Nick snorted. “Better late than never, I guess.”
“We’ve all made mistakes.” Sam’s expression soured enough to remind Nick that he wasn’t exactly error free. “I’m just hoping for time to fix them. The good Lord willing.”
Nick wanted to make a smart retort.
He didn’t. He bit his tongue because he suddenly remembered something about late harvesters coming to work and getting paid the same wage as those who’d toiled all day. The parable stuck in his craw.
God’s grace, flowing free. The choir sang a song about that now and again.
Free for whom?
His father had run roughshod over anyone in his path for decades, so how a simple change of heart rendered him salvation was anyone’s guess. Nick sure didn’t get it.
You might if you truly listened. And possibly humbled yourself.
He strode outside, disgruntled.
When he drew up alongside Colt and Angelina standing by the foremost paddock watching Noah, Dakota, and Cheyenne play, he pulled a picture of a log home out of his back pocket and handed it to them.
Angelina looked at the picture and smiled, and when Colt realized what it was, he turned and clapped his hand on Nick’s shoulder with way more force than necessary. “You went to the clue store? At last?”
“Hush,” Angelina scolded, exasperated. “Be nice. What is the matter with the men in this family?” She glowered at her future husband, then grabbed Nick in a big hug. “I’m so proud of you. When and where?”
“I’d guess late summer or fall by the time the excavation is done. I’ll know more when I’ve talked to Josh. I want to put it on the east side of the drive, just beyond the second curve.”
“Wonderful view from there,” Colt agreed while he aimed a look of doubt Nick’s way. “So, what finally inspired this?” He put his hands up and let Nick off the hook. “Never mind. Doesn’t matter. I’m just glad you’re doing it.”
“Dakota will love it.” Angelina glanced at the three kids, then Nick. “Cheyenne might take a little more time.”
“The kid who’s insisting on learning the ins and outs of ranching will give me a hard time?” He shook his head, confident. “I doubt it.”
Colt and Angelina exchanged looks, then Colt shrugged as he watched the trio try to fence in one of the pregnant cattle dogs by using a pile of winter-fall sticks near the barbecue. The Aussie was having none of it and finally leaped over their latest attempt, scurried under the lowest fence rail, and ducked into the barn. “I want to be on the ranch, in a house that suits the ranch.”
He watched as Dakota scolded Cheyenne for something, then flounced over to Noah, effectively cutting her older sister off. He started to move forward, but Angelina stalled him with a hand to his arm. “You don’t have to fix everything,” she reminded him softly, then raised the brochure with her free hand. “Focus on the big stuff. Pick your battles. The rest will work out.”
“If I’d listened to you a year ago, Cheyenne wouldn’t have gotten hurt last month.” He folded his hands and sighed. “How’d you get so smart and then fall for a loser like my brother?”
“No one’s perfect,” she told him, smiling, and when Colt said, “Hey!” she laughed and tugged him close for a quick kiss.
“Noah! It’s time to come in!” Angelina’s mother waved from the far door.
“Not yet!” protested the three-and-a-half-year-old. He immediately turned and appealed to Angelina for respite. “Mom, do I have to? We’re having fun!’
“You have to do what Abuela tells you this time and every time,” she called back to him and pointed toward the house. “Tomorrow is another day.”
He grumbled, yanked off his miniature cowboy hat, and stomped his way across the yard and up every single step, glowering.
Nick gave a light, quick whistle. “Girls? Gotta go.”
“Dad, there’s no school tomorrow,” Dakota called back. “We get to stay up late on Fridays.”
“Family meeting at home.”
Dakota groaned and fell dramatically to the ground.
Cheyenne rolled her eyes and started their way, but not before reminding her younger sister that she was a big baby.
Dakota screeched that she wasn’t, and instead of overreacting, Cheyenne continued their way. “Can we have ice cream after the meeting?”
“If your sister behaves herself, we can walk down to Hammerstein’s ice cream window,” Nick told her, loud enough for Dakota to hear. “But first, the meeting.”
“Dakota, come on. I’ll give you first pick of seats.”
Dakota scrambled up, amazed. “For real?”
“Yes.”
Dakota raced across the yard, waved to Colt and Angelina, then tried to pull herself into the big truck. Nick reached down, scooped her up, and deposited her into the extended cab seat with ease, then offered a hand to Cheyenne. She climbed in and tipped a smile his way, sweet and open, the kind of smile he used to see all the time.
He wanted that smile back. He’d messed up, wasted time, and acted stupid, but if he could reclaim Cheyenne’s good nature, he’d be the happiest man in Gray’s Glen. “Pretty smile, little lady.”
“Dad.” She squirmed, embarrassed, but pleased too, and when he reached in and put a hand on her cheek, he thought they might just be able to fix things pretty easily.
Elsa heard Nick’s truck pull into her driveway Monday afternoon. From the look on Cheyenne’s face, they’d had a rough bout. Maybe more than one.
Cheyenne jumped down from the truck cab, stomped up the path in the chill, steady drizzle, arms folded and jaw set as Elsa swung open the door.
Trouble at the O.K. Corral.
She let Cheyenne in, then let the door swing shut behind her as she stepped out to meet Nick on the covered stoop. “Bad day?”
“Bad few days,” he admitted. “The afterglow of your Friday session lasted about three hours, until we had a family meeting about selling our house and building a house on the ranch.”
“Ah.”
“That’s it?” He stared at her, then at the door and motioned inside with his hand, clearly upset. “I thought it would make her happy. She’s constantly on me about learning to ride, to help with chores, to feed stock, to be a ranch hand, and the minute I took a step in that direction, she freaked. How am I ever supposed to make her happy?”
“Are you free later? To talk?”
He frowned and looked around, impatient, then grunted. “Yes.”
“I don’t want to keep her waiting, but maybe you and I could discuss how that all went down. Is there someone who can watch the girls?”
“My brother’s fiancée or her mom would do it, I’m sure. I just —” He banged his hand against the post. “I take one step forward and two steps back. Every time I think there’s progress, there isn’t. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”
“Are the other Staffords the calm, quiet, patient ones?”
His scowl deepened before it softened. “Exactly one of us fits that description. My younger brother, Trey. Maybe the bird’s got my number, because the rest of us are jerks.”
“So, then…” She led him with an expectant expression.
“Take a breath and be patient.”
“Bingo.” She stepped back and waved him off. “Come back for her in an hour, then meet me at the Coffee Shack. I could use a cup of something delicious and strong tonight, and some good conversation wouldn’t hurt either. Maybe we can figure out together what sent her right back into the spiral.”
“You don’t mind taking the extra time?”
For a kid? No. She didn’t mind at all. “I’d rather figure out her triggers now than later. It evens my playing field.”
“All right.” He’d removed his hat while talking to her, a gallant gesture, like days of old, and when he put it back on his head, she had to wrestle her heart into submission. Cheyenne was her primary responsibility. She’d work with the agitated girl and then deal with the grumbling father.
&nbs
p; She walked back inside, sat down, and waited.
“I’m not talking.” Eyes down, Cheyenne glared at her feet. “Not now, not ever. I don’t like my life, I don’t like adults, and I don’t want to be anywhere. Ever.”
Elsa sat back, silent.
“I mean it.” Cheyenne darted a glance her way. “I might as well stop coming here because I don’t want to talk to anybody. Ever.”
“All right.” Elsa picked up the local weekly paper and opened it. The kitchen clock ticked off seconds in light, staccato rhythm. Achilles was sound asleep, and Hoyl had his head tucked beneath his wing, napping. Other than the clock, utter silence filled the small space, and Elsa let it do just that, ignoring the time and the girl.
“This is a waste.”
Elsa set the paper aside, glanced at the clock, and nodded. “Six minutes and eight seconds. Excellent for your age.”
“What’s excellent for my age?” Cheyenne drew her knees up, locked her arms around them, and glared. “I don’t do anything excellent, or hadn’t you heard?”
“When the pity party is over, let me know, okay? And remember, I get paid whether or not you get helped, so it might be smart to accept some help, figure out who and what you’re mad at, and who or what you’re afraid of, and move on. But that is, of course, entirely up to you.”
“I’m not afraid of anybody,” Cheyenne retorted, and the chin went down again. “Not anyone,” she mumbled into her knees.
“Oh, good. This should be easy, then. If it’s an anger issue, I can just give you a couple of pills to take every day and you’ll be fine. Excellent.”
“They have pills that make everything better?” Cheyenne asked, and interest brightened her face. “Really?”
Elsa made a “get real” face at her. “Of course not, I’m messing with you. There’s no such thing as a cure-all pill. Which is why your dad brought you here.”
“I suppose you’re the next best thing.” Cheyenne rolled her eyes. “Just my luck.”
“Did you put anything in your envelope this weekend?”
“No.”
“Did you try?”
“No.”
“Ah.”
“Why should I put anything in a dumb old envelope when my dad is talking about building a new house over on the ranch?” She leaped to her feet, facing Elsa. “He knows my mom hates the ranch, he knows she wouldn’t like living there, so why does he have to go and try to ruin everything?”
“Your mom’s feelings are important to you?”
“Yes! And they should be important to him too, but he thinks it’s a great idea. Well, it’s not! It’s a stupid idea because Mom will think everything is just the way it was, and then she’ll come back and look for us on West Chelan Pass and we won’t be there!”
Elsa tread cautiously now. “You don’t think she’ll figure it out?”
Cheyenne glared at her.
“Like maybe she could look up your dad’s name on the computer or ask a neighbor? Or is our town too big for people to know where you’re living?”
Cheyenne stared at her, then dropped her gaze. “Telling her where we are isn’t the same as her finding us all by herself.”
A child’s prayer and wish, rolled into one, longing for a mother’s love. Elsa softened her voice even more. “Having her stroll in and say hi to everyone. Hug her daughters. Rejoin the family.”
Cheyenne’s eyes watered. Her chin quivered. “She can’t do any of that if she can’t find us, and she won’t want to come looking at Grandpa’s.”
“So that’s a problem.”
“Yes.”
“How can we solve it? How can we let her know where you are so there’s no confusion?”
“I don’t know.” Cheyenne frowned. “How could we do that?”
“How would most people do it, honey?” Elsa made a phone from the fingers of one hand and held it up to her ear.
“We don’t have her number.”
“I hear the mail service is still delivering letters.”
“We don’t have her address. I guess she moves around a lot,” she added, quick to make excuses.
“Well.” Elsa leaned forward, casually, putting her chin in one hand. “If this was a game, the move would be all on Mom’s side, wouldn’t it? You have no way of reaching her, but she can reach you anytime she wants, can’t she? Because you’re in the same town and the same school as you’ve always been, and Dad’s got the same phone number he had when she left.”
Cheyenne frowned. “I suppose.” She said the words but didn’t look any too happy about it.
“But sometimes we want to make it as easy as possible for someone to come back,” Elsa said gently. “So they don’t get upset and change their mind.”
“I keep everything picked up nice.” Cheyenne whispered the words like a quiet confession. “All my books and toys and my stuff so there’s no clutter around.”
“Because you like it that way?” Elsa asked, and she wasn’t a bit surprised when the nearly nine-year-old girl shook her head.
“Because I want her to love our house again. She liked things cleaned up and put away all the time, so maybe if she walks in and sees it that way, she’d like to be there.”
The gravity of the child’s extended efforts when the mother had made none spoke to the emotional tangle left behind when a mother abandons her children. “You’re very thoughtful to remove any kind of barrier that might discourage her. That shows a good heart, Cheyenne.”
Cheyenne’s wince said more than words. “I just want her to be happy.”
“And here.”
Cheyenne frowned. “Huh?”
“You want her to be happy and here,” Elsa repeated. “Because she’s your mother and you love her.”
“I can do more things now,” Cheyenne replied. “Way more than when she was here before.”
The thought that a child should have to work so hard to earn a love they richly deserved broke Elsa’s heart, but she kept her voice calm. “Such as?”
“Helping with things. Taking care of Dakota. Putting away dishes. I tried to help when I was little, but I’d mess up and she’d get mad.”
“Thank you for trying,” Elsa told her.
Cheyenne shrugged and dipped her chin back against her folded legs. “It didn’t work then, but it might the next time.”
Hopeful waiting…
Enduring…
Praying…
Elsa wanted to grab Whitney Stafford and shake her. A responsible adult would take one look at this child and see the suffering and pangs of loss in her eyes.
A mentor’s words came to mind. “There’s a reason selfish people cause misery. Because they’re selfish.”
Looking into Cheyenne’s sweet face, seeing the pain and concern dogging her, Elsa wasn’t in the forgive-and-forget mode. She wanted to have her own personal face-to-face with Cheyenne and Dakota’s mother and tell her how beautiful, special, and wonderful her children were, but self-absorbed people never saw the whole picture. They saw themselves, dead center, even if the real image lay twenty feet to the left. “How does Dakota feel about moving?”
“Fine, I guess.” Morose, Cheyenne stared at the tops of her knees, unmoving.
“And is Dad excited?”
“Very.” Cheyenne looked surprised when she said it. “It’s a really nice house he wants to build.”
“And you like being at the ranch,” Elsa supposed.
“I love it,” Cheyenne corrected her. “I never want to go home while I’m there.”
“We moved when I was little,” Elsa mused, sitting back. “My sister is four years older than me, and she cried every night in that new house. She loved it later, but it took a while. And making new friends was hard for her because she left hers behind in her old school and the old neighborhood. It’s kind of nice that you don’t have to worry about that though. You’ll be in the same town, same school, same friends.” Cheyenne’s affect flattened, a mental health red flag, so Elsa shifted topics. “I recei
ved a note from the school today saying that you’ve been offered a place in the summer school program.”
A tear slid down Cheyenne’s cheek. Then another. “I know. I hate school, I hate going, I hate people looking at me, and now I have to go more.” More quiet tears followed with increasing speed.
“What if I told you the school offered a different option?”
The girl’s forehead furrowed. “I don’t know what that means.”
Elsa put her elbows on her knees and leaned forward. “My sister has given us a choice. We either agree to keep you back in third grade —”
Cheyenne gulped hard, as if realizing how badly she’d messed up.
“Or you make up your grades over the summer, pass the requirements, and then you can move on with your class. She also said that if you’d prefer to be tutored at home, that would be fine.”
Cheyenne’s eyes went wide as she recognized the possibility of reprieve. “Could you do it?” She half-whispered the words, strangling on hope. “Teach me, I mean? I would like that, Elsa.”
Cheyenne’s optimism tempted her. Elsa had been in such a hurry to get off the ranch, to move on, to achieve her goals. As she matured, she realized how much she missed the normal give-and-take of ranch life, and then it was too late. Her father retired, they sold the ranch, and her parents moved to an island in Puget Sound, so when she wanted to go back, she couldn’t. Because it was gone.
Right now she’d love to get out of her stuck-in-the-mud existence, rejoin the world, and hang with two cute kids on one of the biggest spreads in the Pacific Northwest. Tempting, but impossible, but she couldn’t slap Cheyenne down first thing. “We’ll have to look into the arrangements, okay? But honestly, kid, if they’re willing to offer this second chance, I think you’d be downright silly not to take it.”
The sound of truck wheels ended their discussion. Elsa stood. So did Cheyenne, but slowly. “You’ll think about it though?” She came close and peered up at Elsa. “About teaching me?”
Home on the Range Page 6