Cody shoved his brother and ran toward Anna, still dragging Allison. “Mrs. Buffalo fights buffalo just like dad. She shoots them and blows them into a zillion pieces of steak.”
“Are you hungry, Cody?” Wyatt asked. That was a question that, in his son’s whole life, only had one answer.
Both boys began shouting about how hungry they were.
“I want steak. Can we have buffalo steak?” Cody—of course.
“No! Cookies!” Colt shoved Cody sideways. “Anna made chocolate chip cookies yesterday.”
“We ate them all, stupid,” Cody sneered.
“I’m not stupid. You’re stupid.” Colt launched himself at Cody.
“I hid some,” Anna announced. The teenager was wise beyond her years. “This way.” She pointed at the kitchen.
Both boys quit wrestling, yelled, and headed out of the room, abandoning Allison and dragging Anna with them, telling her all about what Mrs. Buffalo had said, or rather their wildly altered version of it.
“Dad’s a hero. He saved a hundred lives,” Cody said.
Colt shouted, “That’s more’n Spiderman.”
“That’s more’n Spiderman and Superman combined.” Cody elbowed Colt and ran.
Anna glanced over her shoulder. “I’ll bring coffee in a minute.” She followed the boys into the kitchen.
His guest sank into a chair and stared after the boys.
Wyatt tried his best not to smile. Then he remembered who he was dealing with, and it was easy not to smile.
She turned to him. “Where do they get all that energy?”
“They tap it straight out of my bloodstream. I’m half dead by nightfall.” He said it lightly, but it irritated him that she seemed so horrified by his children.
“My niece is a handful, but she can’t touch the two of them.”
He hung on to his patience. “Your niece?”
Allison nodded. “Yes, Sally, the little girl whose life you saved this afternoon, right before you saved your three children.”
Wyatt’s temper cooled a little. “Anna’s my niece. She’s staying for the summer to babysit.”
“That’s good. ’Cuz she’d’ve been born when you were about nine.”
“She was born when I was nine. But my sister and her husband were doing the honors, so no one considered me too young.” He was flirting. He ran into a mental brick wall as the idea bloomed to life in his head. He hadn’t flirted with a woman since he’d fallen in love with Jessica in college.
Allison returned to buffalo talk. “You didn’t just save Sally and your family. You herded my buffalo toward me so we could tranquilize him. Then you saved me.”
“After Wolf had already done it once. Not to mention being nearly crushed under that gate when you let that beast get loose to begin with.” Wyatt changed his tone, determined to push Allison out of his head and out of his house. “And I understand you’re the new boss? Great.”
“Only for a while. The permanent boss comes in a few months. I have the credentials Mr. Leonard wants for his buffalo ranch, but Wolf will still run the day-to-day operations.”
“You’ve spent most of this day screwing up big-time, Allison.”
Allison didn’t react as he expected. “And it’s early. I’ll be half dead by nightfall. And call me Buffy. It’s gotten so I can’t remember being Allison.”
“Well, Sunday is my day of rest, so from now on, you’re on your own. . .um, Buffy.” He shook his head. “I can’t call you that. You look nothing like a buffalo.”
She smiled. “Thanks. So there you were, saving people right and left. And by way of thanks, I shouted at you.”
Wyatt felt compelled to add, “And strangled me, and poked me in the chest, and called me crazy, and threatened to set the sheriff on me, and—”
Buffy held up her hand. “Enough, please. I’ll be here all day apologizing. Surely you want to get rid of me.”
Wyatt thought how true that was, and he was poised to say so when Anna came back in with the coffee. “The boys said Uncle Wyatt saved your life. We were down by the lake when all this happened. We just barely caught a glimpse of the buffalo before Uncle Wyatt drove it away. Tell me about it.”
So Buffy, instead of being politely but rapidly dismissed as Wyatt had planned, settled in to tell the whole story, complete with Sally screaming and her own near death under a gate. Then the grand finale, when she was snatched from the jaws of death—or the horns of death—by Wyatt’s heroic action.
Wyatt gritted his teeth when his boys came in and listened with silent fascination to the whole tale, which Buffy recounted far more dramatically than Wyatt thought was necessary, casting him in a superhero role that easily outdid Spiderman and Superman on their best days. That’s all he needed—more stimulation for the boys.
Buffy talked with her hands and did Wyatt’s voice, almost echoing with valor, and Wolf’s voice, wise and deep. She did herself, weak and terrified, in the very best tradition of a damsel in distress. It was alive and dramatic. Wyatt thought, with a little work, she could make it on Broadway. She glowed while she talked, every emotion vivid and full. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.
When she was done, the boys began to act it out, with a lot more screaming than Buffy had included and way more shooting.
It broke the spell she’d put him under. Wyatt stood the racket and Buffy’s pretty face as long as he could, and finally, when the boys had dashed outside so they could create their drama on a larger stage, he said, “Well, I need to get back to my day of rest.”
He watched her looking nervously after his boys, and when she didn’t take his hint, he stood, took her hand, and towed her gently but firmly out of Jessica’s fussy chair. Touching her was a mistake. Her hand was callused from hard work, but the back of it was as smooth as silk. She was tanned almost as dark as he was. Everything about her said she was an outdoor girl who loved animals and the country, everything his wife hadn’t been. He had to get her out of here.
He escorted her firmly toward the door and booted a rather surprised Mrs. Buffalo out of his house and left her standing on his front porch. He only let her out that way because he wanted her to be able to find her truck.
He was going to close the door in her face and hope that eventually she’d figure it out and go home. Then, because she had that strange look in her eyes like his boys had frightened her more than that charging buffalo this afternoon, a perverse streak kicked in. “You know, talk is cheap, Buffalo Gal. If you’re not up to controlling that menace you call a buffalo commons, then get out and take your buffalo with you.”
Her eyes focused a little, and he thought he saw something worse than a woman who didn’t like his children. He saw a woman who didn’t like herself very much.
That strange flash of self-doubt faded from her eyes quickly, and she replaced it with her sharp tongue. “What’s your real problem with me and my buffalo? Today was bad, and I can’t thank you enough for your help, but you were already angry with the Commons before Bill got away.”
“My problem is, your boss is an arrogant city boy whose money is screwing up this whole country. His dream is to own every acre of land out here and let buffalo roam loose on it.”
“He buys it. He doesn’t steal it from anyone. Who cares what he does with it?”
“I care. He pays too much for it. He’s so rich he doesn’t need to make the land pay, so every time a piece of land comes up for sale, he outbids every rancher in the area, which locks out any chance for young men to get a start or for established ranchers to expand their holdings.”
“Meaning you,” she accused flatly.
“Yes, meaning me. I have wanted to add to my land for a long time, but I’ve butted up against Leonard everywhere. He practically owns all of the land in a circle around the S Bar.”
“If he’s willing to pay it, then that’s what it’s worth. That’s how supply and demand works. Maybe you’ve heard of it? Capitalism?”
“And my taxes skyrocket because
he’s pushed land values up. This land doesn’t return much per acre, because the watering holes are far apart, wells are expensive to dig and maintain, and the grasslands are broken up by the rugged foothills. But your boss comes in here and doesn’t need it to pay ’cuz he’s rich. It’s the same as if someone came waltzing in here and offered to do your job for free. It doesn’t hurt them because they’re rich, but maybe, just maybe, you need that pesky money to feed yourself.”
Indignantly, Buffy swung her braid over her shoulder. Wyatt followed the graceful movement of her head and tried to remember why he was yelling at her. She jammed her fists against her waist and reminded him. “This area once belonged to the buffalo. They are native to it, and it’s more natural to have them roaming than your cattle. You’re the newcomer here, not my buffalo.”
“Newcomer? My great-great-grandfather homesteaded this land. Shaws have lived here since before South Dakota became a state. If I’m a newcomer, what are you?”
“I’m tending what is natural. If I had my way, this whole state and North Dakota, Nebraska, Kansas, Oklahoma, Northern Texas, Wyoming, and Colorado, all the way to the Rockies, would be part of the Buffalo Commons. You just said yourself this land barely supports a cattle herd. Mr. Leonard can’t do it all himself, but eventually, with the help of a lot of well-intentioned people, we’re giving this land back to nature the way God intended.”
Wyatt knew this was at the heart of Leonard’s Buffalo Commons. He’d always known, although no one ever admitted it out loud. He had a feeling Buffy wouldn’t be doing it right now if she wasn’t so upset. “Giving it back to God? You just displaced about twenty million people and wiped out eighty percent of America’s beef supply. Where are we all supposed to live? What are we supposed to eat?”
“I’m a vegetarian, so I’ll be fine, and as for where you live—”
She poked him in the chest, which took them right back to where they’d been this afternoon. Wyatt decided right then he wasn’t going to be nearly as polite about her next apology—
“I hear there’s a lot of empty space in Siberia these days. How about that?”
“A vegetarian?” Wyatt snorted. “I suppose you’re one of those PETA freaks who are always vandalizing medical labs and posing naked on billboards protesting fur.”
“I’ve got my membership card in the car. National, state, and local chapters.”
Wyatt grabbed her hand to make her stop digging a hole in his chest and leaned down until he was right in her face. “There aren’t any local chapters. This is South Dakota. We have a hunting season on people who won’t eat meat.”
And right when he was going to really let her have it, give her the full and final send-off—which he hadn’t thought of yet but figured he’d just yell until it came to him—the boys charged around the corner of the house, shooting each other, of course.
She said tartly, “Maybe instead of a hunting season, you ought to try an education season to teach children shooting isn’t a game.”
Wyatt almost choked. His rage faded into something hard and cold and bitter. He’d been furious with her, but he’d had political debates with people and never went away mad.
Through clenched teeth he said, “I don’t have to stand here and listen to an educated idiot insult my children. You may have college degrees coming out of your ears, but anyone who lets a buffalo loose in a yard full of people is either incompetent or stupid. I’m betting you’re both.”
He glared at her and saw her eyes widen. She lifted her hand to cover her mouth, glanced at his boys, and said from behind her fingers, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult your boys. They’re wonderful. I was upset, and I shouldn’t have—”
His boys charged up to her. They looked at her with shining eyes and included her in their hero worship.
Wyatt wondered how much they’d heard.
“There’s cookies left. And we’re having buffaler steak for supper. Why don’t you stay?” Colt grabbed her hand.
She bent over him and ran her free hand over his dark hair. “I’m sorry, Colt. I have to get back to my own place.”
“How do you know it’s me?” Colt’s heart was in his eyes.
She said kindly, “Why, you’re Colt.” She looked sideways at Cody and brushed her hand in an identical motion over Cody’s unruly curls. “And you’re Cody.”
“But no one can tell us apart. ’Cept Dad,” Cody said in awe. “We even fool Anna all the time.”
Wyatt saw both of them fall completely in love with her in that instant, and he wanted to scream at her for making them care when she held them and him and their whole life in contempt.
She glanced up at him and visibly flinched at what she saw in his eyes. Good.
“I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry you can tell us apart?” Cody said, confused. “Is that what an educated idiot means?”
So they’d heard that. Had they heard her make that crack about them shooting at each other? Of course, truth be told, Wyatt got a little tired of the constant shooting, too.
“No, I’m not sorry I can tell you apart,” she said awkwardly. “I was telling your dad I was sorry.”
“For what? What’d ya do? We have to say we’re sorry all the time.” Colt added in a deadly serious voice, “And we have to mean it.”
She looked so sorry and was being so nice to the boys, but Wyatt had been married to Jessica too long to ignore the words that came out in the heat of the moment. In his experience, that was the only time a woman told the truth.
“Tell us again about what a hero Dad was,” Cody demanded. “We want to hear the part where the buffalo stabbed you with his horns and was shaking you to death when Dad yanked you loose.”
“I want to hear the part when Dad jumped on the buffalo’s back with a knife in his teeth.” Colt started chewing on his shirt collar again.
“Miss Lange has to go now, boys. You’ve already heard the story. Say good-bye.”
She laid her hand on his arm. “Don’t do this. Don’t send me away without accepting my apology. You’ve got to forget I said that. I’m around buffalo too much. I’ve forgotten how to watch my mouth.”
“Or you’ve forgotten how to lie.” Wyatt grabbed both boys by the hands and pulled them, protesting at the top of their lungs, into the house.
They took off toward the kitchen, shooting at each other again.
“Wyatt, please. Wait.”
He slammed the door in her face; then he clicked the lock on the front door so hard he felt it snap inside the door. He fumbled with it a second and realized he’d broken it. The door was locked for good. Wyatt looked around the room. His shrine. His reminder. Suddenly he knew he didn’t need Jessica to remind him of how a woman could be. He had a new neighbor who’d be doing that better than Jessica ever had.
“Boys, how’d you like a bigger bedroom?” he yelled loud enough to draw them back from their wild-game hunt. . .or wild-cookie hunt probably.
They returned, still protesting the loss of Mrs. Buffalo, but the offer of more space turned their attention.
“Sure, Dad,” Cody said.
How had she been able to tell the boys apart? They were so identical that Jessica had left their hospital bracelets on until they were nearly two, taking them in to have them replaced when they got tight. Little more than toddlers, they’d already learned to trick her all the time, right up until she died four years ago. They’d made a joke out of it, but he knew it had hurt them that their own mother couldn’t tell them apart.
“Are you going to build on to the house?” Colt tugged on the leg of Wyatt’s blue jeans.
“No, we’re going to throw out this old pink furniture and move you in here.” Wyatt swept his arm to erase all of Jessica’s fussy, perfect details.
Colt and Cody exploded into hyperactive joy.
Anna came in to see what the trouble was. She got excited when Wyatt told her he was making the boys’ bedroom into a room for her. “What brought this on?” she asked.
“I’d just about forgotten this room existed is all. I can’t believe I’ve let this space go to waste.”
“When do we start?”
“Right now,” Wyatt said through clenched teeth.
Anna gave him a worried look.
“I’m going to hitch up the stock trailer and start hauling things outside.” He glanced at the broken door and was suddenly furious that he couldn’t open it. He’d have to take it off its hinges. He blamed that inconvenience on Mrs. Buffalo, too.
He heard a truck start up and drive slowly out of the driveway. Only now did Wyatt realize that Buffy must have stood in the yard all this time, probably hating herself for insulting his children, the one thing any parent—which she wasn’t—would know was unforgivable.
A little voice in Wyatt’s head whispered, “Nothing is unforgivable.”
Wyatt looked over at the picture Jessica had hung over the back of the couch. It was a radiant sunset. The stark silhouette of an empty cross stood black against the glorious sky. Across the bottom of the picture blazed the words, Jesus Is the Light of the World.
On this he and Jessica had agreed. They’d been at odds on so much, but they’d tried to accept their differences, sometimes with grim patience, and respect the commitment they’d made before God. This picture was the one thing he wasn’t going to throw away.
He tried to harden his heart. He tried to ignore the picture. But he was wrong. Buffy had apologized, and she’d meant it. She’d been arguing with him mainly because he’d been hassling her from the moment she’d come here with her gracious apology and her exaggerated story of his own heroism—a gift to his children that they would cherish all their lives. Or at least until they were teenagers and figured out what a weirdo their dad was.
Yes, she’d said something rude when he’d pushed her to the brink. But she’d immediately regretted it. He’d seen that clearly in her eyes.
He listened to the fading sound of her truck and knew the truth, disgusting as it was. He needed to forgive her. Even more that that, he owed her an apology.
He stared sightlessly through the walls of his house across the miles to the Buffalo Commons. He had to go over there. It was his turn to grovel. At this rate, they’d wear out their tires slinking back and forth with their grudging apologies. Except hers hadn’t been grudging; hers had been beautiful. She was beautiful.
Buffalo Gal Page 3