by Laura Abbot
He was kinda curious to meet Pam’s father, even if he did live in this barren place. He’d never been to a real ranch before. It could be cool.
He’d figured it would be weird to have Pam for a teacher, but it was turning out all right. He liked that she wrote back to him in his journals. He’d thought a lot about her answer to his question about why she’d married his father so suddenly.
She said she’d always admired his dad and hoped that while Andy was living with them, he’d learn what a fine man his father was. Well, never mind that part. Then she’d said sometimes when a certain relationship exists, like hers and his dad’s, it can change just like that and you realize you’re supposed to be together.
The funny part was he guessed old people who got married weren’t as hot to trot as young people. He sure didn’t notice any lovey-dovey stuff. You’d think his dad wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off a babe like Pam. Go figure.
PAM EXPERIENCED a flood of emotions when they pulled up in front of the one-story brick ranch house. The trim needed paint and the flower beds her dad had always carefully tended were overgrown. He stubbornly refused to get help and even though he’d leased the cattle operation, he clung to the home place. She worried about him, particularly now that his knee was giving him so much trouble. Then there was the immediate concern—passing off hers as a marriage made in heaven.
While Andy stood awkwardly by the car, Grant opened the back door and helped her out, catching her hand in a steadying grip. “Are you ready for this?” she asked, checking his expression for signs of reluctance.
“Piece of cake,” he said with a reassuring smile.
They were halfway to the door when Will Carver stepped onto the porch. “Welcome to God’s country, ever’body.”
Pam raced ahead and threw her arms around him. He smelled of leather, shaving cream and Ben-Gay. “Daddy, I’m so glad to see you.”
“You’re a sight for sore old eyes, dumplin’.” He nodded over her shoulder. “And I thought you’d never bring these two to meet me.”
Pam turned and made the introductions. Grant smiled broadly and extended his hand. Andy hung behind his father, muttering a “Glad to meetcha.”
Will showed them inside. Pam sighed inwardly. Dust was thick on the furniture and old newspapers lay haphazardly stacked by the recliner, but in the middle of the dining table was a vase of fresh chrysanthemums and filling the house was the familiar aroma of her father’s famous chili. “Let’s get you settled, then we can chew the fat at dinner.” Will turned to Andy. “Son, you’re in the first room on the left. Grant, I figured you and Pam’d like a little more privacy—” he winked “—so you’re at the end of the hall.”
Pam groaned. The room with the extralong double bed and the private bath. When she’d mentioned the limitations of the guest quarters to Grant, he’d simply said, “We’ll make it work, somehow.”
But she didn’t know how.
After getting settled, Pam helped dish up the chili and they gathered around the table. “Now tell me all about how you got hooked up with my daughter,” her father said to Grant.
Maybe it was because the story had now been oft rehearsed, but Grant almost made her believe they’d been struck by a lightning bolt, realizing with swiftness and certainty that they were in love. He went on to make a convincing case for the need to marry before Andy arrived and school started. It all sounded so logical.
And so magical.
“Well, I couldn’t be happier for you both,” her beaming father said when Grant finished. “The main thing is you’re happy.”
She gave what she hoped was an enthusiastic smile.
“And I’ve got a new grandson, to boot. Can’t ask for much better ’n that.” Will helped himself to a spoonful of chili, then turned his attention to Andy. “Ever been on a ranch, son?”
Andy shook his head. “No sir.”
“Tell you what. After supper, you and me and your dad’ll take a little tour. Would you like that?”
Pam had to hand it to Andy. He was being a lamb. Her dad had always missed having a son and, in the summers, used to hire all kinds of strays from the local high school who needed a father figure. Maybe his spell would work with her stepson, too.
She was grateful when the dinner ended and the men-folk left for their ranch tour. Doing the dishes was a small price to pay for a little peace and quiet—and the opportunity to get ready for bed before she had to share the room with Grant.
One niggling thought ate away at her calm. Although he’d tried to hide it, her dad had winced when he’d stood up from the table, and had moved slowly, favoring his left leg. Hardly the loose, athletic gait of an expert horseman.
How much worse, exactly, was his knee?
GRANT WAS FASCINATED by Will Carver’s running commentary about ranching and the glories of West Texas, and it was clear Andy was equally enthralled. With his broad paunch hanging over his large silver belt buckle, a salt-and-pepper mustache and silver-rimmed glasses, Will looked like a crusty version of Wilfred Brimley. Every now and then he’d stop the Jeep, peer out over the pastureland and point to a particular herd, commenting on its bloodline.
Back at the barn, he eyed Andy’s baggy shorts. “You got any jeans with you, son?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“Those duds you got on aren’t real suitable for riding. You like horses?”
“I dunno.”
“Figure you’d wanna find out?”
“You mean go horseback riding?” Caution and elation warred in Andy’s tone. “I, uh, I’ve never been.”
“Then it’s high time. Sunup, boy. I’ll wake you.”
After a tour of the barn and an introduction to the horses, Will led them back to the house. Andy ran ahead. “Didn’t think to ask, Grant. You wanna ride, too?”
“I think I’ll pass.”
“Yeah, I expect it wouldn’t be too good to roust a newlywed at the crack of dawn.” He chortled, then clamped a callused hand on Grant’s back. “I like you. And I like your boy there, too.” He paused at the foot of the porch steps. “I figure we’ll keep you both.”
Later, when Grant entered the bedroom and stood watching Pam hugging the edge of the mattress, seemingly asleep, he thought about Will’s words. The man’s acceptance had been straightforward and complete. As if he had no doubt that Grant would take care of his daughter—always. It was getting harder and harder to face the reality that they would disappoint so many people who believed in them.
Grant eyed the cramped bedroom. A gun cabinet and bookcase took up the only available wall and there was scant room between the window and the bed. He sat gingerly on the edge of the bed and began removing his shoes.
“Grant?” Pam sounded sleepy.
“I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“It’s okay.” She turned on her side to study him in the half-light of the moon. “I’m sorry. About the bed. I’ll try not to move.”
Damn. Why did she have to smell like a bower of roses? Just thinking about climbing under the covers beside her was making him hard. What if, in the middle of the night, half-asleep, he forgot where he was and reached out for her?
It wasn’t just that she was a woman and he’d been a long time without. No, that wasn’t the half of it. The trouble was, this was Pam. Pam, who was becoming way too important to him.
He shoved his shoes under the bed, then went into the bathroom to finish getting ready. He hadn’t worn pajamas in years, preferring to sleep in his boxers, but he’d brought them for this trip. Putting them on only served to remind him how different this night was.
Back in the bedroom, he started to pull the covers back when Pam whispered to him. “You get under the sheet. I’ll stay between the top sheet and the blanket.”
So that was her plan. The twenty-first-century version of bundling. He supposed it was the best they could do under the circumstances.
Unless, of course, he ripped off the covers and pulled her into his arms and loved her the
way he wanted to, the way his body was demanding.
Instead, he dutifully climbed beneath the sheet, cradled his head in his hands and stared at the ceiling, careful not to move. He could hear her measured breathing, feel her body warmth, inhale her special fragrance.
Pure torture.
IT WAS THE EVERLOVIN’ crack of dawn. Andy squinted at the luminous dial of his watch. Five-thirty. Crap. He’d thought when the old man said “sunup,” it was one of those figures of speech Pam talked about in class. Only the smell of bacon kept him from chucking it in and going back to sleep. He stepped into his jeans, pulled on a sweatshirt and ran his fingers through his hair.
In the kitchen, Pam’s dad handed him a cup of hot chocolate, then asked him how he liked his eggs. “You always get up this early?” Andy asked.
The man’s eyes widened. “You call this early? Why, in my heyday I was up by four-thirty every day but Sunday.”
Andy couldn’t imagine it. “Gosh, Mr. Carver, that had to be the pits.”
“Let’s get one thing straight, pardner.” Will set down two plates of eggs and bacon and joined Andy at the table. “You can’t go on callin’ me ‘Mr. Carver.’ Not now that I’m your stepgrandpa.”
“I guess that would be kinda weird.” He thought for a moment. “But I don’t know what—”
“How ’bout plain old Gramps?”
“Sounds good.”
Gramps eyed him over his coffee cup. “So you’ve never been on a horse at all?”
“Once on a pony at this kid’s birthday party, but I figured that didn’t count.”
“You’re right. Now shovel that food in, son. We’ve got lots to do if we’re gonna make it to the Ghost Gulch pasture in time.”
“In time for what?”
“A glorious West Texas sunrise. I guarantee you haven’t seen anything like it.”
At the barn Andy tried manfully not to reveal his fear, nor to think about the lump of eggs and biscuit sliding around in his stomach. Pepper, the horse Gramps was saddling for him, was big, and his ears twitched kinda funny, and he stared at Andy with these big rolling eyes. “There,” Gramps said, drawing the belt-thing tight around the animal’s stomach. “All cinched. Ready to mount up?”
No way was he going to let Gramps see that he was scared shitless. “Sure.” He put his left foot into the stirrup and swung up into the saddle. Feeling the horse shift beneath him, he grabbed the handle on the saddle and tried not to think about how high off the ground he was.
“Here’s how you hold the reins.” Gramps wrapped his fingers around skinny strings of leather, then stood back. “Just talk nice to ol’ Pepper. He’s as gentle as they come.”
When the old man pulled himself into the saddle atop a brown-and-white spotted horse, Andy couldn’t help noticing how he grimaced and let out a sharp moan, but, recovering, clucked his tongue and the two horses started walking side by side out the corral gate. It was just light enough that the buildings were dark silhouettes against a light gray sky. Around them, Andy heard the twitters of birds and, farther away, the lowing of cattle.
Gramps pulled up the collar of his denim jacket and rode alongside him, not saying anything. Yet it wasn’t like he was ignoring him. More like they were com-padres who’d known each other so long they didn’t need words to communicate.
Andy was doing his best to concentrate on steering Pepper, but the horse kinda knew what to do without being told. Gradually Andy gained confidence. Until they broke into a trot and everything changed. He felt as if his teeth were loose marbles and his butt, a punching bag. Thank God for the handle on the saddle. He gripped it for dear life. Beside him he heard Gramps say, “Try not to bounce. Keep your hind parts in touch with the saddle.” Surprisingly, when he tried it, he didn’t bounce as badly as before.
Finally they stopped beside a watering trough in the middle of nowhere. Gritting his teeth, Gramps dismounted, then tested his left knee. “Hanging in there,” he muttered to himself. Then he walked over to Pepper, took the reins from Andy and helped him get off. When his feet hit the ground, Andy’s legs nearly buckled. “Not too bad, son, for your first ride.”
Even though his butt was sore and his knees refused to cooperate, Andy was exhilarated, and when Pepper turned his head and gave him an affectionate nip on the shoulder, Andy considered himself a regular John Wayne.
Gramps tethered the horses and then turned to Andy. “C’mon, son.” He led him to a rotted tree stump where they sat down. As far as you could see, there was nothing but land, undulating, then flat, marked by an occasional tree or outbuilding. “Watch.”
They sat silently. Then, like an eruption on the horizon, the earth gave birth to a giant red-orange ball. Wisps of gray-blue clouds drifted across the face of the sun and in the distance the bird and animal noises intensified.
“Pretty amazing, huh?”
“Awesome,” Andy said. Did they have sunrises like this in Florida? How would he know? He was never up this early.
The old man tilted back his Stetson and sat motionless, his gnarled hands folded between his legs. After several minutes, he spoke. “You must feel like a lost dogie.”
At first Andy didn’t know what he meant, but then he hazarded a guess. “You mean being new to Texas, school and all?”
“Yep. That, and havin’ a new stepmama. Could be tough on a fella. Lotsa change.”
Weird. He’d only known this old guy a little more than twelve hours and already he felt more comfortable with him than anybody he’d met in Texas. It was like Gramps could read his mind. “Pam’s okay.”
Gramps merely nodded his head.
“School’s…different.”
“Kids already in their own packs, I reckon.”
“Yeah.”
“Takes time to break in.”
“A coupla guys are bein’ okay. And there’s this one girl…”
“Sounds like you’re doin’ fine, then. Day at a time. That’s the way to do it.”
Andy realized Gramps made a lot of sense. Each day lately had been getting a little better. The guys he’d met at Chip’s house were cool, and he and Angie were talking on the phone quite a bit. Even his dad had been better lately, what with the driving lessons and all.
“Whaddya do for fun?”
“Just hang out, I guess.”
Gramps turned to look at him, his eyes kindly, but his mouth set in a firm line. “That’s fool’s talk, son. Waste of time. A man has to have a passion.” He gestured at the prairie. “Mine’s the land. Cattle. Horses.” He turned back to study the horizon, plucked a weed from the ground and chewed on the end. “Out with it. What’s your passion?”
Andy’s chest tightened. He knew. But could he tell? He clenched his knees. “Basketball,” he said softly.
“Basketball, huh? Your dad know about that?”
“No.”
“Any particular reason?”
Andy felt confused and tried desperately to gather his thoughts. “It’s my thing, you know? And at Keystone, he’s the big basketball hero. Championship-winning coach and all that stuff.” Andy hesitated, but when the old man didn’t say anything, he continued. “I don’t want to play for him. It’s complicated, but—”
“You just want to play for yourself, huh? For your own pleasure?”
“Yeah, I guess that’s it.”
“That sounds fine. Unless you’re missing out on some of the richness.”
“Richness?”
Gramps continued chewing the weed for a long time. Finally he flicked it aside and spoke. “The team spirit, for one thing. The work ethic, testing yourself against competition, the sense of accomplishment.” Then, with a grunt, he rose to his feet. “But that’s all up to you. Your decision.” He motioned to Andy to get up. As they walked toward the horses, Gramps put an arm around Andy’s shoulder. “You’ve got plenty to sort out, son. But I’m betting on you.”
Andy did better swinging into the saddle. He was even developing warm feelings toward Pepper. But best of
all, from that tight, locked place in his heart, affection for Will Carver surged. Even if it didn’t make sense, Gramps was already his friend.
PAM COULDN’T HELP HERSELF. She was fussing with Andy’s tie, smoothing the shoulders of his new suit, just like a regular mother. He looked quite handsome—and very young and tentative. She could tell he was trying hard to maintain his air of bored sophistication, but it was clear this Homecoming dance was a big deal to him. “Don’t forget the corsage,” she cautioned.
“Oh, yeah,” he said, breaking away and heading for the refrigerator.
Grant came out of the bedroom, car keys dangling. He looked around, then whispered, “I can’t believe he’s letting me take him and his friends to the dance.”
She chuckled. “The good stuff happens on the way home, dummy. That’s Chip Kennedy’s father’s responsibility.”
“I don’t even want to think about that.”
“Ain’t parenthood great?” Pam teased.
Andy entered the room, holding the florist’s box as if it were a time bomb. “Can we go now?”
“Sure.” Grant pecked her on the cheek in a great Ward Cleaver imitation. “See you later, honey.”
Pam waved them goodbye, grateful that by some miracle she and Grant had escaped chaperon duty. Andy would have been mortified.
She settled on the couch, joined by Sebastian and Viola, vying for the choice position on her lap. She smoothed her hand over her tummy, aware for the last several days that it was rounding and that elastic waist-bands were now dictating her clothing choices. She’d been for her second appointment with Belinda Ellis last week, and so far, her pregnancy was progressing right on schedule. “What do you think, kitties? Will you be jealous of Barney?” Sebastian reared up and looked at her, but Viola merely purred. She liked the way their warm bodies pressed against her, almost as if they were helping nurture the baby.