He brought the thought up short. Enough with his imagination when it came to Kimberly. Better not to go in that direction.
“Nana Anna, where’s my laptop?” Sam asked.
“Still in the guesthouse.”
“Dad, can I go get it?” His son started to rise.
Chet shook his head. “Wait until after dinner.”
“It would only take a—”
“After dinner.”
Sam grumbled something as he settled back into his chair.
Chet heard the sound of a throat clearing even as he saw the gazes of those around the table shift to the doorway behind him. He knew, without looking, that it must be Blake. The ranch hand had volunteered to keep an eye on Shiloh’s Thunder this evening. He wouldn’t have interrupted Tara’s birthday dinner unless the horse had taken a turn for the worse.
Chet set his napkin on the table and pushed back his chair. “You all finish eating. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Somber faces looked back at him. The excitement of moments before drained away. Like Chet, they all knew what must have brought Blake into the house.
Chet drew a quick breath as he turned around and followed his ranch hand through the kitchen and out the door. “Did you call the vet?” he asked as soon as they were outside.
“Yeah, I called him. He’s tending another animal on the other side of the valley, but he said he’ll come as soon as he can. I don’t think it makes much difference now.”
At the corral, Chet drew another breath, hoping to calm that sick sensation in his gut. Then he opened the gate and went in. The horse’s breathing was shallow, his eyes closed. He didn’t even attempt to lift his head as Chet squatted and stroked his neck. Blake was right. It wouldn’t matter if the vet got there or not. As if in answer to Chet’s thought, Thunder made a soft sound, similar to a sigh, and then all was quiet. The stallion was gone.
Emotion tightened Chet’s throat as he stood.
Blake said, “I’ll see that he’s buried first thing in the morning.”
Chet nodded.
“I’m sorry, boss.”
“Thanks.”
Blake came to stand beside Chet. “He was a great horse.”
“Yeah. One of the best.”
“Want me to wait around until Devon gets here?”
“No, thanks.” Chet turned his back toward the dead horse. “I’ll call and tell him there’s no need to come. See you in the morning.”
Blake hesitated a moment longer, as if trying to find something more to say, then he left the corral. Chet stayed in the corral until the ranch hand had turned his truck onto the highway. Then he walked to the gate and pressed his forehead against the top rail.
God . . .
He wanted to pray but was unable to form the words.
God . . .
It wasn’t just the potential loss of stud fees that made his heart heavy, although that mattered. No, it was more than that. The death felt . . . personal. As if he’d been abandoned. Again.
God . . .
Crazy. Made no sense. He was a practical man. Ranching needed a level head and a calm outlook. Animals took sick and died or they grew old and died. Dogs. Cats. Horses. They matured and were slaughtered for food. Cattle. Hogs. Sheep. He’d seen it countless times. He would see it many more times if he lived long enough.
A sound drew his head up from the railing. Kimberly walked toward him. Seeing her, the heaviness in his chest lightened a little. One more feeling that made no sense. He opened the gate and left the corral. Kimberly stopped and waited for him to reach her.
“Thunder?” she asked softly.
“He’s gone.” Chet glanced toward the house. “Did you have cake yet?”
She shook her head. “No. The spark kind of went out of the party after you left. I guess everyone knew what was happening out here.”
“Sorry it spoiled Tara’s birthday.”
“She’s more worried about you, I think.”
From the look in her eyes he could see that the same was true of Kimberly. He wanted to hold her in his arms and draw strength from her slight frame. It was as if he’d held her before and knew how it would be. How holding her would make him feel. Alive again. He wanted to draw her close and bury his face in her long, dark hair. He wanted to breathe in the faint citrusy fragrance of her shampoo.
Uncertainty flashed in her eyes, as if she’d seen the direction of his thoughts. She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. Nerves, he thought. Or did she hope he would kiss her?
Perhaps he would have, were it not for the untimely arrival of Devon Parry. Made Chet wish he’d had enough time to call the vet and stop him from coming. Because now he would never know what might have happened if he and Kimberly had had a little more time, just the two of them.
Twenty-three
SUNDAY MORNING, PETE TOOK ANNA INTO TOWN. Sam stayed at the ranch with his dad for moral support. With a backhoe, it didn’t take long to finish the unpleasant task of burying Shiloh’s Thunder. Chet and Sam were back at the house before the rest of the family returned from church.
After washing up, Chet poured himself a cup of coffee while Sam made himself a ham sandwich. Then they both sat at the table. For a short while, there were no sounds in the kitchen other than the soft tick of the wall clock, the crunch of lettuce as Sam ate his sandwich, and an occasional slurp of coffee. Before long Chet’s thoughts turned again to Kimberly and the increasing attraction he felt for her. Common sense fled. He wanted to be with her, and it no longer mattered to him that her intention was to leave Kings Meadow.
Suddenly, Sam said, “You need to ask her out, Dad.”
“What?” He looked up, startled.
“You need to ask Mrs. Welch out on a date.”
“Why would you say that?”
“Because you like her.” Sam’s tone implied his father was rowing a boat with only one oar in the water.
“Not sure liking her is enough, Son.”
“Maybe not. But it’s a good place to start.”
Chet shook his head. “I tried dating again. Remember? It didn’t work out.”
“Come on, Dad. That wasn’t the same thing. You were still hoping Mom would come back to us, even after the divorce was final. But she didn’t come back and she’s never going to. She’s gone for good. Now you’re ready to move on, to start over. It isn’t wrong for you to want to find somebody to love you.”
It was a bit strange, being lectured about dating and marriage and love by his son. Chet took another sip of coffee before replying, “Things are different at my age than yours.”
“Yeah, you’re right. They are different. You’re smarter. You understand more ’cause you’ve lived longer.”
If Chet was smarter, if he understood more, would his marriage have failed? Would Marsha still have abandoned him and their sons, turned her back on God, walked away and not even bothered to send birthday cards or make the occasional phone call?
“Pete and I talked about it last night, Dad. We think you oughta ask Mrs. Welch out. We like her too.”
Oh, great! Not just a lecture. His teenage sons were plotting behind his back, as well. Pushing him in a direction he wasn’t sure he wanted to go.
But that wasn’t true. He did want to go in that direction. He’d admitted that to himself only moments ago.
“Ask her, Dad. The worst that can happen is she’ll turn you down.”
No, there was something worse than that. She could say yes. He could lose his heart to her. And then she could leave, go back to Seattle or some other big city, like she’d said she wanted. Could he recover if he fell in love with Kimberly and then she left Kings Meadow? If he was determined to date, wouldn’t it be better to ask someone who wanted to stay in this valley?
Except he didn’t want to try to find another woman. He wanted Kimberly in his life.
“I’ll think about it,” he said after a lengthy silence. “Now, let’s drop it.”
Sam grinned as he took hi
s sandwich in both hands. “Sure thing, Dad.”
“HEY, KIMMIE,” JANET CALLED FROM THE LIVING room. “Come look at this.”
Seated on a chaise longue in the shade of the patio, Kimberly set aside the book she’d been reading and rose to her feet. “Coming.” She slid the screen door aside and entered the house.
“This is so cool.”
“What is?”
“This glamping stuff.” Janet looked up from her computer. “Your daughter is a genius to have thought of it.”
Kimberly grabbed a chair and drew it up to the small desk next to Janet’s chair. She leaned forward slightly as Janet pointed to different photographs on the screen. She remembered the excitement around the Leonards’ dinner table last night. Then she remembered something else, something that had happened later, that moment when she’d seen something in Chet’s eyes. Something she hadn’t seen in a man’s eyes for several years—desire. And her response? She remembered her response too. The flutter in her belly. The breathless anticipation. What would have happened if the vet hadn’t arrived? Would Chet have kissed her? She’d wanted him to—and the wanting frightened her.
“Look at this adorable cabin,” Janet said. “It makes me think of something you might see in the Swiss Alps.”
Kimberly suddenly felt irritable. “And when were you last in the Swiss Alps?”
Her friend leaned back in the chair and turned her full attention in Kimberly’s direction. “You’re as prickly as a porcupine.”
“Sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
Janet released a sound of disbelief, half laugh, half snort.
“What was that for?”
“Kimmie, you might not know what’s wrong with you, but I do. You have feelings for a certain cowboy, and you’re scared spitless. I get it. You loved Ellis, but he kept things from you and left you in a mess when he died. He hurt and disappointed you. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t let yourself fall in love again and be loved in return.”
Kimberly felt her face flame as her annoyance grew. She shot up from the chair and stormed to the patio, the chaise longue, and her book. How could Janet have said that to her?
The trouble with living with a best friend was that said best friend didn’t always respect a person’s private space. Janet followed Kimberly outside and sat on the edge of a matching chaise longue. Her gaze was gentle, which Kimberly found even more irritating. “Stop running away from life.”
“I do no such thing.”
“Spare me, girlfriend. You do too. May I remind you that it was Ellis who died. Not you.”
Kimberly sucked in a breath. “Janet!”
“Okay, that was harsh. But it’s also the truth.” Her friend pointed a finger at her. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe God sent you to Kings Meadow so you could meet Chet Leonard?”
“Well, if that’s what God wanted, He could have found an easier way to do it than taking away everything I owned and leaving us alone and destitute. Couldn’t He?”
“Maybe easy wasn’t what you needed.”
Kimberly hadn’t been this angry in a long, long while. Or this hurt.
In one swift movement, her friend shifted from her chaise longue to the edge of Kimberly’s. Janet’s expression softened, as did her voice. “Kimmie, you’re my dearest friend in all the world.” She took hold of Kimberly’s hand. “All I want is for you to be happy. You know that. But I feel like I need to shake some sense into you. Remember that line from Auntie Mame when Mame says, ‘Live! Life’s a banquet and most poor suckers are starving to death!’ That’s what I want to say to you. Live! Stop being so afraid of getting hurt again or being disappointed again. Take a chance. You might discover something wonderful.”
Inside the house, the telephone rang.
“Think about it.” Janet stood and went inside.
Think about it? The anger drained out of Kimberly, leaving an ache in her chest. Tears welled over and streaked her cheeks.
“The phone’s for you, Kimmie,” Janet said from the doorway.
Kimberly swiped at the tears and sniffed.
“It’s Chet Leonard.”
She felt her stomach flutter. Most poor suckers are starving to death.
“Shall I tell him to call back later?”
“No.” Kimberly sniffed again. “No, I’ll talk to him.”
Anna
1948
LETTERS FROM MILES STANLEY STOPPED ARRIVING at the end of January. First Anna was concerned. Then she was angry. And finally came despair.
Whenever time and weather permitted, Anna rode to the line shack, far from the main house, far from Abe’s and Violet’s watching eyes. She rode to their line shack—hers and Miles’s—where she had first confessed her love to him, where she had offered herself to him. Always, she built a fire in the stove and lay on the bed and wrapped herself in a blanket. Then she wept.
He hadn’t said he loved her.
It was clear now that he didn’t love her.
He’d never intended to come back to her.
Had he found someone new? Someone older? Someone prettier?
The pain in her heart was every bit as great as what she’d felt when her parents died. In some ways it was worse, because she knew how much her parents had loved her. They’d told her so often. But not Miles. Miles had kept those words to himself. They’d been implied but never spoken.
Her eighteenth birthday arrived in mid-March. The day mattered little to her. Growing up. Getting older. It didn’t change anything. Miles had said it would but it didn’t, now that he was gone. Now that he was silent.
Then a letter from California came in April, addressed to Anna McKenna. The writing on the envelope didn’t belong to Miles. She knew his writing as well as her own. But her heart skipped at the sight of the address all the same. She opened it.
Dear Miss McKenna,
My name is John Anderson. I’m an attorney. Miles Stanley hired me to put his legal affairs in order early this year. It is my sad duty to inform you of his passing after a lengthy illness and to advise you that you are the sole beneficiary of his last will and testament . . .
There was more writing on the sheet of paper, but the ink blurred before her eyes. The letter fell from her hands and drifted like a feather to the floor.
Then she followed it, blackness swelling over her.
Twenty-four
IT WAS NO SMALL THING, SAM’S GIVING UP HIS TICKETS to see Josh Turner perform in Boise. Sam was every bit as big a fan of the singer as his father, and he’d spent his own hard-earned cash to buy the tickets when they’d gone on sale months earlier. When Chet tried to refuse the offer, Sam had said, “Take ’em, Dad. I’m the one who told you to ask Mrs. Welch out. It’s the least I can do. Don’t want you falling on your face by taking her someplace lame.”
“Gee, thanks.”
Feeling as nervous as any teenager, he arrived at Janet Dunn’s home a little after four o’clock that Friday afternoon. Janet answered the ring of the doorbell.
“Come on in,” she said, taking a step back. “Kimmie’s almost ready.”
Chet ran the fingers of one hand through his hair as he moved inside. True to Janet’s word, Kimberly appeared out of one of the bedrooms a moment later. She wore a little black dress, and she looked stunning in it too. The dress had spaghetti straps and a full skirt that ended a couple of inches above her knees. On her feet she wore sky-high black heels. They made her shapely legs look like they were a million miles long. Her nails, both fingers and toes, sported apple-red polish that matched the small purse and sweater she carried.
“Wow,” he said, sounding breathless.
A smile curved the corners of her rosy mouth. “Thanks.”
Tara appeared behind her mother. “What time are you going to have her back, Mr. Leonard?” She sounded dead serious, but the twinkle in her eyes gave her away.
“Does she have a curfew?” he asked.
“One o’clock or she’s gonna be grounded.”
“Then I’ll have her back before one. Don’t want to get her grounded. If I do, she might not agree to go out with me again.”
Kimberly turned and gave her daughter a quick kiss on the cheek. She said something softly. Too softly for Chet to hear—and he was sorry for that. Then she moved toward him. He stepped to one side and motioned her through the open door, following right after her, feeling more than a little out of place. What was he doing with this beautiful, sophisticated woman? She was completely out of his league.
All you have to do is get through the next few hours without making a fool of yourself.
He opened the passenger door, then with a hand on her right forearm, helped her into the cab of the pickup. When he started the engine a few moments later, he saw Janet and Tara on the stoop, waving and grinning. Were they the reason Kimberly had accepted his invitation? He preferred to think she wanted to go out with him.
The drive down out of the mountains was mostly a silent one, Chet concentrating on the winding river road, Kimberly gazing out the window at the passing terrain. Pine trees gave way to sagebrush as they neared the valley floor.
Susan Lyle had told Chet of a nice restaurant near downtown. Warm and intimate but not too fancy or expensive. “The chef is marvelous,” she’d promised. Chet found the place without any trouble and lucked into a nearby parking space. Inside, the restaurant had soft lighting. A maître d’ escorted them to a table and, after they were seated, handed Chet a wine list.
“Do you care for something, Kimberly?”
Love Without End: A Kings Meadow Romance Page 15