by Sherry Lewis
A burst of laughter from near the stables caught his attention. He recognized Gary’s laugh, guessed that the higher, feminine one belonged to Nessa, and knew that Tyler had to be there, too. He fought a pang of envy over the quick and easy relationship Gary had developed with Tyler, another over the relationship Annie shared with Nessa.
He mopped his face with one hand and looked back into the sky, wishing answers would suddenly appear there. Because no matter how much logic he applied, no matter how many times he reminded himself that he’d never been that interested in marriage or family, everything inside him seemed to be turning that into a lie.
DEAN WAS STILL PUTTING off that apology to Annie four days later. He’d gone over it in his mind again and again, but every explanation he could have offered seemed weak or pathetic. Anyway, he didn’t want to apologize in front of everyone else. And their days had been so busy since the first round of guests had arrived, an opportunity to get her alone hadn’t presented itself.
He didn’t want to seek her out for a private conversation. That might give someone the wrong idea. Hell, it might give him the wrong idea. He was still trying to decide if he really wanted a relationship at this stage of life or if he’d been under the influence of moonlight, meat loaf and fresh raspberry pie.
One of these days, the perfect opportunity to talk with Annie would come along. When it did, he’d be ready. Meanwhile, he had other things to worry about. Gary had found a leak in the men’s shower room before breakfast, and Dean was scrambling to fix it. He was in the shed, measuring a piece of pipe, when the commotion started.
He stopped working and listened to the dull throbbing that seemed to match his heartbeat. Wondering what else was going wrong, he strode to the door and listened more closely. It took only a second to recognize the rhythmic pulsing as an insistent bass beat coming from a stereo turned up too loud—and he had a good idea whose stereo it was.
Whatever progress Dean imagined he’d made during their conversation by the woodpile had been just that—a figment of his imagination. He’d tried repeatedly to talk with Tyler since then, but opportunities had been few and far between, and he’d been rejected at every turn.
Mealtimes had turned into silent battlegrounds during which Dean sensed an awareness of the tension from their guests. More than once Dean had smelled the lingering odor of cigarette smoke on Tyler’s clothes, so it was obvious that the kid still had a supply. It seemed as if Tyler went out of his way to make sure Dean knew he was still smoking.
Just the day before, Dean had confronted him about it, but Tyler had put on an injured expression and pleaded innocence, and since one of his paying guests was a smoker, Dean couldn’t prove his suspicions so Tyler had won that round. Dean would be damn sure he had solid proof before he confronted him again.
Luckily, Tyler couldn’t feign innocence this morning. That damn music was loud enough, the folks in town could probably hear it. Dean didn’t want to engage in a battle where the guests might hear, but the heavy pounding in the still morning air was just another act of aggression. One Dean couldn’t ignore.
Swearing, he set aside the tools he’d been using, stepped out of the shed and tried to figure out where the sound was coming from. When he realized that it seemed to be originating from the stables, his irritation took a giant upswing. The Carters had arranged for a trail ride that afternoon. If Tyler spooked the horses, Dean would throttle him.
He was halfway to the stables when Hugh Morrison from cabin three stopped him to ask about a guided fishing trip. Dean tried not to look irritated by the delay, directed him to make a reservation through Irma and kept going. He made it to the stables a couple of minutes later, jerked open the door and stepped inside. A boom box sat on a bale of hay, its volume turned so high the equipment hanging on the walls rattled with every pulse of the rhythm.
Dean looked around for Tyler, fully expecting to see him waiting, watching, smirking. To his surprise, the building seemed deserted. Even the stalls were empty. At least Tyler hadn’t turned on the music and left the animals to suffer.
But that didn’t make Dean any less irritated. He turned off the music, and the sudden silence was almost as loud as the music had been. He heard running footsteps behind him and turned just as Gary burst through the door.
His friend’s face was creased with concern, but when his gaze landed on the long black box beside Dean he propped his hands on his hips and grinned. “All right, young man. How many times have I told you not to play your music that loud?”
“Funny.” Dean headed back outside and started toward the paddock. “Did you tell Tyler he could have that thing here while he’s working?”
Gary trailed behind him. “No. He didn’t ask. But how—”
“Figures,” Dean cut Gary off. He rounded the corner and saw that someone had let the horses into the fenced pasture behind the paddock, far enough away to lessen the impact of that so-called music on the high-strung animals.
He ignored the inner near-silent whisper that told him not to overreact. He might have been able to listen if this had been Tyler’s only act of aggression, but it was just one in a long string of similar incidents and Dean knew he couldn’t keep ignoring them.
“I’d like to know what the hell he’s thinking,” he grumbled as he churned up the remaining distance to the paddock. “He could have spooked the entire herd with that noise.”
“It’s not that big a deal,” Gary said, matching his stride. “These horses are probably used to noise. And anyway, how—”
“Not that much noise,” Dean snapped, cutting off Gary’s question again.
“I don’t know. I’ve heard some stable hands play some pretty loud music—of all kinds. Actually had a horse once that liked it. High-strung beast. He’d get wound up tighter than a drum, and he’d only settle down to really loud Spanish music.”
Irritated by his friend’s unflagging optimism and by his growing friendship with Tyler when Dean couldn’t even get a civil word from the kid, Dean rounded on him. “Why the hell are you sticking up for him? You know why he did this.”
Gary’s smile faded and his eyes lost their sparkle. He squared his shoulders as if he sensed a battle coming. “Do I?”
“Are you trying to say you don’t?”
Gary propped his hands on his hips and looked Dean square in the eye. “Suppose you tell me.”
Dean wasn’t in the mood to play games. “It’s as obvious as the nose on your face, and if you can’t see it, you aren’t paying attention.” He started walking again.
Gary fell into step at his side. “Why don’t you cut the kid a little slack? Even if the music was a problem, how do you expect him to know?”
“He knows. I guarantee it.”
“Maybe. But let me ask you—”
Before he could finish, Tyler came barreling through the open gate and plowed straight into Dean. His expression went from wide-open and smiling to closed and angry in a heartbeat.
Dean tried hard to keep his grip on his own anger. Letting Tyler see that his tactics were achieving results would make him worse. He jerked his head toward the stable wall. “What’s the rush? On your way to check out the mysterious silence?”
Tyler pulled back, muttered something under his breath and turned on his heel. For the first time, Dean noticed Nessa sitting on the top rail of the fence a few feet away. Again, some inner voice whispered caution, but Dean was too angry to let Tyler off the hook without a fight. “Do you want to tell me what the hell you’re doing?”
Tyler shot a dagger-sharp look over his shoulder. “Just playing some music. Is that a crime?”
“Do you have any idea how sensitive the horses are to disturbances? Do you even care what might have happened to them if they’d gotten spooked? Or to the Carters if the horses are still skittish later?”
Red splotches flamed in Tyler’s cheeks. His eyes flashed. “But they’re not skittish, are they? Your damn horses are fine.”
“Are they?”
Dean heard Gary mutter something he couldn’t make out and his irritation climbed another level. “Horses are highly strung, sensitive creatures,” he shouted at Tyler. “No matter how tame they might seem, you can’t afford to forget that they could snap if conditions are wrong. One alone could kill a person. I don’t even want to think what could happen with that many together.”
Gary put a restraining hand on his shoulder. “Come on, Dean. Back off. He’s never worked with horses before.”
Dean shook off his hand and glared. “He’s sixteen, not six. That’s old enough to think before he acts.”
Tyler made a noise of disgust. Gary’s eyes narrowed into thin slits in his face. Dean heard Nessa jump down from the fence rail, and a second later she was standing in front of him, her face creased in a frown, her eyes dark.
“That’s so not fair. You don’t even know what happened.”
“I heard what happened,” Dean argued. “Everyone in a fifty-mile radius probably heard what happened.”
“Okay. So you heard the music. And yeah, it was on and it was loud and that was probably stupid. But you don’t have any right to get mad at Tyler, because the boom box is mine. I’m the one who turned it up that loud.”
Dean stared at her while her words sank in, and he swallowed around the lump of embarrassment in his throat. “You?”
“Yes. Me.” She was less than half his age and only reached the bottom of his chin, but she met his gaze with the unwavering coolness of an absolute equal. In spite of the difference in their coloring, she resembled her mother so closely, Dean couldn’t speak.
“So if you’re going to yell at somebody,” she was saying, “yell at me. But leave Tyler alone.”
Dean’s fury ran out in waves and left him feeling about an inch tall. He tried to remain angry—after all, the offense was the same. But the truth was that it wasn’t the offense that had him so riled, it was the offender. And he hated knowing that about himself.
He couldn’t make himself look at Gary and he didn’t want to see Nessa’s expression, but he forced himself to face Tyler. “I’m sorry. I jumped to the wrong conclusion.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Tyler muttered, his eyes downcast. “I’m used to it.”
“It’s just that—” Dean broke off, unsure how to justify himself, not even sure that he could. “I was wrong, Tyler. What can I say?”
“Nothing, dude. I said don’t worry about it.” Tyler turned his back on Dean, and his meaning couldn’t have been more clear if he’d painted a billboard. He didn’t want to hear anything more Dean had to say.
Dean’s stomach cramped and he thought for a few seconds that he might be sick. Slowly, he started back toward the far end of the building. He hadn’t gone far when he realized Gary was still at his side, but he didn’t speak until they’d turned the corner and the kids couldn’t see him any longer.
Then he drew to a halt and scrubbed his face with his hands. “I feel like a jerk.”
“You’re really pulling for that Mr. Congeniality award, aren’t you?”
“I was wrong, okay? I told him that.”
“Yes, you did. And to be fair, he has been pushing your buttons all week.”
“I’ll talk to him later—when we’ve both had a chance to cool off.”
Gary nodded and put a brotherly hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Good idea. He’s one hurt and confused kid.”
“Yeah, he is.” Almost as confused as his uncle. “I wish I knew what to do for him.”
“You’re doing it.”
“I’m doing nothing,” Dean countered. “I’m arguing with him all the time and managing to keep him constantly upset.”
Gary squeezed his shoulder gently. “Quit being so hard on yourself, would ya? You’re showing him that you care, and from what I’ve managed to pick up that’s not something he’s used to. He just has to get used to it and then maybe he’ll start believing that he can count on you to be there no matter what. Give him time. He’ll get there—and so will you.”
Grateful for Gary’s faith in him, Dean started walking again slowly. “I hope you’re right. I already feel like I’ve failed Carol. I don’t want to fail him, too.”
“Let Carol take some responsibility for her decisions,” Gary said. “You can only do so much to save someone else.”
Dean wanted to believe that on one level, but it felt like a huge cop-out on another. But now, with the bathroom needing to be fixed and Tony Carter from cabin two looking as if he needed help with something, it wasn’t the time to solve all of his family problems.
Remembering that on top of isolating his nephew, he had cut off his best friend, Dean asked Gary, “What was it you were going to ask me back there?”
“When?”
“Right before we ran into Tyler.”
Gary slanted a glance at him. “Oh, that? It was nothing.”
“It must have been something or you wouldn’t have tried so hard to ask it.”
“You sure you want to know?”
“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.”
Gary shrugged and began to head toward the lodge, walking backward for a few feet so he was still facing Dean. “I was just going to ask why you were so sure the boom box was his.”
THAT EVENING AFTER DINNER, Dean made his usual circle of the property. He strolled past the occupied cabins, checked each of the empty ones, made sure no one had started a fire in the fire pit, then turned toward the shed so he could lock it for the night. Crickets sang softly in the still night air and a few lit windows still made it easy to find his way in the dark. Flashlights played along the edge of the forest as folks strolled the paths he and Gary had cut through the trees. The ranch was growing so familiar now, he wondered if he really needed any light to see.
He was becoming used to the human sounds around him, too—a radio playing softly from cabin three, the muted hum of conversation from cabin five. Usually at this time of night he could hear Nessa and Tyler laughing together about something they wouldn’t share with anyone else. They must be somewhere else tonight.
He rounded a corner and stopped short when he realized that someone was sitting on the shed’s front step.
“Hi.” The shadow spoke and Dean recognized Nessa leaning against the rough plank door.
“Hi yourself. What are you doing out here alone? Where’s Tyler?”
Nessa shrugged and tilted her face to the stars. “I don’t know. He’s probably checking the horses with Gary. I just felt like being alone, I guess.”
“Well, then, I’ll just slip the padlock onto the door and leave you to it.”
To his surprise, Nessa scooted over and put a hand on the space she’d vacated. “You can sit if you want to. I don’t mind.”
Dean hadn’t planned on stopping, but something in her voice and the fact that she was speaking to him at all after that afternoon changed his mind. He padlocked the shed, then took the spot she indicated. “So, what’s up?”
“Nothing much. Just thinking.”
“About anything special?”
Nessa shrugged one thin shoulder. “Lots of stuff, I guess.”
Dean linked his hands on his knees and listened to the buzz of a nearby mosquito. “I’m surprised you’re still speaking to me,” he admitted after a few seconds.
Nessa glanced at him in surprise. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I overreacted about the boom box.”
Nessa smiled slowly. “Yeah? Well, I probably shouldn’t have turned it up so loud, and I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”
Dean grinned at her, liking the way she’d put the incident behind her and wondering if she’d learned to do that from her mother. “You were right to set me straight.”
“Yeah, but you are an adult, and my dad hates it when kids mouth off.”
“If you can forget about it, so can I,” Dean said, leaving that subject and moving on to another. “How do you like it here so
far?”
“I like it a lot.”
“Still think I need to put in a satellite dish?”
She grinned slyly. “It wouldn’t hurt.”
Dean laughed aloud. “I shouldn’t have asked. How does your mom like it?” No matter how much sense it made to ignore Annie, he seemed to grow more aware of her by the day. Her laugh, her voice, her smile, her scent.
Nessa’s expression changed subtly. “She likes it fine, I guess.”
“You don’t think she regrets coming?”
“I don’t think so.” Nessa swatted a mosquito from her leg, propped her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands. “I don’t know. She hasn’t said.”
Dean tried to hide his disappointment over her vague answer. “She’s a wonderful chef. She’s going to be a tough act for my next cook to follow.”
Nessa turned her eyes toward him. “This is nothing compared to what she usually does. She’s really, really good—if you like gourmet stuff, that is. My dad still hasn’t found anyone good enough to take her place at the restaurant. I don’t think he will, either.”
Maybe he should have considered that before he took a mistress, Dean thought. He stretched his legs out in front of him and crossed one boot over the other. “As long as your mom’s happy, that’s what matters.”
Nessa looked at him strangely. “I don’t know whether she is or not. She loves cooking. I don’t know why she suddenly wants to teach.” She laughed without humor and trailed her gaze across the clearing. “I can’t figure out why she does half the stuff she does lately.”
Dean swatted away a mosquito. “Like what?”
“Like moving away from Chicago. Like coming here.” She glanced at him and smiled sheepishly. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. It’s pretty cool here, I guess. But she’s just acting so different lately.”
“From what I hear, she’s been through some rough times.”
“Yeah? Well, she’s not the only one.” Nessa plucked a stalk of wild grass from the ground near her feet, tore it into tiny pieces and scattered them in the breeze. “I hate this stupid divorce.”