“Whoa. You had a lot more on your heart than I guessed.”
To be honest, Chet hadn’t known all of that had been worrying him until he said it. “Sorry. I shouldn’t’ve—”
“No, don’t be sorry. You need to work this through. But I doubt we’ve got enough time now to give it the study it deserves. Could we get together in the next couple of days? Somewhere quiet, just the two of us.”
“Sure. That’d be good.” Chet stood, suddenly eager to get back to the hubbub of the Independence Day crowd.
Tom got up from the log. “Before you go, let me say this. There are biblical reasons for divorce, and there are allowances for new marriages. First Corinthians 7 says, ‘Yet if the unbelieving one leaves, let him leave; the brother or the sister is not under bondage in such cases, but God has called us to peace.’ It would be good for you to remember that. You are not under bondage, and God wants you to have peace. Perhaps knowing that will calm your troubled thoughts.”
Tom’s words were a balm to Chet. Not that he had everything worked out yet, in his head or his heart, but it was a beginning.
Anna
1960
ANNA SAT IN THE STANDS OF THE SMALL RODEO grounds with Abe and Violet, waiting for Richie’s turn at calf roping. Correction, Richard’s turn. At fifteen, he’d made it clear he detested his old nickname. Anna tried to comply, but it wasn’t easy. He’d always been Richie to her. Almost from the first moment he drew breath.
“Look, Abe.” Violet pointed at the program in her hand. “Emma Carter’s taking photographs of all of the events. We’ll have to buy some of the ones she takes of Richard.”
Abe nodded but said, “We’ll see. Might not be able to afford them. You forget how famous Miss Carter is these days.”
“No, look. She’s giving a special rate for photographs from the rodeo. We can actually have some framed Emma Carter’s on our walls of our son and his horse.”
Anna touched Violet’s wrist. “Richard’s up next.”
The boy sat astride a tall bay gelding named Rocket. Richard had started training the horse—the last foal out of Goldie before the brood mare had passed away—for roping events a couple of years ago, and both horse and rider were shaping up to be winners. Championships would bring more notice to the Quarter Horses of the Leonard ranch. That would be a good thing. Despite all of the mares he’d added over the years and all of the yearlings and two-year-olds they’d sold in the past decade, Abe still considered the horses a side business. Anna dreamed they would become much more to him. The way they were to his son.
A calf bolted from the chute, bringing Anna’s attention back to the rodeo. Rocket—as good as his name—shot out of the box at a gallop. The lariat sailed through the air, the loop falling over the calf’s head. Before the horse could slide to a full stop, Richard vaulted from the saddle. He hit the ground running, one gloved hand sliding along the rope. In what seemed a heartbeat, Richard grabbed the calf, flipped it onto its side. With Rocket keeping a steady tension on the rope, Richard used the piggin’ string he’d carried in his mouth to tie three of the calf’s legs together. Tie complete, he put his arms into the air to stop the clock. Then he returned to Rocket, stepped into the saddle, and urged the gelding a few steps forward to relax the tension.
Anna held her breath as they waited the six seconds required. The calf struggled but didn’t get loose.
Applause went up from the spectators, and it grew louder when the announcer called out his time. Nine point eight seconds. It was the best time so far. Professional calf ropers could get the job done in seven seconds, so this was an amazing time for an amateur, especially one as young as Richard. It showed the boy’s dedication. All those hours of practice were paying off.
Before Richard left the arena, he looked into the stands and waved at Anna and his parents, grinning from ear to ear.
“I think I’ll go down and see him,” Anna said as she stood. “Waiting until the event is over to see if his time will hold up is going to drive me crazy.”
She hurried down the steps and walked around the corrals and pens at the far end of the arena. Trucks and trailers were parked all over a field on the north side of the rodeo grounds. Horses were tied to quite a few of the trailers. Some were munching on hay. Others were being groomed by their owners. Others stood snoozing, eyes closed, tails swishing.
The Leonard truck and trailer came into view. Anna saw Rocket tied near the back of the trailer, the left stirrup tossed over the seat of the saddle. A few steps more and she saw Richard. Only he wasn’t alone—and he was too busy kissing a girl to see Anna’s approach.
When she was only a few steps away from them, she cleared her throat. “Excuse me.”
Richard hopped back from the girl, flushing crimson as he spun toward Anna.
“That was a fine run, Richard. I see you’re celebrating even before you win.”
“Uh . . . yeah . . . uh . . . Anna, this is Claudia. Claudia Durst.”
“Hello, Claudia. I’m Anna McKenna.”
The girl—who looked to be Richard’s age or a little younger—tilted her chin. Defiance lit her blue eyes. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”
How could a word like ma’am make Anna feel so much older than her thirty years?
“And you.” Anna’s gaze returned to Richard. “Calf roping’s about over. You’d better get back to see if anybody beat your time. I’ll finish unsaddling Rocket.”
“Okay. Thanks, Anna.” His gaze shot to the girl. “I’ll see you later.” Then he strode away. Long strides. A man’s strides.
“I’m gonna marry him someday,” Claudia announced, sounding sure, as only one her age could sound.
In her heart, Anna felt a little boy’s hand slip from her grasp.
Thirty
A TEMPORARY FLOOR HAD BEEN CONSTRUCTED NEAR the raised gazebo where the musicians played. Kimberly watched the dancers, moving in time to the melody. She’d never seen so many cowboy hats in one place in her life. Immediately she thought of Chet and the Stetsons he wore much of the time. He had a brown one for work—battered and always a bit dusty—and a crisp, clean black one for church.
And he looks just as good in one as the other.
She wondered where he’d gone when the barbecuing ended. She’d expected him to join her and the others, but he’d never shown up. Not that she missed him or anything.
Liar.
Kimberly caught a glimpse of Tara and Pete spinning by. A new song was playing, something up-tempo featuring a fabulous fiddle player. When had her daughter learned to dance like that? All that turning and dipping and slipping under arched arms and changing directions. The sound of boot heels stomping on the wooden floor filled the air, almost as if it were part of the music itself.
“I take it you like that song,” Chet said from behind her.
His words flowed over her, as smooth as warm honey. “Why do you say that?” She glanced up as he stepped around to face her.
“Because you were tapping your toes.”
“I was?”
“Yep.” He jerked his head toward the dance floor. “Care to give it a try?”
She shook her head. “I’ve never danced like that. I’d make a fool of myself.”
“With the right partner, it’s easier than it looks.”
She doubted that was true.
Chet looked toward the raised gazebo where the band played. As if on cue, the music stopped. There was silence, long enough for the musicians to turn a page. Then they started up again. Something slow and romantic sounding. “Who doesn’t like to dance to a classic Anne Murray song?” He looked back at her and held out his hand. “Could I have this dance?”
She seemed unable to resist taking it and letting him pull her up from her lawn chair. He led her to a corner of the dance floor, then drew her into position. Her right hand disappeared into his left. His right hand settled into the small of her back, his touch sending a very pleasant shiver up her spine.
“Follow my lead.”
His voice was husky, and a crooked smile curved his mouth.
She swallowed as he turned her around and guided her right into the circle of other dancers. She stumbled a little, but that firm hand in the small of her back steered her as surely as a bit turned a horse. The rest of the dancers faded into the distance. There were just the two of them, moving smoothly around the floor. The singer said something about having this dance for the rest of her life, and the look in Chet’s eyes said he was asking that very same question of her.
It was unfair of him to be so wonderful. She hadn’t come to Idaho to stay in Idaho, and Chet Leonard would never leave Kings Meadow. What future could they have?
But that question was beginning to sound hollow. An excuse, not a reason.
WAS IT POSSIBLE GOD HAD FASHIONED KIMBERLY SO she would fit this perfectly in his arms?
If Chet could have his way, the song would have gone on until darkness fell and the fireworks began. But he didn’t get his way. The music ended. Couples moved off the floor. Others moved onto it, ready for the next song. Chet hoped for another slow song. He wasn’t that lucky. It was going to be a hand-clapping, boot-stomping, line-dancing tune instead.
“Come on.” He offered his elbow. “We’ll let the pros have this one.”
The look of relief in her eyes made him grin.
“Would you like something to drink? They’ve got Coke and lemonade at the high school stand over there.”
She shook her head, at the same time letting go of his arm. The warmth of her touch lingered on his skin.
“Want to stroll around the park or go back to your chair?” he asked.
Her smile was tentative. “Let’s walk. I haven’t looked around much. I’ve been chatting with Anna most of the time.”
He hoped she would take his arm again as they moved away from the dancers and musicians. She didn’t. Still, as they walked, looking at the various booths, greeting friends and neighbors, he liked that others were seeing them as a couple. The worries he’d voiced to Tom had already ceased to eat at him.
I love her, Lord. I know it’s fast, but I also know it’s true. If it’s Your will, I’d sure like her to stay in Kings Meadow and become my wife.
A future together. A future with Kimberly at his side. He wanted it more than he should. He wished he could tell her right now how he felt, but it was better to wait. Not because he was unsure. He wasn’t. Not any longer. But he wanted to do everything possible to make her sure as well.
“How about a shaved ice?” He pointed to Aloha Shaved Ice, a tropical hut on wheels complete with a thatched roof, fake palm tree, and servers in grass skirts. “The profit goes to help the food bank.”
“Okay.”
“What flavor?”
She read the sign and chose raspberry. He ordered two of the same. That way our lips will be the same color when we’re done. The thought made him feel like a teenager on his first date. He grinned.
“What?” Her eyes narrowed in suspicion as he handed her the first paper cone filled with ice and syrup.
“Nothing. I’m feeling good tonight.” He leaned closer. “I think it’s the company I keep.”
The suspicion left her eyes, replaced by something Chet couldn’t define. Uncertainty, perhaps. Fine, Mrs. Welch. I’ll just have to make you certain.
They moved away from the shaved ice stand and through the milling crowd.
“I didn’t know this many people lived in Kings Meadow,” Kimberly said after a period of silence.
Chet glanced around. “They come from all through these mountains. Quite the personalities, some of them. You know, the ones who live in school buses parked on old logging roads. Some real storytellers among them. Like Ollie Abbott. Like Anna. The history of this area is kept alive in their stories.”
“You’re a true romantic. Aren’t you, Mr. Leonard? And not only in matters of the heart.”
He pondered her statement before answering, “Do you think so, Mrs. Welch?”
“Yes, and it suits you.”
“Thanks.” He wished he could stop, take her in his arms, and kiss her.
From the gazebo came a tapping on a microphone, followed by an announcement that the fireworks would begin in fifteen minutes. That surprised Chet. He hadn’t realized how deep the dusk had become. Maybe because wherever Kimberly was there seemed to be an abundance of light.
She was right. He was a romantic.
Thirty-one
THE FIRST RESERVATION FOR LEONARD RANCH Ultimate Adventures came in from the website the week following the Fourth of July. Kimberly recognized the names on the reservation immediately. Jeffrey and Irena Wainright. Parents of Tara’s friend Patty. The reservation was for Cabin #1 for two adults plus a canvas tent for two teenagers. That meant Patty and her little sister were coming too. The family would arrive on the first of August and depart on the eighth.
Kimberly wasn’t sure how she felt about her old acquaintances spending a full week in Kings Meadow. She’d changed so much from the woman she’d once been. She was a far cry from the wife and mother the Wainrights had known years ago. What would they think of her now?
But at this precise moment, Kimberly didn’t care much about Leonard Ranch Ultimate Adventures or the Wainrights. At this moment, all she cared about was surviving the next half hour in this round pen.
Chet stood in the center of the enclosure, holding a lead rope that was attached to a tall, dark-colored mare. “Come on, Kimberly. She won’t hurt you. Come on over and meet her.”
Why did I agree to do this? It’s so big. Doesn’t he have a shorter horse I could use?
“Kimberly?”
She looked down at her boots. “I can’t seem to make my feet move.” She hated the tremble in her voice. She wanted to be brave around the horses like everybody else. Like Tara. Like Anna.
“Maybe I tried to put you in the saddle too soon.” Chet led the horse to the fence and looped the rope around a post. “Back in a bit, girl.” He patted the mare’s neck. Then he took hold of Kimberly’s elbow and steered her out of the round pen and into the new barn, straight to a stall holding a sorrel colt.
She was proud of herself for knowing the little fellow was a sorrel. A few months ago she would have called him a light reddish-brown. Learning various terms was progress too. Right?
Chet opened the gate and the two of them went inside. He knelt on the stall floor near the colt’s head. “Come here, Kimberly,” he said softly.
She moved to his side.
“Now run your hand along his neck and back and over his rump. Get the feel of him.”
She did as he asked, noting the softness of the colt’s coat, feeling the quiver of muscles underneath his skin.
“Now kneel down beside me.”
Again, she obeyed.
“Look in his eyes. See the intelligence? Rub his muzzle. It’s like velvet.”
Chet was right. The colt’s muzzle was smooth. Pleasant to the touch.
“Now look at me, Kimberly.”
She turned her head toward Chet. He was so close she could see the shadow of a beard beneath his skin. So close she could smell the musky aftershave he wore.
“I will never ask you to do anything I don’t believe you can do,” he said, his tone and expression solemn. “That’s my promise. I’ll never put you in a dangerous situation. I’ll be right there with you every step of the way. I won’t rush you. I’ll encourage you.”
Her heart rat-a-tat-tatted in her chest, as much in response to his nearness as to what he’d said. It had been over a week since he’d kissed her in the hot springs pool, and suddenly all she could think about were his lips and—
The colt nudged her with his muzzle, pushing her sideways. Chet caught her before she could topple over in the straw. The tension broken, she laughed.
“Ready to try again?” he asked, smiling again. “Just sit in the saddle. We don’t have to let the horse move until you say it’s time.”
She drew a deep breath and nodded. “Yes. I’m
ready to try again.”
FEAR OF HORSES—OR ANYTHING ELSE—DIDN’T HAVE to make sense. Chet knew that. Some people were afraid of riding a horse because they’d had a bad accident on one or they’d seen a bad accident somebody else had. But others were afraid because of the what-ifs that took place in their minds. They could create a thousand possible bad outcomes without any help at all: What if the horse throws me? What if I fall off and can’t get back on? What if the horse doesn’t like me? What if . . . He was convinced, from everything he’d been told, that Kimberly’s fears were of the latter variety.
Chet knew something else besides. God didn’t want her to carry fear around with her. So he prayed for her. Not entirely for altruistic reasons. He knew that his own happiness might depend on Kimberly overcoming her fear.
When the two of them returned to the round pen, Anna waited nearby, seated on her own horse. “Wondered where you got off to.” The old woman looked relaxed and natural up in the saddle. No fear of falling and breaking a hip. It was good for Kimberly to see that.
“Where have you been?” Chet asked Anna as he opened the gate.
“Trying to clear a few cobwebs from my head. That happens best when I’m on horseback.”
He knew the feeling. “Kimberly’s going to sit on Sunset for a bit. Mind keeping your eyes peeled for Tara and Pete? We’d hate to spoil the surprise.”
“Don’t mind at all. But I heard Pete say he was taking Tara up to see the old McHenry sluice box. If that’s where they went, they won’t be back for at least a couple more hours.”
“Sluice box?” Kimberly glanced from Anna to Chet and back again. “What’s that?”
Chet answered, “Gold miners used them all over the Boise Basin. Zeb McHenry mined these mountains around the same time my great-great-great grandfather came to this valley. But McHenry’s sluice was just a rough wooden trough. Nothing fancy like the kind miners use today.”
Love Without End: A Kings Meadow Romance Page 19