Peace in the Valley

by Ruth Logan Herne

  This wasn’t what she’d bargained for when she offered a room to Ashley. She thought—foolishly, it now seemed—that if she set an example of loving and caring, Ashley would see the goodness in it and follow along.

  She’d been naive, and now she was cornered.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Trey’s voice called her out. He stood nearby, a look of concern on his face. She blinked back tears, firmed her chin, and shrugged. “A surprise phone call that shouldn’t have been a surprise. My bad for expecting rational thought from irrational people.”

  “It gets us every time. Are you crying?”

  She wasn’t. Damp eyes didn’t count, and she had no intention of worrying Belle or sharing the crazy surrounding her with the highly successful guy standing in front of her. “A sentimental moment, something I don’t indulge in often. Did you need me?” She kept her voice smooth and her countenance calm, a trick she’d learned years before. At a young age, she’d realized that if she pretended her father’s vitriol didn’t affect her, she lessened his power. What a shame she’d had to use the same survival techniques on her late husband.

  Something—or someone, Trey decided—had hurt this woman. The urge to fix whatever had gone wrong surprised him. His reaction to her surprised him too. He’d woken up eager to get to work. And maybe eager to see Lucy.

  Normally he woke up wanting to get back to an unfinished song.

  Not today. Today he’d barely stopped for breakfast when he swung by the ranch to check on his dad, but Isabo had thrust a bulky breakfast sandwich into his hands before he left. He’d driven over quickly, ready to help make things right for the young widow.

  “Did you need me?” Her words called to him, even as her expression warned him off.

  He longed to say yes, if only to fix whatever put that sorrowed look in her eye, but then, he’d grown up wanting to fix things, all kinds of things. Including people.

  Would it be fair to Lucy to grow too close considering his current situation? There was his career for one thing, and…what if things went badly in San Fran? Why set someone up when there was no predicting the outcome of this procedure?

  He denied his helpful instincts and pointed toward the barn. “I’m having Ham send paint over. This is the brand he’s got in stock.” He pulled up a page on his phone. “And here is the color chart. Rye Bennett said Brendan and the Battaglia boys could sign on for painting. I kind of like the dark red with white trim to offset your Christmas tree business, but what do you think?”

  Frustration deepened twin furrows between her brows. From him? From life?

  He understood the combination completely, but that thought gave him a mental smack upside the head, because who had an easier life than him? Doing what he loved, earning good money, making so many people happy?

  And still he ached for something indefinable.

  Faith? Hope? Love?

  He had all three. So why the emptiness?

  No clue.

  She looked at the charts and nodded. “This red is perfect, and you’re right. When we hang decorated wreaths and swags against it, it will be stunning. Hopefully I can get out to the trees soon. They need their summer trim, but it’s been crazy these past few weeks.”

  “You have to trim them more than once a year?” He wouldn’t have thought that. He assumed you planted them to grow and they grew, with occasional care.

  “They need shaping, and it spurs new growth. It’s a busy process, but soothing too. Like being in church, without the walls.”

  “Or the people.”

  A tiny smile eased her expression. “That too. A little peace in the valley, just like the hymn says.”

  He loved that hymn. It defined him. But maybe that wasn’t a good thing.

  Was it his fault for running off, searching too hard? Or his fault for making mistakes? For not seeing when his wife turned that last, fateful corner back into addiction?

  “Do you think those teenagers can paint a barn? For real?”

  “Sure.” He tapped a text through to Hammerstein’s and pocketed the phone. “I’ll teach them. And I figured if the little guys want to paint, that chicken house is a great learning experience for their age. They’ll get messy, but it would be kind of fun, don’t you think?”

  “They’re six and eight, Trey.” She sounded doubtful but slightly tempted, and Trey wondered if she ever allowed herself time to just have fun, or if such a thing was even possible while raising a houseful of kids. “You don’t think that’s a little insane?”

  He winked. “That’s part of the fun. How would Wednesday work? We’re going car shopping in Ellensburg tomorrow, and I’ve got an appointment on Thursday with Dad, so if we tackle the coop on Wednesday, Cade and Cody can jump in and feel like they’re part of things.”

  “How do you know that’s important for kids?”

  He hooked a thumb toward the Double S. “Because Sam gave me a chance to be part of things way back when. And it made all the difference.”

  She didn’t look quite as antagonistic when Sam’s name came up, but then her words belied her expression. “That must have been back when he had a heart.”

  “A broken one, but he had it. And then he forgot to use it for a while.” He started to back up, then paused. “Sam Stafford came down to Oakland and found a three-year-old boy, all alone, raised in a hovel, huddled in a police station. And he picked me up, wet pants and all, hugged me, and brought me home. And then made me his own. Yeah, he’s messed up big time, and he’s been a selfish, money-grubbing, egotistical jerk. But he saved me, Lucy, and I’ll always be grateful for that.”

  He raised a hand in peace. “Not trying to convince you; you’ve got your own axes to grind. I’m just saying there’s good in all of us. Sometimes we just have to look harder. Or be really patient, and I don’t do patient all that well.”

  “Me either.”

  “It’s nice to have something in common, ma’am.” He tipped his hat and then made his way back to the front of the barn, but he pulled out his phone on the way. When Rye Bennett answered, Trey jumped right in. “Does Jenna babysit?”

  “She took the childcare safety course last spring, and she’s had a few jobs. Not much experience with babies though.”

  “Would she be okay with Lucy’s kids?”

  “You taking Lucy out, Trey? Because that’ll set tongues wagging.”

  He said no, but as he said it, the thought of taking Lucy out tempted him.

  And then common sense untempted him because he wasn’t here to stay. He needed to focus on mending her place, and then mending his father. On top of that, it wasn’t like she hungered for his presence. Tolerated him was more like it. Barely. And he didn’t realize how that bit his ego until just now. “She’s got Christmas tree work to do, but you can’t watch kids in a grove, and I was thinking if we hired Jenna to keep the kids busy, then Lucy could get her work done and not worry about it.”

  A short stretch of silence made him wonder if Rye was still there, but then Rye exhaled, long and slow. “Okay, then. I’ll call Jenna. When were you thinking?”

  “How about Thursday? I’m going to Slater Memorial with Dad for tests. If Jenna’s here, Lucy can spend the day in the field.”

  “I’ll set it up.”

  “Thanks, man.”

  Trey had filled the week with work purposely. He’d spend time getting things done at Lucy’s place and putting affairs in order. He didn’t want to think about the Thursday appointment, or the dangerous surgery.

  So he shoved it out of his mind with busy hands and hard work, because if he sat around waiting for the surgeon to share the stats Trey had already found online, he’d walk away. And he couldn’t do that, no matter how scared he might be. Three decades ago a big, rugged cowboy that smelled of Old Spice and cigars had picked him up, brought him home, and changed everything.

  Now it was his turn to do the same thing.

  —

  Trey had gotten six rotted boards replaced when his phon
e rang. His agent’s name and number flashed on the screen, and he took the call quickly. “Ed, what’s up?”

  “You’ve just hit number one on the country charts for the sixteenth time in five years, and we’ve got an invite for the fall awards show, even if you’re not nominated. Which you will be.”

  “Did you refuse gently?”

  “I didn’t because neither of us knows what shape you’ll be in then. Have they scheduled anything?”

  “We have a surgical consult on Thursday. That should fill in some of the blanks.”

  “You’re a good man, Trey. I don’t understand it, and I sure wouldn’t have the guts to do it, but you’re a good man for even considering this.”

  “He’s my father, Ed,” Trey told him, as if that was a given.

  “You’re still a good man. Belker and Schrief are pestering about a winter tour.”

  “Tell them no. Spring is good. I’m using my recovery time to write some new songs. I’m not doing anything this winter, except singing and regrowing a liver.”

  “Luckily we’ve got a new album to push and new singles to release in your absence.”

  Luck had nothing to do with it. Trey knew that. God had inspired him to sit down and write his heart out last fall and winter, even on tour, long before they’d learned about Sam’s deteriorating condition. With his tour done and the album releasing, this was the perfect time to step off stage and onto the Double S. “God’s timing, Ed.”

  Ed wasn’t a big believing kind of guy, and Trey would love to see that change. His next words said that hadn’t happened. “It might be God’s timing, but you put in the work, so I’m giving you the credit. Junie’s agent called. Junie wants you to double up with her to cut a love song for her next album. Your mutual fan bases would go nuts over that, and that’s something to consider.”

  Teen sensation Junie had been texting him the same thing. He’d regretted giving her his number for almost a year. Ignoring her didn’t seem to do the trick. “Absolutely not. That’s the last place I want public speculation to go. Junie needs to find an eighteen-year-old to hang out with.”

  “She’s blatant, isn’t she?”

  She was, and Trey wasn’t about to get mixed up with teen scene innuendo. Straightforward and focused, he was more comfortable being compared to George Strait than some of the wilder country stars. “Just make sure it doesn’t happen, Ed.”

  “I’ll see to it. All right, that’s all I wanted to touch base on. You take care, okay? And don’t let them touch the pipes, you hear me? Chunks of liver are fine, but leave the vocal chords alone.”

  “Very funny.”

  Ed laughed and hung up. Trey set the phone down and surveyed the morning’s work. Solid. Straight. True.

  “It looks better already, Hank.”

  The way Lucy said the name made him laugh, and when he turned, she held out a tall clear glass of sweet tea. “Thank you.” He took a sip, then looked at her, perplexed. “Orange spice. How’d you know?” He tipped his hat back and teased her with a look. “Are you a secret fan, Ms. Lucy?”

  “I called Angelina and asked.”

  For some reason, that touched him. Doing a little digging had taken effort. “Well, that was nice. Real nice. Thank you. It’s perfect.”

  “I had a sweet orange spice blend I use on ribs. So I used that and the regular black tea, and when it all came together, it tasted pretty good.”

  “Truth.”

  “I made a pitcher, so there’s plenty.” She swiped a lock of hair behind her ear, a piece that wasn’t quite long enough to reach the elastic band of her ponytail. “Belle’s napping and I’m taking the boys into the vegetable garden for weeding. They’ll be less than thrilled, no doubt, so whatever you hear, unless it includes the word blood, is most likely normal, unhappy boys whining.”

  “Want help?”

  She paused and looked up at him. “In the garden?”

  “I’m good with a hoe, and I could use a break from this for a bit.”

  “Most people don’t equate hoeing and weeding with downtime.”

  He started walking toward the long, straight rows of the vegetable garden at the back of the property. “A change is as good as a rest.”

  Her quick smile took him by surprise. “My Aunt Isabelle used to say that.”

  “Is Belle named after her?”

  “She is. Aunt Isabelle was one of those women who would have helped settle the West with one hand, while running the church with the other and rocking a cradle with her foot. She was always getting things done, moving forward. She was a great inspiration.”

  “She must have been, because you’re a lot like that.”

  “Me?” His assessment made her stop and stare at him. She wasn’t pretending disbelief, and that surprised Trey. “Oh, I’m nothing like her. I’ve messed up eight ways to Sunday, and in the end, here I am, a single mom with too many bills, a failing farm, three kids, and a miscreant teen. Aunt Isabelle would be appalled.”

  “Naw, she wouldn’t.”

  “You didn’t even know her.”

  “I don’t have to.” They started forward again. “The woman you described would be doing just what you’re doing. Working on, day by day, getting things done.”

  Doubt darkened her profile. He stopped and put an arm out to pause her. “Good people don’t gain our respect by being judgmental. They gain it by being good. Putting that hand out to help. Your aunt would be right here helping if she could.” When she still looked dubious, he moved on. “You can either figure I’m right or wallow in that muck you’re carrying around like an anchor in shallow water.”

  “I don’t wallow.”

  He didn’t look back, just grabbed a hoe and started working the first row of tomatoes.

  “I don’t.”

  Trey kept working, nice and quiet. Then he started humming a tune in quick time, with up-and-down notes, moving along the row.

  Lucy called the boys. They trudged out. They glared at the sun, then her, then moaned.

  “Stop whining. You two”—she stooped down, and when she did, that long ponytail gave her a real Western profile, distinctly feminine—“are about to have a fun adventure.”

  “We are?” Cade and Cody exchanged looks of disbelief.

  She handed each of them an empty plastic coffee can. “You’re bug hunting.”

  “For real?”

  “Not weeding?”

  “For real,” she told them, then took them to the tomatoes and showed them what to look for. “These are hornworms, and they can eat a lot of tomato leaves.”

  “They’re green!”

  “Just like the leaf !”

  “Yup. Green when you squish ’em too. They’re green because they’ve eaten that whole branch and laid a bunch of eggs.” She showed them how to pluck the leaf with eggs and the worm and put it into their bucket. “And when you’re done with them, I’m moving you to potatoes for a different kind of bug.”

  “This is great!”

  “It’s like squishy science!”

  They set to their task quickly, and Trey thought they’d rush along the row, missing signs of worm damage.

  They didn’t. They studied the plants, watched for eaten stems and droppings, and worked their way along, peacefully. By the time the sun was scorching the parched soil, Lucy sent them inside to cool off. “But leave your bug buckets outside,” she warned.

  They took off inside, a job well done, and Trey motioned after them. “They took care of all of that without you having to use a spray.”

  “Spraying’s expensive and when a plot is this small, it’s unnecessary, isn’t it? And the work makes the boys feel like you said before, as if they’re part of things. Roots and wings are valuable things to have.”

  Trey almost swallowed his tongue in an effort to keep quiet. His respect for her rose. She was more like her Aunt Isabelle than she realized, but with reduced circumstances. “I asked Rye if Jenna could watch the kids for you on Thursday.”

  “
Why would you do that?” She turned from the first strip of corn, surprised and sweaty. She swiped her sleeve to her brow as she faced him.

  “If Jenna’s keeping the kids busy, you can work on Christmas trees. That way we can take care of the car tomorrow and the coop on Wednesday.”

  Mixed emotions crossed her face, as if she wanted to complain, then didn’t.

  “Is it okay that I did that?”

  She looked beyond him, to the house, then made a face. “Yes and no.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be.” She wrinkled her nose further, then lifted one shoulder. “I get weirded out when people make choices for me.”

  “Is that what I was doing? Because I thought it was something simple and nice like, say”—he dragged the words out, intentionally—“opening a door of opportunity for a busy working mother.”

  “Without consulting the busy, working mother.”

  “Well.” He went right back to weeding the last tomatoes, kind of pleased, because he’d forgotten how nice it was to just squat down and weed a garden. “I figured she’d put up a fuss and say no, so I wanted to avoid the fuss.”

  “What if she didn’t put up a fuss at all and you assumed wrongly, Hank?”

  He grinned and looked back over his shoulder. “Well, that would be a lovely first, Ms. Lucy.”

  He wasn’t sure if he’d make her laugh or make her mad, and when she did laugh, he breathed relief.

  Something dogged her, just like him, so if teasing her and making her smile lightened that burden a little, he was happy to do it. When they’d finished the tomatoes and corn, Lucy called it a day. “I’ve got to change up laundry and check on kids. Thank you for this, Trey.” She indicated the barn and the garden with a quick look at both. “I’m still in a state of disbelief that all of this is happening, and I’m very grateful.”

  “My pleasure, ma’am. Do you have to pick up Ashley from summer school?” Trey retrieved the glass he’d set by the garden, and they walked together toward the house.