Trouble in Paradise

by Robin Lee Hatcher

  “You’re right.” She groaned again. “Guilty as charged.”

  He stifled a grin. “You still look a bit green around the gills. Lie quiet while I get you a glass of water. Maybe it’ll help.”

  As he walked away, he heard her feeble, “Thanks.”

  Shayla wished she could disappear. She’d never fainted in her life. In her not-so-humble opinion, swooning females were an embarrassment to their gender. She could imagine what her hunk of a cowboy neighbor thought of her now. Not that it should matter to her.

  The image of that angry, snorting, pawing bull returned in a rush. She could almost feel its hot breath on her skin. She could almost feel those horns piercing her flesh.

  The blood drained from her head, and she closed her eyes again.

  “Here you go,” she heard Ian say as he returned to the room.

  “He would have killed me, wouldn’t he? That bull.” She opened her eyes.

  “He might have tried.” He held out the glass of water. “He’s plenty mean. I probably should haul him off to market, but he’s the best bull Paradise ever had. Just can’t make myself get rid of him now that he’s past his prime.”

  Slowly she sat up. When it seemed she was going to stay upright this time, she took the glass from him. “How big is he? He looked enormous.”

  “He weighs in at about twenty-two hundred pounds. About the max for a Hereford.”

  She gulped, envisioning the bull’s horns and evil eyes.

  “Never been on a working ranch before, have you?”

  “Not really.” She took a sip of water. “No.”

  “Well, then, there’s a few things you probably oughta know.” He sat on a nearby chair. “First lesson, read what’s posted. Think of the signs you find on fences and gates like traffic signs at a busy intersection. Run a stop sign and you’re likely to get hit by something coming the other direction.”

  “I’ll remember that.”

  “Good.” He smiled.

  She forgot the old bull. She forgot what she was doing there.

  “So tell me a little about your life in the city. Portland, was it?”

  “Yes.” She sounded out of breath, even to herself. She took another sip of water, giving herself a moment to regroup. “What would you like to know?”

  “Well, start with how long you lived there.”

  “All my life. My parents, too.”

  “How about your brothers and sisters? Do they live in Portland?”

  “Yes, and three of them are still at home. Crystal’s the youngest. She’s thirteen.”

  “I always wanted to be part of a big family.”

  Shayla shook her head. “Believe me, it isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.” She didn’t mean to sound sarcastic, but she knew she did.

  He watched her with those intent, dark eyes of his. She wondered if he would ask more about her family and wasn’t sure if she was relieved or not when he didn’t.

  “Feeling better?”

  She set down the water glass and rose from the sofa. “Yes. I should start for home. By the long route this time.”

  He stood, too. “You never told me what you were doing out there in the middle of that paddock. I assume you were on your way to see me about something.”

  “It wasn’t important.” To be honest, she couldn’t remember why she’d come. Not with him watching her that way.

  “You didn’t change your mind about working for me, did you?” He looked worried.

  “No, I definitely am not changing my mind about that. I’m not about to fail this time.”

  He didn’t press for further explanation. “I’ll give you a lift home.”

  “Thanks, but you don’t need to.”

  “I know that. I want to. You still look a tad pale.”

  Embarrassed by the reminder, she acquiesced with a nod. “All right.”

  He motioned for her to follow him, then headed toward the kitchen, leading her through it and out the back door. A newer-model, teal-colored pickup was parked in the shade of a tall, leafy tree.

  Ian let out a sharp, short whistle as he strode toward the vehicle. Seconds later, two black-and-white dogs came racing across the barnyard and jumped into the truck bed. “Hey, girls.” He reached over the side of the truck and patted their heads. To Shayla, he said, “Meet Bonny and Coira.”

  “They’re beautiful. What kind are they?”

  “Border collies. Smartest cow dog there is, far as I’m concerned.”

  Her earlier questions—the ones that had brought her to Paradise Ranch—came rushing back. Ian had answered a couple of them without her even asking. He raised Herefords and his dogs were border collies. Now she wanted to know more.

  “So, could a couple of dogs like these two help a man round up a herd of cows?” She stroked Bonny’s head as she spoke. “Even at night in the dark?”

  “Piece of cake.”

  “I’d love to see them work sometime.”

  “You’ll have plenty of opportunity for that this summer.” He moved around the truck to the passenger side and opened the door for her.

  When was the last time a man had done something like that? Not counting her dad or her brothers. Not that they did it very often, either. To them, she was the capable, dependable daughter and sister, used to taking care of others rather than being taken care of herself.

  As Ian helped her into the pickup, she thought about her last serious relationship. Gordon Sampson was a nice man with pleasant good looks. Gordon, a coworker of her dad’s, and his family had joined the Vincent clan for Fourth of July picnics and Christmas parties often through the years. After Dee Sampson deserted her husband and their two children, running off to Europe with another man, Gordon came to the Vincent house more and more often, talking for hours with Shayla’s mom and dad, seeking advice and comfort.

  And then one day he asked Shayla out on a date. At first she’d been flattered. She’d never had an abundance of beaux. Not as a teenager in school nor as an adult. She wasn’t tall or beautiful or any of the other things men seemed to like in a woman. So she agreed to go out with him. But after several months of dating, it became obvious that Gordon wasn’t looking for a woman whom he could love but for a surrogate mother for his children. He needed a nanny, not a life partner.

  “I’ve already helped raise six brothers and sisters,” she’d told him the last time they were together. “I’m not taking on any more. I want a life of my own.”

  Her mother recently wrote that Gordon had married again, a lovely young woman in her twenties who was already pregnant with their first child.

  More power to her.

  After starting the truck, Ian glanced at Shayla. She was deep in thought, and it was apparent those thoughts weren’t pleasant ones. A tiny frown drew her brows together, furrowing her forehead. Her blue eyes were clouded, troubled. She worried her lower lip between her teeth, something he’d seen her do several times since they first met.

  She intrigued him, he realized as he drove out of the yard and toward the highway. He supposed that was because she was unlike anyone he’d known before. Most of the folks in this valley had lived there for many years. They were ranchers and cowboys or they worked for the highway department or forest service or they owned small businesses in town. They knew their neighbors’ names and the names of their kids and grandkids. And more often than not, they knew what others liked for breakfast and the last time someone had a cold or the flu. A few lived in remote shacks farther up in the mountains, along old logging roads, their closest neighbors being mule deer, elk, bears, mountain lions and bobcats.

  Shayla Vincent, on the other hand, was a city girl. She didn’t have enough sense to know a colt from a filly, let alone enough to recognize the danger of strolling into a paddock with a cantankerous old bull. She didn’t belong here, and she wouldn’t last.

  Even folks who did belong didn’t always last.

  He’d learned that the hard way.

  Chapter Three

 
The redbrick community Christian church at the corner of Main and Second was well attended on this beautiful summer day. Prior to the start of the Sunday service, members of the congregation gathered on the sidewalk, enjoying the fresh morning breeze while visiting with their friends, discussing the price of feed, the new tractor Owen Overstreet bought last week and the gossip saying the youngest Paulson girl had left on the bus for New York City night before last, hoping to make a name for herself on Broadway.

  Standing with a group of men on the Main Street side of the church, Ian saw Shayla climbing the steps to the entrance. She wore a sleeveless dress, butter-yellow in color, that whispered in a soft fall of fabric around her calves. Her hair was braided, the end caught with a satin bow. In her arms she carried a Bible.

  He was a little surprised to see her at church, perhaps because she hadn’t come to services since moving to the valley.

  He watched as she was welcomed by the pastor’s wife, Geneve Barnett. The two women shook hands while exchanging a few words of introduction. Then Shayla moved through the open doorway, disappearing from view.

  Ian excused himself from those around him and made his way inside, curious for another glimpse of his neighbor. It took his eyes a few moments to adjust from the bright daylight outside to the softer light of the sanctuary. After they did, he scanned the room until he found her. She’d taken a seat in the back pew beneath the balcony, a spot that blanketed her in shadows.

  On purpose, he suspected.

  She was an outsider from a big city. She had to feel out of place and maybe even a little bit lonely. Of course it wasn’t his place to worry about her. She was an adult. She could make friends without his help.

  And yet something propelled him forward and into that back pew.

  “Morning, Shayla,” he said as he removed his hat.

  The instant their gazes met, she smiled. “Good morning, Ian.”

  “Nice to see you in church.”

  “Nice to be here.”

  “How are you today?”

  “Do you mean, am I going to faint again?” She laughed softly, a pretty, almost musical sound. “I think I’m over that particular malady.”

  That wasn’t what he’d meant, but he liked the way she could laugh at herself.

  “Good,” he replied. “No more fainting.” He sat down beside her, placing his Stetson on the floor beneath the pew.

  Her eyes widened a fraction, revealing her surprise that he was joining her.

  He didn’t figure she was any more surprised than he was. He hadn’t sat anyplace in this church except the third row, piano side, since he was knee-high to a grasshopper. That had been the O’Connell pew for more than sixty years, first for his grandparents, then for his parents and finally for Ian.

  And Joanne, too, before she died.

  It had been ten years since he sat in the O’Connell pew with his wife by his side, many years longer since there were kids there, whispering and getting dirty looks from their mother. That wasn’t how it was supposed to turn out, but that’s the way it was.

  “It’s a lovely old church, isn’t it?”

  He shook off his unsettling memories and answered, “Yeah. My granddad helped build it after the original wooden building burned down. Hauled the bricks up from Boise in a freight wagon back during the Depression.”

  “Your roots go down deep, don’t they?”

  He nodded. “Real deep.”

  The organist began to play, intruding on their conversation.

  Leaning closer, Shayla whispered, “I’d like to hear more sometime. About how your family came to this valley, I mean.” She shrugged. “It’s the writer in me. I’m curious about everything.”

  He couldn’t help wondering if he’d want her to be curious about him for some other reason besides her writing.

  Rainbow Community Church had a splendid preacher in Roger Barnett, and Shayla enjoyed the worship service that morning. She particularly liked standing next to Ian and listening to his fine singing voice. There was a richness and depth in it that touched her heart.

  It wasn’t until the service concluded and people came over to meet her that she became aware she’d been the subject of much speculation during the previous hour. Then she realized they thought she was with Ian.

  The notion was so preposterous, she nearly laughed aloud.

  Men who looked like Ian didn’t date women who looked like her. They chose those tall, lithe, gorgeous blondes or brunettes, the ones who resembled models on magazine covers. She hadn’t reached the ripe old age of thirty without learning that lesson, and learning it well.

  And it wasn’t as though it mattered to her, she thought a short while later as she drove toward home. She was comfortable enough with her appearance. She didn’t mind as much as she used to that she was short and plump and rather ordinary looking.

  Besides, she wasn’t in the market for a man. God had called her to write Christian fiction, not to find a husband. There was no shame in remaining unmarried, despite how her mother might feel about that. The shame would be in knowing what God wanted her to do but not doing it.

  However, Ian could become a good friend. She’d like that, especially since she planned to live in these parts a long, long time. They were neighbors, after all. She was going to clean his kitchen and he was going to fix her roof.

  At the cabin, she parked her fifteen-year-old car between two tamaracks, then went inside. She put her Bible on the coffee table and switched on the radio to a country-western station before going into the bedroom to change out of her dress and into a T-shirt and pair of shorts. Afterward, she poured herself a glass of iced tea from the pitcher in the refrigerator and went to sit on the deck.

  She should work on her book this afternoon. Tomorrow she’d probably be too tired to write after she returned from Paradise Ranch. What a mess she was about to tackle! She hadn’t let on, of course, but it had been awhile since she’d seen so much clutter and disorganization in one house.

  If there was anything she’d learned as the oldest of seven children, all residing under one roof, it was how to keep things neat and tidy. Otherwise you lost the things that were yours.

  Sipping her tea, she allowed her thoughts to drift to her family. Her parents, Doug and Reba Vincent, hadn’t ever had much money, but they’d had plenty of love, especially for kids. Shayla arrived the year after they married. Eight years separated her and her brother, Dwight, but the rest of the Vincent children followed in rapid succession. Anne, at twenty-one, was one year younger to the day than Dwight. Ken was twenty. Olivia just turned seventeen this month. George would be fifteen in two weeks. Crystal, the “baby” sister, was thirteen.

  Shayla couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t been helping her mom change diapers or feed one baby or another. In fact, she’d postponed moving out on her own after graduating from high school because she was needed at home. There hadn’t been enough money for full-time college, so she’d settled for taking the occasional night class while working as a secretary during the day.

  And all the while, she’d harbored the dream of one day writing great novels. Sometimes, while still living with the family, she’d locked herself in the bathroom with a good book, just for a moment of peace and quiet to herself. She would read and think, I could do this. I want to do this.

  She felt the sting of disappointment once again, wondering why no one had tried to understand her dreams and aspirations. Even when she moved into a place of her own, she hadn’t found time to write. At least one of her brothers or sisters, several of them teenagers by that time, had been in the midst of a crisis at any given moment. Whenever that happened, they’d ended up at her apartment, bunking on her couch, turning to their big sister for advice.

  Shayla smiled to herself at the memories drifting through her head. As frustrated as she could get about her large, ofttimes demanding family, she loved each one of them dearly. She would even privately admit to missing them…a little. But only a little. There was somethin
g to be said for the five hundred or so miles that separated her from them. It guaranteed her solitude on a warm, sunny Sunday afternoon.

  Solitude in which to sit on the porch of Aunt Lauretta’s old cabin. Solitude in which to thank God for granting her this opportunity.

  “You do open doors for Your children, don’t You, Lord?” she whispered as she lifted her eyes heavenward. “Thanks for letting me walk through this open door. Keep me focused on serving You with the talent You gave me.”

  Ian was napping on the couch, taking advantage of his one day of rest, when the phone rang. It was his sister, Leigh.

  “Sleeping, weren’t you?” she said in response to his mumbled greeting.

  “Yeah.” He yawned, then asked, “What’s up, sis? How are things in Florida?”

  “Everyone here is great. Mom’s having a bit of trouble with her hip again, but she says she can get along fine with a little discomfort.”

  “Has she decided when she’s coming to Paradise for a visit?”

  “I don’t think so. You’d have to ask her. My guess is, it won’t be until fall. She’s got a pretty full summer planned with all her retiree friends.”

  He nodded. Their mother had never been one to sit idle for long with or without a bad hip.

  “Listen, Ian. The reason I called is…I need a favor. A big one.”

  “I’ll do what I can. You know that.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  When she didn’t continue right away, he wondered how big—how serious—this favor was going to be. He felt a niggle of worry. Maybe something was wrong that she hadn’t told him. Maybe their mom’s hip problems were more serious than Leigh let on. Maybe…

  “Jim’s firm is sending him to Italy,” she offered at last. “He’ll be there from six months to a year.”

  “Wow!”

  “It’s a big promotion for him. A wonderful opportunity.”

  “But?”