Winds of Wyoming (A Kate Neilson Novel)

by Lyles, Rebecca Carey

  “Oh, Jer …” She leaned toward him, fingernails against the glass. “I thought we were a team—in this together.”

  “In what together?”

  She regarded him from beneath arched eyebrows. “You and I are good together. I have plans. You could join me.” She puckered her lips and batted her barely adhered eyelashes. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

  Here she goes again. But he had to admit he was curious. Plus, he’d like to get his hands on that rock on her finger. Had to be worth several grand. He was tired of messing with Neilson. Trina, or whatever her name was, was more his style. Still, his Pittsburgh woman would suffer the consequences for the misery she’d heaped on his head.

  ***

  Kate reached for the cranberry juice Dymple had just poured for her. “Thanks, Dymple. Isn’t this a gorgeous morning?” The sun was shining and a warm breeze tinted with traces of lilacs and sweet peas perfumed the patio.

  “That it is.” Dymple set the pitcher on the table and sat across from Kate. “Are you feeling better this morning?”

  “Much better. Thanks for making me eat lunch after the Tara incident yesterday. I think it helped me sleep. I don’t know how many hours I slept, but I didn’t wake up until I heard the birds chirping this morning.”

  “I checked on you a couple times, but you didn’t even stir.”

  Kate bit into a toasted English muffin spread with real butter and Dymple’s homemade chokecherry jelly. “This is fabulous jelly, Dymple. If they have chokecherries in Pennsylvania, I never heard of them. Maybe it’s because I lived in the city.”

  “Chokecherries are mostly seed and too sour to eat in their natural state. At least that’s how most folks feel about them. But with plenty of sweetener, they make good jelly—and syrup and wine. Years ago, someone dubbed my wine Dymple’s Delight, and the name stuck.” She slid her chair back. “I’ll bring you a sample.”

  Kate motioned for her to stay seated. “It sounds delicious, but I don’t usually have wine with breakfast. Besides, it might interact with my meds in ways you wouldn’t appreciate.”

  “I’ll have to take you chokecherry picking later in the summer. Sometimes I go alone, and sometimes I go with women from the church. We have a grand old time laughing and gabbing.”

  “I would love that, if …” Kate looked away.

  Dymple waggled a finger at her. “I know what you’re thinking. If you’re still here, if you don’t go to jail, if you can walk. I know it’s hard not to have a sense of what the future holds, but how about living one day at a time? There’s a scripture that says, ‘This is the day the Lord has made. We will rejoice and be glad in it.’ I learned long ago that my thoughts get out of control when I think too hard about what might or might not happen.”

  “Okay. This is a wonderful day, a fabulous day. I will enjoy every moment, starting with another muffin with lots of jelly.”

  “That’s my girl.” Dymple passed the muffins. “Would you care to go over to the cemetery with me this morning?”

  “I’d love to. But will I be able to use my wheelchair? I’d hate to make tread marks across someone’s grave.”

  Dymple laughed. “That won’t happen unless you wander off the path.”

  ***

  Tired by the effort it took to roll her chair to the cemetery, Kate parked under the shade of a wide tree to catch her breath and rest her arms. She watched Dymple hobble around the grounds. In spite of her stiff joints, the elderly woman bent low to pick up errant plastic blossoms and reached high to snap off straggly branches.

  Kate lifted her hair to cool her neck. Would she be as active and gracious as Dymple and Aunt Mary when she was older? Would she have a garden to tend? Or would she spend her latter years surrounded by razor wire? She shook her head. She would not think about the future—only about today, this beautiful day. And how good it had been to talk with Aunt Mary and Amy yesterday.

  She waved to Dymple and called her name. “I’m going to the church for a few minutes, if that’s okay.”

  “Of course. Just don’t wear yourself out.”

  Kate entered Highway Haven House of God through the side door, which had only a single step to negotiate. Using the railing, she pulled herself upright then stood on one foot while she rolled the chair up the step. She hopped inside, leaning on the wheelchair back for support. The first thing she noticed was the collection box at the far end of the room.

  Kate winced. She must have looked like a deer caught in headlights, guilt written across her face, when Dymple first saw her. A lot of horrible things had happened since that day, but she was glad she didn’t run away, and glad she’d met Dymple-with-a-Y Louise Forbes.

  The rustic chapel’s peaceful atmosphere hadn’t diminished. She angled herself onto a front pew with her feet stretched out before her, her back to the door she’d just entered. Enveloped in a warm shaft of sunshine, she felt wrapped in love, cocooned by her Savior’s goodness.

  “Lord,” she whispered, “I thought I finally had my life under control when I walked in here a few weeks ago. But it only took moments before I blew it again. And things went downhill from there. I don’t want to dwell on the past or the future, because I’m loving this moment. Thank you for allowing me to enjoy another day on the outside.

  “But I’m terrified of going back to prison. Something inside me says if I return, I’ll never leave. That may not be true, but if nothing else, it would break Aunt Mary’s heart.

  “Help me trust that you have a purpose for my life and believe you’ll make this craziness turn out for good. And please don’t let Ramsey harm Dymple. If he comes for me—or I should say, ‘when he comes for me,’ I won’t be able to protect her, so you’ll have to do it.”

  She thought of the only service she’d been able to attend at Highway Haven and remembered the beautiful sound of the congregation singing How Great Thou Art. She began to sing the song, grateful she was alone in the chapel.

  She had just concluded the first verse, when a male voice joined hers.

  Kate stopped singing and turned her head.

  Pastor Chuck and his wife, Wanda, walked in the back door. He motioned for Kate to continue. Together, the three of them sang to the ceiling and beyond. The song resonated between the rafters until they sang the final chorus and Chuck said, “Amen.”

  Wanda sat on the other end of the pew, her arms full of banners. “You’re looking better than when we last saw you. How are you feeling?”

  The kind couple had visited Kate twice in the hospital. She appreciated Wanda’s sweet spirit and enjoyed her husband’s dry humor. “Today is a good day. I slept a lot yesterday, which seemed to help. I haven’t had to take a single pain pill today.”

  “Good for you. But don’t try to be Superwoman. Take the pills if you need them. My mother, who was a nurse, always said we relax when the pain diminishes, and that helps the healing.” She rested an elbow on the pew back. “I’m sorry we interrupted your private moment. We came to decorate the chapel for the Fourth.”

  Chuck, who stood nearby, folded his arms. “I’m not sorry.”

  Wanda frowned at her husband. “Chuck, you don’t mean that.”

  “Weren’t you just stewing about how we need to find a soprano for the Fourth?”

  “Yes, but what does …?” She raised her eyebrows and looked at Kate. “Oh, I see what you mean.”

  Kate looked from Wanda to Chuck. “What are you two talking about?”

  “Sorry.” Wanda patted her leg. “We’ve been wondering where we could find a soprano for the parade. Wendy, our regular singer, will be out of town that weekend.”

  “Parade?”

  “Every Fourth of July, Copperville hosts an old-fashioned Independence Day celebration. We have a parade in the morning, games, contests and races in the afternoon, and fireworks at night. People come from all over. Everybody has a great time.”

  “Most of the businesses and community groups enter floats.” Chuck leaned against the altar. “Som
e of them are exotic. Ours will be simple this year, featuring the music of our church band.”

  “But we need another vocalist.” Wanda smiled. “You have a beautiful voice, Kate. Would you consider singing with the band? It would just be for the Fourth, that’s all.”

  “I’m honored you asked, but I doubt I’ll be out of my wheelchair by then or off …” She hated to mention her house arrest, even to a pastor and his wife.

  “We’ll nail a chair to the truck bed.” Chuck wielded an invisible hammer. “You can sit the whole way.”

  Wanda laughed. “Which won’t be far. If you’ve driven Copperville’s main drag, you know it’s short. Several years ago, the committee decided to have the parade move from one end of town to the other then turn around and go back again. It’s humorous but fun to see both sides of the floats.”

  Chuck grinned. “And the kids get to chase another round of candy in the street.”

  The couple looked at Kate with such expectation she almost agreed to sing, but she knew she couldn’t commit without permission from the Sheriff’s Department. “Can I let you know later?”

  “Yes, but please call me as soon as possible.” Wanda stood. “Our only practice is scheduled for a week from Thursday. We’d love to have you join us.”

  “Just one practice?”

  “Is that a problem?”

  Kate felt her face grow warm. “I don’t know many religious songs.”

  “You probably know patriotic songs.” Chuck straightened and placed his hand over his heart. “America the Beautiful, God Bless America, The Star-Spangled Banner …”

  “I do, but—”

  Wanda nodded. “That’s the kind of songs we’ll be singing. Maybe This Land Is Your Land and a contemporary song or two.”

  “We sang all those in my school choir.” And the juvenile correctional facility choir, and the jail choir, and the prison choir ...

  ***

  One phone call from Dymple to Sheriff Gilmer cleared the way for Kate to join the band practice, sing on the parade float and attend the July Fourth festivities. Though Dymple acted as if Kate had been asked to perform for the president, Kate had a feeling she’d be the Pennsylvania fool on display, the talk of the town. “Just about the time the WP’s cash was stolen,” they’d say, “Kate Neilson dropped out of sight. Now she’s back, trying to look religious by singing on a church float. Can you believe the nerve?”

  They wouldn’t understand, as usual. Yet, a voice deep within seemed to say, “Go ahead, Kate. Show up and watch me work.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “HEY, GUYS.” WANDA MOTIONED toward Kate. “In case you haven’t met her, this is Kate Neilson. With a little arm twisting, she agreed to join us on the parade.”

  “Looks like you twisted her leg, not her arm.” The grinning bass player threaded his way between cables to shake her hand. “You’re a saint to help us out, Kate, especially with your leg in a cast. “I’m Jackson.”

  Kate took his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  The drummer raised a drumstick above his head. “I’m Monty. Are you the gal who got attacked by a wolf pack?”

  Kate glanced at Mike.

  His back to her, he bent down to plug in a speaker.

  She swallowed the hurt. “Some wolves attacked Mike’s dog, but not me.”

  “So what happened to your leg?”

  Before Kate could answer, Wanda said, “You’re sure nosy tonight, Monty.”

  “Just curious.”

  Kate laughed. “It’s a long story, but the short version is that I was thrown off a horse.”

  “At the Whispering Pines?”

  “Right.”

  They all looked at Mike, who shrugged his shoulders. “Can we get this show on the road?”

  Her heartbeat slowed to a dull thump. Mike didn’t want anything to do with her. He’d only called once since the day he left Dymple’s house mad. She’d tried to explain her situation, but she’d bungled it and he’d quickly ended the call. Later, she’d left a message for him on the office answering machine. But he’d never returned her call.

  She sighed. He’d probably learned about her past from Tara. She maneuvered her chair through the maze of microphones and music stands, biting her lip to keep from crying.

  Mike’s stiff shoulders throughout the long practice broadcast the barrier between his heart and hers. Kate angled her wheelchair another direction in order to concentrate on the music. The moment the practice ended, she rolled toward the door, calling her goodbyes over her shoulder. Wanda helped her lower the chair down the side step.

  She hadn’t covered much distance when she heard her name called. She swung the wheelchair around.

  Mike strode toward her, the light from the doorway outlining his body against the dark sky.

  Her heart did a handspring. Maybe they’d talk and clear the air.

  He stopped several feet from her. ”Why are you doing this?”

  She could see him clench and unclench his fists. “Doing what?”

  “Singing with the group.”

  “Because Wanda and Chuck asked me to.”

  “First you ask me not to tell people where you are, which has made my life plenty difficult. Then you decide to ride on a parade float, where the entire county will see you. Doesn’t add up, Kate.”

  She looked down.

  “So, what’s the deal?” He blew what sounded like an exasperated huff through his nose.

  She lifted her chin. “Wanda said they needed a soprano, so I …” How could she tell him that, despite danger he didn’t know about, she believed God wanted her to sing in the parade?

  He cursed, something she’d never heard him do before. “If it’s that hard to explain, don’t bother. From the moment you came to Copperville, you’ve left a trail of questions. Why not another one.”

  Kate gripped the arms of her chair. “Did you tell Tara Hughes I’m staying with Dymple?”

  “I can’t believe you asked me that.” He swiveled and marched toward the chapel.

  “Mike, wait, please.” She hated to beg, but they had to find a way to dissolve the tension between them.

  Hand on the railing, he stopped.

  “I’m sorry. That was a low blow. Tara came to Dymple’s house looking for me right after I got out of the hospital. I didn’t know how she knew …”

  Mike twisted toward her. “So you assumed—”

  Kate swallowed. She had to say it. “I’d seen you with her by the barn. You seemed close. But I believe you when you say you didn’t tell her. And I apologize for making an assumption without asking you about it.” She stopped—and waited.

  For a long moment, he stood still, his shoulders squared against the yellow light. “I apologize for my language. Better go help the team pack up the equipment.”

  Kate slowly rotated her chair to face a cemetery shrouded by nightfall. They’d apologized to each other, but had they made any inroads in the impasse? She should have told him how much she missed him. But did he miss her? If tonight was any indication, the answer was no.

  ***

  Mike took a curve fast—too fast for the old truck. The tires squealed, but he didn’t care. He’d blown it with Kate. He might as well blow a tire. The night air whooshed through the open windows and slapped at his face.

  She made him crazy. Not the way Hughes made him crazy, but the way she refused to open up. From the beginning, she’d been reticent and mysterious. All questions and no answers. Even so, he wished he’d told her about the upcoming bison sale. On second thought, what did she care about his buffalo? She chose to leave the ranch, though they’d asked her to stay.

  He rubbed his jaw. Why was he so upset? Not only had he and Kate not committed to an exclusive relationship, she evidently had something going with Clint. Yet, like the first time she’d ridden in Old Blue with him, tonight he’d sensed her pain and longed to hold and comfort her.

  A skunk ambled onto the highway. Mike slowed and swerved to avoid it. He picked
up speed again. Why hadn’t Chuck and Wanda told him they’d asked her to join the team? The moment he saw her in the doorway, he’d become completely discombobulated, barely able to breathe, let alone play his guitar.

  He circled the base of a hill. The radio lost the station and momentarily hissed empty airwaves. Mike massaged his temple. How could Kate even suggest he’d reveal her location? Why didn’t she trust him?

  Then it hit him. He’d told her about his part in Matt’s death. She had good reason not to trust him. He eyed the sliver of moon that followed his progress from just above the hill. Though he was offended by her accusation, he didn’t have a right to be rude or to leave Kate to find her way in the dark through a minefield of tombstones and tree trunks—in a wheelchair she needed because of him.

  He smacked his forehead with the heel of his hand. He could have at least offered her a flashlight or pushed her wheelchair to the house—or given her a ride. Now it was too late. He and the team had spent half an hour packing up the sound equipment. Surely she’d made it home by now. But maybe not.

  He braked to a stop on the deserted highway and made a fast U-turn. Dymple’s place was less than five miles back.

  Within minutes, he parked alongside the entrance to her driveway. For a moment, the pickup’s headlights illuminated the dragonflies and hummingbirds on her blue mailbox. He cut the lights and the engine, got out the passenger side and slipped through the partially open gate.

  His plan was to knock on the front door and ask Dymple if Kate had returned. But as he neared the structure, he saw light spilling from the side of the house onto the patio and thought he heard voices. Rather than bother Dymple, he decided to take a quick peek to see if Kate was inside.

  From behind a bush, he looked through the patio screen. Both women were in the house, thank God. They appeared to be having an animated discussion. Curious to hear what Kate had to say about him—he’d given her plenty to talk about, if she cared to mention him at all—he inched closer.

  But then he checked himself. He’d learned what he needed to know. Time to go.