  Nick must have come to a similar conclusion. Instead of arguing, he issued a stern warning. “Stay out of trouble and don’t get killed.”

  He popped the car into gear and squealed the tires against the hard stoned surface as he turned it around.

  Fire in densely forested land traveled fast, and wind-fed fire magnified the peril. Even though it wasn’t fire season, the proximity of the village houses and businesses in a wind-tunnel valley meant a raging fire in high-wind conditions could spell the end of their picturesque town.

  In the strained silence of the car, each of them understood what could lie ahead.

  “The church is on fire,” Angelina whispered to Trey in Sam’s three-curtained cubicle at Slater Memorial. She pocketed her phone and grabbed her jacket from the ER chair. “They’ll need help. Call me or one of the guys when you know what’s going on with Sam, okay?”

  Trey didn’t quibble, but his interest sharpened. “What kind of housekeeper are you, Angelina? Because I noticed they didn’t question the gun you’ve got tucked in your waistband at the hospital entrance.”