Light The Way Home
By
Cerian Hebert
Dedication
To my husband and children who’ve put up with my hours of writing and dreaming, and to my writing friends who’ve been there to support, teach and push me through the hard times.
Chapter One
“What do you want me to do about it, Sally?” Ben Winslow rubbed hard at the bridge of his nose where a headache was forming. This conversation was the last thing he needed today.
“Talk some sense into Lu,” the woman on the other end of the line insisted, her voice lifting in urgency as if she were expecting her whole world to end right then if Ben didn’t act. “She’ll listen to you, Ben. She values your opinion more than anyone else’s.”
This wasn’t the first time Sally had called, up in arms over Hayden Merrick. Such a stir this young woman had made in Burton in the month she’d been in town.
“Lu has every right to make whatever decisions she thinks are appropriate, Sal. It’s her land and if she wants to leave it to Bozo the Clown, that’s her business, not mine. Hayden is her granddaughter and she should inherit her land if that’s what Lu wants. Has she actually told you that she’s changing her will?”
There was a long sigh from the other end. Ben could picture Sally pacing the parlor over at Primrose Inn.
“Not exactly, but I know she will. You should see how she acts when she’s with Hayden. It’s bound to happen and it’s just not fair, Ben.” Her voice acquired a tremble that Ben was well used to. It generally heralded the arrival of some more serious emotional state.
“What does that matter, and by whose standards are we basing this fairness?”
“And I’m not the only one who thinks this way. Hayden hasn’t received the warmest welcome around here. She’s certainly stirred up lots of trouble about Primrose and people are beginning to drag Jesse Ball’s name out as Hayden’s father. She could ruin his reputation by being here.”
The headache grew as his patience dwindled. “And that is none of your business either, Sally. Don’t make things worse than they already are.”
She’d be stewing about the whole Ball family drama too, Ben mused. But for all the uproar Hayden was causing, he knew Sally probably thrived on it. She wasn’t happy unless there was drama in her life and the little South Dakota town provided precious little of that.
“You’re too easy on her,” Sally grumbled.
“Because I don’t see her as quite the troublemaker you seem to. I don’t think that there’s anything evil or underhanded about her presence here in town. Listen, Sally, I’m sorry you think Hayden has plans to steal your inheritance, but I’m not going to step into Gardner family matters. Lu is my friend and I have to respect her decisions. And the Balls can take care of themselves. Now I have paperwork to do. There’s a storm rolling in and I need to finish up.”
“Fine.” Sally’s petulant response made Ben roll his eyes. She’d be disappointed in his refusal to help, but she’d get over it. Or find another way to try to get Hayden out of town and restore her position as Lu’s closest family member.
They said their goodbyes and Ben leaned heavily on his desk, his face against the palms of his hands. In a way he could understand Sally’s position. She’d been expected to inherit Primrose Inn until the arrival Lu’s long lost granddaughter from Maine. Lu and her late husband had disowned their daughter, Rosalyn, and no one had ever expected the rift to be bridged after all this time.
Things changed, though, when Hayden had turned up on Lu’s front porch with the news of Rosalyn’s death. Lu didn’t send Hayden away, but had embraced her granddaughter and invited her into her life. Ben, for one, was glad she did. It gave Lu comfort in her grief, to have the granddaughter she’d never known with her. And now it seemed Lu was considering changing her will to leave Primrose to Hayden instead of Sally.
It was bound to make life a little more interesting.
With firm resolution, Ben shelved all thoughts of Lu Gardner and her property and turned his mind to the here and now. He had breeding and training schedules, vet appointments to organize, and upcoming clinics that would draw horse people from all over the Midwest. There were supplies to pick up, and two perspective buyers arriving in the morning to look at a couple broodmares he was considering selling. Ben stared at the computer monitor in front of him, but his attention was drawn away from work by the low rumble of thunder that carried across the prairie.
With an annoyed shake of his head, he powered the unit down. Last thing he needed was to fry his Dell. Besides, with the storm that was bearing down on them, the boys could no doubt use a hand.
“Ben!”
Tuck’s alarmed bellow sent Ben charging for the door. Tuck wasn’t one to holler unless it was something urgent.
Against the gray sky outside the barn, Tuck and one of the other ranch hands held onto the reins of a bay gelding who was fully saddled and panting as if he’d been ridden hard. An easel and canvas bag hung from the saddle.
“Damn,” Ben muttered as he approached Lu’s old gelding, Bugs. The horse was the single most foul-tempered animal, but Lu seemed to be fond of him, so the beast stayed put, as retired as his owner. No one had ridden the animal in over five years. At the ripe old age of twenty-two and with a bum leg, he was fit to live, but not fit to ride.
Ben glared at the canvas. Certainly didn’t need to be a brain surgeon to figure out who had Bugs out. Here he’d just been defending Hayden to Sally, and now this.
“Where is she?” he demanded, looking away from the horse to the stable yard.
“She ain’t here, Ben. The horse came in alone.”
Ben swore again. “Bring him in and get him comfortable in a stall and see if you can get Doc over here. I’ll take Ricochet out and see if I can find her.”
“Yes, sir,” Tuck replied, pulling Bugs toward the barn. Ben dashed into his horse’s stall. Somewhere a woman needed rescuing and the flash of lightning that sizzled through the air brought home the urgency of getting her to safety.
****
Hayden lowered her head and pushed on, steeling her nerves against the threat of the storm. She kept her eyes on the toes of her shoes, finding it better not to look at the sky. The heat that saturated the air around her competed with the anger and frustration that burned like dry kindling inside her head.
“Nothing like this would happen in Clarksport,” she muttered under her breath, thinking of her tranquil hometown on the Maine coast. Reluctantly, she picked up the pace and headed toward the Winslow’s place. Maybe the pig-headed horse had stopped for a snack along the way and would let her catch up.
Low clouds perched along the edge of the horizon. The air shifted, like the whole world had gathered itself up, took one deep breath, and waited to exhale. The sky bore down on the earth with pressure that Hayden could feel all over her skin. Though she’d been in South Dakota for about a month, she knew what those clouds would bring.
As if confirming her fears, a light danced across the bottom of the thunderheads.
Thunder rumbled in the distance, and the sky fluctuated from varying shades of gray to a greenish color that reminded her of the skin tone of someone who didn’t take to a boat ride out on the bay. And here she was, walking as fast as she could toward the oncoming storm. But that was the direction the old horse had taken, and that was the direction of The Painted Horse Ranch, her nearest shelter.
The beat of what could either be a horse or a fast cow pulled her attention away from the angry sky. Hayden jerked her head up, expecting to see Bugs heading back toward her, maybe scared by the oncoming storm.
Instead, it was a man on a brown and white horse, taking the bend in the path ahead like hell was fast on their heels.
Hayden pitched herself off the narrow trail to avoid a certain collision. Her feet betrayed her, and she stumbled into a thick clump of grass. Her balance disappeared and the only thing to save her from landing on her rear was a prickly bush. Before she hit
it, Ben Winslow pulled the big horse up within two feet of her. Deadly looking hooves kicked up dozens of tiny stones, several slapping her denim-clad legs.
Since arriving in South Dakota, Hayden had seen Ben on more than a few occasions, either in town or when he paid visits to her grandmother at Primrose. No woman in the world could ignore his powder blue eyes that danced as if he didn’t have a care in the world. His smile came in a close second, honest and wide, setting off dimples that were a strange mix of boy-next-door and drop dead sexy. The combination of the two features could send a thrill straight to the coldest heart. Her heart wasn’t cold, so he was far too dangerous to her well-being. Hayden had never seen anyone look so much like a man right out of an old western. Ben Winslow could fulfill any girl’s fantasy of a gorgeous cowboy. The Marlboro Man had nothing on him.
Now, however, his face looked as dark and dangerous as the storm that gathered force behind him. A clap of thunder rolled for several seconds and Hayden wondered if he’d come to her rescue or to scare the living daylights out of her. He said nothing for several seconds and looked as though he might just pull her over his knee to punish like a petulant child. He glared down at her, from beneath the brim of the same ivory hat he always wore and she noticed that his usual smile was gone without a trace. Hayden untangled herself from the bush, which was only an excuse not to look into the angry pair of eyes.
“You damned idiot. I don’t know as I’ve ever met a bigger fool than you, Hayden Merrick.”
Without even a “by your leave”, he grabbed her by her upper arm and hauled her upwards as if she weighed no more than a toddler, setting her down with a thump on the saddle in front of him. The motion only served to agitate the already sore joints she’d injured earlier, courtesy of Bugs.
“Hey! What—put me down!” Hayden shoved her elbow into Ben’s ribcage, but found that it was too well muscled and her jab, no matter how well aimed on her part, didn’t budge him. As much as she tried to remain calm, the contact with Ben wreaked havoc on her senses that rivaled anything the adrenaline from the storm created.
“You just sit still. We’ve got to get back to the barn before that storm hits us,” he said against her ear. “Unless you’d rather walk?”
“No,” she muttered and took hold of the saddle horn and tried to ignore the ill-timed attraction.
It didn’t do her heart or nerves any good when he tightened his grip around her waist. He pulled her up against his broad chest, swung his horse around, and clicked his tongue against his teeth, setting the horse back into motion.
Hayden couldn’t find the courage to do anything but clutch at the horn and pray to any god who had the time to listen, that she didn’t fall off. She threw in an added plea that the storm wouldn’t meet them before they reached the safety of Ben’s ranch.
At least Ben seemed too busy to continue on the “damned idiot” rant he’d begun. Controlling the big horse over the uneven terrain demanded his concentration. The close contact did nothing but direct Hayden’s awareness to him. With every jostle, she felt the hardness of his thighs as she struggled not to bounce around on his lap. His long legs, secure in the stirrups, left very little room to grip the horse to maintain her own balance. Instead, she concentrated on remaining as still as possible and tried to block out the feel of Ben’s capable arm around her.
The horse was sure-footed enough to cover the ground with no hesitancy. His white mane tickled at her fingers, and by the time The Painted Horse came into sight, flecks of sweat blew from his coat onto her jeans. He began to puff, but didn’t slow. Not even when the first fat drop of rain splattered onto his neck.
A brighter flash of lightning jumped through the bottom of the clouds, now just overhead. A slim, jagged finger of blazing white heat reached out and struck behind the main ranch house, no more than a quarter mile away. The air around the flash crackled with electrical charge and emitted an eerie blue glow. Hayden barely smothered the shriek that threatened to burst from her lungs. Instead she pressed herself into Ben’s chest. If she dared move anymore she would’ve buried her face there as well, but raw fear clamped her body. He had a good grip on her, though, his arm wrapped around her ribcage, gloved hand resting in the hollow of her waist.
As they entered the ranch yard, a man ran over and swung the gate shut behind them as soon as they cleared it. Ben ran the horse past the imposing log home and straight into the big barn before pulling him up to another precision halt, his hold on Hayden tightening a good measure more as the jolting movement bounced her in the saddle.
Thunder reverberated throughout the steel structure, and the sound of the downpour against the roof created an insane cacophony all around them. Ben dismounted and roughly pulled her from the saddle, releasing his hold on her waist as soon as her toes hit the turf. The anger she’d seen building up in his gaze hadn’t left his face.
“Your gear is over there by the door.” Ben had to practically yell for Hayden to hear over the noise of the storm.
She looked in the direction he waved and saw her tote, canvas and easel dumped in the dirt. She gasped and ran over to them. The canvas, with its depiction of the butte, was ruined. Dirt clung to it, and sections of vivid color were smudged beyond repair. Whether the destruction had happened before or after it was taken off the saddle, she didn’t know, and quite frankly she wasn’t too inclined to care. Two hours of work were ruined and the loss only added to her humiliation and anger.
She rounded on Ben as he hauled the heavy saddle off his horse’s back and slung it easily over his shoulder. With only a glance at Hayden, he strode toward the tack room while one of the grooms took over the care of the brown and white horse.
“Hey!” Hayden called out, stalking after him, hands curled into fists at her side. Her whole body screamed in protest, but she wouldn’t let it slow her. “What the hell happened to my canvas? You couldn’t have been more careful with it?”
If she thought Ben had been angry before, the dark wrath on his face told her it couldn’t get much worse. His glare was incomparable even to the assaulting storm that hovered over The Painted Horse.
“Go to the office and get on the phone to your grandmother and let her know you’re safe. And stay put.”
His voice was controlled, but not by much, his granite-hard jaw clenched so tight. She was surprised that he could even speak through it. Pale blue eyes blazed from underneath the brim of his hat.
Hayden backed away and silently did as she was told, heading toward the door he pointed to at the back of the barn.
The Painted Horse Ranch looked like a traditional ranch, complete with rustic bunkhouse, chap-clad “cowhands” and cattle mulling around in pens behind the barn. Gran had told her, though, that Ben Winslow’s real passion was for the Paint horses he bred and raised. Top quality, some of the best in the country, Gran had said in a voice so full of pride that Hayden wondered just how close she and Ben were. He also hosted clinics regularly throughout the year which drew in horse enthusiasts from all over the country and sometimes abroad. The reputation The Painted Horse Ranch had was incomparable, Hayden had discovered since arriving in South Dakota.
The air conditioner was a blessing, and its steady hum did something to cover the sound of the storm outside. It didn’t completely drown it out. A crash of thunder vibrated the walls and another flash of lightning seeped through the blinds.
Hayden bit her bottom lip as the rattles faded for a moment and gave the room a sweeping look. The office was decorated in a pallet of blues, dark greens, and creams. Modern furniture and thick carpet made it an oasis from the dust and grime of the outside. On the handsome mahogany desk, positioned at an angle in the far corner, was a computer system that would make any techno-geek drool.
A black phone sat on the shiny desk. Luckily she remembered the phone number for her grandmother’s and dialed it out quickly.
“Primrose Inn,” a smooth voice answered.
“Put my grandmother on,” Hayden demanded, recognizing her
cousin’s voice.
“Hayden, is that you? We’re worried sick! How did you end up at The Painted Horse?”
Stuff it, sister.
“Never mind that now. We’ll have that discussion as soon as I get back. Now put my grandmother on the phone.”
“She’s napping. Should I come get you? I hope you don’t plan on riding back.”
Hayden picked up on the trace of humor in Sally’s voice and gritted her teeth. So that was how it was going to be. Little bits of Sally’s true nature were beginning to show and Sally’s suggestion to take Bugs out on the prairie had been very telling.
Yeah, ha ha, very funny.
“No, of course not, but we’ll chat about that too. I’ll have someone here get me back, or I’ll walk, or something. Just tell my grandmother that I’m all right.”
“Okay, sugar. You should have Ben bring you back. I just took some pies out and he could bring them back with him. He loves my apple p—”
Hayden hung up the phone before Sally could finish. She didn’t want to talk to her any more than she had to, and anything she really needed to say would be said face to face.
Hayden took a seat on the plush, comfortable couch, folded her arms across her chest and waited. Once, when she was fourteen, she had to sit in the principal’s office because she’d been caught smoking a cigarette underneath the bleachers at Clarksport High School. That couch had been an old tweed wreck with lumps and the office smelled like musty leather and paper. Mr. Hanson had been a thin-lipped grouch of a man who took great pleasure in watching his young charges squirm under his shifty gray eyes and sharp tongue.
Hayden would’ve traded that wait for this one in a heartbeat.
Summer on Main Street Page 104