Hill Country Homecoming

by Julie B. Cosgrove

  So far, none of the angry investors who lost money in his father’s scheme pursued him. After more than two months in rehab, he hoped his trail was cold or they’d abandoned their hunt.

  Flint drove up with the truck and trailer. Seth limped awkwardly to the back and pulled an apple out of his pocket.

  “Hey, Navigator, I missed you,” he called to his horse.

  Navigator leaned out as far as possible, snorted, and shook his head.

  Flint laughed as he joined him. “He missed you, too. I gave him your old shirt and he snuggled up with it whenever nobody was looking.”

  “I’d never abandon you, old boy.” Seth held out the apple. The horse eyed him suspiciously for a moment before snatching it away.

  “Don’t feel too sorry for him. Sultry Sara kept him company most of the time.”

  “Women cannot be trusted,” Seth grumbled.

  “My wife’s a real gem,” Flint boasted.

  “You got lucky.” Seth hardened his heart long ago. It was the only way to survive.

  Flint drew a map out of his jacket. “Greenburg’s ’bout ten miles southeast of here. Sure you don’t want to stay a few days at my place?”

  “Thanks, but you’ve done enough for me already.”

  “I owe you. You saved my life when that crazy bull came at me.”

  Seth shook his head. “I never guessed they grow ’em so mean out here in the east.”

  Flint laughed. “You got a lot to learn about New Jersey, Dr. Holmes.”

  “My first lesson came from that bull,” Seth admitted.

  “Remember, there’s a guest room at our place in case you need it,” Flint offered.

  “I’m planning on putting down new roots.”

  “Buy the farm near me.”

  Seth laughed. “I’m short on cash at the moment.”

  “You can count on me for references.”

  “Thanks. You’ll hear from me. Maybe sooner than you think.” Seth shot him a wry grin, shook hands, and climbed into the cab of the pickup. The simple movement proved painful and difficult, but he managed. He tipped his hat to Flint and drove off.

  Following the map, he searched along each of the streets in the small town of Greenburg. On Winder Lane, he spotted a yellow house with green shutters sitting on a slight rise with an old white, Dutch-style barn nearby. A creek flowed to the right of the property behind the barn.

  Seth pulled over to the side of the road. A green and gold sign declared the land to be Holmes Farm & Carriage House. Taking the old black and white photo out of his pocket, he studied it, comparing it to the scene before him. In the snapshot, his father, dressed in chaps, smiled broadly as he sat astride a pony while cows grazed in the distance and chickens scratched the ground.

  The sad ache in Seth’s heart widened. For years, he assumed his father was simply an affable, though gullible, dreamer, always searching for the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. The truth was much worse.

  Swallowing against the tightness in his throat, Seth glanced up and saw alpacas in a pen on one side of the barn. Where were the horses, cows, and chickens?

  He drove forward and pulled onto the long, asphalt drive, wondering what age his grandparents would be now. At least eighty, he figured. Far too old to manage the farm by themselves, but since the place appeared neat, they must have hired help. Even the hedges lining the drive were well manicured.

  He pulled up near the barn and slid out of the truck. It proved easier than climbing in. He checked on Navigator in the back of the trailer. The horse seemed more interested in whether or not he had any additional treats for him.

  Seth held out a carrot. The animal’s expression was one of pure joy. He patted his old friend and prayed he’d be sitting in the saddle again soon.

  He walked to the porch, noting the festive Thanksgiving display of pumpkins and hay bales. Beside the doorbell was a note. No answer? Check the greenhouse!

  He pushed the button for the bell and waited. He rubbed the back of his neck as the nerves bunched up into a tight knot. When nothing happened, he tried again. After all, it might take a while for an eighty-year-old to get to the door.

  The door opened and Seth blinked in shock. A young woman with long, curly, coal-black hair and hazel eyes smiled at him.

  “You must be the vet.” She reached over to an oak coatrack and slipped into her jacket.

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m a veterinarian, but—”

  “I’m so glad you’re here. I’m terribly concerned about Harley.” She stepped onto the porch and closed the door.

  “Harley?”

  “ʻCall the vet,ʼ he said.” She laughed. “Of course, he didn’t say that exactly, but he meant it.” She hurried down the steps. “Come along. I know it’s the day after Thanksgiving, but our regular doctor is out of town—as is everyone else in the county it seems—and I had to do something. Harley was very insistent.”

  “Yes, ma’am, but where’s Mrs. Holmes?”

  “In the nursing home, as usual. I visited with her earlier and she’s doing fine, all things considered, but Harley’s the problem right now. He’s not himself. I’m so worried—”

  “Ma’am, is Harley Mr. Holmes?” He barely comprehended her. She spoke rapidly, without a breath between any of her words as he hobbled along in her wake.

  She halted for a moment and peered at him as if he possessed a substantial mental deficit. “Why, no. Harley is one of the alpacas. I believe I mentioned that detail when I left the message on the phone, though it is possible I forgot, I was—after all—a bit upset since no one would come out here and examine him. Mrs. Holmes loves the alpacas. I still bring them around to the nursing home on fine days and it cheers her more than you can imagine—calms her, too. Sometimes, she’s almost lucid when she touches their soft fleece.”

  His heart sank. Was his grandmother suffering from dementia? “Is Mr. Holmes here?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Didn’t you hear? Dr. Holmes died three years ago.”

  Doctor? Seth swallowed. “He’s…he’s gone?”

  “Yes, a massive heart attack. It was so...sudden...” She took in a ragged breath before continuing. “He was the mayor for some time and practically a celebrity in these parts, though it doesn’t take much to be famous in Greenburg. Was he your professor? So many of his former students drop by on occasion. He’s still remembered fondly by many of them.”

  “I went to college in Colorado. What did he teach?”

  “English. Oh, how he loved Shakespeare,” she exclaimed. “To thine own self be true, and it must follow, as the night the day, thou canst not then be false to any man.”

  A cold chill slid up Seth’s spine. His father often used that quote—mostly because it invariably impressed folks. He realized he discovered a link, though tenuous, but at least one thing made sense.

  “It’s a shame you never met him,” she went on. “He was truly loved by one and all. His death broke his wife’s heart and now she’s living in the past—or somewhere, certainly not in the real world, but I guess it’s far too painful for her without him.”

  When she lifted the latch to the gate, Seth noticed her disfigured hands. The mottled and uneven surface seemed indicative of scars remaining from a horrible burn and resulting skin grafts. He shuddered to think of the pain she endured.

  They reached a small enclosure beside the large barn. “Harley’s inside. The other three appear to be a bit sluggish as well but Harley’s the male, as you may have guessed, and—”

  “Ma’am, I must explain something to you—”

  She frowned at him. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those holistic vets? I won’t allow anyone but a real doctor to examine Harley. He’s quite precious and I insist upon only a genuine vet having a look at him.”

  “Ma’am, I am a certified veterinarian, but I didn’t come to see Harley. I came to call upon either Mr. or Mrs. Holmes. I’m their grandson, Seth Holmes.”

  Her brows rose in shock. “They don’t have a grandson.
Well, they had a son, but he ran away—”

  “My father left New Jersey, married my mother, and I came along shortly thereafter.”

  She crossed her arms and glared at him. “Can you prove it?”

  “I have the birth certificates…and this photograph.” He took it out of his pocket and held it out to her.

  She didn’t take the photo but she peered at it carefully. “That looks like—”

  “I resemble my father.” Physically, he noted to himself. Fortunately, he never had a tendency to get involved in crazy schemes as his father had. Traveling east to discover the grandparents he never knew was more of a genealogical study—and practical, to save his own skin. Not that he was a coward. He just didn’t want anyone else getting caught in the crossfire.

  He turned the picture over to show her the handwriting on the reverse side. She frowned at it.

  “This doesn’t prove anything,” she stated.

  “It led me here.” A weight settled on his shoulders. Had it been a wasted trip?

  “Are you really a vet?”

  “Do you want to see my credentials?”

  Her lips thinned, but only for a moment. “Well, you’re aware I’m desperate and Harley needs help. If you think you may be of any service, please examine him. I’ll pay you double.” She stood stiff and formidable as she blocked his exit at the gate.

  Seth sighed. Extra cash would be helpful. If he examined the alpaca, he might be able to gain additional information about his grandparents. He was also curious regarding this voluble woman. Who was she and what she was doing on the Holmes’ farm? Had she purchased it? Was she a relative of his—a cousin, perhaps?

  His own heritage remained a mystery since his father never revealed it, other than to quote Shakespeare. Frailty, thy name is woman!

  An empty, hollow feeling threatened to consume him. His father had bungled the future, died, and left Seth mired in debt and tainted with ignominy.

  He strode toward the barn as forcefully as he could manage, leaning heavily on the cane.

  “Where’s your veterinarian bag?” she asked as she came up beside him.

  “It’s in the front seat of the truck.” This was the first time in two months he had walked so far with his new hip. The dull ache had turned into throbbing. “Would you mind getting it for me?”

  “Not a problem. I’ll be right back.” She hurried away.

  He stepped into the dim barn and leaned against a stall rail to catch his breath. He squeezed his eyes shut and offered a silent prayer. His grandmother was alive. He would show her the photograph and she would remember.

  And maybe the talkative woman was his cousin.

  He found the unhappy Harley kushed on the barn floor and wearing a mournful expression. Though Seth was an equine specialist, he had plenty of experience with alpacas. In one of his typical get-rich-quick moods, his father purchased ten of the animals. When the promise of instant wealth did not materialize, his father sold them and moved onto something far more dangerous.

  Seth pulled up a low stool and introduced himself. The alpaca’s woeful eyes gazed into his.

  The young woman returned with his bag and set it beside him. “Do you need anything else?”

  “A small measure of quiet.” He reached for his stethoscope.

  “All right. I’ll be in the house.” She whirled around and left.

  Seth drew in a deep breath. The woman was beautiful, but her mouth raced along like a thoroughbred galloping toward the finish line.

  He listened to the alpaca’s heart and digestive system.

  “Hey, Harley, let’s take a walk. I bet you’re better at it than I am.” He slipped the halter on the animal and led him outside. “Now, old boy, I’d like to see you run, even if I can’t keep up with you.”

  Harley declined the invitation, and judging from his mincing steps, it appeared his feet hurt.

  “Doggone.” Seth sighed. “Guess I better dig into the manure pile.”

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