Between Heaven and Texas

by Marie Bostwick

  “I’ve been sleeping in a converted shed with no facilities for years. A tack room won’t be much different. And I can’t cook anyway. Well, I can scramble an egg and heat up soup, but that’s about it. If your folks wouldn’t mind me coming in the big house to use the facilities and if your momma would make me a plate of whatever she’s cooking, that’d be fine with me. I hope Taffy’s a better cook than Grace Spreewell.” He winked and scooped up another bite of chili.

  “Momma’s a very good cook. One of the best in the county,” Mary Dell said truthfully. “And Grandma Silky can bake a pie that’ll bring tears to your eyes. But you’d better be careful about giving either of them too many compliments on their food. They’ll have you fattened up like a Christmas turkey if you’re not careful.”

  Graydon smiled, but barely. “Well, I plan to be on my way before Christmas, so I ought to be safe. That work for you?”

  “It does. I feel lucky to have you for as long as you want to stay. Thank you.”

  Graydon touched his forefinger to his brow in a silent salute and then extended his hand. “So, we’ve got a deal, then?”

  “We do,” Mary Dell replied as she shook his hand to seal the bargain. “We sure do.”

  CHAPTER 30

  “Here?”

  Taffy’s eyebrows lifted as if she wasn’t sure she’d heard her daughter correctly. She wiped the blade of the paring knife she’d been using to slice apples on the hem of her apron and frowned.

  “Why does he have to stay here? Why can’t he stay at your place?”

  Mary Dell mentally counted to three.

  “Because,” she replied in a deliberately even tone, “I’ve got no extra beds. And it’ll be a lot more convenient for him to stay up here, close to the barns and paddocks. He’s staying in the barn. Not the house. He won’t be in the way.”

  Taffy put the knife on the counter and folded her arms across her chest. “Won’t he? He’s going to use our bathroom, which, I’ll remind you, is already being shared by six people. And you expect me to cook for him. Probably do his laundry too. Like I don’t already have enough on my plate. Don’t you stand there looking down your nose at me, missy!” Taffy snapped, though Mary Dell hadn’t changed her expression at all.

  “You’ve barely spoken to me for weeks, but boy howdy! The second you want something you sure run home to Momma quick enough, don’t you?”

  Taffy pulled a pastry cutter out of a drawer and started using it to mix cold butter into a mixture of brown sugar, cinnamon, and flour, stabbing at the cobbler topping as if she were trying to inflict bodily harm.

  Mary Dell threw up her hands. “This isn’t about me wanting something! I’m trying to figure out a way to get through the next few months without killing Daddy and losing half our livestock. Don’t you see that? I’m trying to keep the farm and this family from falling apart, and I can’t do it alone—”

  “Your daddy—” Taffy interrupted.

  Mary Dell interrupted her right back, determined to make her mother see sense.

  “My daddy is about ready to collapse from overwork. He can’t go on like he’s been doing—but somebody has to! Now, out of the blue, here’s Graydon, ready to work, asking for nothing in return but a pittance in pay and a place to lay his head. His coming here is an answer to our prayers, Momma. Don’t you see that?”

  “All I see is that after all I’ve already been through, losing my membership in the Women’s Club, having to put up with all and sundry gossiping about how my daughters managed to lose two men in one year, you’re trying to heap more humiliation on me by asking me to take in boarders.”

  Taffy reached into the mixing bowl and angrily started throwing lumps of sticky dough on top of the sugared apples like she was throwing dirt clods at a stray dog, spilling a good third of it over the side of the cobbler pan in the process.

  “Won’t Marlena and her henchmen have a time with that when they find out?”

  “Why do you care what that old peahen thinks?” Mary Dell asked. “It’s none of her business. And even if it was, you’re not taking in boarders. Graydon is family.”

  Taffy scraped the spilled dough up off the counter with her hands and dumped it into the pan.

  “Not anymore, he’s not,” she mumbled. “I’ve had just about enough of those Bebee boys. Thought you would too, by now.”

  “Don’t blame Graydon for what Donny did!” Mary Dell snapped. “It’s not fair. He came to help us out of the kindness of his heart, because he is family. He’s Howard’s uncle. We can trust him.”

  “The way we trusted Donny?” Taffy remarked acidly. She brushed the leftover flour off her hands.

  “Stop that,” Mary Dell hissed. “And lower your voice. He’s out on the porch. He might hear you.”

  “I don’t care if he does. I don’t want him staying with us!”

  Lydia Dale walked into the kitchen, carrying an empty baby bottle and balancing Rob Lee on her hip. Mary Dell turned toward her, an expression of relief on her face.

  “Sis, help me talk some sense into her. I drove up to Kansas, hoping to find Donny. Graydon hadn’t seen him, but when he heard what happened, he decided to come with me and—”

  Lydia Dale frowned. “Graydon? Graydon Bebee?”

  “Of course,” Mary Dell said. “How many Graydons do we know? He’s here to help with the ranch for a while. Through the lambing season for sure, but longer if I can talk him into it, at least until we can find a qualified manager. He’s hardly charging me anything, but he needs a place to stay. I’ve got no room in the trailer, and all the bedrooms are full here, so he’s going to sleep in the tack room.”

  Lydia Dale’s eyes went wide. “Our tack room? But where is he going to eat? And where is he going to—”

  “He’ll use the bathroom in here,” Mary Dell said, “and he can eat whatever it is the rest of the family is eating. All we have to do is make a little more of what we were fixing anyway.”

  “Are you kidding?” Lydia Dale asked incredulously. “That’s just crazy!”

  “I know,” Mary Dell said. “The tack room isn’t very comfortable, but that’s the way he wants it. He doesn’t want to be a bother to anybody.”

  Lydia Dale shifted the baby on her hip, set the empty bottle down on the table, and screwed her eyes shut.

  “No,” she said with a shake of her head, “I don’t mean it’s crazy that he’d sleep and eat in the barn. I mean it’s just crazy! The whole idea is crazy. He can’t stay here!”

  Taffy, who had been following this exchange closely, crossed her arms over her chest and gave a smug little nod. “That’s just what I said. This is our home, not a boardinghouse for stray cowpokes and former in-laws looking for a handout.”

  “A handout! Graydon is not looking for a handout. He quit his job in Kansas just to come here and help us.” Mary Dell threw up her hands. “What is wrong with you two?”

  Mary Dell looked at her mother, but Taffy just jerked her chin, picked up her cobbler, and slid it into the oven. Recognizing that immovable expression on her mother’s face, Mary Dell turned to her sister.

  “What do you have against Graydon? He’s never done anything to you or to any of us. Don’t tell me you’re blaming him for Donny’s mistakes too.”

  “No.” Lydia Dale closed her eyes again, trying to sort out her thoughts. “It’s not that. But it’s only that I . . . well, I just don’t want him staying here. I can’t explain why exactly, but I don’t! It would be so . . . awkward. And anyway, things aren’t that bad. We can hire somebody else.”

  “Nobody with one-tenth of his experience and who we can be sure has our best interests at heart. Nobody we know.” Mary Dell spread out her hands to underscore her point.

  Taffy closed the door of the oven and went to stand next to Lydia Dale, slipping her arm around her waist. “Well, maybe we’d prefer somebody we don’t know quite so well. Lydia Dale understands exactly what I’m talking about. I don’t want him staying here. Nobody does, except you.”r />
  “And me.”

  The kitchen door opened, and Dutch came in from the porch. He didn’t bother to wipe his boots on the mat like he usually did. Instead, he just strode into the middle of the room and looked at the three women with a stormy expression.

  “I saw Graydon hanging out over near the paddock. Seems he heard what you said about him, Taffy, not that you were trying very hard to keep it a secret, and figured he’d take himself off away from the house until things were settled. Which they are,” Dutch declared, “as of right now. Graydon is staying.”

  Taffy started to protest, but Dutch held up his hand to silence her.

  “Nope, I’m not hearing any of it. Lydia Dale, I don’t know what you’ve got against that young man, but get over it. Graydon’s a good man to help us like this. And we need help. This operation has got beyond me now. I can’t manage the hands, and they know it. One of ’em is stealing from us. I count six bags of feed missing. I can’t prove who took them, but somebody did. Plus, I’m a cowman. Don’t know a darned thing about sheep. Graydon does. We need him.”

  Taffy made a little clucking sound. “It’s not as bad as that.”

  “Oh, yes, it is,” Dutch countered. “Don’t you read the papers? We haven’t had rain in months. Our pasture is poor and the price of feed is up. Meanwhile, beef prices are low and going lower. We’ll be lucky to break even on our cattle. We need a good lambing season just to keep our heads above water, and that means we need Graydon. He’s staying.”

  Lydia Dale’s gaze flickered away from her father’s. She shifted her shoulders to indicate acquiescence. Taffy scowled and shuffled her feet as though her corns were bothering her. Her mouth opened, but once again, Dutch stayed her protests, this time by pointing his finger directly at the bridge of her nose.

  “I mean it, Taffy. Don’t test me on this. Graydon is staying and you are going to be nice to him. We’re going to wash his shirts, and feed him from our table, and you’re going to be hospitable to him. And if you’re not,” Dutch said, staring at his wife with eyes as focused and bright as two headlights on high beam, “I’ll be sleeping on the sofa, and you’ll be sleeping alone. Tonight and every night after. Do I make myself clear?”

  Taffy, with lips clamped tight, blew a long breath out through her nose, a defeated noise, like air leaking from an inner tube. She turned away, opened a drawer, and started rattling through the silverware, pulling out spoons, knives, and forks—enough for the family and a guest.

  Dutch nodded and headed toward the living room, stopping to chuck Rob Lee on the chin.

  “Give me this big old boy,” he said to Lydia Dale. “He wants to come into the TV room with me, don’t you, Bubba? Honey, can you bring us something to drink? Rob Lee and Grandpa are going to see if we can catch the sports report before supper.”

  “Sure, Daddy,” she said, passing the baby over to her father. “One bottle of apple juice and one bottle of beer, coming right up.”

  Dutch walked out, cooing to his grandson. Lydia Dale filled the baby’s bottle, cracked open a Lone Star, and followed. Taffy finished counting out the silverware, slammed the drawer shut, and glared at Mary Dell.

  “Well?”

  “Well, what?”

  “Well, are you just going to stand there with your teeth in your mouth, or are you going to get some bedding out of the linen closet and take it to the tack room? Dinner’s almost ready.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Mary Dell ducked her head to hide her smile.

  Taffy called after her, “And you be sure to tell that Graydon Bebee to wipe his boots before he comes into my kitchen!”

  CHAPTER 31

  Graydon was leaning against the fence, holding a sleeping Howard on his shoulder as he stroked the neck of Dutch’s horse, a buckskin bay named Billy Boy. The horse sputtered contentedly as Graydon’s hand slid down his coat and stepped closer to the fence, urging him to go on. But when Graydon heard Mary Dell coming with an armload of bedding, he walked toward her.

  “Maybe it’d be better if I left.”

  “Don’t do that,” Mary Dell said. “Please. I need your help.”

  “I don’t want to cause trouble between you and Taffy.”

  “Any trouble I have with Momma has been around since long before you showed up. Trust me. I’m sorry you had to hear all that,” she said, tilting her head toward the house. “She didn’t mean it like it sounded. Momma’s had a hard year—mostly because she chooses to take everything so hard. Beats me why she gives a flyin’ flip about what Marlena Benton and the rest say about us, but she does.”

  Graydon nodded and scratched a spot on his neck just below his right ear, the exact same spot Donny had always scratched when he was thinking something through. Mary Dell felt a little catch in her throat, but she swallowed it back.

  “Taffy’s a proud woman.”

  “She is,” Mary Dell agreed with a little laugh. “Though I can’t think why. Look at us. It’s not like we’ve got all that much to be proud of.”

  Graydon, still holding Howard in his arms, took a long look from left to right, scanning miles of bright blue sky where it met the brown horizon, acres and acres of land, from the flat plain nearest the house where scores of fat, pregnant sheep lolled and dozed in the sun, beyond that to distant, rust-colored hillocks studded with stubborn mesquite trees, and farther still, where the hills sloped downward and met a narrow strip of brownish-green, like a bedraggled hair ribbon, the stingy stream that made the F-Bar-T, small as it was by Texas standards, one of the most desirable ranches in the county.

  The stream was just a trickle now, dried up by months of drought. According to family lore that was the state it had been in when Flagadine and George arrived, more than 140 years ago, in the middle of another drought. The other settlers were in too much of a rush to notice such a miserly stream, preferring to stake claims closer to town before somebody else snapped them up. But Flagadine took her time, walked these acres personally, studied the landscape, read the soil, and came to realize that when the drought finally ended and the rains returned, this piddling little stream would swell, overflow its shallow banks, and flood the lowlands, feeding the soil and bringing forth new, tender green grass.

  “Well,” Graydon said after a long moment, “this may not seem like anything special to people who live in New York, or San Francisco, or any place like that, but to a rancher, to a Texan, this looks an awful lot like heaven. Twelve hundred acres of God’s country. The kind of place I used to dream of having myself, back in the days when I used to do that kind of thing. I don’t mean to contradict you, Mary Dell, but it seems to me that your family has plenty to be proud of.”

  Mary Dell moved her eyes across the horizon the way Graydon had, seeing what he had seen the way he had seen it, the stark beauty of the land and the unique heritage that she had only begun to fully appreciate when the responsibility for protecting it fell to her. It was a heritage to be proud of, an inheritance worth fighting for. She knew that. So did Graydon.

  She laid her hand lightly on his forearm. “So you’ll stay?”

  He nodded. “For a while.”

  “Thank you,” she said quietly, locking her eyes with his for just a moment before removing her hand. “I’ll just go and make up your bed.”

  Graydon glanced at the baby. “Why don’t we trade loads? I’m used to making my own bed, and I’ve got to unpack my gear anyway, what there is of it.”

  He passed Howard over to her, took the pile of blankets and sheets, and loped off toward the barn.

  Billy Boy, who had been munching a clump of not-very-green grass he’d discovered growing around a fence post, suddenly jerked his head up, looked around, and sputtered.

  Mary Dell approached the paddock and scratched the horse gently between the eyes. “Are you wondering where Graydon ran off to? You like him? Me too.”

  Mary Dell was still petting Billy Boy when Graydon returned. The kitchen door opened at the same time, and Jeb stepped out onto the porch.

&
nbsp; “Grandma says come in and wash up before supper,” he yelled in a singsong voice. “And to wipe your boots when you do.”

  “Jeb! That’s no way to talk to company,” Mary Dell scolded. “Somebody’d think you were trying for first prize in a hog-calling contest, hollering like that. Come over here and say hello to your uncle Graydon.”

  Jeb shuffled toward them, scuffing his boots in the dirt and giving Billy Boy a cautious glance before putting out his hand.

  “Nice to meet you, Uncle Graydon.”

  Graydon shook his hand. “Nice to meet you too, Jeb.”

  Jeb sniffed and used his hand to swipe at his nose. “Are you my real uncle? Or are you just a boyfriend uncle?”

  “Boyfriend uncle?” Mary Dell asked.

  Jeb nodded. “Like Carla Jean. Daddy says I’m supposed to call her Aunt Carla Jean. I don’t like to. She’s not my aunt, she’s just Daddy’s girlfriend.”

  Jeb eyed Graydon suspiciously. “Are you Aunt Mary Dell’s new boyfriend?”

  Mary Dell blushed and started to say something, but Graydon beat her to it.

  “I’m not anybody’s boyfriend. I’m your uncle Donny’s brother. I’m not sure if that makes me your uncle or not,” he said evenly, “but it does make me family.”

  “Well, if you’re family, then why haven’t I met you before?”

  “I’ve been living up in Kansas for a long time.”

  “How long?”

  “Jeb!” Mary Dell exclaimed. “Uncle Graydon didn’t come all the way from Kansas so you could give him the third degree.”

  “It’s all right,” Graydon said with a wave of his hand. “He’s just curious—means he’s thinking.” He turned back to Jeb.

  “I moved to Kansas before you were born. And before you ask, I’m here now to help out on the ranch for a while, at least through the lambing season.”

  “Because Uncle Donny left?” Jeb asked. “My daddy left too. He lives in town, but he doesn’t work at the ranch anymore.”