Laura went to the kitchen, opened the doggy treats she’d left on the counter and returned to her room, determined to extricate Chica.
“Come on Chica bonita.” She held the tidbit close to the puppy. “Want a treat?”
Whimpering and quaking, the dog raised its ears and stuck its nose forward.
“Come on, honey. It’s okay. God’s just rearranging his furniture.”
Surprised by her childish explanation, her eyes misted. Mama always said that during the most frightening thunderstorms.
A wet nose touched Laura’s fingers and she pulled her hand back. “A little more, come on, baby.”
The room lit up momentarily but the accompanying rumble sounded farther away.
“The worst is over, Chica. Come and get your treat.”
The puppy inched forward, one gray paw at a time, until Laura could finger the collar and pull her out. Chica gobbled the treat and licked Laura’s hand looking for more.
Cradling the trembling dog, she went to the kitchen and rewarded the pup with two more bites. Then she opened the laundry-room door hoping the kittens would offer a distraction. She heard them mewing from behind the dryer.
“You big scaredy cats.” Chica wiggled from her arms and proceeded to chow down. The sounds of a canine inhaling their food brought the kittens out of hiding, and the games began.
Relieved, Laura retreated to the sofa where she curled up and watched the storm dance across the valley on its way to other counties.
“Thank You, Lord.” Relaxing, she nestled against the arm rest and closed her eyes.
* * *
A high-pitched yap woke Laura with a start. The automatic ice maker dumped a load of cubes and her alarm clock beeped. Daylight streamed through the windows with no hint of last night’s storm. No water dripped from the porch roof. Dry lightning.
Chica yipped again and did what Laura feared might be a potty dance. She rushed to open the front door and the puppy darted out before she remembered the motion sensor.
A deafening wail erupted above her head and she reached to flip the switch.
After checking the time on her laptop, she reset the alarm clock, vowing again to find a nightstand and dresser. Today might be a good day to check out those antique stores she passed the other day with Eli.
A tingling in her belly sat up and took notice.
How gallant he’d been in light of that employee’s crude remarks.
Now there was an outdated word—gallant—one she might introduce to school children next fall if she got the chance to talk about heroes. She followed that line of thought, imagining Eli on a white horse, rescuing a threatened damsel—herself, of course.
Derek had never once taken a protective attitude. She shook her head and focused instead on the morning.
Mary had already run and driven to work by now, but it wasn’t so late that Laura couldn’t run by herself. Apprehension tickled the back of her neck and she pushed it away. She couldn’t live her life in fear—or wait for someone else to rescue her. Besides, it was daytime. And she had the car.
Happy with her decision to stick to her exercise schedule, Laura realized this could be a good test for Chica and the chain. She took the puppy’s food and water outside and set it beneath the tree. Then she clipped the chain to Chica’s collar and gave her ears a good rubbing.
“You be good, okay? I won’t be gone long.”
The puppy sat and yipped once.
Laura paused at the front door, and a quick glance revealed Chica stretched out on her belly like a frog in the shade.
Smoke pricked Laura’s nose. She spent a long moment scanning the valley and hills but saw no tendrils rising and went inside.
After locking both doors, she drove down to the main road, keyed her lock and pocketed the remote. The yellow bell glowed from the mailboxes, bright and bold in the morning sun. So much for happy memories. The thing taunted her.
She hit the pavement and eased into a run, hugging the road’s edge through the S-curve and down to the flat. Eli’s ranch sprawled at her left, and the ever-singing sprinklers arched across green pastures that contrasted more and more with the drying hills. She ran on, reveling in the beauty and considering what she did not see. Traffic. Crowds. High-rise apartments and business offices.
Cattle and trees and barns populated her world. An occasional house, stock trailers and horses. And Eli.
At the entrance to the ranch she slowed, hesitated, wanting to see him again, hear his voice, feel his breath against her cheek. In a few short weeks her childhood friend had become so much more. And if he’d truly turned his heart toward God...
She spun around and ran back toward her car.
At the entrance to the S-curve, she heard an engine revving toward the crest from the other side. Sensing danger, she stepped off the pavement next to a sharp drop-off as Pennington blew by in his pickup. He clearly took his half out of the middle.
What if Mary and Lily had been with her? Anger rumbled in her chest, crowding out her more pleasant thoughts.
Walking now, she cleared the curve. The mailbox row stood at attention, one in particular shouting her name. Enough.
She clicked her remote and searched the glove box for the old screw driver. Looking both ways before she crossed the road, she strode toward the yellow bell with purpose.
She jerked it open and gasped. A faded square envelope lay inside with no postage. No address. Only her name inked in bold block letters: LAURA BELL. A shiver rippled through her as she slid it out.
* * *
Indecision and regret hadn’t figured much in Eli’s life, but now they wrestled for first place.
He and Garcia had unloaded the calves and turned the horses out just ahead of the storm. Then Eli unhooked the trailer and drove to the mailboxes. The first lightning strike lit the road like a spotlight. He tugged on the yellow bell, laid the letter inside and drove back to the ranch before the second-guessing began.
It hadn’t taken long.
With every lightning strike he thought of a dozen reasons he shouldn’t have left the letter and half as many things that could go wrong because he had. Between the storm outside and the one raging in his head, the night had been short and sleepless.
And hiding his turmoil from Garcia wouldn’t be easy either.
Standing in the barn’s shade, the old vaquero fanned five horseshoe nails between his teeth and tucked Buddy’s right front hoof between his knees. He held a sixth nail in his left hand and a small hammer and horseshoe in his right. Positioning the shoe, he deftly drove the nail through the shoe and out the front edge of the hoof, then twisted off the exposed end with the hammer claw.
The next five nails went in the same way. Garcia clenched off the exposed ends and smoothed the rough edges with a rasp. He dropped the foot, straightened and looked Eli in the eye. Then he started the process all over again.
Eli didn’t know who was being nailed. His horse or himself.
He held Buddy’s lead rope and listened to the tap-and-snip rhythm of the farrier’s skill. He’d never learned the trade—probably a mistake as a rancher. But he hadn’t seen the need with Garcia around. The man could set four shoes on a good horse in under an hour. A broncy one took a little longer.
“You have changed,” Garcia said from beneath his broad brim.
Eli squirmed. “How?”
The older man straightened and stretched his back. “Your eyes are filled with doubt.”
“Don’t you mean ‘eye’?”
Garcia grinned as he slid five more nails between his perfect teeth and stooped to the next hoof.
As a boy, Eli had pulled a few fast ones on his grandfather, but nothing ever got past Garcia. No matter. Eli didn’t plan on telling him about the note he’d written twelve years ago and delivered
last night.
At least not yet.
Garcia rasped the final hoof smooth, straightened and looked toward Pennington’s place.
Eli followed his stare and saw the thin cloud that hung beyond the first rise. A lightning strike could have sparked dry grass behind the ridge near Slick Rock. Or Pennington could be burning, because he didn’t have a lick of sense.
“If he’s burning trash, I’m calling the sheriff,” Eli said.
The thin cloud rose and spread as they watched.
“Make that the fire department.” He handed the lead rope to Garcia and ran to the house.
Pennington’s phone rang seven times before Eli cut the call and dialed the Spring Valley Fire Department.
“We’ve got two trucks out now on a lightning strike off Miller’s Knob,” the dispatcher said. “Is your smoke coming from private property or open range?”
“I can’t tell from here,” Eli said. “Smoke is clouding up near Slick Rock I’m guessing, one ridge north and east of my place.”
“I’ll see what I can do, sir. We may have to let it burn if it’s not threatening homes.”
“If it crosses that ridge, it will be.” Eli fumed, knowing what limited resources the county had in this area. If the fire wasn’t contained quickly, it could spread into a wildfire, engulfing homes and outbuildings, even livestock.
“Do you have a cell phone number I can reach you on, sir?”
Eli gave the woman his number, ended the call and dialed Laura. Her place bordered Pennington’s.
No answer.
He called another rancher to the north to start the domino calls that would alert everyone in the area, then dropped his cell phone in his shirt pocket and hurried to the kitchen window. Laura’s car was gone, but the cloud had grown.
Garcia came in the back door. “I will drive the cattle into the lower pasture and open the floodgate.”
Eli laid a hand on his friend’s shoulder as he passed. “Let’s move the sprinklers over here first.”
Garcia headed for the west paddock as Eli ran to the barn and brought the four-wheeler around. He backed to the first wheeled sprinkler, hitched up and pulled it to the side yard west of the ranch house. From there the arc would cover the lawns, the house and part of the north pasture.
They repeated the process with the second sprinkler, and set it to cover the barn and outbuildings.
Eli prayed they had enough irrigation water to hold once Garcia flooded the bottom section. If necessary, they’d pump out the pond.
The cloud had climbed no higher, but it spread wider and spilled south out of the draw that led to Slick Rock. A fire could burn out in the still-tender grass around the mortar bedrock and creek bottom, but if it hit dry grass on the hills it would race up the ridges on either side, pushed by its own wind, and spread in two directions.
“Oh, Lord, help us,” he whispered.
Laura’s car nosed out from the end of her house. He dialed her number and her voice mail answered.
“This is Eli. You need to get down here. Bring your pets. Pennington’s far ridge is burning and if the fire comes over the hill, it could spread your way.” He paused, waiting for her to pick up. She didn’t. “Hurry.”
Again, Pennington didn’t answer.
Garcia had already returned to the barn and had two horses saddled. The pungent odor of burning grass tinged the air as the men rode out.
Eli opened the north pasture, then rode south, opening every paddock into the next one. At the alleyways he secured the gates across them so the cattle would stream through to the next section and not turn aside.
Garcia circled around the dry cows in the north pasture and drove them into the neighboring paddock. By the time that first bunch joined the next, the animals sensed the need to move, and funneled easily through the wide gates.
Eli reined in and turned to scan the hills. The cloud had spread. He dialed Laura again. Still no answer. Her five head bunched together at her bottom gate, apparently alerted by the flow of his cattle. Where was she? Why didn’t she see what was happening?
He spurred Buddy into a lope, cut around behind the house and reined in at the gate to Laura’s bottomland. He opened it and the cows pushed through.
Turning back, he rode for the dairy calves, swung that paddock’s bottom gate wide and drove them out. Then he headed for Garcia.
The cattle milled together in the lower section, tension dancing along their backs as they bellowed and jostled. Eli’s few horses, including Lady H and her foal, skirted the edges. Garcia knelt at the ditch bank, cranking the wheel that would open the floodgate.
Eli hit redial on his cell phone and whirled Buddy to face Laura’s hill. No answer. Squelching an oath to utter a prayer, he dismounted, threw the reins over the top of the fence and ran back to the barn and his truck.
Chapter 21
Laura sat in her car and stared through the windshield. How many days since she’d last checked the mailbox?
The blocky letters suggested a male writer, but she couldn’t be sure. She turned the envelope over. The flap was tucked inside, not sealed. An invitation from someone nearby like Lily or Mary? But the envelope looked old.
Just open it.
She slipped a finger inside and tugged at the flap. Pinching a folded edge, she slid out the matching paper.
Nothing written on the outside. No artwork or designs.
Taking a deep breath, she unfolded the note...
I wish you didn’t have to go.
Come back again.
Eli Hawthorne III
Stunned by the words, she pressed the letter to her heart and closed her eyes. The years melted away like early morning fog and she saw him again, standing slack-jawed at the pond with his fishing pole. She felt the catch in her voice when she’d said she was leaving.
For how long, he had asked.
Forever, she had said.
Tears gathered on her lashes and fell to her fingers, spreading to wide circles as they spotted the letter.
He’d written. He’d really written. No wonder he asked why she hadn’t.
She returned the letter to the envelope, laid it on the dash and drove up the hill.
When did he leave it? Last night? The day before?
As she pulled in next to the house, movement below caught her eye. A cowboy on horseback rode through Eli’s west pasture driving the dairy calves through the bottom gate. And then she saw more.
The sprinklers arched over the ranch house and barn. Eli’s cow-calf pairs were gone. Her cows were gone and the bottom gate stood open.
Her breath stuck in her throat. She opened the car door and smoke-laden air stung her eyes. Rising behind Pennington’s house, a wide smoky veil rolled over itself and shifted instantly from veil to churning cloud.
Fire!
She dashed to the house, fumbling with the lock.
“Back,” she yelled at the kittens, startling them with her urgency. “No, I mean come.” She knelt on one knee. “Come here to me. We have to leave.” Calming her voice at their hesitancy, she knew they would pick up on her fear. She didn’t have time to lure two frightened animals from beneath her bed.
Grabbing a kitten in each hand, she took them to the laundry room where the dog carrier sat on top of the dryer. She bunched the kittens in an arm, quickly pinched open the mesh door and hustled them inside with their food dish.
She ran outside to a sky white with smoke and fear sparked in her heart.
“Lord, please help us,” she prayed, leaving the carrier by the car.
Chica sat forlornly beneath the tree as if about to be abandoned.
“You good girl.” Laura squatted to unclip the chain, and the puppy tucked its snout in her lap and whined.
“Come on, Chica
, we’re going for a ride.”
She shut the animals in her car, grateful she’d not put the top down this morning, and ran back inside. Looking around for what she should take, she noticed her bag from the night at Eli’s and stuffed in her purse, Bible, laptop, boots, jeans and a shirt. In the kitchen she snatched her cell phone and charger.
The phone registered voice mail. It would have to wait.
She ran back to her bedroom and grabbed the shotgun, then locked the door and hurried to the car. Tiny specs of ash floated in the air. Lord, help us all.
Mary! She didn’t have the woman’s number. She’d have to drive there and warn her—warn everyone if they didn’t already know.
“Good girl, Chica,” she crooned as she opened the driver’s-side door and popped the trunk lever. “Stay.”
She laid the shotgun in the shallow trunk and dropped her bag next to it. Slamming the lid, she looked up in time to see the puppy squeeze through the gap between the doorjamb and the nearly closed door.
“Chica! No!”
Frightened by her panicked scream, the pup took off over the crest of the hill and ran toward the bottom pasture.
“Oh, Lord, please!” Laura coughed in the thickening air and glanced over her shoulder. If Pennington’s house caught fire, hers could be next.
She pushed the car door all the way closed and went after the puppy.
* * *
Eli called again. No answer. Where was she? He shoved the accelerator to the floor. Her car nosed out from the hilltop then disappeared from his view as he closed in on the S-curve. He squealed through on his brakes and gunned out the other side. Rocking into the right turn at her road, he climbed the hill as his heart climbed his throat.
Smoke hugged her house like a cloud. He slid to a stop behind the sports car and ran for the French doors.
Locked.
He banged on the door and yelled her name.
Nothing.
No dog. No cats. No Laura.
Running back to the car he saw an animal carrier on the passenger seat. Two black-and-white faces peered at him through the cage door.
The Rancher's Second Chance Page 16