Wyoming Born & Bred

by Cathleen Galitz

  It had everything to do with the woman standing before him.

  All of his hopes and his dreams, desires and needs were wrapped up in this precious woman who wanted nothing more from him than a hasty farewell.

  The realization that he loved her drilled him between the eyes like a bullet. Grabbing her by the hand, he drew her near. She pulled away as if fearing the contamination of his touch.

  “Patricia,” he implored, “I should have enough money now to—”

  “I don’t want your money!” she yelled, certain that her first impression had been right all along. He was just like her father. Domineering, manipulative, shrewd. Such men believed that everything in the world had a price tag attached. Certain that money was more important than love, respect, trust or honesty, Roland D’Winter thought his daughter and grandchildren could be bought as easily as the blue-chip stocks he so dearly prized. Cameron Wade was as dead wrong in assuming that money was the cure-all for everything as her father had been. Some things simply were not for sale—at any price.

  I don’t want your money!

  Her words reverberated in Cameron’s mind like a gunshot echoing off the canyon walls. Patricia was as different from the gold diggers of his past as heaven was from hell. He was a fool, so eager to hold on to his preconceived notions that he had risked losing the only chance of happiness life held out for him. With a woman such as this at his side, nothing could hold him back from becoming the man he was meant to be. Her children were already as dear to him as if they were his own, and the love he felt for Patricia was as undeniable as the wild beating of a heart straining against a chest too small to contain its savage song. With sudden clarity, Cameron knew he wanted nothing more than to be inexorably intertwined in their lives and to spend the rest of his days loving this amazing woman.

  The intractable expression on Patricia’s face, however, told him this was definitely not the best time to propose.

  “We can make this work,” he said with resolve that belied the quivering in his gut Feeling like he was running uphill in dense sand, he implored, “It’s not too late.”

  But there was no compromise in Patricia’s eyes.

  “Get out,” she told him simply.

  Patricia sat in the midst of a living room surrounded by a mountain of unmatched socks, the undisputed queen of mayhem. The days were growing shorter, and the sun had set on more than one incomplete chore. It was no use calling the boys back to make them finish the job that they had so halfheartedly begun. Not when she had only moments before played right into their hands and banished them from the room. She jabbed a needle angrily into the throw pillow whose reassuring needlepoint message had sustained her through innumerable moves and the death of a husband. Half of its stuffing lay in her lap, a casualty of the war her children were waging upon the world ever since they had awakened to find Cameron Wade forever exiled from their kingdom.

  Their mother’s responses to their relentless inquiries as to why he had left without so much as a goodbye to them were as enigmatic as they were curt. Not ones to be put off lightly, they made their displeasure known in a hundred less-than-subtle ways. Why, just this afternoon Patricia had been summoned to the principal’s of fice to discuss the latest in a series of playground infractions involving both her boys.

  Lost in her thoughts, Patricia stabbed herself with the needle she was using to mend the pillow her children had used in their latest battle. She sucked the pearl of blood from the tip of her index finger and found it as bitter as the words of that sour-faced school psychiatrist Mrs. Ebah. Far from the sympathetic, if not somewhat resigned, attitude of the school principal, who was within months of retiring, the woman whom the children secretly dubbed Mrs. Eyeballs was called upon to state her textbook opinion. She began with a tight smile.

  “Surely you’re aware that boys their age desperately need a strong male role model in their lives.”

  The woman’s voice was as dry as rustling stalks of withered corn.

  “The fact that they are without a father, compounded by the um...er...serious challenges your family is facing, leads me to believe that Kirk and Johnny are engaging in what we in the field refer to as triangulation. That is, their acting out both in the classroom and on the playground is merely a ploy to gain your attention and draw the focus away from some very real issues.”

  Patricia had an overwhelming urge to demonstrate the difference between triangulation and strangulation to this dried-up old biddy who could no more read nonverbal signals than she could navigate her way through anything but a virtual relationship.

  “The fact that they are victims of the cruel hand fate has dealt them does not necessarily mean that with regular counseling they cannot survive—”

  Patricia could stand no more of the woman’s idiotic psychobabble. “My children are not victims, Mrs. Ebah,” she said coolly in a voice indicating that she personally thought psychologists and the devil went hand in hand. “And I have every intention that they will do far more than survive their days on this planet. They will thrive I assure you—without weekly trips to your office to discern any errors in the way I potty-trained them.”

  Standing up, Patricia ended the conference with an assurance to the principal. “I’ll take care of the problem myself.”

  It was a bold claim. Like the pillow she was mending, her family was coming apart at the seams.

  The void Cameron Wade had left in their lives was large enough to qualify as a black hole. Unwittingly, in the course of a couple of weeks, Patricia had let herself come to depend on him. Suddenly all the little things he had done to help out stood out in high relief in a collage of chaos. In addition to resuming the work of two or three able-bodied adults, Patricia found herself constantly cast in the role of a referee. Since she had banned Cameron from the house, the children were out of sorts with her, with each other and with the world in general.

  Even little Amy, who by all rights should have been too young to understand the tensions straining her mother’s usual good nature, seemed to be acting out of pure spite. Just this morning she threw her favorite breakfast on the floor, refusing to eat a single bite, resisted her afternoon nap and tossed her favorite doll in the toilet. Luckily Patricia caught her before she could flush.

  All in all, life post-Cameron was turning into one long, trying ordeal. Patricia tied a double knot in the thread, bit it off between her teeth, and surveyed her handiwork.

  “As good as new,” she said to herself, studying the axiom stitched there about a home being made not of walls and beams but of love and dreams. A fat tear fell upon the needlepoint and blurred her vision.

  Dreams were, after all, illusive things. Her dream of someday becoming Cameron’s wife was destroyed by a cruel ruse. The knowledge that any tenderness toward her had come not from his heart but from greedy ulterior motives was more than she could bear. She wasn’t sure when exactly she had fallen in love with the rogue. Perhaps the day she had fallen off a ladder and into his strong arms. Maybe the day he had covered the boys’ emu-roping shenanigans with that pathetic fib to protect them. Or when he offered up his antique watch as a teething ring. Or the first time he kissed her and made her forget everything outside of her own tingly skin. Patricia knew only that she loved him with all her heart. She also understood that unfortunately, like her father, Cameron’s attachment to her was a conditional thing.

  Her thumb firmly ensconced in her mouth, Amy climbed up on the couch beside Patricia.

  “Where’s Da-Da?” she demanded to know.

  The knowledge that Amy was asking not for the father she did not know but for Cameron made Patricia break down and cry. If only her heart could be mended as easily as the pillow which caught the flow of her tears!

  “I don’t know, honey. I just don’t know.”

  Cameron looked at the check in his hands and shook his head in disbelief. It had to be a mistake. Never in his wildest dreams had he envisioned so many zeroes strung together.

  His dreams. Tho
se grand, foolish beasts had consumed the last two decades of his life. Now they roared at the outrageous fortune which Cameron presented to them. In the echo of their laughter, the fickle creatures made a mockery of his wretchedness.

  He had everything he’d ever wanted. And at the same time he had nothing.

  His face and name were destined to be splashed on billboards and advertisements across the nation, but the man who was to be touted as a hero was feeling anything but heroic. He gestured for the bartender to bring him another beer. Funny how in his moment of triumph there was nobody to celebrate with him. His victory was as hollow and empty as the chambers of his heart.

  Studying the amber-colored brew the bartender set before him, Cameron contemplated a lifetime of trying to “get back” at the world, while real heroes went about the business of making the world a better place to be, in quiet, unobtrusive ways. Heroes like a certain single mother internally driven by integrity, a sense of who she was, and what was best for her children. In Cameron’s book that was far more valiant than some big-shot cowboy who mistakenly thought he could settle a score with fate with a pile of dough and a big, shiny belt buckle.

  The bartender had a smile as big as a crescent moon plastered on his face. “This one’s on the house,” he said. After all, it wasn’t every day that a championship bull rider bellied up to his bar. “I hear you’re well on your way to being a millionaire, Mr. Wade. Congratulations.”

  Cameron cringed at the man’s formality. The last time anyone had addressed him as Mr. Wade had been when Patricia had threatened to sue him if he backed out of the contract he’d been in such a hurry to sign. The memory brought a wry smile to his lips. The lady had more spunk than she knew what to do with. She’d certainly surprised the heck out of him the other night when she’d thrown his offer to buy her out back in his face.

  It had been the foolish act of a proud woman.

  With back taxes owed against the place, Cameron knew it was only a matter of time before she would be forced into bankruptcy. The thought of Patricia and the children losing their home to the bank soured his stomach. He pushed the half-empty beer away from him, wishing it was as easy to set aside the haunting images of what was to happen to the family he had come to love despite himself. In his mind’s eye, he could clearly see Johnny, Kirk and little Amy all bundled up in the car, peering out the back window as their mother pulled away from a home that no longer belonged to them.

  Peeling off the label on his bottle, Cameron considered the silver flakes left on his fingertips. Where would they go, he wondered. Patricia had never mentioned any other family who might be willing to help her out. She had spoken to him a little of the domineering father who actually wanted to see his daughter fail. The one who would relish the sight of her crawling back to beg his forgiveness.

  Perhaps she would be forced to turn to some other man less bullheaded than a fool cowboy set more on his own desires than on her happiness. A flash of intense jealousy jarred him from his seat. Would that lucky someone be able to arouse her passions as he had? Would he treat the children well?

  The bartender looked brokenhearted as Cameron rose to go.

  “If ya don’t mind my askin’, what’re ya gonna do with all your money?” the fellow inquired, wiping his hands on his apron. “Is it true you’re thinking of breaking the very bank that broke your old man?”

  Eager to be away from such fawning fools, Cameron slapped a tip down on the polished counter. “I do mind your asking. I mind it very much.”

  As he crossed the street and entered the very bank that had called in the loan on the Wade property almost two decades ago, every eye in the bar followed Cameron’s loose-legged gait.

  In a small town, it’s easy to watch life circle back upon itself. An old man in the corner alluded to it when he said, “What goes around, comes around, I always say.”

  “Who could that be at this time of day?” Patricia muttered to herself.

  The knock at the front door was as insistent as the headache that had plagued her all day. Johnny didn’t give her a chance to find out for herself. He darted past her and threw open the door.

  “Cameron!”

  At the pronouncement, Kirk came running, almost toppling his mother who stood transfixed in the entryway. By the time she could snap her mouth shut, both boys were wrapped around their visitor’s legs so tightly he couldn’t move. Never one to be left out of the excitement, Amy pushed her way through her mother’s legs, demanding that Cameron pick her up.

  As much as he would have liked to oblige, his hands were full. Juggling the biggest bouquet of roses Patricia had ever seen, Cameron struggled to keep his balance. He peeked sheepishly out from behind the fragrant blooms and asked, “Would you mind taking these from me?”

  Patricia thought his voice as rich and warm as brandy on a cold winter’s day. She eyed him suspiciously before taking pity on him. Once he was freed from his fragrant burden, the children resumed their attack. Never had Patricia seen them give anyone such warm, welcoming bear hugs.

  “We’ve missed you!” they cried out.

  “I’ve missed you, too,” Cameron replied, ruffling their hair and tossing Amy up in the air and catching her the way she had come to expect. He set the gleeful tot down before looking into Patricia’s eyes and inquiring. “Do you mind if I come in for a minute?”

  She hesitated, and Cameron could see her struggle with emotions that threatened to destroy any chance he might have.

  “Please,” he said so softly that a less sensitive woman would not have noticed the effort the word cost him.

  Not waiting for their mother’s permission, the children dragged him into the living room, demanding to know where he’d been. Until he stepped back inside this house, Cameron hadn’t realized how much he had missed the clutter. Signs of life and love were strewn about in such a haphazard fashion that one might miss their importance unless distance and longing had been able to put them in their proper perspective.

  “The flowers are lovely,” Patricia said stiffly. It hurt to see her children clinging to this man with the obvious intention of never letting him go.

  “And there’s something else that I want you to have,” Cameron said, taking an envelope out of his coat pocket

  She took it from him, opened it, and read it.

  Once. Twice. Three times over.

  “I don’t understand,” she said at last, turning bewildered eyes upon him.

  “It’s the mortgage on this ranch.”

  “I can see that,” she replied impatiently. “What I want to know is why it’s stamped ‘Paid in Full.’”

  “It’s a gift. From me to you. No strings attached.”

  The look upon Patricia’s face was nothing short of incredulous. “Why? Whatever would make you do such a thing?”

  Though the answer seemed as obvious as his runaway heartbeat, Cameron did his best to explain. “Because I want you and the children to have what I didn’t have when I was growing up. A home no one can ever take away from you. A home for always.”

  Tears glistened in Patricia’s eyes. She fought to get her words past the lump in her throat. “You kids need to leave us alone for a minute.”

  They looked at her distrustfully. The last time they’d left these two alone, Cameron had gone away without even telling them where he was going or when he was coming back. They were determined not to let that happen again.

  “Go on, now,” Patricia urged. “There’s nothing for you to worry about.”

  Feeling untold relief at the assurance himself, Cameron nodded his head in assent, and the children did as they were told. The boys dragged themselves and their little sister from the room without a word of protest.

  When they were alone at last, Patricia spoke softly. “It was sweet of you,” she began, aware of the breadth of the understatement. “Incredibly so, but I can’t accept your money.”

  Cameron placed a finger to her lips. There was no need to put up a brave front for him. He wanted her t
o know that he understood. She didn’t have to explain.

  “Really,” she insisted. “I appreciate you riding in here like a knight in shining armor to rescue me from the poorhouse, but it truly wasn’t necessary.”

  Patricia took a deep breath. How could she put into words that which was so hard to understand herself? “It’s important for me to feel like I’m capable of providing for this family on my own. My father would never allow me the freedom to do anything for myself. And Hadley himself needed to be taken care of. Look, Cameron, I just don’t want our relationship to be based on financial need, on monetary obligation. If there’s going to be any future for us, I have to be a full and equal partner in every way...”

  Blood rushed to her face. It wasn’t as if he’d ever so much as mentioned marriage. Even if he were interested in pursuing her, it wasn’t exactly as if she was coming into such a relationship unfettered. There was that little matter of three rambunctious children to be considered in every decision she was to make.

  The grin on Cameron’s face could have buttered a Thanksgiving turkey. Hope fluttered foolishly in the pit of his stomach.

  Too flustered to go on, Patricia grabbed a check off the fireplace mantel and waved it under his nose. He took it from her. A frown creased his brow as he studied it.

  The pride in her voice was unmistakable as she assured him, “It’s enough to cover the taxes and keep the bank off my back for a while longer.”

  “How?”

  Happy to satisfy his curiosity, Patricia explained. “I sold a breeding pair. Big Bird and Gertrude McFuzz. I hated to,” she admitted, remembering how often he had teased her that she was not raising livestock but expensive pets. “But I felt I had to.”

  Cameron’s laugh was genuine. The admiration in his eyes apparent. He’d had no idea that a pair of emus could bring that kind of money. Maybe he’d have to reconsider his “fowl” feelings for the creatures. Maybe this crazy business wasn’t for the birds after all.