She’d tell Angelina not to do it.
But as Lucy started down the steps, Colt Stafford came her way, carrying Angelina’s little boy. “Hurryin’ to a pit stop, ma’am,” he told her as he hustled Noah into the house.
He wasn’t bothered by interrupting his meal to tend to the boy. He wasn’t angry or put out by the responsibilities of fatherhood.
He looked happy, as if helping Noah was good.
Had Chase ever looked at his children that way? Not once the drinking took hold. They became added weight to a baggage-filled life.
So maybe Angelina would do just fine marrying Colt because he wasn’t a spoiled, drinking rock-star wannabe. He was a solid man who took responsibility for his actions, and that should make a world of difference. And that realization put the blame on Lucy because she’d brushed smart options aside to be Chase’s girl as a love-struck teen.
She wouldn’t trade her children for anything. She loved them completely. But her young choices had cemented her family into a difficult situation, and that was as much her fault as her late husband’s.
“Have you got everything?” Trey asked as Ashley climbed into the back of the SUV with Cade. Once they were in, Cody and Belle took their spots in the middle seat. “Ingress and egress.” He studied the SUV and nodded. “I can see how the van layout is advantageous.”
“Right?” Lucy checked to make sure the younger two had buckled up correctly. “It doesn’t seem like a big deal until you’re the one half crawling to get into the back seat.”
Sam came their way as Nick took Rye Bennett and his brother and sister down the banked drive to see the setting for his soon-to-be-built house. Trey watched Cheyenne and Dakota run ahead, shouting house specs in excited voices. A few months ago they’d been quarrelsome little girls, angry at the world after their mother had left them. But not now. Their inner light shined through their eyes, their faces, their shared laughter.
“For nothing is hidden, except to be revealed; nor has anything been secret, but that it would come to light.”
Mark’s words, a repeated message in the Gospels, God’s promise that light would repel the darkness.
So much change, good change. He was here to be a part of it if he chose the offered role. And even if he didn’t, according to Sam. Could he move forward with the surgery? Would he?
Get the facts first. Mull later.
“We had one of those big station wagons when the boys were small,” Sam said. Trey couldn’t ignore his weakened condition or his slowly healing spirit. “It was sensible, having the big back door so the kids could hop in and out.”
“And make faces at drivers behind them,” Trey added. “Nick loved to do that.”
“It’s kind of a shame they don’t make a combo, isn’t it?” Sam asked, and Lucy shrugged.
“I’m a simple person. If it’s in decent shape and runs, I’m happy.”
Trey closed her door and stepped back. “I’ll be over in the morning.”
She hesitated, as if wanting to call him off, but then conceded. “All right.” She paused again before saying, “And thank you for a lovely day, Mr. Stafford.”
“I’m glad you came, Lucy.”
Her jaw softened. “I am too.”
“Well.” Sam moved back, tipped the brim of his hat, and waved when she pulled away.
Trey looked from Sam to the vanishing taillights of his SUV. “Thank you for being nice to her.”
“Shoulda done it a long time ago.”
“Yes.”
“But we’ll fix things now, Trey. You and me.”
Sam sounded almost wistful, another chalk line for the record books because regret hadn’t exactly played a major role in his father’s early life.
“I won’t deny I’m glad you hired the roofs done,” Trey told him. “Josh Washington and Benson Adams are coming by Lucy’s place in the morning. We’ll go over a few things. I know they’re both busy working on repairs to the town, but I want to inspect the barn beams for rot, and I’ll need Josh’s help with that. And Ben can walk us through the reroofing process. For the rest”—he faced Sam fully—“I don’t mind doing some bullwork. I haven’t had time to just hang out and fix a spot in a while. It’ll be a nice change, actually.”
“And you don’t mind goin’ to the doctor’s office with me on Thursday?”
Mixed emotions clogged Sam’s voice. He obviously wanted to be healthy again, but he didn’t want to hurt Trey to do it. Trey understood this part of Sam well. The big, robust cowboy who’d rescued a little boy had always sought to protect his own. Where would Trey be if Sam had shrugged him off ? With two motherless boys racing in and out of barns, he hadn’t needed an extra kid running around the Double S. And yet, he’d dropped everything and gone to California the moment he heard about Trey’s parents.
“We’ll get the facts together. Of course Colt and Nick will come too.”
“A united front.” The pronouncement put hope in Sam’s eyes. “It hasn’t been like that in a while.”
“Ever,” Trey corrected in a light voice.
“Well, that. But it’s good to be united now.”
It was. “And in the meantime, don’t do anything else to mess yourself up,” Trey warned him. “No more broken bones, cracked ribs, or punctured lungs like we enjoyed a few months ago. Got it?” Trey raised an eyebrow, referencing Sam’s unfortunate, painful run-in with a protective mama cow.
“It could have happened to anyone,” Sam scolded right back. “Do you want to walk up back? See the new calves?”
“I do.”
Trey slowed his pace to match his father’s. He knew some exercise was good for Sam, but too much expended energy exhausted the man who used to ride range and rustle and round up for fourteen hours straight midsummer. The difference was a real wake-up call.
By the time Trey got back to the cabin beyond and above Lucy Carlton’s place, the midsummer light was fading. He switched on the lamps, settled onto the edge of an overstuffed chair, and propped his guitar. He stared down at the page of discordant words and began to pick at notes.
The notes fought the words. And the words refused to come. He wrote a line, scratched it out, then wrote another.
Slow song? Fast?
He closed his eyes, picturing Lucy and those kids, the run-down farm buildings, the scrubby grass area beyond leading to the dark green thicket of evergreen trees.
Work. Hope. Laughter. Beauty.
The last word gave him reason to pause.
She was girl-next-door beautiful, and that was its own attraction, but it wasn’t Lucy Carlton’s looks that kept her coming to mind.
She didn’t flirt with him. She didn’t doll herself up, hoping he’d notice her, and he didn’t realize that was refreshing until today.
She treated him like a normal human being. Few people did that anymore.
He liked it. He liked the way she didn’t mince words. She spoke frankly, and that wasn’t something that happened often in Music City.
He stared at the words, then the guitar, then put both aside when nothing came to him.
Music couldn’t be forced. It flowed, like the creek his father had controlled in an effort to gain Lucy’s farm long before it was hers. Music found its way, springing from ideas like mountain rivulets, seeking level land. Music melded laws of physics with the hearts of men.
His father didn’t get that. He’d never understood the importance of music to Trey’s heart and maybe his soul. Had Trey’s success softened Sam’s stance? Or was it the illness forcing Sam to be a better person?
He caught his reflection in the mirror over the rustic fireplace. The thin light skewed the image slightly, just enough to tweak awareness.
Sam had worked night and day to prove his worth to others, to build his dynasty in the rich soil of the Kittitas Valley. Trey had done much the same in Nashville, anxious to show his success.
It wasn’t about money. It had never been about money, not to Trey. But the money was part of it,
to launch a successful career, earn a living, and not succumb to the crazy drinking or drugging lifestyle that plagued so many. He’d done it, too, beyond his wildest dreams. But none of it had been enough to keep Cathy from slipping back into her old habits when her career hit a rough bend in the road.
He realized then that his love and support wasn’t enough. It would never have been enough, not when the drugs held such power.
Money didn’t buy happiness. He got that. But if his music brought happiness to others, he’d sing forever. And maybe someday the right song would come along and ease the yawning ache within. And if it didn’t?
He’d keep singing until it did.
He went to bed, knowing the words would flow again, and at the most unlikely time. When they did, he’d pull out his phone and record the thoughts, bit by bit.
He’d be fine.
Lucy’s heart fluttered when she heard Trey’s wheels on the gravel. She tamped down the anticipation, but when the boys started screeching his name, her heart resumed its dance.
“Ashley?” Lucy called out. “If you’re not up, you should be. Your ride will be here in twenty minutes. Let’s go.”
A door banged shut upstairs, just loud enough to let her know the teen was displeased with wake-up calls. Lucy set the girl’s lunch bag on the table, then followed the noise outside.
A big truck rumbled in behind Trey, followed by another.
“What’s this?” She moved forward as Belle danced her way, showing off her floral sundress with spin moves. “You don’t even have the list yet.”
“We’re going to use Benson’s crew to do the roof. A good roof is the first step to any building, right?”
A new roof ?
She stared at him, then at Josh Washington and Benson Adams as they moved her way. Josh was the most sought-after local contractor and a good man. He tipped the brim of his weathered ball cap her way. “Morning, Lucy.”
“Josh.” She looked from one to the other and swallowed hard. “You’re really putting a new roof on?”
“House, barn, and outbuildings,” Trey said. “You explain to Benson what you want in materials and color. I was thinking metal would be good.”
Good? Metal roofs were more than good. They were resilient and added solid property value. “Isn’t that awfully expensive?”
“Dad’s got a lot to make up for,” he reminded her easily. “When folks get thwarted making money, there’s not enough left over for needed repairs. We aim to fix that.”
She’d figured he’d fix broken boards. Paint. Trim.
She hadn’t figured on a roofing project that would have cost her tens of thousands of nonexistent dollars. “You’re serious?”
He turned those hazel eyes her way. He wasn’t wearing a cowboy hat today. He’d put on a faded, worn Mariners baseball cap and an old blue T-shirt that had been washed so many times, the words were worn half away, along with loose blue jeans, faded by sun and bleach and time.
He looked like he’d just stepped out of a shot-on-the-farm country music video, the perfect blend of country and cool with a side of downright nice. No wonder women packed stadiums to hear him. See him. Or maybe it was the promise of a new roof that polished his casual appearance. Lucy looked from him to the other men and back.
Nope. The roof had nothing to do with it. Trey Walker was smokin’ hot whether he was wearing classic cowboy or farmhand rugged, and she’d have to give her hormones and emotions a stern talking to, later.
“Lucy, I’d go with metal,” Josh advised. “It’s got long-lasting properties, and it adds to the resale value of the house. As long as he’s paying,” Josh joked, and cuffed Trey’s arm. “But it’s up to you. Can I have Benson show you a few ideas and you can choose?”
Show her ideas.
She got to choose.
A flicker of light emerged somewhere deep inside, a miniscule flame that had been squelched too often. Her father, stern and dispassionate, running her mother into the ground with his precepts.
And then Chase, ruling the roost, running the show, a younger version of her father, a young girl’s foolish choice in very grown-up matters.
“Whatever you want, Lucy.”
The magic of Trey’s words set her heart stirring again. She almost asked what he’d advise, then stopped herself, invited Benson into the kitchen, and led the way.
Her choice. Sweet.
A car pulled into the yard and parked behind the pickups.
Ashley!
She hurried into the house, called Ashley’s name, and when the teen came downstairs, Lucy stared.
Ashley had put on short shorts and a bare-midriff top that left nothing to the imagination. “Go get something else on. Now. They’re late and you’re not ready, which means you’ll all be late for school. Go.” She pointed upstairs. “And hurry.”
Hurrying seemed to be the last thing on Ashley’s mind. “You can’t tell me what to do. I can pick my own clothes for school. This is what all the kids are wearing.”
“Which is probably indicative of why you’re all in summer school,” Lucy told her, unimpressed. The car horn tooted outside again, with more force and impatience. “Go get changed.”
“Or what? You’ll keep me here?” Ashley smirked and didn’t seem to care that she was embarrassing Lucy in front of Benson. “I didn’t want to go to the stupid classes anyway. I’d just as soon quit school and get a job.”
“Not many jobs out there for fourteen-year-olds dressed like streetwalkers.”
Trey’s voice, from the doorway.
Ashley glared his way.
So did Lucy because this wasn’t his affair, and the last thing she needed was a full-of-himself Stafford to run her house.
“Mrs. Pedroia left; she said she was running late and couldn’t wait. You’ve missed your ride,” Trey went on. “Go get changed and I’ll drive you down to school. Or Josh can drop you off.”
“You guys don’t run my life.” Ashley stormed the words, then folded her arms over her bare middle. “I’ll wear what I want, when I want.”
“Then you’ll be hanging out in eighth grade another year, because you’re not going anywhere dressed like that.” Lucy motioned to the table and was glad she’d gotten the kids’ breakfast dishes done early. “Benson, have a seat.”
Trey stayed in the doorway, quiet.
Ashley glowered from the third stair up.
Lucy ignored both of them. She turned her attention to Benson. He laid out a folder with pictures, and as she started to ask a question, Ashley stomped back upstairs.
Would she come back down?
Lucy didn’t know, but maybe it was time for Ashley to realize the full consequences of her actions. An extra year of school was a desperate move, but if she refused rules and guidance, there wasn’t much choice.
She stomped back down two minutes later in longer shorts and a T-shirt.
She grabbed her lunch and moved to the door.
Would Trey make a big deal out of this? Or would he be smart and let it go?
He let it go, and Lucy breathed a sigh of relief while he spoke. “Josh is waiting. He said he’s got to go right by the school on his way through town to order supplies.”
Ashley said nothing. She pushed by him and kicked gravel all the way to Josh’s truck.
And another day begins…
Benson indicated Ashley’s retiring form through the nearby window and sent Lucy a look of sympathy. “I’ve got three kids. Puberty’s a killer. And that one’s got an ax to grind.”
“She sure does, but I keep remembering the sweet kid she was before her life turned upside down. I’m hoping we can rediscover that kid again, the Ashley she used to be.”
“Before her dad took off and Chase died.”
“Yes.”
“What if it’s too late?” Trey’s voice, from behind her, putting her fears into spoken words.
She didn’t want to believe that about a fourteen-year-old kid. She didn’t want Ashley’s negativity to be
a bad influence on her three kids either. She felt called to help. It was why Lucy ran the Overcomers, a church group for people with substance abuse problems. If she could donate time and energy for those folks, surely she could help her own sister-in-law.
“I can’t think like that.” She moved around the table so she could see Trey and Benson clearly. “If I did, I’d never be able to help anyone out of substance abuse, and then I’d have to live with the consequences of my inaction. So I help where I can. And I pray. A lot.”
He didn’t say a word. He turned and quietly walked out the door. Why? Did her stance hit too close to home? Were the scandal sheets right, that Trey Walker had a drug problem, like his late wife?
She cringed inside as Trey went back down the steps. “Benson, sorry.” She turned back to him. “Let’s get back on task here. You think metal’s the way to go?”
“I do, and while it’s pricey, it’s the best. Sam is footing the bill, and he wants things done right.” He showed her the different styles, and when he came to one that looked like shingles, she paused him.
“I love this.”
“Pretty, right? And then we can use the same for the barn. You’d want them the same color, I expect.”
No more leaks. No more wood rot. And with no more wet wood, her carpenter ant problem would be helped. “Benson, I’m a little overwhelmed.”
A wide smile split his café au lait skin tone. “You just point. I’ll do the rest.”
She pointed to the shingle-looking model.
“Color?”
“Slate gray.”
“Done.” He stood up and reached out a hand to help her up. “I’ll send the order right in. As long as the material’s in stock, we’ll start first thing tomorrow.”
“You don’t have other jobs lined up?”
“We do. Sam asked for priority status on this.”
“So he’s paying you extra to make others wait.” The thought irritated her, total Stafford money-buys-everything mentality. It guilted her, too, because other people shouldn’t have to wait because Sam used cold hard cash to bump her to the top of the list. She was ready to wait her place in line when Benson turned.
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