“We won’t have accurate figures for a week or so, but the rough estimate on rebuilding leaves the church deep in the hole.”
“The hole?” called out someone from the back. “That church has been full paid for decades. How can we be in the hole?”
Small sounds of surprise and dismay echoed around the packed room.
The mayor offered the crowd a reluctant grimace. “The insurance policy hasn’t been updated in all that time. There was no mortgage on the property, so there was no legal reason to increase the coverage. And without much money in the weekly offering, adjusting the coverage never got done. Which means the insurance won’t cover much more than the teardown and cleanup.”
Silence reigned for long, drawn-out seconds. Folks looked around, stunned. An undercurrent of angry muttering began to round the room, a room filled with disappointment and emotion and sleep-deprived people. Just as it looked like the anger might escalate, Colt stood.
He’d worn his cowboy hat into town, and he held it in his hand, against his chest. When folks saw him standing, things went quiet again. “Most of you know me.” He glanced around the room, making eye contact.
Some acceptance greeted his words, accompanied by a few caustic looks.
“And most of you know I’ve had some ups and downs of late as well.”
Mutters of agreement followed. Colt turned and faced the crowd, still gripping his hat like he was saying the pledge of allegiance. “I don’t have any money of my own available right now to help out the rebuilding efforts. All I have to offer is the work of my hands. In a week or so my brother won’t need me as much on the ranch. So when that work’s done, I want to be here in town, helping folks rebuild. Because that’s what neighbors do. They help each other.”
“Colt.” Ben Schirtz stood, getting straight to the point. “I appreciate your words but doubt if you really understand what’s going on here. The past few years have been tight for most in this town. In light of that, I don’t expect too many of these fine folk increased their insurance coverage at the same rate as inflation. And if folks don’t have insurance or funds to cover the losses, they’ll probably go belly up.” He wagged his head. “And if them properties of your father’s aren’t rebuilt, then right there that’s a bunch of folks left without a place to live.”
“I hear you, Ben,” Colt said. “And I don’t disagree. But I’m saying we shouldn’t go too far toward making big decisions this quick. It’s amazing what folks can do together when they put their minds to it.”
“You figured that out in Manhattan, Slick?” A burly man stood up in the back. “Because while you were whooping it up and spending other people’s money, the rest of us were doing the daily work that needs to get done out here. Your talk is all nice and fancy-schoolboy pretty, but out here what counts is the day to day, and I haven’t seen a lick of Stafford day to day in this town in a long time.”
—
“That’s about to change.”
Nick’s quick voice of agreement pulled Colt’s attention around.
His brother took his place alongside Colt, and for the first time since coming back home, Colt felt like a born-to-the-saddle Stafford. “Colt and I are planning to throw in whatever time and physical effort we can to help make things right again.”
“Can’t make right what was never right to begin with,” someone said. “No turning back that clock.”
Colt wasn’t sure who made that contribution, but he accepted the reality. “You’re right. Our ranch has been on disconnect from the town for a long time. But no longer.”
An old woman called out, “You boys are cute enough and you seem sincere, but when you’re talkin’ years of Staffords ignoring most of what goes on in this town, it’s like chaff on the wind. It don’t mean much. We’ve got real folks here with no money and not much in the way of insurance. My guess is the older ones will retire and the younger ones’ll leave. It’s happened before, which is why there’s so few of us left. There comes a point where folks have to move on, lookin’ for jobs and a place that welcomes them.”
Colt heard more than dire acceptance in their voices. He heard despair, as if the raging fire and the loss of businesses and homes was too bitter a pill to swallow. He remembered feeling that way as a boy, the weight of so much on his shoulders. So why did he feel he could do something about it now? What made him think he could foster change, especially with his track record?
“What do you plan to do, Stafford? Especially with a good share of your your money tied up in a real neat bow with the Manhattan District Attorney’s office?”
Colt turned to face the speaker’s challenge. A former ranch hand locked eyes with him, a man who’d tried to take a cut above his salary when delivering their genetically crafted, meat-producing cattle to customers. His father had let the foreman go instead of putting him in jail. Unfortunately the man wasn’t exactly swimming in gratitude.
Colt stayed firmly away from the past and focused on Gray’s Glen’s future. “If I have to go into the forest and cut down trees myself to make a log cabin church, I’ll do it. If I have to have Josh”—he motioned to Josh Washington, the tall, bronze-skinned local contractor sitting across the room—“put in some pretty windows without stained glass, I’ll do it. If I have to trade cattle for doors and grain for flooring, I’ll do it because my mother loved that church. She took me there every single week of my life until she died. She’s buried in the Grace of God Community Cemetery. So do I have what it takes to make a difference? The answer is yes. I do.”
“I remember your mama.” Wandy Schirtz rose from her chair. She bustled up the aisle toward Colt and grasped his hands. “Such a kind, giving woman. Always smiling at folks. I have missed her a good long time, Colton Stafford. But I swear I just glimpsed her again in her beautiful son. Welcome home, Colton. I’ll be the first to stand by your side and help with that church building because God does not care what it looks like when all’s said and done.” She shook her head, solid. “He cares that his people come together to worship and pray and play. Sign me up on Colt Stafford’s work crew.” She sent a tart look toward the mayor. “I might not be good with a hammer, but I’m mighty good with a soup pot, and I’ve got a freezer full of food that’s not getting any fresher. Ben and I will do whatever it takes to help Colton see this through.”
“I’m in,” chimed a voice from the back. “I don’t mind bringing down trees and making a log cabin church. I think it would be right cozy. If Staffords are offering the wood, I’m offering my time.”
“I’ll help too.”
“Count me in!”
“Add my name, Mayor, if you can write that fast.”
“Hold your horses, hold your horses.” The mayor banged the gavel and raised his hand for order. “I’m going to have Rye put three sign-ups on the side table there—one for helping with the church, one for the town, and one for food. You all figure out where you’d like to help. If you’ve got time to help on all three, well, good. Once we have the rubble cleared later this week, we’ll meet again to make a plan and set it in motion—one way or another, it seems.” He tipped his glasses down and peered at Colt and Nick, still standing. “You boys ready to take this thing on?”
“Yes sir.”
Nick punched Colt’s arm and none too lightly either. “I’m with him.”
The mayor’s jaw eased, but he didn’t look one hundred percent convinced.
But he would be, Colt decided as he, Nick, and Angelina waited to put their names on the work lists. He would be.
—
Colt was tied up talking to the mayor and his wife, and from the look on his face, they were extending a warm welcome. As Angelina and Nick headed toward the far door, a woman’s voice hailed Nick from behind. “Mr. Stafford?”
Nick turned toward the fortyish woman walking their way. “Yes?”
The woman put out her hand and looked Nick in the eye. “I’m Rachel Willingham, the principal of Cheyenne and Dakota’s school.”
&n
bsp; Nick looked trapped, and Angelina was pretty sure if she hadn’t been standing between him and the exit door, he’d have taken off. Although he stayed put, he didn’t look the least bit comfortable. “Nice to meet you.”
The woman looked doubtful. “Well, it’s most likely not nice, I’m sure. I’ve been trying to contact you for some time, and you’ve been quite adept at avoiding me.”
Guilt stamped itself across Nick’s features. Angelina took a step away. “This sounds private. I’ll see you outside, Nick.”
“Thank you.” The principal acknowledged Angelina’s grace, but Angelina didn’t fool herself that the woman was going to go lightly on Nick. Principals didn’t like being blown off when she was a kid. She was pretty sure that hadn’t changed over the years.
She went outside. Until yesterday the people of Gray’s Glen took the fresh scent of forest air for granted. No more. The stench of wet, smoldering wood filled the air, a fetid smell she’d like to forget but never would. Colt found her there a few minutes later. “What are you doing out here?”
“Thinking.”
He tugged her jacket closer around her. “It’s damp and chilly. Isn’t that what zippers are for?”
“I hear hugs can keep you warm too.”
He slid his arms around her waist, his grin warming her as much as the embrace. “Now we’re talking. Where’s my brother?”
“Inside getting lambasted by the girls’ principal.”
“Why would anyone pick a night like tonight to do that?” Colt drew back, surprised. “Wasn’t there enough emotion going around that room?”
“Ask him,” Angelina said as Nick came through the door looking none too happy. “If you dare.”
Nick didn’t just stride across the planked wooden sidewalk leading to the parking lot. He stalked, pounding over the aged boards. Colt slid a sideways look to Angelina. “I don’t reckon I want to open that can of worms.”
Angelina silently climbed in the backseat of the SUV. Colt took the front passenger seat and flipped the keys to his brother. “Here you go.”
Nick grabbed the keys, started the engine, and stopped.
Colt looked back at Angelina, then at Nick. “Want me to drive?”
“No.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“No.”
Colt waited about five seconds, then sighed. “Well, then get the lead out and get us home. We’re all done in. And maybe in the morning you won’t feel like punching somebody in the face.”
“I don’t punch women, but I’m okay with decking men. And you’re right here.”
“Did you set up a meeting with the principal?” Angelina asked.
“Don’t need to.”
“Then that’s good, right?” Colt asked. “No big deal.”
“She wants my kids to see a shrink.”
“A…what?”
“A psychiatrist. Or a therapist. Psychologist. Whatever these head cases call themselves these days.”
“All three, I believe,” offered Angelina from the backseat. “And didn’t Cheyenne’s teacher talk to you about this at the parent-teacher conference last fall?”
“I ignored it then. I can ignore it now.” Nick shoved the car into reverse, backed up, then squealed tires once he thrust it back into drive. “There’s nothing wrong with my girls that a little time won’t cure. It’s not like we’re the only family in the world to split up.”
“What’s so bad about having someone to talk to?” Colt asked. “I’d have liked that when I was a kid. I sure wasn’t talking to Dad.”
“And that’s the difference.” Nick sent a cold look Colt’s way. “My kids can talk to me about anything, anytime.”
“Oh. Well. Good.”
Angelina thought for half a moment that Colt was going to let it go. Of course he didn’t.
“So that’s why they sneak into the barn to be around the animals because they love the ranch and want to learn and you won’t let them do anything more rigorous than ballet.”
“Shut up, Colt.”
Colt ignored him as the rare camaraderie the brothers shared in the town hall evaporated. “Cheyenne sends pictures of pretend horses to her friends so they’ll think she’s got horses, just like they do on their ranches.”
“She does no such thing. And there’s no reason for them to learn the ins and outs of ranching. It’s not like a girl will ever run the Double S.”
Angelina stared, appalled. “Women run all kinds of enterprises now, Nick. Get out of the Dark Ages and stick a toe into the twenty-first century. You’re being ridiculous.”
“My kids. My choice.”
“I’m confused,” Colt said. “So she wants the girls to talk to someone, but why? What’s happening at school for her to make a recommendation like this?”
Nick didn’t say anything for over a minute, and when he did, he thumped the steering wheel with his left hand. “Cheyenne isn’t doing her work.”
“Still?” Angelina frowned. “Cheyenne used to be an excellent student. How long has this been going on?”
Nick flinched and she sat back, appalled. “Since last fall when they first talked to you? You mean she’s blown off half of last semester and half of this one? She’s going to fail her grade?”
“It’s a strong possibility.”
“Nick.” Angelina wasn’t sure what to say, how far to go. She’d known both little girls for two years, and she’d taken on a lot of their care. She loved them. But the reality of Cheyenne refusing to do schoolwork for months and Dakota doing whatever she pleased when she thought no one was looking spelled more than trouble. It reeked of disaster. “I don’t even know what to say.”
“Then it’s best to say nothing.” Nick brought the car to a screeching halt in the stone barnyard. “I’ll figure it out in my own way and my own time, like always.”
“Except you haven’t.” Angelina leaned forward and put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s been nearly six months, and it’s getting worse. What’s so wrong with kids needing someone to talk to?”
“They’re not crazy, that’s what.”
“No one said they were. But when your mother leaves you high and dry—”
“You think I don’t know that?” He turned toward Angelina and included Colt in his harsh look. “I’m the Stafford whose mother walked out on him, remember? Yes, your mother left.” He directed this straight at Colt. “But it wasn’t her choice; it was a horrific accident. Mine left because none of us mattered more than her own self-interests. So I probably comprehend this scenario better than anyone. Which means I can handle it on my own, without any help. Understand?”
Colt got out of the car and raised his hands. “Got it. Right now I’m thinking the girls might not need someone to talk to as much as their old man does.”
“Shut up, moron.”
Nick didn’t go near the house. The girls would be asleep and would stay at the ranch until power was restored to their house in town. He got into his pickup truck, turned it around, and headed down the hill at a quick clip.
Angelina hugged her arms against her chest, watching him go. “This isn’t good. I had no idea that things had gone this far. I know Cheyenne’s been a passive-aggressive brat about her homework, but I didn’t know she’d gone to this extreme. What’s Nick thinking? That this will all go away and take care of itself?”
“Guess so. Because that’s exactly what he did,” Colt said. “And he thinks it worked out fine.”
“In some ways maybe it did. But when his mother left he was immersed in something he loved,” Angelina said. “This ranch, this business, growing up Stafford. The very things he won’t allow the girls to do.”
“Hey, I agree with you. But you saw his reaction. Not much talking to him.”
“Oh, I saw it all right. Stubborn and doggedly focused, like his father and brother.” She yawned, exhausted. “From the looks of the town, we’ve got plenty to do for spring and summer, and with the ranch work and kids needing help, I’m wondering how
much Nick can take before he breaks.”
“You planning to stay and help?”
“At the moment I don’t have much of a timeline,” she returned. “Not until your father’s better and we’re on an even keel here.”
“Even though your mother wants to go home?” He paused before opening the back door and faced her. “Can you stay if she goes?”
“No.” She held his gaze. “She needs me. She sacrificed a great deal just to have me, Colt. Four times my parents had hoped for the child of their dreams, and four times my mother lost baby after baby, all born too soon, tiny souls and graves she had to leave behind in Ecuador. When they came to America, she got pregnant one more time. Here, with good care, she was able to have a successful pregnancy. She gave me life. I can’t just walk away from that.”
Colt seemed to consider her every word.
“I’ve also made a promise to your father, and I don’t break my promises. But what about you, Colt?” She pointed to the phone on his belt. “If New York issues an ‘all clear,’ or your other funds become wildly successful, do you catch the first plane east or stay here and get your hands dirty building a church?”
“I don’t break promises either.”
Easy words, the kind of words she’d heard before…but tonight she’d seen a major difference between Colt and Ethan. Colt didn’t offer lame assurances, looking to gain career footholds. He’d offered the people of Gray’s Glen the work of his hands, a genuine Christian gesture.
Ethan would never have done that. So maybe her mother was right. A smart woman didn’t use past mistakes as an excuse to stay stuck in the past. She learned from them and moved on.
She yawned again and didn’t resist when Colt slipped an arm around her shoulders and pressed a gentle kiss to her temple. “We need sleep. In the morning we can sort out what kind of promises we made under the guise of exhaustion.”
Back in the Saddle Page 19