by Naomi Niles
CHISELED
By Naomi Niles
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2016 Naomi Niles
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Chapter One: Bethany
"Where the hell am I?"
I looked around at the endless acres of green pastures with herds of cattle lowing in the distance and sighed. There wasn't a street sign or a building in sight, and I was feeling more than frustrated.
Maybe I should just turn around and go back to the town I'd just passed through, I thought. Riverbend was small and quaint, with a population of just under 1,800 people. It was the kind of place where everybody probably knew everyone else, and I was sure they could tell me how to find the Hutchinson Ranch.
When I'd stopped to buy gas for my Prius, the owner of the gas station had seemed friendly enough and had insisted on pumping my gas himself. He was an elderly gentleman with grease stains all over his apron. When he took it off, he revealed a denim shirt with the name Earl embroidered on the pocket.
"Chicago? You've come a long way," Earl commented as I watched the numbers on the gas pump scroll upwards.
"Yeah," I said, not used to chatting with strangers. The people who ran the Quick Mart where I lived would never have taken the time to pump my gas, let alone chitchat, but Earl obviously had all day.
"Your bumper sticker says SAIC. What's that?"
"It's the School of the Art Institute of Chicago. I just graduated from there last week;" The pride came through in my voice. I tried to stay humble, but I was the first member of my family to go to college, and I'd worked damn hard, too.
My mother made no secret that she thought art was a waste of time, and getting a degree in it was an even bigger waste of money. Apparently, my blonde hair and blue eyes were the only things I had inherited from her.
My creativity must have come from my father, but I had no way of knowing for sure since he'd left when I was still just a baby. Mother told me all the time that I would be a loser just like him, but art was my passion and I was determined to prove to her that I could make something of myself with it. Now that I'd gotten my degree, I was one step closer to that ultimate goal.
"What brings you to Riverbend? Ain't no museums or galleries here," Earl drawled.
"I'm doing some artwork for a local rancher." I tucked my shoulder-length hair behind one ear and wished he would hurry up.
I handed him my debit card, but he just stared at it. "You'll have to take that inside," he said.
Reluctantly, I followed him into the station where he had an ATM and drew out the cash. I was dressed in a flowing skirt, white tank top, and sandals, accented with beaded jewelry around my neck and wrists. It was a simple summer outfit designed for comfort, but here in the sticks, I felt like an out-of-place hipster.
"Tell me which one, and I'll tell you how to find it. The roads can get kind of confusing once you get out town. Mostly dirt roads carved by repetitive use.”
"No need. I've got a map app on my phone. I'll be fine." I snatched my change from the counter, turned on my heel, and headed for the door.
If I'd known then what I know now, I would have taken him up on his offer, but at the time, I'd spent enough time chatting with that curious old man, and I was anxious to get going.
There was someone I needed to find. Someone I'd been searching for a long time and was supposed to be living in this small town somewhere. Working out at the Hutchinson Ranch was the perfect excuse to look for him, but not if he found out.
So, I had jumped in my car and took off on the highway, feeling nervous and excited about my first real job as an artist, not to mention being one step closer to finding Frank Hill.
The scenery soon turned to green pastures and the smell of cow manure filled the air. I passed the occasional dirt road running between the fields, but none of them had any road signs, and there was no way to know if I was heading in the right direction or lost completely. It was a far cry from the streets of Chicago, and my app was useless. Still, I kept going forward.
I’d been told I couldn't miss it, but I was beginning to think that was all just a load of cow manure. Maybe my mother was right: I wasn't capable of making it on my own. Look at me, if I couldn't even find the location of my first job on a road with no side streets, how would I ever find a missing man in a strange town? I was a failure before I even began. At the next dirt road I came to, I was going to turn around and head back home.
Then, suddenly, there it was. I breathed a huge sigh of relief as I saw the big wooden sign with lettering burned into the oak with a branding iron. "Hutchinson Ranch." It was held high in the air by two gigantic logs and looked worn by weather and time.
I drove through the wooden entranceway and down the dusty dirt road, which ended at a sprawling ranch house, surrounded by smaller structures. There was a small office, an old red barn, and right next to it, a stable for horses. An array of beat-up trucks and farming equipment was scattered about, with men walking to and fro between them. A shepherd collie napped on the porch, and I felt like I'd been transported into an old episode of Bonanza or The Waltons.
The house was beautiful, painted red with white shutters that matched the wrap-around porch. It was obvious that this was a home built with love and maintained for generations. A home with history and heart – just like the kind I'd always longed for as a child, living in a single room apartment in Chicago with my mother.
As I sat in my car, staring at the magnificent ranch house, a young man approached me with a swagger in his step. He looked to be about my age, twenty-two, with light brown hair, a dazzling smile, and golden eyes that flashed with mischief.
"Hello, miss. What can I do for you?" He leaned against the open window of my car and flashed his grin at me. His bicep flexed as he tipped his cowboy hat back, and his left eyebrow rose appreciatively as he took in the sight of me. He was quite handsome, but entirely too aware of it, and I found his cocky flirtation more amusing than seductive.
"I'm looking for Margie Hutchinson," I stated, trying to sound like I'd done this before and not like this was my first job.
"No, you don't want her. You're looking for a much younger member of the Hutchinson family," he winked at me. "I'm Brett. Happy to be at your service."
"Nice to meet you. I'm Bethany Foster." I shook his hand awkwardly through the car door, thankful for the metal body of my hybrid protecting me from being in too close of contact with this randy young man.
"Get out of the way and stop pestering her. Let the poor thing at least get out of her car," a gutsy female voice called out. Suddenly, a pair of careworn hands grabbed Brett from behind and yanked him back by the arm.
"I was just seeing who had pulled up the driveway, Mama, and welcoming Miss Foster to the ranch." Brett took off his cowboy hat and cast his eye down towards his boots sheepishly as the woman glared at him with her hands on her hips.
She had gray hair peppered with strands of ebony and her warm, chocolate-brown eyes were dancing with merriment. She turned to me with a smile and said, "Don't mind Brett. He has an eye for the ladies, but he knows to mind me or I'll still take a switch to him. He won't bother you again. You must be Bethany. I'm Margie. Welcome to the Hutchinson Ranch."
I stepped out of the car as she introduce
d herself, but instead of shaking my hand, she embraced me in a motherly hug. I liked her instantly and guessed correctly that she'd never taken a switch to any of her children even once.
"Come inside and let me show you around," Margie insisted, and I followed up the steps of the porch and into the grand ranch house. It was even more beautiful inside than out, with hardwood floors, hand-carved furnishings, and stained glass decor. High ceilings and an open floor plan made the place feel spacious and airy, while hand-stitched quilts and the smell of food cooking made it feel homey and warm.
She chatted amicably during the entire tour, showing me knick-knacks and telling me tales.
"That's my bedroom through there. You just knock on my door any time of the night if you ever need anything: another blanket, you hear a coyote howling, or even if you just want girl talk. Anything."
"Thank you, Mrs. Hutchinson." I stifled a smile. My own mother had yelled at me to leave her alone when I asked to climb in her bed after a nightmare or during a thunderstorm, and this sweet stranger was inviting to knock on her door even I was just lonely.
"It's Margie, not Mrs. Hutchinson. Or even better, Mama. That's what everyone calls me."
"How many children do you have?" I asked casually. There were many pictures hanging on the walls, and she talked about them constantly.
"I have five grown boys. No grandchildren yet, or daughters-in-law. They're all still single and living here on the ranch with me, but I make them work for it. No freeloaders in my house."
"Five sons and they all still live here with you?" I couldn't believe it. I'd left my mother's house the day I turned eighteen. Why would anyone choose to live at home after they'd grown? Of course, Margie was much different than my mother had been. Maybe with a mother like her, things would have been different for me, too.
"Yes. You'll meet them tonight at dinner. In fact, it's almost time, so we'd better get going." Margie glanced at a clock on the wall and quickened her pace through the house.
She took me up the stairs and led me past a long line of doors I could only assume were her sons’ bedrooms. She stopped at a door at the far end of the hall and held it open for me to enter. Smiling warmly, she said, "This will be your room. You're to stay here while you're working. Riverbend has a little hotel, but I wouldn't hear of putting you up in it."
The room was lovely, with the bed covered by a hand-stitched quilt made of different shades of pink that perfectly matched the flowers on the curtains. The bed was made of maple with a matching bureau and wardrobe closet.
I crossed the room admiringly to look out the window by the bed. It had a magnificent view of the ranch stretching out across the horizon. Fields of lush green pasture were surrounded by sturdy wooden fences. Wild forest land stretched out beyond into the distance, while closer to the ranch house were barns, sheds, outbuildings, and equipment. A man was walking past, leading a pair of horses by the reigns, and I caught my breath.
He was incredibly handsome, with chiseled features and a muscular physique. He looked strangely out of place amongst the rustic surroundings of the ranch, for he was wearing a dark gray suit, a white shirt, and a bright blue and green striped tie. The garment looked expensive and had been tailored to fit his body to perfection.
"I think you have company," I said to Margie. "Some kind of lawyer or FBI agent is here to see you."
She looked out the window and laughed merrily. "That's just my son, Colton. He takes care of the business end of the ranch, and all the bookkeeping, accounting, and invoicing. I'd be lost without him. He's the oldest, born right here on the ranch thirty-six years ago.
“It looks like he's coming in for dinner. That means the rest of them will be, too. Follow me down to the kitchen and help me make dinner. You'll eat all your meals with us while you're here. I'll introduce to everybody at the table tonight."
I clutched my stomach as I trailed behind Margie, down the stairs and into the kitchen, which was the heart of the ranch house. The room smelled delicious, and I stared in wonder as she began chopping vegetables for a salad, her hands moving so quick I could hardly see.
"How can I help?" I gaped, and she slid the chopping block in front of me.
"Finish making the salad. I've got to whip the potatoes and get the roast out of the oven," Margie said, and my mouth began to water as she poured cream, butter, and sprinkled some chives into a giant pot of potatoes and mashed them until they were creamy smooth. It grew even worse when she pulled a fantastic roast from the oven and slid a baking sheet of garlic bread under the broiler to toast.
"This is a far cry from the frozen meals my mother used to cook in the microwave," I breathed as I helped her set all the food out on the large dining room table in the next room.
As if they had sensed the appearance of food, the Hutchinson men entered the room like a stampede, taking their plates and piling them high with their mother's good cooking.
Growing up an only child, I just staggered back out of the way, terrified I'd be trampled to death.
"Mind your manners. Can't you see we have a guest?" Mama swatted at her sons with a dish towel, and they immediately turned their eyes on me. I stood frozen, staring back at them. It was easy to see the family resemblance. They were a handsome bunch, with tan skin, strong features, and easy smiles.
"You've met Brett. This is Travis, Thomas, Will, and Colton," Margie introduced each of her sons from youngest to oldest.
She'd spoken of them all so warmly during the tour, I felt like I already knew them, but it was still nice to be able to put a face with each of their names. They ranged in age from twenty-two to thirty-six, with a wide range of hobbies and careers, although they all still helped work on the ranch whenever they could. Margie was quite proud of them all, and rightfully so.
"And what brings a pretty thing like you out to the Hutchinson Ranch?" Brett asked, giving me a flirtatious wink from across the table.
"Your mother hired me to create some paintings of the ranch," I said, matter-of-factly.
"What for? We see enough of it every day of our lives," Brett joked, and the other's laughed jovially.
"Except for the two who have bailed on us," Travis pointed out, indicating Will, who was wearing the brown uniform of the Sheriff's office with a gold star on his chest, and Thomas, whom Margie had told me was a teacher at the Riverbend Middle School.
"I work this ranch on my days off," Thomas defended himself. "Besides, I'd like to see any of you jerks handle a classroom full of adolescents."
"No, thanks. I'll take a jailhouse full of criminals any day," William laughed.
"And, I'll take a bucking bull at the rodeo," Brett chimed in.
"Not me. I love working the ranch," Travis insisted.
"Yeah, until a call comes in from the volunteer fire department. Then you rush off to battle some blaze for free," William jeered, and all the brothers laughed and took turns jibing each other.
It was the kind of loving banter that families did around the dinner table; the kind that I always longed for growing up. It wasn't mean spirited and none of them took it that way. It was fun, relaxed teasing between men who knew each other well and clearly cared about each other.
"It doesn't sound like we need any paintings of the ranch," a hard voice spoke from the far end of the table, and I looked to see Colton glaring across at me. He was the firstborn of Margie's sons and was still wearing the tailored suit I'd seen him in from my bedroom window, although he'd taken off the Stetson and hung it on a hook by the front door. He had thick, golden-brown hair, and the most incredible hazel-green eyes I'd ever seen.
Those penetrating eyes peered harshly at me as a hush came over the room. In a gravelly voice, he said, "Maybe you should just go."
"Colton! I raised you better than that!" Margie was aghast, and his brothers had turned dead silent as they stared from one to the other and then back at me.
Colton didn't flinch. He turned his gaze to Margie and explained quietly, "I just don't want to see you wast
ing your money on frivolous things like paintings."
"It's not a waste. Bethany is a fine artist. The best at landscapes that I've seen. Besides, how I spend my money is my business. If I want to buy an iceberg in the desert, then I'll do it."
"I'm not telling you how to spend your money, Mama; it's just I don't know if this is the best time to being doing a thing like that."
"Why not?" Margie insisted on knowing.
Colton looked down at his plate for a long time before breathing in a heavy sigh. Then he looked back up into her eyes and said quietly, "You know why, Mama."
"Well, if things are as bad as you say they are and I'm going to end up having to sell the ranch, then that's all the more reason to do what I'm doing. I hired Bethany so that when the Hutchinson Ranch is gone, each of you boys can have a painting of it to keep with you."
A lump caught in my throat knowing that was reason I was there. I hadn’t known any of these people before this day, but I could feel the weight of emotion in the air. I could tell that selling the ranch would be a serious loss to them all.
Colton rose from the table. "Damn it, Mama! You don't have to do that. I'm going to do whatever it takes to save this ranch."
He turned on me with anger flashing in his eyes, and I feared he would kick me out, but he didn't. Instead, he turned on his boot and stormed from the dining room.
My heart was pounding in my chest. I'd never witnessed that kind of exchange before. Things had gone from teasing to tense in just seconds.
Brett put his arm around my shoulders and gave me a squeeze. With a smile and wink, he said, "Welcome to Hutchinson Ranch."
Chapter Two: Colton
"God damn it," I muttered to myself as I got out of bed the next morning. It was a new day, but I was still angry about last night.
Out of habit, I looked back over my shoulder to make sure Mama wasn't there to catch me swearing, but of course, the room was empty. She didn't approve of bad language, and as far as she was concerned, taking the Lord's name in vain was the worst kind.