Winds of Wyoming (A Kate Neilson Novel)

by Lyles, Rebecca Carey

  “As the Apostle Paul prayed …” The older woman cleared the crackle from her throat. “I’ll ask that you begin to comprehend how great God’s power is to help those who believe in Him. You do believe, don’t you?”

  Kate nodded. “Yes … but … my faith is weak. I asked God to come into my life when I was in pr … Pittsburgh. I know he loves me and will help me be a better person. I just have trouble shedding the shadows of my past.”

  “That’s good.”

  “What’s good?”

  “The fact you understand your weakness. Paul claimed that when he was weak, that’s when he was strong. He said he delighted in his weaknesses and boasted about them, so God’s power would be displayed.”

  Kate raised her eyebrows. “Sounds backward to me.”

  Dymple laughed. “Pastor Chuck calls it upside-down theology. But that’s the kind of God we have. We can’t put him in a box. Or stop him from rescuing us. A verse in Deuteronomy says he rides across the heavens to help us. Remember, he delights in you, Kate. Let him ride to your rescue singing a song of deliverance.”

  ***

  Mike stifled a yawn as he opened the front door. “Come in, Fletcher.” The predawn gust of cool air that slipped through the opening made him shiver.

  Fletcher stepped into the lobby. “Morning, Mike. Sorry to wake you so early.”

  “Something wrong?”

  “You could say that.” Fletcher rubbed his hand across his hairless dome.

  Mike waited. Maybe this was it. The moment when the other boot dropped and the barely controlled chaos escalated to pandemonium.

  “I hate to be the bearer of bad news.” Fletcher crossed his arms as if shielding himself from Mike’s reaction. “Cyrus left.”

  Yep. Boot number two.

  “When I got to the kitchen a few minutes ago, I found a copy of this week’s menu next to his cookbook with a note that said he’s leaving town. His only instructions were to repeat June menus in July and August.’”

  “That’s all?”

  Laura, wearing a robe and slippers and a sleepy expression, stepped into the lobby. “Fletcher. What in the world are you doing here so early?”

  “Cyrus quit.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope.”

  She shook her head. “He really did it this time. We should have taken his threats seriously.” She turned to Mike. “So, what’s Plan B?”

  He shrugged. “I can flip pancakes.”

  “Perfect.” Fletcher nodded. “Pancakes are on the menu this morning, along with fruit slices, bacon and eggs.”

  Laura touched Fletcher’s arm. “Do you mind stepping in for Cyrus?”

  “I’d be glad to, ma’am, but I’ll need help.”

  “We’ll see to it you have plenty of helpers. Mike and I can assist this morning. Who else is scheduled today?”

  “Tanner is on for breakfast. I’ll have to check the list for the other meals.”

  ***

  Kate bumped the wheelchair across the threshold and onto the patio. It took a couple tries, but she managed to maneuver the chair close to the table. Dymple followed. She placed a cup of herbal tea and her computer in front of Kate.

  Kate thanked here. “Are you sure you don’t need your laptop?”

  “I don’t know how to use it yet. When you’re finished with it, maybe you can teach me.”

  “I’d love to. Thanks for sharing.”

  “I’m happy to share with you, but I have to admit I’m not happy about aiding and abetting a runaway.”

  “Are you calling me a runaway?”

  Dymple folded her arms. “You told me you love it here.”

  “So?”

  “So, why leave?”

  Kate lifted her palms. “I’m a single woman who needs to finish her internship requirements and find a job to support herself. This valley isn’t exactly a mecca of industrialization.”

  “If God wants you here, he’ll provide employment.”

  “If God wanted me here, he wouldn’t have …”

  Dymple’s eyebrows rose.

  “Oh, never mind.”

  “In all things God works for the good of those who love him, who’ve been called according to his purpose. That’s Romans eight twenty-eight, sweetie. Stick that in your pipe and smoke it.”

  Kate laughed. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Dymple lifted a sweater from a nail beside the back door and tied it by the sleeves around her tiny waist. “The cemetery must be a mess after that gale we had in the middle of the night. I need to go tidy it up. Anything else I can get you before I go?”

  “I’ll be fine. Thank you for all you do to make me comfortable.”

  “I’ll return in an hour or so. Don’t you be trying to crawl into a bathtub or reach into a cupboard.”

  “Wouldn’t think of it.”

  Kate watched Dymple limp around the corner of the house. What an amazing woman. She didn’t let painful joints slow her down. I shouldn’t let a broken leg stop me.

  By the looks of the newly swept patio, the elderly woman had already tidied up her yard, which appeared untainted by the midnight wind that had lashed the little cottage and awakened Kate. At first, she’d been frightened by the shadows of branches thrashing in the moonlight and the sound of them noisily scraping against the house. But soon, she’d had the sensation the wind was cleansing her spirit and salving her soul the way it did her first day in Wyoming, and she’d fallen into a deep, satisfying slumber.

  Chaplain Sam had once told the women in a prison chapel service that the Holy Spirit and his angels were holy winds—healing, helping currents of promise. Last night, she’d been surrounded by holy winds. What a privilege. “Thank you for sending your messengers to dance over me last night, Lord.” She bowed her head. “I trust they were singing songs of deliverance … according to your plan, not mine.”

  Kate lifted the computer lid and typed Romans 8:28 into the search field. Time to stick it in her pipe before the sheriff came to haul her away.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  MIKE SCRUBBED THE GRIDDLE while Tanner loaded the dishwasher. Even though he’d never been fond of dishwashing, the warm water and mindless activity slowed his racing thoughts. He stared out the window above the sink, hating the way he’d begun to dread the future, as if he didn’t trust God to take care of the ranch and answer all his questions.

  “Oh, there you are, sweetheart.” The woman’s voice pierced his solitary moment of peace.

  Mike’s fingers froze on the griddle, and the rat-tat-tat of high heels across the dining room floor buffeted his brain like nails shot from a nail gun.

  Tanner muttered under his breath. “Here comes trouble.”

  Tara paused in the doorway. “I’ve been everywhere on this little ranchette looking for you, Mikey.”

  He glanced at the purposely posed woman. One hand rested on her hip and the other was stationed above her head on the doorframe. “We’re busy, Tara. If you need something, talk to my mom up at the office.”

  She made a face. “Like she would help me.”

  His gut began to churn. He turned back to the sink.

  “Besides, it appears she’s busy entertaining a deputy or two this morning. I thought she was too old for that sort of thing.”

  Mike whirled and flung the dishrag at her. The dripping mass bull’s-eyed the bridge of her nose before it slid from her face to nestle in the crotch of her halter top.

  She screamed, scrambling to retrieve the soapy rag. “How could you?” She shuddered and hurled the cloth at the floor.

  Tanner gaped at her and then at Mike. “I’m outa here.” The screen door banging shut behind him seemed to shake the building.

  “Mikey. Oh, Mikey.” Tara sniffed and wiped her hand under her nose. “I just came to show you my engagement ring.” Mascara-blackened tears rolled down her face. Her left false eyelash dangled from her eyebrow, the right one from her cheek.

  He backed toward the kitchen door.

&
nbsp; She held out her hands. “I’m sure you didn’t mean to do that, darling. I must have surprised you.”

  Surprised him? That wasn’t the word he’d use. Teeth clenched, his breath came in uneven clumps.

  She turned her left hand over.

  Relief flooded his soul when he saw the huge diamond. Hallelujah. She’d finally snagged a man. “Congratulations. Who’s the …” He could not say lucky. “Who’s the guy?”

  “Oh, you silly ninny.” She stepped closer.

  He grabbed the screen-door handle.

  “It’s you, of course.” Her eyes were bright and glassy.

  Surely he hadn’t heard right. “Who?”

  She smiled. “It’s you, darling.”

  “I did not give you that ring.”

  “You didn’t have to. Daddy and I knew you couldn’t afford the size of diamond I need, so we made all the arrangements.”

  He nearly choked. Next thing he knew, they’d drag a judge to the ranch for a shotgun wedding. “Get help. You and your father both need professional help, now.” He shoved the screen door open and ran the path to the house, willing the wind to wash the taste of her perfume from his mouth. He didn’t look back, fearful of what he might do if he saw her following him. He had to get to his mom before the deputies twisted her words beyond repair.

  ***

  Breathing hard, he strode into the office just as an officer whose nametag read Deputy Ramirez asked her a question. “Do you know anybody from Pennsylvania?”

  Mike looked around. Coach wasn’t in the office. Good.

  “Let’s see.” Laura placed two fingers on her jaw. “Dan’s aunt lived there for some time, but she passed away. Mike, do you remember when was—”

  The other deputy, Bernard Caldwell, interrupted. “He means recently, from around here.”

  She frowned. “There’s Kate, our newest employee. She’s from Pennsylvania.”

  Mike moved closer. “You know as well as we do she came from Pennsylvania—if you did your homework.”

  Bernard cocked an eyebrow. “Oh, we’ve done our homework, believe you me.” He paused. “You might be surprised by what we’ve learned. But we’re not interested in Ms. Neilson at the moment. We found multiple tire imprints on the side of the road not far from the entrance to your place that all belong to the same Ford pickup. Come to find out, that truck rolled into town just about the time your employee moved here. The owner, a male, is also from Pennsylvania.”

  Mike wondered if his mom was thinking the same thing he was. Could it be the man who broke into the Blue Jay? “Did you find footprints or other evidence? Or was the guy just sitting along the highway enjoying the scenery?”

  “He doesn’t appear to be the type to appreciate scenery. He spent several days in the Copperville jail when he first arrived. Yesterday, we locked him up in Rawlins. His boots match the prints we found by the tire tracks.”

  Laura’s eyes widened. “My goodness, the penitentiary already.”

  “No. County. He assaulted a woman in the Rawlins hospital.”

  Mike’s heart skipped a beat. “Can you tell us who the woman was?”

  Bernard regarded him for a moment then turned to his partner. “Let’s take another look at that desk.”

  Other unanswered questions swirled through Mike’s head. Could Kate, who said she was the cause of all their problems, answer those questions? Did he want to know the answers? His heart said no, but his head said yes. They needed to get to the bottom of things. But how deep did the bottom go?

  ***

  After the deputies left, Mike climbed the ladder inside the barn to sit on a bale in the hayloft, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. He pushed his hat to the back of his head and massaged his temples. His brain felt muddy and swollen, like the creek during spring runoff. He still hadn’t gotten to the branding, hadn’t checked fences, hadn’t talked with the twins about hunting bison, hadn’t fixed his truck or reseeded the ATV-damaged meadow, hadn’t …

  The happy sounds of children playing down at the pond drifted up the hill. He raised his gaze to look through the square opening at the front of the barn where their tractors lifted in the hay. He’d always loved the loft’s bird’s-eye view, which spanned most of the ranch buildings as well as the Sierra Madres in the background. He chuckled, remembering the times he’d seen Matt coming and dropped in front of him when he walked into the barn. And how his brother jumped and screeched like a girl.

  Matt. What was he to think about the news clippings? He stared at the ceiling of exposed rafters and unfinished wood, relishing the solitude and the smell of the wood and hay, the rustlings of mice, the snorts and snuffles of the horses below. He didn’t even mind the tart odor of dung. I should bring Kate up here. She’d love the view. When she could manage the ladder—and if she didn’t go to jail.

  He rubbed his jaw. That wasn’t fair. Every employee was innocent until proven guilty. Kate was as innocent as he was, even though she was obviously hiding something. Maybe it had something to do with the guy who broke into her cabin. But was it possible? Could there a connection between him and Kate? And maybe Manuel? He wanted to believe in Kate. And he wanted Manuel to be innocent.

  Then there was the Cyrus problem. Maybe the old guy ran off with the money. The timing was suspicious. Maybe he killed the bison. He’d never approved of the herd. But then, neither did the Clifford brothers.

  Rubbing his neck, he tilted his head. Someone was coming up the ladder.

  “Mike, what are you doing up here?”

  He glanced over his shoulder to see his mom, her chin level with the loft floor. “Thinking.”

  “Mind if I join you?”

  He made room for her on the hay bale.

  She sat beside him. “I’ve always loved the scene framed by that opening.” She patted his arm. “Sorry to interrupt you, but it is nice to have a private moment together.”

  “Yeah. Doesn’t happen much these days. Did you want to talk about something?”

  She shook her head. “Sometimes I come to the loft when I get lonesome for your dad.” She gestured toward the hay window. “It makes me feel good to look out there and see all we accomplished together. We were both very proud of this ranch.”

  “You should be. I often think I’m the luckiest guy alive to be able to live here.”

  “And I’m lucky—blessed—to have you here.” Tears balanced on her lashes. “This summer would not have been possible without you.”

  “Thanks.” He put his arm around her. “It’s been tough. I can’t help but think the wheels of the ranch would run smoother if Dad were alive. And Matt. He would keep things hopping.”

  “I bet he would.” She laughed and wiped at her tears. “I have to admit I feel cheated we didn’t get to know him as an adult. He would have been such a fine young man, probably married with kids by now.”

  Her brow furrowed. “But that would make me a grandma, and I’m not sure I could handle being called Grandma Duncan. That name belonged to your grandmother.”

  He chuckled. “Well, obviously, you don’t have to worry about grandchildren for a while.” He placed his hands on his knees. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure, anything.”

  He looked down, chafing his thumbs against his Levis. “How did Matt die?”

  “You were there—”

  He turned to her. “But I don’t remember anything about it. All I know is I convinced Matt to let me drive on the highway, we had an accident and I ended up in the hospital. I couldn’t go to the funeral.” He swallowed. “I never got to say goodbye.’”

  She rubbed his back. “I’m so sorry.”

  “I killed Matt, Mom. I killed my own brother.”

  “No, Mike. That’s not how it was.” She massaged the spot on her finger where her wedding ring had sat for so many years. “A drunk named Gilbert Martin rammed into you with his pickup truck. As far as I know, he’s still locked up.”

  “I was twelve. I shouldn’t have been driving
. Plus, I knew we weren’t supposed to be on the highway.”

  “As the older, licensed person, Matt should have obeyed the law—and your father. In that sense, he was more at fault than you.”

  She stood and walked to the edge of the loft. “You may not know this, but I fought for years to forgive Martin. He killed my older son and severely injured my younger one. One day I read an article that likened unforgiveness to a noxious weed that sends fat, ugly roots deep into our souls. Though nobody can see those roots, the blossoms of bitterness and the fruit of hatred are very apparent. Right then I realized I was becoming a bitter hateful woman, and I had to let it go.”

  She turned to Mike. “Your situation is different, but similar. I picture the root of guilt as having thousands of secondary roots that strangle the soul the way a root-bound plant chokes itself in a pot. The flower of guilt is a perpetual sense of shame, and the shriveled fruit is an impaired relationship with God. He promises to forgive us, but if we don’t accept his forgiveness and let him remove the guilt, we will spiritually and emotionally wither up and die. Does that make sense?”

  He nodded. It was true. He hadn’t accepted God’s forgiveness.

  She crouched in front of him. “You and I lost the two people most precious to us. Remember when Pastor Chuck said troubles and losses in life are not meant to defeat us but to develop us?”

  “Yeah.”

  “We can’t live in the past. We have to live in the present and look forward to what God has in store for us. As Dymple would say, when our cup of life is filled with chokecherries, it’s time to make jelly.”

  She took his hands. “I am sorry.” She paused. “Terribly sorry for not helping you through your grief and guilt after Matt died, for being too caught up in my own grief to see yours. Will you forgive me?”

  “Of course.” He’d never really blamed her or Dad. Just himself.

  “I forgive you for your part in the accident. God has already forgiven you. Now you need to forgive yourself and let go of the guilt.”

  He hung his head. “I should have talked with you years ago about all this.”

  “We still have each other. Together, we’ll hang onto the Whispering Pines. We’ll maintain everything your father—and Matt—worked so hard to create. And we’ll build a future for ourselves—and my grandchildren. Deal?”