by Tanya Hanson
“Now, you lay over there”—Scott pointed to a corner, and the big light brown dog with the nutty ears obeyed—”while I unpack this last box. Then maybe we can get in a short ride.”
Quickly but neatly, he stashed the last of the goods, letting memories roil now, memories of Lori Lazaro. How could he not allow it? The Cowboy—Lori’s nickname for the dog— was a constant reminder. It had been Lori’s idea for him to take on the pup at the feed store adoption two summers ago.
“Come on, Scott. Those ears. He’s too cute. He needs a home bad. You’ve got so much room at Hearts Crossing. Gramps just has his little auto shop. A puppy would be miserable.”
“Ernie might need a watchdog.”
“In Mountain Cove? Come on. He’s beautiful. I’d love to take him, but I’ll be going back to San Antonio soon…”
But she hadn’t. She’d stayed for him. And for her, and those pleading black eyes, he had adopted the pup. Her two week visit to her grandfather had stretched until autumn. And then she vanished.
They’d had no troubles between them, had mentioned marriage in the casual, indirect way of any single twenty-five-year olds attracted to each other. So her running off without a word had shocked his soul. Oh, her grandpa knew whatever reason it was, but cranky old Ernie Murietta wouldn’t say. And Scott had Space Cowboy around to remind him, each and every day.
Last Christmas, Lori Lazaro had finally returned to Mountain Cove, to seek out Scott, bare her soul and make her peace.
Sympathy washed over him again, but the feelings for Lori were long gone. They could have made it. If she’d been honest with him. If she’d trusted him enough.
At least he’d learned from her that honesty and trust would be on the forefront of any relationship he had next.
Done with his task, he locked up the gift shop, the Cowboy at his heels, just as Mary Grace Gibson bounded down the porch steps. His heart raced, and he itched to turn back inside the gift shop. But she’d seen him and no way was a Martin ever rude. The hospitality business was one of their mainstays, after all. And she was his brother’s substitute, his ma’s houseguest. So what she’d refused his date? He grabbed on to a hearty smile as he returned her wave.
A ride through God’s country always settled his fusses and his fumes. Why not ask her along and see what might happen next?
****
Blast it. If Mary Grace had left one minute ago instead of admiring Mrs. Martin’s collection of porcelain cowboy boots, she wouldn’t be running into Scott now. With air stopping in her throat and heat rippling her veins.
“How’d the lesson planning go?” he asked, polite.
Well, avoiding him might be the only way to stop feelings she shouldn’t feel, but she couldn’t be rude. In a round-about way, she was his guest.
“Really well.” Like gym weights, she balanced a laptop and a briefcase in each hand. “But Kenn’s so good. The kids will be aching for him to get better instead of dealing with little ol’ me.”
His face darkened, and she decided he thought she was fishing for a compliment. And maybe she was. She hadn’t had one since the Fourth of July. So she plunged ahead. “What’s this building?”
He pointed to a string of chili pepper-shaped lights strung around the window. “Gift shop now. Used to be our grammaw’s granny flat. And art studio. She was quite the Western painter.”
Silence fell that needed to be filled beyond the rush of autumn wind and whickering horses. Scott must have agreed, for he went on, “I’ve been loading up new items in the storeroom.”
“You run the shop?”
“The online part. But I do keep track of all inventory. Karen Densmore, Pike’s mother-in-law, runs it for the most part.”
“Densmore? Daisy Densmore? Sounds familiar. I think I had her in class those years ago. Small world.”
“Small class, small town,” he muttered. “My sister-in-law now.”
Maybe she ought to say goodbye and head to her car. Hard not to recall what he’d told her on the Fourth, how all the small-town boys had had a crush on her. Himself included. But that with him, it had been more. She’d been the first person to share graphic design with him, opening a whole new world beyond the ranch. Maybe it was weird for him, having her here on his turf, the date-thing notwithstanding.
“Well, I better…” She turned her gaze toward the half-dozen horses in the corral.
“You ride?” he asked suddenly. “I’d love to go out. We got a good half hour, forty-five minutes before feeding time.”
Without answering, Mary Grace looked away from him and down at her sneakers and jeans. He was just being polite, of course. A host at a guest ranch had no choice. But the wind was full of Indian summer, and her denim jacket would definitely fend off any chill coming with the setting sun. Why not?
“Yes, but it’s been a long time, I’m afraid.”
“Well, all our horses are tourist trained.” His grin was crooked, and her heart pounded. “You could be on the road to Lost Canyon in an hour.” Then the rest of his words gushed out like he couldn’t stop them. “Not a date or anything. Just a ride.”
Mary Grace had to let him off the hook. A good man. Scott Martin could turn any female head, had in fact turned hers. But in this case, she was better off with Scott as a friend.
Just like any other man she might meet.
“I’d love a ride, Scott. As for the date thing, well, I never meant to hurt your feelings. I just, I just don’t date. Not anybody. It’s complicated.”
His brows rose with curiosity. Let him think whatever he wanted. Her life was complicated. “Now let me put my stuff in the car. I can help you saddle up if you’d like.”
With a sudden devastating grin, he said, “Nope. I’ll get ‘em ready. But I admit, I like the sound of a woman who can take care of her own mount. Let’s get going. You’ve got a long drive coming up.”
After she stowed her belongings in the trunk, Scott led out a horse, a sorrel mare with one white sock. “She’s Sugarfoot,” he explained. “She’s a real sweetheart. And this here’s my Cheyenne.”
His paint gelding was a beauty in patches of different browns, white mane and white liner around deep intelligent eyes.
“Sugarfoot’ll take it easy on ya considering it’s been a while.” His guffaw was friendly, and she made herself punch his shoulder as any chum might. Even the casual touch made her skin spark when she touched him.
She mounted up just fine, but oh, it had been a while. Years. Her muscles creaked more than she’d wished, but at least she hadn’t needed the mounting block. Of course he hopped into his saddle like he was made of air. He turned his head as if looking for something.
“My dog,” he said without her asking. “He likes coming along.” He called out, “Cowboy. Space Cowboy?”
Suddenly a bundle of hairy energy flew out the doorway of the big barn. Light brown beneath, the dog looked like he’d been brushed with black paint.
“That’s a crazy name.” Mary Grace had to laugh. “Now, I get the cowboy part. He’s awesome. I can’t wait to pet him.”
“He definitely loves sugar. But the name, well…” Scott seemed to hesitate. “I adopted him with a…friend. My friend wanted a people name and picked Maurice. I overrode that suggestion.” He gave a manly snort. “But I couldn’t think of a thing. Turns out the Cowboy is a real goofball. A true space cadet. My ma said Maurice reminded her of a favorite song of hers from some band. Steve Miller.”
“Well, I love it. It’s a good one.”
They set out, riding abreast under the ranch gates hung with the brand—two intersecting hearts with a cross. A breeze bearing both chill and warmth rustled her hair, and for the first time in a long while, an inner peace gurgled deep down as fresh clean air filled her lungs.
“So you’re all set, then, for school next week,” he said.
Well, that comment crackled the nerves at the back of her neck. So much for peace. She hadn’t faced high school classrooms in years. But she managed a
chuckle.
“Oh yeah. Kenn’s remarkably organized.” Sugarfoot stomped on an uneven rock, and Mary Grace joggled in the saddle and grabbed the horn. “I guess a teacher’s aide covered his classes with worksheets and videos since the accident. But midterms are coming up, and Mr. Scovell wants some actual teaching while Kenn recovers. I’m excited. I really am. It’s sort of like coming home again.”
“I wonder if you’ll find things have changed a lot.” Scott asked almost as if he couldn’t think of anything else to say. Well, from his perspective, likely he couldn’t. His ego might not have accepted her meager excuse for not dating.
“I’m sure I will. It’s been eleven years.” Just saying the time raised her neck hairs.
“You left to get married, right?”
Ah, he’d remembered that much from the picnic. “Yeah. Grant and I got together in college.” She couldn’t hold off a smile. In those days of easygoing youth and no hardship, anything and everything had been possible. No one goes into a serious relationship with a handicapped child and divorce on their minds. “I was a cheerleader, he was the football star. University of Nebraska. He got into the pro draft his junior year, but I wanted to graduate. We did the long distance thing while I finished school and started here. Well, during my first year, he wore me down.”
A sigh puffed her cheeks. Suddenly the badness swamped her shoulders, and she ached to pull away from Scott, from his hurt feelings and his curious eyes. “We had a few good years. But things didn’t work out.”
The words choked her. She grabbed for fresh air and reined ahead in a trot. The gravel path turned up a dirt trail carved into an autumn-dappled hillside, and she slowed Sugarfoot. Around her, pine and fir still preened deep greens, but the alder and aspen had begun their colorful fall dance. The artist in her respected the beauty of golden shades blending with copper hues. But for the most part, Mary Grace didn’t like fall. To her, it signified the loss of summer, the precursor to the cold death of winter. A whole bunch of months where she never felt warm enough.
And never had anybody around to keep her so.
It was also a time of reflection as the sun set on another year. Of course some things in her life had worked out. Creighton. Although not according to Grant’s specifications. She could still hear his howls of shock about the honeymoon conception. As if he hadn’t had something to do with it. But he had been happy enough at their son’s birth, worried enough when things didn’t seem right. Supportive enough during the three years of endless tests.
Until the final diagnosis did not include a cure. A gust of cold wind jumped down her collar, and she shivered.
As for her, Creighton was her love, the light of her life. No, she didn’t need to date. She didn’t need anybody. She just needed a job. And doing well for Kenn, and with Principal Scovell’s recommendations if she did, maybe a door would open. Somewhere, somehow.
Realizing her rudeness, she pulled to a stop and waited for Scott, whose good manners apparently had let her have her space. For some reason, the rehash of her past let her imagination loose to consider the possibility of a new relationship with an obviously interested man. Her heart pounded.
Scott cantered well behind her. At his approach, she gave him a warm smile. None of this was his fault.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to stir up memories.” He touched a finger to his brim in the time-honored cowboy code that never failed to stir her heart.
“No, it’s fine. Grant and I had some good times.”
“At least you got your boy out of it.”
“Yes, that’s right. Creighton’s a love.”
“He ride?”
“Um, no. He’s never had a chance.” She had to keep her mood and her voice light. It still wasn’t the right time to talk about Creighton. She always knew the right time and the right person. And right now, with Scott, wasn’t right.
“Well, you ought to bring him to the ranch. We got some real calm horses for greenhorns.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Truth is, our ma’s horse Peach Cobbler would tolerate just about anybody crawling around her back.” Scott laughed, and the sound pleased her. “Why, just this morning, I gave a riding lesson—if you can call it that—to a disabled girl from Daisy’s school. I don’t know what’s wrong. She can’t talk and her muscles aren’t strong, but she and Peachy got along just fine.”
He stretched tall in his saddle while the horses climbed through a rock-strewn hairpin. “Her ma says she’s been wanting a horseback ride forever, but the nearest therapy ranch is too far from home.”
Mary Grace could hardly breathe, could hardly find the words to respond. “That…that sounds absolutely wonderful. For that little girl, too.”
Scott nodded. “It was. That hour with Heather sure was something.”
Her heartstrings pulled at the vision of seeing Scott with a disabled child. But it still wasn’t time to share Creighton. He was her jewel, and she was picky who she let open the lid of the treasure box. Maybe far too picky, but she’d learned the hard way.
As Scott turned toward her, his eyes bore interest now, not curiosity. For some reason, she always equated curiosity with prying. “I was wondering. Will it be hard, you know, staying here? Being without your boy for a whole week?”
It was a reasonable question, especially coming from a Martin of Hearts Crossing Ranch where family was paramount. And since they’d likely become friends during this week, Scott deserved her honesty. Just not the whole truth.
Not yet.
“Uh, at this time, um, he doesn’t live with me.” There. That was reasonable and true. Coming from divorced parents, logically Creighton could be living with his father. He wasn’t, but he could be. And Scott need not know the details. Not yet.
“Ah. Got it.” Scott raised a finger to his chin. “You must miss him.”
Like a hot iron stuck in her gut. “Yeah. It’s hard sometimes. But for now, it’s a good thing.”
Something choked her throat that she hoped was just dust rather than envy. Grant’s healthy three-year-old twin boys and new baby girl with the new wife. Leaving her alone to love Creighton twice as much.
“Good then.” Scott said, pulling ahead, Sugarfoot on his tail. Bringing Mary Grace back to now. It hurt being apart, but the group home was truly the answer to prayer.
Sunset bathing their backs, they climbed up the trail. Mary Grace leaned forward over her horse’s neck as she’d learned long ago as a farmer’s daughter. Days so simple, a childhood so pure, she sometimes ached for that time in her life. Except she wouldn’t have Creighton. He made everything worth it. At a little overlook, Scott reined in, finger pointing at the scene below.
The beautiful Hearts Crossing Ranch. Snug outbuildings, tidy corrals. The well-loved ranch house. Her breath halted at the beauty. Squatting on his haunches, the Cowboy lolled his tongue for a minute before tossing them a glare and heading down the path.
“You are one lucky man, Scott Martin,” she managed.
“I had little to do with this, truth is”—he grinned, such a devastating grin her lungs clogged—”my ancestors homesteaded. My ma inherited a place needing quite a bit of tidying up. She and Pa brought the ranch back to life with some creative thinking. Renamed it Hearts Crossing. They were always all about faith. And love.”
Love. Ah, the way his lips closed around the word had her blood pumping. In another time and place, oh, he’d capture her fancy, steal her heart. Knock off her feet. But it just couldn’t be here or now. Could it?
All she could do was nod and turn her face away to hide the misting of her eyes. He’d also said faith, and she was grabbing on to any and all faith she could find.
“We better turn back. Daylight’s leaving quick. I’ll lead.”
To their right, the sun grappled with the dusk as it sank behind the mountains, giving the snow-tipped peaks a glowing halo. Again, the perfection of the color and nature’s composition struck her artist’s eye. City life had jaded her. Coming
back was the remedy. Twilight hovered, plenty of visibility left to get back.
Sugarfoot trod carefully, but quicker than before. Suppertime. Scott turned back in his saddle, so comfortable and experienced that the descent didn’t faze him. Mary Grace leaned back against the cantle, hanging onto the horn as any novice might. Hoping he didn’t think she was a total dorky tenderfoot.
“I think you ought to stay for supper.”
Her tummy rumbled at the thought. “Well, I don’t know. Maybe something on the run. I really need to get going. This has been great, though. I forgot how much I missed riding. Thanks.”
“You grow up in Lost Canyon?”
They’d reached the flat gravel road back to the ranch, riding side by side.
“Yes.” But neither Mary Grace nor her sister Annette had inherited the farming bug. More’s the pity. Her heart skipped a sad beat before she spoke again. No years of tradition, no memories strung together like a colorful paper chain to bind a family together like here at Hearts Crossing.
Sugarfoot’s clip clops seemed to soften as if she wanted to hear, too. “My dad grew hay grass and alfalfa, ran a few cattle,” Mary Grace said. “My folks live in town now. My cousin took over when Dad’s arthritis caught up with him. He still loves the sales and auctions, though. My sister lives in Texas.” Despite the miles and years in between, their love for her had warmed her through the worst of the bad times, and even now tingled her skin as the temperature dropped steadily.
As they rode underneath the gate, she felt something she hadn’t experienced while driving through with her car. Or leaving on horseback a half hour ago. Something about love and faith, the ranch’s symbol, the ranch’s philosophy, the ranch’s way of life wove a warmth around her that took away the dusking cold.
Back at the corral, Scott dismounted and came to Sugarfoot to help her down. She stood in the stirrup, tightening her left knee, and swung her right leg over the saddle toward the ground. When she landed alongside Scott’s strong body, his hands gripped her upper arms as she slid to the ground against him. Her breath caught. Her heart bounced around her chest, and she begged it to stop.