Home on the Range

by Ruth Logan Herne

She’d recognized that from the beginning. “I know.”

  “Stupid, right?”

  “No. What’s stupid about wanting a warm, healthy, loving relationship? Nothing. But our first choices aren’t always the best grounded.”

  “Like the parable of the seeds being sown.”

  It was a good analogy. “Rocky ground, fallow ground, and good ground. Yes. The reasons behind our decisions at one age might not be the most fertile choices for longevity. But we don’t see it then.”

  He scuffed the drive again, then met her gaze. “Thank you. For being here. For taking the time. For caring.”

  She did care. Maybe too much, because being with Nick and talking with him wasn’t just helping him. It was helping her. And it seemed to be growing in significance as time went on. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

  He watched her go.

  She glanced into her rearview mirror just before she took the first curve of the drive, and there he was, rock solid, one hip cocked, watching her leave as if her leaving mattered, and as she drove away, she was glad it did.

  —

  He watched her go and wished she wouldn’t, but he understood the logistics. Whoever said timing was everything had nailed the phrase, because he hadn’t let himself think about dating or relationships or much of anything other than the ranch and the girls until recently.

  Until meeting Elsa.

  Yes, he admitted to himself.

  Today the game board had been rearranged. Not by their fault, but that didn’t matter, because once things were messed up for kids, they had to come first. He’d spent too much of his life wishing he’d come first to make the same mistake with his daughters.

  He wanted to get to know Elsa better. He’d wanted the day to be a perfect blend of family, faith, and fun. To show her around the ranch, see her eyes light up.

  It hadn’t come close, but facing Whitney and dealing with Cheyenne’s instant overreaction and Dakota’s obvious fear seemed easier with Elsa around. Not because she was a therapist. He was pretty sure being psychoanalyzed could grow old after a while.

  It was because she had the best interests of him and the girls at heart, and that made all the difference.

  Hobbs came his way just then, one arm in a sling, the other holding a book. “Gonna turn in. They’re supposed to cast this tomorrow.” He glanced down at his broken arm. “And those pills they handed out sure make you tired.” He started to move by, then paused. “You okay, Nick?”

  He was and he wasn’t, but he appreciated Hobbs’s concern, especially in light of the older cowboy’s accident the day before. “I’ll be fine. I’m glad you’re going to be all right, old-timer.”

  Hobbs snorted. “Sam out for the count, now me down, and Colt committed to helpin’ in town. Trey can’t get home soon enough to suit me, especially with today’s little surprise appearance. I expect that’s goin’ to pull your attention away now and again, tryin’ to set things right, one way or the other.”

  “Just another bend in the road, Hobbs.” He looked down at the old-timer’s injured arm sympathetically. “You’ve got firsthand knowledge of that, don’t you?”

  “Well, yeah, but them bends could use a marker now and again. A street sign. Somethin’ to warn us what’s comin’. That’s all I’m sayin’.” Hobbs started moving off to the bunkhouse at the front of the near barn. “G’night.”

  “Good night.”

  They were down two full hands at a terrible time. The town needed help rebuilding, and he and Colt had pledged work, money, and supplies.

  And now, this.

  He’d have to figure out how best to handle this new wrinkle at a time when there wasn’t time enough for the existing problems. Hire more help?

  Not so easy.

  Work longer hours?

  That could prove dicey or dangerous with Whitney back in town, because the one thing he did know was that his ex-wife couldn’t be trusted, and that meant they had to keep a fairly close tether on the girls while a long summer stretched ahead of them.

  Angelina laughed at something just then.

  Isabo replied softly and laughed with her, and Nick realized God had sent him reinforcements. They might not be riding herd, although Angelina was getting pretty good in the saddle, but with the Castiglione women on the ranch, minding the girls as needed, it would be a lot harder for Whitney to mess with them. No one in their right mind, or even slightly out of their mind, would intentionally mess with Angelina and Isabo, and recognizing that would make it easier to fall asleep that night.

  Cheyenne stomped out of the car the next night, arms crossed and her hair undone. “I don’t see why I have to come here.” She said it loud enough for Elsa and every forest-dwelling creature within a thousand-foot radius to hear. “I just wanted to go see my mother!”

  Nick’s pained expression said he’d been hearing her objections for a while. “Come on, Miss ’Kota. I’ll help you down.” She jumped into his arms from the back of the tall SUV and hung on tight, and Elsa couldn’t blame her. Cheyenne didn’t just look angry. She looked chin-in-the-air combative, and staying out of her way was in Dakota’s best interests.

  “Hey, girls.”

  Dakota peeked at her from Nick’s arms, then looked at her sister. “Cheyenne told Daddy she hates him.”

  “Shut up, you little tattletale!” Cheyenne stomped in their direction. “Why do you have to open your mouth and spoil everything? You’re such a brat.”

  “If I were holding a mirror in my hands right now and held it up just so”—Elsa pretended to hold a mirror up, facing them —“whose reflection looks bratty and angry, and who looks scared?” She playacted as if looking into the mirror herself, then faced it toward them. “Dakota, are you scared when Cheyenne gets angry?”

  “Yes.” Dakota wasn’t generally meek and mild. “Usually I ignore her like Daddy says, but she was throwing things and saying bad words, and Daddy said she wasn’t going anywhere, ever, until she learned to calm down and behave.”

  “Sounds like a fun evening already.” Elsa motioned for Nick to set Dakota down. He did, but he kept a sharp eye on Cheyenne, which was probably a good idea. “I wanted to talk to you about the tutoring schedule too, once vacation starts later this week.”

  “I don’t need tutoring, I don’t need extra help, I don’t need anything!” Cheyenne snapped the words in quick succession. “I know all the stuff; I just didn’t want to do the stupid assignments. I’m fine on my own.”

  “You made a deal,” Elsa reminded her in a matter-of-fact voice. “A commitment. We agreed together that you could miss summer school if you were tutored and passed the examinations to get into fourth grade. The choice has been made. Now it’s up to you to either handle it graciously or mess it up, but there are no other choices. Once you strike a deal and give your word, it’s given.”

  “Then I hate you too!” She stared at Elsa and then her father. “What is the matter with you two? Don’t you get it? All I ever wanted was for my mother to come home, and now she did so I’m fine!”

  “And on that note…” Nick blew Cheyenne a kiss, bent and kissed Dakota, and climbed back into the SUV. “I’ll see you in an hour or so, okay?”

  “All right.”

  Dakota scurried over to Elsa’s side. If her father was leaving, she must figure Elsa would provide some sort of protection from her sister’s ire. Elsa grabbed a can of mosquito repellent, put some on herself, then applied it to Dakota.

  Cheyenne stayed off to the side, arms crossed, her left foot tapping the ground.

  Elsa raised the bottle of repellent. “We’re going into the woods and it’s shady, which means mosquitoes this time of day.” She waggled the bottle and figured she’d give it ten seconds. “Your choice. Bug spray…or mosquito bites. Either way, we’re going.”

  Cheyenne glared at her, then Dakota, then Elsa again before stomping over and holding out her arms.

  Frustration, anger, and impatience darkened the girl’s naturally attractive feat
ures. So much to deal with at a young age, and yet some of it was self-imposed because Cheyenne rejected help on a regular basis. She misted the girl’s skin lightly, then tucked the bottle up on a ledge. “Let’s go.”

  “Where?” Eyes narrowed, Cheyenne looked around as if the forest had nothing to teach her. Elsa knew better.

  “This way.” She led them into the woods up an old trail, and as the woods grew thicker and greener, sounds greeted them. Birds, nesting or still building, chattered greetings and warnings. Frogs croaked here and there, and as they approached the small bog not far from the creek, the sound of spring peepers increased. “Hear that?” she asked as they broke through the forest’s edge to a small wetland area.

  “Crickets? Yeah. Big deal.”

  “Not crickets. Frogs. Tree frogs. Spring peepers.”

  “Jeepers, creepers, where did you get them peepers!” Dakota laughed. “Murt says that to me all the time! Where are they? I don’t see them. And now they’re quiet.”

  “You scared them with your big mouth,” Cheyenne scolded. “That seems to be all you do lately, Dakota. Open your big mouth and mess up everything.”

  “If we’re quiet, they might sing again.” Elsa took a spot on a moss-covered log, then patted the natural bench. “Come. Sit. Listen.”

  Dakota took a seat alongside her, so close it was nearly in her lap. Cheyenne stood scowling, staring into the distance, her arms folded tight around her middle again.

  For a moment nothing happened. Bird calls sounded back and forth, intermittent, the quick singing notes of finches and friends, followed by the soft, plaintive songs of mourning doves.

  And then the peepers recommenced. All around them, from the trees above and the shallow pond stretching before them, the ca-reeek! ca-reeek! of tree frogs chorused a happy, lilting tune.

  “This is creepy.” Cheyenne stared around, looking up, looking down, then slipped over to the log and took a seat. “And this stupid log is scratchy.”

  Elsa ignored her. She sat, holding Dakota’s hand, letting the amphibian chorus fill the evening air. And once they started, the tiny frogs sang out in full voice, blending and balancing their song of love.

  They sat silent for long, peaceful minutes, then Dakota climbed onto her lap. She stuck a thumb in her mouth, curled her head against Elsa’s chest, and sighed, peaceful. “I think I love this, Elsa.”

  The whispered words went straight to Elsa’s heart. “Me too.”

  “I don’t know what’s so great about a bunch of slimy frogs croaking,” Cheyenne offered, but she kept her voice quiet. The more respectful tone said the therapy wasn’t totally lost on the older girl. “But I think I see one, right there.” She pointed over and down and then frowned. “And one there. Only that one’s kind of beige-y brown, and that one’s green like my new shirt.”

  “Color-changing frogs.”

  “No way. Why do grownups always have to make things up? I hate that,” Cheyenne scoffed.

  Her words told Elsa that buildups, empty promises, and letdowns had left their mark, but with Cheyenne’s personality, some of that could be self-imposed. “You’re seeing them, aren’t you?” She sent Cheyenne a sidelong glance. “That makes them real enough.”

  “Then they’re different kinds.”

  “Nope.”

  Cheyenne arched her brows in disbelief. “They can really do that?”

  “Camouflage. Their skin takes on the background color. As close as it can, anyway. I grew up in a yellow house, and if the frogs climbed the house, they turned almost white. Like dingy ivory white. And they have tiny suction pads on their feet so they can climb and not fall off. Radically cool.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  Elsa rolled her eyes and Cheyenne backed down. “Well, it doesn’t seem real.”

  “Much better, because one thing I don’t do is lie, my friend. We’ll study them for our science lesson this week. These guys are our state amphibian.”

  “What is that?” Dakota joined the whispered conversation now that it seemed her life wasn’t in imminent danger from her sister’s wrath. “What is a Anne fibbian?”

  “Something that lives on land and in water,” Cheyenne told her, which meant she’d listened to at least some of her third grade lessons. “We really have a frog for our state? For real?”

  “We do.”

  “Cool.”

  Elsa allowed herself a small smile. “I agree.” They sat in silence for long minutes, and when she stood to go, both girls hung back.

  “Do we have to leave?” Dakota asked in a tired voice. “I like it here.”

  “Can’t we stay a few more minutes?” Cheyenne’s voice implored her, and Elsa was tempted to say yes. It wasn’t like they had anywhere to go. But part of Cheyenne’s problem was the constant resistance and passive-aggressive choices, so she jutted her chin toward the path and said, “We’ll come back another time, but we might not hear the peepers much then.”

  “Why?”

  “Will they die? If they die, then this whole thing sucks,” Cheyenne declared.

  “Use appropriate language, please. You sound ill-mannered and spoiled when you talk like that. Do you hear how many of them there are?” She swept the broad, shallow pond and the surrounding trees a quick look.

  “A lot,” Cheyenne admitted.

  “Exactly. The reason you might not hear them is because they croak less when the mating season is over. You hear some, but not nearly as many. This is their sound of courtship.”

  Cheyenne made a gagging motion with her hand, but she paused, quiet, before she left the open area. The frogs had gone silent when they moved, but now, with the humans edging into the forest, they started up again. First one, then another, then dozens peeping their way through the lengthening shadows. “It is kind of cool,” Cheyenne admitted as they walked back through the woods. “The noise and the color-changing thing.”

  “I think so too.”

  “I’m tired, Elsa.” Dakota’s yawn punctuated her words.

  She shouldn’t break the rules of personal boundary, but Dakota looked as tired as she sounded, so Elsa bent and picked her up. “That better?”

  “Yes.”

  The little girl tucked her head against Elsa’s shoulder. The feel of soft curls and the smell of strawberry-scented soap and mac and cheese teased her senses. She’d longed for the same normal that eluded their father. Maybe it didn’t really exist anymore. Maybe the Christmas card family was an illusion in these modern times. Or maybe people just didn’t try hard enough.

  Cheyenne walked ahead, less antagonistic than she’d been an hour before. Dakota snuggled against her like a baby chimpanzee, arms and legs locked on, and that’s how Nick saw them when they moved into the clearing surrounding her odd little house.

  “Someone’s tired.” He spoke low as he reached out to take Dakota from her.

  It felt special, having him take the sleepy child, as if passing Dakota to her father was a natural thing between them.

  He’d sent a knowing glance toward Cheyenne but didn’t try to engage her, and when Dakota yawned widely, he tucked her closer to his chest.

  “We saw frogs, Daddy.” Dakota’s subdued voice said she was close to sleeping. “So many frogs.”

  “I love frogs.” He kept his voice quiet too. “We used to chase them when I was little, but there aren’t too many on the ranch now. We mow all the fields, and frogs like to live where there are great hiding places.”

  “Plenty of those around here,” said Cheyenne, but she didn’t sound angry. She looked and sounded intrigued, like she’d never realized how many things could live and breathe in the woods. “So we’re going to study frogs when you come over?”

  Did she sound hopeful? Elsa thought so. “And adding and subtracting, number charts, clocks, money, writing, spelling, and reading.”

  She didn’t balk or throw a hissy fit, a major improvement. “Can we learn more about the woods too?”

  “We don’t need books for that,” E
lsa promised. “We can take field trips and explore the woods all summer. Best way of studying.”

  “Okay.” Cheyenne started toward the car, then stopped. She took a deep breath as if about to say something, then didn’t. She climbed into the car, put her seat belt on, and waited.

  “Baby steps,” Elsa muttered under her breath. “The way we all learn to walk is by using baby steps.”

  “She’s almost nine.” Nick didn’t sound quite so patient.

  “Chronologically, yes. But emotionally, a fraction of her is stuck at age five, when her mother walked out. She was old enough to know something was wrong, and then to be abandoned…” Elsa grimaced slightly. “It leaves a kid wondering why it happened, what they did wrong. And then as they mature, they want to know how they can fix it.”

  “She did nothing wrong. She was a cute little kid, perfectly normal.”

  “And there we have the difference between the adult point of view and childlike perception. She’ll come to realize that in time. But it’s her journey, and she keeps going around in circles. Maybe Whitney’s surprise appearance will shake things up, just enough to get Cheyenne off her treadmill.”

  “She should still be polite.”

  “Possibly the least of our worries right now.”

  “If she won’t say it, I will.” Nick faced her, and when he did, Dakota peeked through half-shut eyes and smiled, just for her. “Thank you. You’re wonderful with them.”

  “I’ll see you on Wednesday.” She didn’t ask about Whitney. It wasn’t her business, and the situation was too raw. Time might soothe or stir, but there was no sense in pushing the issue now, because she was pretty sure Cheyenne would give them plenty of reason to discuss Whitney’s return over the coming weeks. Which meant she had to maintain a professional distance and attitude with Nick.

  She didn’t gaze up into his eyes, although she wanted to. She didn’t glance at his mouth, wondering, because these two precious children needed her to be on her A game. Their mother could turn out to be a normal, if somewhat selfish, lost soul, but if she was more than that—if she was dangerous or impaired—Elsa needed to be able to make a clear assessment. For years she’d been a strong, hard-working professional. Engaging with Nick’s daughters made her feel that way again, and that was worth whatever sacrifice it took. Even if that sacrifice meant ignoring the growing attraction to their cowboy father.