by Mary Manners
“Wait just a minute.” She took a step toward him. “I do care. Why do you think I came to get you today? Why do you think I tried to talk this out with your principal?”
“Because they made you, that’s why.” The kid fisted his hands. “You wouldn’t let me talk. No one listened to me, or asked my side of it. Why not, Mom?”
“Garrett, calm down.” She placed a hand on his forearm. “Stop kicking the gravel. You need to—”
“What do I need to do, Mom?” He pulled his arm away and backpedaled toward the rear of the SUV. “Wallow on the couch and sleep the day away like you do…wish my life away? You promised things would be better here but they’re not; they’re worse than awful. I hate it here. I miss my friends back in Chicago.”
She balled one hand into a fist and pressed the bunched fingers to her lips. “I’m sorry, honey.”
The words were muffled, and Jace thought she might burst into tears. His chest tightened at the thought. Talk about a rough go of things. She’d apparently hit the lottery.
“No, you’re not!” The kid slapped at the pockets of his jeans as he paced the length of the drive.
For a minute, Jace thought the boy might bolt for the pasture. His eyes held the wild look Jace had seen in the eyes of spooked colts deciding on fight or flight. “If you were sorry you’d listen to me. You’d ask me about my day. You don’t even know who any of my friends are, Mom—not that I have any here anyway. And, for the record, you don’t care about that either. You don’t care that Dad’s gone, or anything about me anymore.”
“That’s not true, Garrett.” She wrapped her arms around her mid-section and hunched forward as if she’d been sucker-punched. “It’s not true at all. I miss your dad every moment…every waking moment. And I love you. I want to know what’s going on in your life and I want you to be happy here.”
“Well, I’m not going to be happy here. I’m not ever going to be happy in this godforsaken place.” He picked up a handful of gravel and pitched it at the nearest tree trunk. “I hate it. I want things to be like they used to be—even if that means Dad has to go hole up in his office and not come home for hours and hours.”
“Oh, Garrett…you know we can’t go back to Chicago. It’s…impossible.” The woman shook her dark head as tears rimmed her eyes. “We have no home there…no family to speak of. Our money is invested here now, and we’re staying.”
“I thought you said nothing is impossible with God. That’s a lie, isn’t it? Just something you spouted because…because…”
“I didn’t spout it.” Her mouth dipped to a frown as tears spilled over to traverse a path down both cheeks. “I meant it when I said it.”
The kid dropped his backpack on the ground and crouched to scoop up another handful of gravel. “But now you don’t?”
“I…I’m not sure. Look, it’s complicated, Garrett.” Her dark eyes shimmered beneath a wave of tears as hair the color of rich maple syrup skimmed flushed cheeks. “Things might not ever be the same as they used to be, but they can be good again. We just both have to be patient and try harder.”
“You have to try harder, Mom.” The kid unleashed the gravel at the sky and it rained back down like chunks of hail as he paced the width of the drive.
Jace felt the kid’s resentment sizzle to the surface and spill over like the fizz of a root beer float.
“I’m all alone here.” His voice caught, faltered as he swiped at his eyes. “I-I feel like you’re dead, too.”
“What?” One hand flew to cover her mouth. The next word barely resonated past the flattened palm. “You’re not alone. We’re in this together. You just have to—”
“No. I don’t have to do anything, Mom. I didn’t have any say in this. You let Dad bring us to this ghost town of a place and now he’s gone and we’re stuck here.” The kid swung back to face her. Spittle flew from his lips and tears magnified dark eyes as he jabbed a finger at the air. “There’s no one around for miles, except that lady who lives over the ridge who used to bring us dinner sometimes, and she’s quit coming around since you refuse to open the door and barely even speak to her when she stops by. Why don’t you just admit it—you hate it here as much as I do. Can’t we just go home?”
“No.” She crossed her arms over her chest and bowed up to her full height, which reached barely an inch or two higher than her son. “This is our home now, Garrett. You have to accept that.”
“I’ll never accept it. This place might be yours, but it’s not mine. I miss my friends. I want to go home.”
“You’re not going anywhere but to your room while I process this mess and figure things out. You got in a fight, Garrett. You broke the rules at school—again. You’re suspended from classes for three days. Three.” She held up a trio of fingers to drive the point home. “And you’re not just going to sit around here and sulk for that stretch of time.”
“Why not? I’ll fit right in.” He turned away and stomped down the drive, his tennis shoes slapping the gravel. “Because, in case you haven’t noticed, that’s all you do now, Mom…lay on the couch and sulk. That’s it. I hate it here. I hate everything here. Sometimes I wish I was dead, too.”
“No!” A hand flew to cover her mouth as she jolted forward, doubling over. “Garrett, come back here this instant.”
“No way…no.” He shook his head, picking up the pace as the distance between them grew to cavernous proportions. He rounded the front of the SUV and broke into a sprint. Crossing the drive toward the rear of the garage, he swiped at the tears that lathered his face. A quick leap over the wire fence gave instant access to the expanse of pasture beyond. As he bolted, his words trailed back in a muffled rush of breath. “Leave me alone, Mom. Just do what you do best lately and leave me alone.”
4
“Rough day?” Jace loosened his grip on Skye’s reins as he held his gaze steady on the woman. Sunlight danced through hair as dark as the molasses his mom used to make the special-family-recipe baked beans she brought to church pot-lucks. Shadows painted the dusky skin beneath her eyes, clearly signaling her need for a good night’s sleep. Her feet were dwarfed compared to his and bare while a pair of flip-flops, mismatched judging from the varied colors and wild patterns, sat on the porch rail.
“Oh, wow…” One hand flew to the woman’s chest as she swung to face him, settled there atop Skye’s back at the foot of the stairs. Her eyes widened like shutters flung open in a storm while her lips rounded into a little oh of surprise. “You startled me. I didn’t see you there.”
“No wonder. Appears you were…otherwise occupied.” Jace slipped from Skye’s back and stood at the mare’s side.
Even with her feet planted on the first porch step, while his were firmly set on the gravel drive, the woman barely reached eye level, and a stiff breeze might very well lift her and carry her down to the creek. “You should pay better attention to your surroundings, though. You never know who might come around. Not that this is a dangerous place, or anything like that. We keep an eye on one another. But once in a while we get drifters through here, looking for work. It’s just good sense—”
“Save the lecture.” She waved him off with a slight flick of her fingers. “You’re right. It seems I should be doing a lot of things better.” Fresh tears spilled over as her gaze zeroed in on the pasture and the boy retreating from her. “I’d like to rewind and restart this day…this year…all over again.”
“Wouldn’t we all?” Jace released Skye’s reins, gave the mare a gentle pat along her left flank coupled with a murmur of reassurance, and then eased toward the porch. “Don’t worry. Your son will come back when he cools off.”
The woman backed away from him like a frightened mare, clear to the top of the steps and the shadowed porch landing, as she sniffled. “You think so?”
Jace reached into his saddle bag to gather a clean bandanna stored there. “I know so.” He nodded, venturing a second stair to close the distance between them enough to hand over the piece of fabric.
“I’ve been there, done that, and regret it now for the people I hurt in the process. But you know how it goes...”
“No, I don’t—not like this.” She twisted the bandanna until Jace thought it might rip in two. “It’s uncharted territory. Garrett has never, ever been so…so…”
“Honest?”
“I was thinking more along the lines of hot-tempered and disrespectful.” She sighed and loosened her grasp on the cloth. “I’m sorry, you are…?”
“Jace Baldwin.” He removed his hat and nodded slightly. “I live over the ridge.”
“Carol Baldwin’s prodigal son?” She mopped at her face with the bandanna and Jace thought she might bolt from the stairs as she watched the kid scramble over a ridge of rocks to cross the creek.
“You could say that.” Jace held his voice steady as he eased closer, hoping to coax her to keep her feet firmly planted. The last thing she should do was chase after her son while he was so riled…so inflamed with hurt. It would prove to be a disaster in the making…talk about tossing gasoline on a fire.
“Nice lady, your mom…” The words came as her gaze remained glued to her son. “She came to my husband’s funeral.”
“About your loss…I’m really sorry.” Jace took the third stair slow and easy—only one to go. “I can’t even begin to imagine.”
Her gaze—a rich, dark chocolate—slipped back to his, held tight. In the creamy depths he saw grief, pure and raw, coupled with a touch of panic. Her voice faltered. “No, you can’t.”
Jace nodded toward the ridge as, in an attempt to keep her calm, he asked what he already knew. “That’s your son?”
“Garrett…yes. And he’s beyond distraught. He’s going to hurt himself.” This brought on a fresh wave of tears. “He needs me to go after him.”
“He’ll be fine. Let him run it out.”
“I really should go get him and bring him right back here.”
“No, you shouldn’t.” Jace blocked her path with firm words coupled by the light stretch of his hand.
She mopped at her eyes, blew her nose in the bandanna before lifting her gaze to his once again. “What makes you such an expert?”
“My gender.”
“Oh…right.” She raked a hand through her hair as she scanned the length of him. “So I see.”
“Give him some time.” Jace adjusted the hat on his head, sheltering his eyes from the sun and allowing him a better look at her. There was something about her—something that stuck. The wounded look in her eyes urged him to take her into his arms and shelter her from the pain, but Jace knew that would get him tossed from the property—with no return invitation—faster than a riled bull. “A kid that stung needs the space to cool down a bit, get his head back on his shoulders. He said some ugly things to you that I’m sure he’ll regret once the reality of those words settles in.”
“He didn’t mean them. He’s never done that before…at least not until recently, until his father...” She shook her head and a mass of soft, loose curls tumbled over her forehead. She brushed them from her eyes. “And I don’t know why I’m telling you any of this. It’s really none of your business.”
“You’re right about that.” Jace kept his tone to a low, easy murmur as he tackled the fourth—and final—stair to reach her. He stood stock-still, the way he often practiced while dealing with an agitated bull in the seconds before a ride. “Still…it sounds like you can use a friend.”
“I can use a lot of things right about now…” Her gaze drifted to the pasture once again and her deep frown of uncertainty told Jace what he already knew; Garrett had moved beyond the boundary of their sight to disappear over the ridge toward his house. The alarm in her dark, almond-shaped eyes stood as proof. “…starting with the return of my son.”
“Take it easy. I promise it’ll be OK.” Jace brushed her shoulder gently with his fingers. “Your son just needs a little time to cool off and come to his senses. So, I’ll tell you what…how about we share a cup or two of coffee—I assume you have coffee stashed in the kitchen of this farmhouse of yours—and if Garrett doesn’t return by the time we’re finished, I’ll head out to find him myself and haul him home for you.”
“Haul him…” A shimmer of relief chased the tears from her eyes. “Why would you offer to do that for me?”
“I told you…it’s obvious you need a friend.” Jace removed his hat and bowed slightly. “Here I am. I just need to know one thing first.”
“What’s that?”
“Your name.” Jace grinned as he took a slow and easy step toward her. “I need to know your name.”
“Oh, it’s Addy…” Her lips bowed into the slightest wisp of a smile and a dimple formed to the right of her lips. “Addy Shaw.”
Jace straightened and reached for her hand. He smiled as he gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. “I’m mighty pleased to meet you, Addy Shaw.”
****
His grip proved more of a squeeze than a handshake, and Addy realized it was the first human touch she’d felt in weeks. Guilt snapped at her as she thought of Garrett and all the missed opportunities to hug him since Mack’s death. Had she really been so wrapped up in her own grief that she’d failed to see his?
She drew her gaze from the pasture to study Jace. He stood a good head taller than she did and wore a black cowboy hat dipped low over his brow, barely exposing eyes of a startling blue-green depth that mirrored the churned waters of Lake Michigan on a stormy day. His smile was a flash of white against tanned skin. A black T-shirt stretched beneath a denim over-shirt that hung open to expose a terrain of muscles that spoke volumes concerning the fact that he was no stranger to hard work. He needed a shave; a generous shadow of stubble grazed the chiseled stretch of his jawline to traverse a path along the rounded lip above his full mouth.
Addy cleared her throat as she raked a trio of fingers through her windblown hair. A mass of stubborn tangles stood testament to the fact that she must look a fright. And she stood barefoot against the cool porch wood. Her mismatched flip flops sat on the rail. “What are you doing here?”
“I’ve returned home from the rodeo circuit—”
“The rodeo…as in bull-riding?”
“That’s right, and seeing as we’re just about the only people around this span of a mile or so on the grid, I thought I’d introduce myself.”
“Oh.” Heat coursed through Addy, setting her cheeks aflame as she realized she’d donned faded jeans that were a size or so too large since her appetite failed to cooperate. The navy blouse she’d pulled from the dryer on her way out the door to the school carried wrinkles that would rival fissures chiseled through the Grand Canyon. She smoothed a hand over the collar, hopelessly attempting to tame the crinkled fabric into place. She gathered her hair and twisted the length into a loose knot, smoothing the scattered strands back from her forehead. “Will you be here a while?”
“Here?” Jace swept a hand along the length of the porch. “Well, I suppose that depends on you.”
“No, not here.” A slight flurry of nervous laughter bubbled up from the depths of Addy’s belly, startling her. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d come close to any sort of mirth. “I meant here…in Atascosa County.”
“Oh, yeah.” Jace lifted his right hand from the pocket of his jeans and massaged his left forearm before grazing his fingers across his eyes. “I’m not going anywhere; I plan on hanging around for the long haul.”
“Does that hurt?” As the fabric of his over-shirt bunched around his forearm, Addy noticed a jagged stretch of scarring—still slightly raw with signs of mending—along the inside length of his arm. She sucked in a breath, cringing as she thought of the pain such an injury must have caused. “It looks nasty.”
“This? It’s just a scratch.” Quickly, Jace readjusted the fabric to cover his skin. “About that coffee…”
“Oh, right.” Addy turned away, heading for the front door. Coffee was one commodity she did happen to have on hand at the moment, thanks t
o Carol Baldwin’s gift of a bag of hazelnut. She supposed the least she could do was share a bit with a neighbor as generous as Jace Baldwin. What could it hurt?
Addy snatched her flip flops from the rail. “Come on in.”
5
“More sugar?” Addy asked as she placed a paper plate filled with a handful of oatmeal cookies in the center of the kitchen table.
“No, this is perfect.” Jace snatched one of the cookies from the plate and bit into it. He regretted his decision almost immediately; the bite nearly broke his tooth. He dropped the cookie onto a napkin beside his coffee cup and massaged his jaw. “Thanks.”
“Sorry.” Addy grimaced as she noticed his discomfort. “I really need to go grocery shopping…”
“I won’t argue with that.” Jace leaned back in the chair and crossed one ankle over the opposite knee as he drew a sip of coffee. At least the brew was good and it went down smooth. The kitchen itself, though, with its pale yellow walls and whitewashed cabinets, looked as if it hadn’t seen a home-cooked meal in months.
He thought about Addy’s son absconding across the pasture and wondered if the kid’s ire had settled down at all yet. Jace imagined, given his age, that Garrett had been on the short end of the lack of home-cooked meals. A quick glance into the fridge as Addy hunted for creamer pretty much solidified the fact that the cupboards were bare. Jace remembered the struggle to tame his ravenous appetite as he plowed through a growth spurt during his thirteenth year. His parents had jokingly nicknamed him the Garbage Disposal because he developed a habit of devouring anything and everything that his mom whipped up in their huge country kitchen. If Garrett’s appetite in any way rivaled Jace’s at that age, how on earth had the kid managed with nothing edible coming out of the oven or hot off the stovetop? Even the cookies had gone stale. “This kitchen can use a little TLC.”
“Tell me about it. Mack had planned…” Addy paused, her mouth a slash of grief that arrowed straight to Jace’s heart.