by Sherri Sand
“Ross, can we talk about Sid?”
“What is there to talk about? Sounds like he’s made up his mind.”
“Would it be the end of the world if he didn’t go back to training?”
“It’s what he does.” His voice was unyielding.
“Maybe it’s what he did. Sid is a seventy-three-year-old man. Have you considered that maybe his age is what got him injured?”
Ross looked away and she wondered if he was blaming her, too. She laid a cautious hand on his arm. “I’m not here to tell you how to feel, Ross. But don’t let your needs keep an old man from following his heart back home.”
“I thought his home was here.” With me. It wasn’t hard to hear the unspoken words.
She leaned in, forcing him to meet her eyes. “You are like a son to him. He loves you more than life. Do you think it’s easy for him to go back? Ross, he needs your permission to leave.”
He stared at her as if she’d just said Chance had requested steak for dinner, medium rare.
“He doesn’t need my permission.”
“He needs it more than you realize. You should know better than to let his belligerent act fool you.”
The look on his face was unreadable. “If we’re finished here, I’m going to check on the job.” Then he left.
Sierra stared at the closed office door. Did he realize how much Sid loved him? How much I love him? Confused by the thought, Sierra pushed it away. How could she fall in love with a man who didn’t want her?
Ross lay on his back and stared at the ceiling. He turned his head to check the blue numerals of his clock. 3:08 a.m. Sid was moving and there was nothing he could do to change it. He shut his eyes and rolled over, trying not to think about the touch of Sierra’s hand on his arm, the sincerity of her voice as she tried to convince him that Kansas was best for Sid. If he’d never hired her for Sid, Kansas wouldn’t be a thought in his friend’s head. Or would it?
His mind drifted to the scene of Sid lying in the pasture, broken. He had never been old and frail in Ross’s eyes until that moment. Had Ross chosen to ignore what was so obvious to everyone else?
Sid was done with the ponies. Despite his amazing recovery, there would be no going back to them.
The Lord hit him with his selfishness pretty hard.
He wanted his life to slide back into comfortable. Sid right next door, always ready with a cup of coffee and a listening ear. Not to mention a well-oiled jaw.
Like a dad.
Like the relationship he wanted with his own father.
Behind those realizations were the questions Sid had alluded to. Had Sid’s place in his life prevented him from discovering a relationship with his dad?
The next evening, after he knew Sierra would be gone for the day, Ross headed his pickup toward Sid’s. He let himself in through the back door, calling a hello.
An answering holler came from the living room. Sid reclined on the couch, afghan over his legs. He shut off the TV and sat with the remote on his lap.
The older man worked his mouth as though he had something of import to say, his blue eyes looking everywhere but at Ross. He finally cleared his throat. “Ross. Son, I—”
Ross held up a gentle hand. “Sid, there’s something I need to say.”
Sid waited.
“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. About you, about this farm.”
Sid shifted on the couch, his eyes focused on the orange afghan.
Ross took a breath. “I’ve been pretty selfish.”
Sid waved a hand. “Now, don’t start blamin’ yer—”
“I have, Sid. I wanted what was best for me. You’ve been the rock in my life, listening and supporting, and I’ve depended on that.” He scratched the back of his neck. “I’ve been thinking about what you said about Dad. I think I found offenses where maybe there weren’t any, at least not intended, and I shut him out a long time ago.”
Sid’s cheeks sagged, regret in the sad blue eyes. “A lot of that was my fault. If I’d—”
“You can go to Kansas.”
“Well, of course I can move to Kansas. Ain’t nobody telling me I can’t.” Bluster coated the words.
“Sid, you can move to Kansas.”
The bluster lost steam as the words poured out. “You sound like a danged parrot repeating yourself. Of course, I know that, Ross. I can move to Kansas. Who’s saying I can’t?” Sid hunkered forward to dig a handkerchief out of his back pocket and went to wiping his nose. “You don’t just make these kind of decisions on the spur of the moment. I know what I’m doing.” He wiped his nose again, then blew. “Dang allergies.”
“It’s hard for me too, but I want you to know that I think it’s a great idea.”
“Were you at the nursery? I think you dragged some of that pollen in here.” Sid’s eyes watered, but Ross let him have his dignity.
“Yeah, I probably have some pollen on my clothes. I love you, Sid.”
“Oh, for crying out loud, you’d think it was the middle of spring the way my allergies are acting up.”
Ross smiled.
Chapter 25
Beaming, Sid met Sierra at the front door. Excitement sparked off the older man until Sierra thought he might have a stroke before he could get the words out.
“Mornin’, Sierra. Thanks for coming on the weekend. Stella was feeling poorly.” His eyes shone brighter than the chrome on his new walker.
“My mom must have gotten the same bug, so I hope you don’t mind that I had to bring the whole gang with me. Their dad’s going to pick them up before dinner.”
“Don’t mind at all.” The kids dropped their shoes in a jumbled pile near the door and each gave Sid a quick squeeze, except Braden, who muttered hello, then scampered up the stairs with his Game Boy.
Trevor clutched the leg of the walker. “Can I push it, Sid?”
Sid laughed. “Maybe later, after I’ve sat down.”
“’kay.” Trevor climbed onto the couch next to his sister, who was already curled in the afghan and glued to the TV.
Sid’s health had improved so much that Sierra now stuck his dinners in the fridge and was home by the time the kids got off the bus. The physical therapist said Sid would never play hopscotch, but he should be able to function without a walker in six months. When the therapist had suggested that Sid donate his walker to the Windy River Nursing Home, Sid had mumbled that the next home for the darn-fangled metal contraption would be the nearest ditch.
Sierra dropped her purse by the door and laid her coat on the back of the recliner. Sid nearly ran the walker into the backs of her legs in his haste to follow her into the kitchen.
His lips were clamped tight, but his aging teeth peeked through in a smile he couldn’t shake.
“Okay, Sid, spill it.” Sierra pulled the daily ration of oatmeal out of the cupboard and glanced at him over her shoulder. “Just what do you have up your sleeve?”
Finally, he couldn’t contain himself. “Well, aren’t you going to do it?”
She turned, a blue measuring cup in hand. “Do what?”
“Pray for that plant.” He jabbed a pointy finger at it.
She rolled her eyes in mock exasperation. “Dear God, please give that plant life.”
He shook his head, his grin wide. “Not there, girl. You need to go pray over it.”
“So it feels the vibes?” She walked obediently to the windowsill.
Sid didn’t answer. He’d changed the water at least. Poor thing wasn’t soaking in brown gunk anymore.
“Closer.”
She snorted. “Do you want me to lay hands on it too?”
His grin grew expectant, like he was waiting for her to stumble across some amazing discovery.
“What, Sid?”
He just stared at the plant.
Then she saw it.
Mold.
Round balls of green mold grew on the stick. Disgusting, and probably a health hazard. If Trevor got his hands on that thing, her mother would be
racing for the disinfectant.
“Do you see it?”
She gave him a sad smile. Ross needed to get the man’s glasses updated. Sierra gingerly picked up the honeysuckle and tossed it in the trash, then dumped the water in the sink.
Sid huffed, his face red. “What are you doing, girlie?”
“What? It was moldy.”
This time Sid rolled his eyes. “That weren’t no mold, Sierra.”
She snatched it out of the garbage and pulled it close to her face. Miniscule white roots protruded from the bottom of the plant and what she thought was mold were tiny green buds. “Holy cow!”
Sid shook his head reverently. “No. Holy God.”
“Wow.” Apparently a few prayers had leaked out into the cosmos. Sierra stared at the bits of life showing in an otherwise dead branch. Or the plant hadn’t been dead after all. Sierra wrestled with those thoughts the rest of the day and finally decided there had to have been a few live cells lying dormant inside the branch. But a shiver of hope resided.
What if it had been dead?
Sierra set three peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches on napkins and carried them to Sid’s kitchen table. Her cell phone rang and she swiped a few crumbs into her hand and tossed them in the sink, then reached for her phone. “Hello?”
“Hi, this is Greg Adams again. We have a problem here.”
Had his daughter gotten hurt? Sierra placed a palm on the counter and leaned into it. “What happened?”
He sighed. “We rented the neighbor’s pasture next to us, but he has some horses that are picking on Chance.”
“What?”
“They’re being mean. Like bullies on a playground.”
“Could you move him to another pasture?”
“That’s the thing. We really like the convenience of having our horse next door.”
“It’s only been a few days. Maybe …”
“I don’t think it’s fair to Chance. The vet says he’s starting to get depressed.”
A horse could get depressed?
“I’d like to bring him back today.”
“Bring him back? Can’t you sell him? I mean, he’s your horse now.”
“That could take weeks, and we have no way of separating him from the other horses. Look, I know it’s a hassle. If you want a hundred bucks or so—”
“No, that’s fine. Bring him back. And, I, uh, I never cashed the check. I’ll just mail it to you.”
Sierra got off the phone and stared at the ceiling. What are You doing?
Two hours later, Braden came pounding down the stairs, his voice thrumming with excitement. “Mom! Mom! Chance is back.”
Emory and Trevor flew off the couch and ran to the window. She caught a flash of teeth in a huge grin as Braden shot out the door. She followed him to the fence where, a pasture away, Chance grazed. “Can we go over there?” His eyes were so hopeful, so excited.
She bit her lip. “Honey, we’re not keeping him. Mr. Adams brought him back because some horses were being mean to him.”
A confused frown grew between his eyes. “We’re not keeping him?”
She touched his shoulder, but he jerked away. “No, honey, we’re not. I’m sorry.”
“You ruin everything!” And he ran back toward the house.
Sierra stared across the field at the old gray horse. She was doing the right thing, wasn’t she?
Braden stormed back up the stairs. Mom is so stupid. Chance wouldn’t hurt him. Just because her friend died, she thought everyone was going to get killed by a horse. He grabbed his headphones off the bed where he’d tossed them and jammed them on his head then flopped on the bed next to his Game Boy. He turned up the volume. He wished his mom had never inherited the stupid horse in the first place.
He’d just pushed play to start his DeathTrain CD over for the fourth time, when a movement made him turn his head.
His mom stood in the doorway. “Didn’t you hear me calling, honey? Your dad’s here to take you guys to dinner.” He turned his head away, so she wouldn’t think he cared. He could see her out of the corner of his eye. She took a step into the room, then she turned around and left. He was glad she thought he was mad at her, but a part of him was sad, like when his dad first left. He’d tried so hard to do things right, to not fight with Emory, so his mom wouldn’t get sadder. It felt like it was his fault when she did.
Braden hurried down the stairs after her, to tell her he was sorry, but his dad was waiting. He put a hand on his neck. “We’ve been waiting for you, son.”
“Sorry. Bye, Mom.”
“Bye, honey.” She smiled, but her eyes looked sad and he felt the badness in his chest get bigger.
“Dad, that’s our horse.” Emory pointed out the window as they passed Ross’s place. Braden didn’t want to look, but he did anyway.
He saw his dad turn to Gina, his voice low and angry, but Braden heard every word. “I thought she was going to sell that horse.”
Braden put his headphones on. Nobody understood. The heaviness in his heart got bigger on the drive across town.
In the restaurant Braden drummed his fingers on the table.
“Braden, I said to take those headphones off.” His dad glared at him.
“Sor-ry. I didn’t hear you.”
His dad leaned low across the table at the Italian restaurant. “I want you to mind your manners, young man. This is family time and I want you to be a participant, not sit there and listen to your music.” He saw the moment his dad had the thought. “Can I see the CD, Braden?”
“I’ll put it away.” He started to set it under his seat, but his dad had that look in his eye and held his hand out for it.
“Give it to me, son.”
“But I won’t listen—”
“Stop arguing. I don’t know what your mother tolerates, but if I tell you to do something I don’t want any back talk. Got it?” His dad’s eyes were narrowed, like when he was really frustrated. “Now give me the CD.”
“Fine.” Braden pulled it out of the player and slapped it into his dad’s palm.
His dad’s expression lightened. “Thank you. Braden. I’m sorry I got mad, son, I just want—” His gaze dropped to the black and red disc. “DeathTrain?” His forehead pinched tight and he swung his head toward Gina. “Did you see this?” He swung back to Braden and bounced the CD in his hand. “Does your mother know you listen—”
Gina touched his dad’s arm. “Honey, maybe we can talk about this—”
Braden glared at her. “You’re not my mom, so stay out of it.”
A vein stuck out on his dad’s neck, and he gritted his teeth together. “Don’t you talk to Gina like that! I want you to apologize.”
Braden looked at his plate.
His dad’s voice was quiet but really mad. “Now!”
Braden stared right at his dad. He didn’t care how mad he was. “It’s true. She’s not my mom.”
His dad pointed a finger at him. “I don’t know what’s going on with you, Braden. But if you don’t get an attitude adjustment pretty fast, you’re going to find yourself in military school. And trust me, you won’t be able to get away with this there.”
The front door slammed shut and Sierra set the teapot down and went to greet the kids. She picked Trevor’s coat off the floor and gave him a quick hug. “Shh. Grandma’s not feeling well.”
Emory threw her coat on the sofa. “I could draw her a picture.”
“That’d be great, sweetie.” She touched Braden on the shoulder. “How’d it go?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” He ducked away from her hand and stomped up the stairs toward his room.
Emory’s face took on the lofty expression that had tattletale attached to it. “Dad said if he doesn’t shape up, he’ll send him to military school.”
Hot defense rose in Sierra’s throat. Braden was just a kid. A good kid who’d had his most precious possession ripped away. You can only run from fear so long. Sid’s words taunted her. How long woul
d Braden carry this hurt and sense of betrayal with him?
Sierra followed him up the stairs. He flopped onto the bed and grabbed his Game Boy. His face was shadowed, but the hurt didn’t show anymore. Maybe if she could find the hurt, she’d find her son.
“Braden, can we talk?”
His eyes flicked to her face and then back to the game. No expression. “About what?”
“I heard it didn’t go very well with your dad tonight.”
“So!” The word was defensive and angry.
Her son’s brown eyes glared at her and she swallowed a sigh. “Has your dad taken you to the eye doctor yet?”
“No.” He glanced in disgust at his wall. “Dad doesn’t think there’s anything wrong with my eyes.”
Anger built in her chest like the bulge of a building volcano. “Well, it doesn’t matter what your dad says; I want you to start wearing your eye patch.”
“I don’t care!”
She saw the hurt then. The resentment of putting him at odds with his dad. Sierra reached to stroke his arm, but he drew away from her.
“How are you doing with Gina’s baby?”
“Fine. Can you go now?”
Emory peeked in the door, holding her cell. “It’s Elise.”
It was with guilty relief Sierra left his room. She lifted the phone to her ear. “Hi.”
“Hey there. Just wanted to see if you were dodging all the shrapnel.”
Sierra walked down the stairs to her room and sank back onto the bed. “I was just up trying to talk to Braden. He hates me right now.”
“Oh, hon.”
The pressure that had been building leaked. “Yeah, it’s been a lovely day. Mom’s sick, so I took all the kids with me to Sid’s. Then Chance’s new owner returned him.”
Elise sounded puzzled. “Did he go with a warranty?”
“No! But some other horses were picking on him and he was getting depressed.”
Elise snickered. “Couldn’t they put some Prozac in his grain?”
“Funny. So Braden saw Chance in Ross’s field and is devastated that we’re not keeping him. But does he cry? No, he lashes out at everyone.”