Her Cowboy Reunion

by Ruth Logan Herne

  “Their mother has much conflict with the world. With her family. There is no love between Valencia’s mother and Valencia, so she is no help with those precious babies.” Concern darkened Rosie’s eyes. “Valencia speaks of moving away, then staying, then moving. But where she would go, a single mother with two in arms, we do not know.” She exchanged a look of worry with Harve. “So we pray. We watch those babies and we pray. For now they are with a friend as I recover. But then, who knows?”

  The baby squirmed. She opened her mouth in a soundless cry that would not be soundless for long.

  Rosie tucked her back into the buggy. “We shall walk with swifter feet, I think.”

  Heath watched them go. The sounds of Zeke and the kittens gave a sense of normalcy to an abnormal situation. “I had no idea things were like that. Valencia’s situation with her mother.”

  “There’s a lot we don’t see when we are so focused on one thing.” Lizzie jutted her chin toward the town. “Can it be fixed? Or is it too late? That might be something you and the other bigwigs around here need to ask yourselves.”

  “I’m not a bigwig,” Heath protested, but when she indicated the beautiful spread of Pine Ridge with a quiet look, he rescinded the words. “I’m not some great community leader, Liz. I’m a cowboy who was raised by a drunken father and a mother who disappeared a long time ago. I’m not exactly a model citizen.”

  “Then you’d better hone your skills, or you’ll have no community to speak of. And I don’t see that as a great way to raise your son. Do you?”

  She walked away, leaving him with more questions than answers while Zeke played nearby.

  His son.

  Baby Johanna.

  Valencia’s babies.

  What would life be like for these sweet youngsters if everything fell apart around them?

  Dude, it’s already fallen apart. The question is, can it be put back together? Is there enough left to work with?

  As Zeke squealed laughter at kitty antics, reality hit him square. If the entire town dissolved, could he justify raising his son here? Should he? Was the ranch enough?

  That thought sobered him further.

  He didn’t like spending time going to stupid meetings or blabbing about change. But instead of being a reluctant participant, he’d go to the evening meeting with goals in mind. How to approach the state government to reconsider the grazing rights issue...and how to help the town recover.

  Making himself part of the town could be a good first step. He only hoped it wasn’t too little, too late.

  * * *

  “Well, go big or stay home,” drawled Jace about four hours later. He shot a grin toward Heath. “Committee chairperson? And you said yes?”

  “Only because I know I’ve got letter-writing help on hand,” answered Heath. He looked at Liz through the rearview mirror. “If the offer still stands.”

  “It does. And it was nice to meet all those farmers and ranchers. But almost no one from town, even though these problems have an effect on all of us.”

  “The town’s pretty empty,” offered Heath.

  Jace turned her way. “The town had more people living in it when I was growing up here. They’ve torn down a few old houses and boarded up some others. It could use a facelift, for sure, but with no one to live in the houses, what would be the point?”

  “My sister will see the point,” said Lizzie. She jotted a note into her phone. “Melonie sees potential in the simplest things. So what aspects of a town do we need? For survival?”

  “Jobs.” Heath spoke first. “If there are no jobs, there is no survival.”

  “How do we create jobs out of nothing?” asked Jace.

  “Well only the good Lord can do that,” answered Lizzie, but she made another note. “Stores. Shops. Services. Church renovation.”

  “Lack of investment capital,” replied Heath. He sounded flat. “Who wants to invest funds in a high-risk venture with little potential?”

  “No one,” answered Jace, but Lizzie made them think with her next statement.

  “You’re talking like men.”

  The two men exchanged blank looks.

  “You’ve got to get to the heart of the matter. If people have reason to love a town, they fight for it. It’s not about opportunity only. It’s about emotion. Compassion. People helping people.”

  “Where was she ten years ago?” wondered Jace. “Because we might have had a shot then.”

  “We’ve got a shot now,” she replied. “You should have seen people’s faces when Zeke and I brought the flyer around about Uncle Sean’s memorial. If you get to the heart of the matter, you get results. That’s all I’m saying.”

  “It will be a wonderful memorial.” Heath met her gaze once more. “And we’re grateful that you and Corrie have taken it on. But I don’t know how you turn a one-day prayer service into a movement.”

  “It’s real nice of you and Corrie to do this, Lizzie.” Jace turned and smiled her way again.

  They didn’t see the potential.

  Lizzie did.

  She and Corrie spent the next two weeks working and chatting with people. She supervised two more foals and kept the stray dog’s food dish full. On rainy days she tucked it beneath a covered bench to keep the food dry, and by the end of the two weeks, the little dog seemed stronger. Still a mess...but rounder, and less furtive. Corrie proved to be a great emissary and Zeke got to know the layout of the town. The current lambing season was quieting down, in time for haying season to begin as the sun sloped higher in the northern sky.

  The last Sunday in May was Reverend Sparks’s final day on the pulpit. A subdued group of people filled the church. Before the opening prayer he gazed around the church, from person to person and smiled. “If we’d gotten this kind of turnout more regularly, we’d be staying open!”

  Some folks squirmed, but most offered wry smiles, and when he completed the service, he shook hands, one by one, outside. When he got to Lizzie’s hand, he held it a little bit longer. “You’re beginning to make a difference, Miss Fitzgerald.”

  “Call me Lizzie.”

  His smile deepened. “I’ll see you tomorrow for the memorial service, and I want to thank you for asking me to officiate. It is an honor to stand tall at a military service. My dad served. And my brother. It means a lot to our family.”

  He squeezed her hand lightly, and moved on to the next person.

  Zeke grabbed her other hand. “Are we baking the cakes today? For real?”

  “Cakes and shortcakes because Miss Corrie got a great deal on strawberries.”

  “I love them so much!”

  So did Lizzie. “And you can be our kitchen helper, okay? Although...” She withdrew her phone as her app signaled. “Well, it might be just you and Corrie and Cookie in the kitchen. It looks like we’re having foal number five today.” Corrie had just joined them and Lizzie held up the app. “I’m abandoning the kitchen in favor of the foaling stall.”

  Corrie accepted that like she accepted most anything. “No matter. Rosie is cooking, and Cookie and I can handle everything else with the help of our young friend here.”

  “And I’m making the cupcakes. Right? Because being a kitchen helper is a real important job.”

  “That it is,” Corrie told him.

  Mrs. Hathaway came their way and put out a hand to Corrie. “I don’t believe I know you.”

  “I don’t believe you do.” Corrie took the old woman’s hand gently. “Corrie Satterly. I’m helping out at Pine Ridge Ranch.”

  “Are you the cleaning lady?” Mrs. Hathaway asked.

  Lizzie’s cheeks went red. She was pretty sure her mouth dropped open and she was just about to leap to Corrie’s defense, when Corrie laughed and tucked the old woman’s arm through hers. “I do my share of that, for certain.” She smiled and the old woman smiled, too. K
ind of. “I help out with this and that and you know how it is with a barn full of men. They are always needing something, aren’t they?”

  “I expect there’s truth in that.” Mrs. Hathaway motioned to her car. “Do you mind walking an old woman over? My feet don’t like to listen to my head the way they used to.”

  Corrie walked her over as Heath crossed the churchyard for Zeke. “I’ve never seen Gilda Hathaway in church. Or talking to people.”

  “She thought Corrie was our cleaning woman, Heath.”

  He winced. “Sean used to call Gilda an old bat. She didn’t have a kind word to say about anything or anyone and holed herself up in that great old house and let it dissolve around her. He offered to buy some of her land and she offered to call the sheriff, so he wasn’t too pleased with her. Having her come down to the service is about as out of character as you can get. Call me if you need help in the horse barn.”

  “You’re cutting hay today.”

  “All this week. Watching the forecast and hoping nothing breaks down.” He walked her to her SUV. “It was nice to have the reverend bless the farmers and ranchers. To hear him talk about the everyday people. The simple folk.”

  “Jesus didn’t recruit prominent men to do his work, Heath.” She leaned back against the car and gazed up at him. “Fishermen. Tradesmen. A tax collector, a repugnant profession even then.” She smiled at his expression of agreement. “His father was a carpenter. His friends and followers worked with their hands. When you talk about not being a community leader, you’re wrong. You’re exactly the type of leader Shepherd’s Crossing needs. I’m just hoping you’ll turn out to be one of many.”

  “It’s not a one-man job, that’s for sure.”

  “Which is why we reach out to others.” She opened her car door. “It’s a start.”

  “It is.” He glanced around at the number of people still there, saying their goodbyes to the pastor. “Because I’ve never seen this many people darken the doors of this church. Not even on Christmas and Easter.”

  “Sometimes the greatest good comes out of the worst circumstance. See you at home.”

  * * *

  At home.

  He watched her pull away and realized what he wanted. What he needed.

  He needed her. He needed her by his side, keeping him focused, keeping him grounded.

  He’d loved her as a young man. Watching her car pull away, he realized he loved her now, too.

  The aged pastor was still shaking hands.

  His gentle words of blessing had touched Heath’s heart.

  He thought about that as Zeke scrambled into his car seat in the truck and fastened his seat belt.

  Was there a God for real? Did He exist? Did He have a heart for humankind, the way the pastor said? Or was it all silly feel-good talk to keep people in line, like the easygoing sheep, one plodding after the other, rarely thinking for themselves?

  He didn’t know, but seeing the light of faith in Lizzie’s eyes and Corrie’s bearing, for the first time in a long time, he wanted to know.

  “Dad. I’m so ’cited about today, I’m so ’cited to be a kitchen helper with Miss Corrie and my Lizzie!” Tangible joy lit Zeke’s face. “And then I get to march with my plaque thing tomorrow! I will be the best marcher, ever, Dad. The best!”

  “I know you will, son.” He aimed a smile at his beautiful boy through the rearview mirror. “And I can’t wait to see it.”

  “Me, either!” The boy wriggled with all the anticipation of youth. “And my Lizzie will be so proud of me.” He grinned again, and Heath saw what was missing. What had been missing, for so long.

  He’d grown up without a mother, and that emptiness had left a gaping hole in so much of what he did. Zeke had no memories of a mother, of that softer side of encouragement. The warmth. The glee.

  And Lizzie had grown up the same way, her mother gone far too soon. But she’d had Corrie’s love and devotion. The strength and wisdom of a good woman, guiding all three girls along the way.

  Better than anyone, Lizzie would be able to lovingly accept his son as her own.

  His thumb went to his empty ring finger, and this time it didn’t feel naked. It felt right, like it was supposed to be that way.

  Anna would want him to move on. He knew that. She’d want what was best for their son and for him, and what was best for them was Lizzie. Now he needed to do whatever it took to convince the lady in question.

  She wanted faith, hope and love. His job was to make sure she got all three.

  Chapter Thirteen

  A small army of vehicles snaked their way up the Pine Ridge Ranch drive Memorial Day morning. Car after car worked their way toward the barnyard, then parked along the barn’s edges as if finding a spot along a small-town street. As the minutes ticked closer to ten o’clock, the yard and the graveled drive filled with people. More people than Heath thought lived in a five-mile radius.

  “About time someone’s doing something to remember this man.” Gilda Hathaway came forward. She’d looked unhappy when he first met her a dozen years before. She looked just as unhappy now. “I had my differences with Sean Fitzgerald, but then I’ve had my differences with most everyone. Where will this begin? Here?” She indicated the grassy slope. “In the house?” She swept the steps a fierce look, then brought it back to Heath. “In the barn?”

  There was no time to reply because a somewhat hunched older gentleman offered his hearty hello as he came up beside her.

  “I met Sean some thirty years back,” he said, after greeting Gilda and Heath. “That was when he first come to these parts, and while I’m sorry the men in the hills can’t be here, I wanted to come and pay my respects.” His voice rasped as if short on air, but his eyes gleamed with gentle wisdom. “Sean wanted this place to sit up and take notice, and we won’t ever forget that. Not all wanted to listen and he wasn’t a time waster.”

  Heath understood the truth in that. Sean valued time and industry.

  “He gave out his share of good advice, too,” the old fellow continued, “and I wasn’t afraid or too proud to take it.” He offered a gnarled, arthritic hand to Heath. Would it hurt the old-timer to shake his hand? Heath had no idea. Using a gentle touch, he accepted the hand with care.

  “Name’s Boone Webster,” the aged man told him. Shocks of gray hair peeked out from beneath a cowboy hat that had seen better days two decades back. “I spent my share of time on a lot of farms and ranches in my day. When my hands worked.”

  “Boone’s old but he makes a mean pot of venison stew,” Gilda announced to anyone who would listen, and by that time, there were a few dozen folks closing in on them. She didn’t break a smile, but she seemed almost approving, and Heath was pretty sure the old-timer blushed. “He’s got a heart for doin’ good, for all the good that’s done him.”

  “Now, Gilda. You said you wouldn’t fuss today,” Boone reminded her in a gentler tone than she probably deserved. “Today we’re respecting the dead and rejoicing the living. Remember?” He nodded across the yard and the old woman followed his look to a group of locals. Ben, Jace, Aldo and a few other ranch hands rounded out the group.

  “I remember, all right.”

  “Well, good.”

  “Glad to be here, Heath!” called one woman as Gilda and Boone moved on.

  “Harve, good to see you! Congratulations on your new daughter!” Blake Melos’s younger sister had spotted Harve and Rosina coming their way.

  Seven old men came in military uniform. Three of them unfurled flags, and three others carried long guns.

  Folks were greeting one another all around him, like a potluck gathering, and when Eric Carrington and two of the other big landowners joined the group, Heath saw the brilliance in the moment. Lizzie’s brilliance.

  He turned as she and Corrie approached the porch stairs. “You reached out to all these people to pu
t this together.”

  “Zeke and I informed people of the date and time, with a message about Sean’s service and his love for Idaho. Their hearts did the rest.”

  “Theirs and yours.” Gazing down, he glimpsed what the future could be like with this woman. He’d known it a dozen years before, but he’d been too young to understand the full implications.

  Now he did. Lizzie didn’t back down. She never gave up. She moved forward, saying what she meant, and meaning what she said.

  “Are you the gal who put this in my mailbox?” A middle-aged woman came close.

  Lizzie met her with a welcoming smile. “Guilty as charged.”

  “Well, it was like old times, walkin’ out there and findin’ somethin’ to read again,” the woman declared. “Like when the weekly arrived in the old days. I’d grab that up and read it front to back to see what was going on, especially in the winter. During rough snows it was about the only way to stay in contact with people before the snow plows got commissioned. I forgot how much I missed that until I found that paper in my box. And so well written, too!”

  Lizzie’s smile grew. “I do love writing,” she confessed to the woman. “And every little town could use its own paper, couldn’t it?”

  “Just to see what’s what,” the woman agreed. “Nothin’ too big or fancy. Just enough.”

  Lizzie moved to the top step. She raised a hand, and when folks noticed, they got quiet. Zeke had slipped out the side door. When he spotted Lizzie, he moved her way and tucked himself beneath her left arm, close to her heart...and she snugged that arm right around him in welcome, confirming what Heath had figured out.

  She belonged here. With him. With his son. In Heath’s arms, day and night. Now his job would be to convince her of that.

  “We want to thank you for coming today.” She smiled at the gathering of people and they smiled right back. “I didn’t know my uncle Sean, but the memories you emailed to us painted a picture of a wonderful man who left us too soon. While Uncle Sean wanted his ashes sprinkled on the land he loved so well, we decided that there should be a place to remember him.” She pointed to a spot between the house and the road. “He liked shade, so we picked a favorite group of trees. He liked sun, so the garden faces southwest. He was born a Southerner, and while Southern plants don’t transplant well to Idaho, woodcrafts do, so the benches in the garden are from Kentucky. But more than anything, my uncle Sean loved God and his country. He loved Idaho. The beauty of the valley and the majesty of the mountains. We see it here in his house. On this ranch. And in the kind of job he did every single day. From the battlefield where he risked his life to save others and here, where he opened the doors of opportunity to others.” She smiled at Harve, Rosie and Aldo, then gave a slight pause before she went on. “Anger and division kept our family at odds a long time. Our hope is that this memorial today, on a day when we remember those who’ve served our country, becomes one that brings family, friends and this sweet town back together.” She looked down. “Zeke. Are you ready?”