by Tanya Hanson
At breakfast, she didn’t see him anywhere. He might be avoiding her, but she had things to say. She’d find him sooner or later.
Most of the ’hands had eaten earlier and were busy packing up for the return to the ranch. She found Bragg sitting alone at a folding picnic table, eyes brightening under his Stetson brim when he saw her. A messy plate of eggs and potatoes O’Brien were in front of him and he held a steaming tin cup in his right hand. Christy’s own fingers longed for similar warmth. However cool the morning, though, she remembered well the heat of the day would soon set upon them. She couldn’t wait to be astride Sugarfoot, fresh wind in her face and sunshine on her back.
But Bragg all by his lonesome had to mean something. It wasn’t a random accident.
“Hi, Bragg. I loved your harmonica last night,” she started, somewhat shy. Without being nosy, maybe she could actually find out his thoughts on the swimming career that never was.
“Thanks, Christy,” he said, suddenly just as shy, turning back to eggs-over-easy.
“I’m having such a great time,” she said. “You seem so natural in this setting. Such a perfect cowboy. And like you mean it. Not like you’re just acting out for a bunch of tourists.”
His handsome carved face beamed with a bright smile and he touched his brim. “Why thank you kindly. That’s the finest compliment I could ask for.”
“Why is that?”
He chewed slowly as if contemplating what to say. Or perhaps if he wanted to say it to her. “For a while, I didn’t think I wanted to stick around. So I tried to leave. Tried so hard I did something bad. Something entirely my fault. Nobody could have stopped me, Christy. Nobody. I knew better. I knew the consequences, but I took a chance and messed up big-time anyway.”
For a long moment, Bragg looked up at the treetops, and then smiled into her eyes. “It took all that to teach me what was most important to me, after all. Home and family. And because of my mistake, I got to be here for Pa’s last summer alive. Wouldn’t have worked out that way if I’d stayed on my original path.”
Christy read the truth in his eyes like she did a well-loved book. The big-time mess and its consequences had brought Bragg back home when he was needed most. Since then, he’d found his way. As well, the young man recognized his mistakes as his own fault. Somehow Kenn would have to accept it and rid himself of his guilt.
As if knowing she was thinking of his big brother, Bragg told her. “Kenn’s not here.”
“So? Can’t I sit and talk to you?” she teased. “I’m not looking for him.”
“Reckon you’re not telling the truth, now.” Bragg tilted his head. “I saw him storm back to camp after walking with ya’ll last night. He all but bit my head off when I asked him to lullaby the camp like he did the night before. So I took over.”
Then he raised his head and she looked into his face full-on. She saw honesty and concern. “You two have a spat?”
She’d be as honest as she could in payback for his own brand of truthfulness. Revealing Kenn’s troubled secret was not her job. “In a way. I had thought to stay on for Cowboy College, and he doesn’t think it’s a good idea.”
“Why not? We got room.”
“It’s complicated.” A wry smile tugged as she said the trite phrase she’d chided Kenn for. All it did was remind her of him. “But nothing’s gone on that we can’t talk out. Just where is he, anyway?”
“Posy’s Grave. Go figure. He hasn’t been there in years, far as I know.”
Posy’s Grave? That had to mean something. Christy, not worrying about her lack of manners or good impressions, gobbled her food. Not only was she starving –the high country air did a job on enhancing appetites —but she also needed some stamina to get across Old Joe’s Hole.
“You thinkin’ of finding him? Boat’s quicker than a hike,” Bragg offered helpfully.
“I dunno.” She hemmed. No need to appear too eager.
Bragg snorted manfully. “Aw, go on. It’s barely seven. We don’t pull out until nine. We’ll be getting to Orchard Bluff by noon.”
“Don’t tell me,” she guffawed. “Old Joe planted apple trees one year.”
He burst out laughing. “How right you are, cowgirl. Where do you think our cider comes from? And Kel uses just the right smidge of it in that barbeque sauce you like so much. Oops.” Bragg closed his eyes tight. “Not supposed to reveal the family secret recipe, but then, you’re almost…”
Suddenly his cheeks darkened underneath his tan, and the toes of his boots scuffled restlessly in the dust.
Almost family? Christy silently finished his sentence and couldn’t breathe, let alone reply. Her heart hammered at the wonderful possibility while Bragg mended his faux pas with a chuckle.
“Wait ’til you taste Kelley’s Sloppy Josephines at lunch.”
“Sloppy Josephines?” she asked casually, still aglow. “Don’t tell me. Vegetarian.”
“Yep. Chopped eggplant and mushrooms.” He grimaced before he winked. “But that barbeque sauce of hers makes ’em so worth it.”
“It is delish. She ought to bottle and sell it,” Christy agreed with a laugh of her own.
“Been talked about, believe me,” Bragg said. “You got your duffle packed?”
She nodded.
“Then get yourself gone, you hear? I’ll fold up your tent. Could do it in my sleep wearing handcuffs.”
His Western lingo suited him and the surroundings perfectly. After piling her dishes with his own, Bragg waved her off.
Mindful of P.J.’s ordeal the day before, Christy tied on a life jacket as she set out. Rowing wasn’t exactly her great talent, but she recalled Kenn’s movements of yesterday, and some lessons from Girl Scout camp long ago. The rippling water all but sang and her oars kept time. She whispered prayers of thanksgiving along with the whispering wind overhead that sent the willows waving in welcome.
At least she’d worn sneakers and wouldn’t be ruining her boots as she beached the boat, stepped out and pulled it to shore. She wanted to run to Kenn but recalling the sanctity of the place, she ended up walking slowly up the tree-lined path like the brides she’d imagined. Under her feet, crushed leaves and needles crackled. She saw him leaning, hatless, against the boulder that legend called Posy’s tombstone. Waiting like a bridegroom. Her heart hammered; Kenn never took his gaze from her face. Heat knocked the morning coolness off her cheeks.
“Hi,” she managed, voice soft against the breeze as she reached his side.
“Howdy,” Kenn replied. “Bragg tell you I was here?”
“Yes,” Christy admitted, but added quickly, “but I didn’t ask.”
“I’m glad you’re here.”
She nodded. “Me, too. I’ve got things to say.”
“Same here. But there’s something I gotta do first.” Immediately, he reached for her and pulled her close. Against his chest, she heard the pounding of his heart and knew hers beat the same cadence. His hands gently ruffled through her hair; she’d left her hat at camp. Then his fingers wound through the long lengths of it, and he rested her head in his hands, holding her so she looked up at him. “I shouldn’t have left you in the dark like that, and I’m sorry. But I didn’t want to lose my courage. I talked to Bragg last night.”
“You did?” Relief covered her just as a shower of sunlight burst through the leaves overhead. Was that why Bragg had confided in her this morning? She grinned and tightened her arms around Kenn’s neck. Was Bragg, like Kelley, playing matchmaker? “I’m glad you worked things out. At least, I assume you did. He seemed fine when I left.”
“Yep.” Kenn seated her on the boulder. “I told him what I’d learned back then. And that I should have talked to him. Why I didn’t. Why I felt I couldn’t.” His handsome face twisted in regret and shame.
“What did he say?” Christy asked, although she already knew.
“He said nothing and nobody could have stopped him. He knew the ropes, and the ropes might hang him. And he was willing to chance it.”
Christy nodded. “He did take full responsibility for making his own bad decision.”
Kenn shook his head with vigor. “I still should have.”
“Maybe, but Kenn, it’s not the looking back that means anything. It’s looking ahead. I came out to tell you not to feel guilty about anything. People make their own choices.”
“But you were so angry, about that doctor’s wife.”
“I know. I was angry. But in my heart, I know I’ve forgiven her. Something about Hearts Crossing and seeing God all around me…seeing the love you Martins share, has given me a peace these last few days I never had before.”
“I think you mean the Lord’s peace that passes our understanding.” Kenn leaned down, lips on the top of her head as he murmured. “Somehow, your arrival here brought me that peace, too. I’m nuts about you, Christy. And I do want you to stay on for a bit if you can.”
He waved his hand around the grotto. “After I bared my soul to Bragg, we talked of other things. He thought the idea of a wedding grove here rocked. Me, when it happens, I want a church wedding, but I understand what you said about country-lovin’ folks hitching up right here. Anyway, we grabbed Pike and Kelley and we’re certain Ma and Rachel and Hooper will go for it. And I’ve got enough clout to know they’ll trust me as to who the designer should be.”
Christy’s heart burst with joy. “Kenn, I don’t know what to say.”
“Say yes.”
“Well then, yes. I’ve got a capable staff. With fax and e-mail and conference calls, I could easily keep charge of things at Forrest for the Trees. The only thing is…” Her voice slowed. The only thing was actually very important. “My mom. I’d hate to leave her alone in California. Soon as I get back to civilization,” she tried to chuckle, “I’ll call her and get everything sorted out.”
To let Kenn know how eager she was to stay, to get things at home worked out, she took his hand. Its warmth comforted all the way to her toes, and she held his fingers to her lips for a little kiss. His intake of breath let her know the bold move was worth it.
****
She was going to stay!
Although Kenn couldn’t say for sure how long, his pounding heart assured him even a brief time would be worth it. Maybe he could convince her to stay forever, to be his wife.
On the trail back to the ranch, the thought exploded in his mind and almost shook him off the saddle. Although he was thirty, marriage and kids had always been something way off in the cloudy future despite Ma’s constant nagging. But since he’d met Christy, the idea was growing on him. The woman he loved had shown such a caring, understanding manner with the Blake twins, boys at such an awkward age. Kenn knew she’d be a terrific mom at any stage of his kids’ life.
His kids. Their mom, his wife.
Grinning, he and Joe Montana paused to check on the wagon train as it pulled up to the ranch. Atop the gate post, the Hearts Crossing brand hung from a beam. Peering closer, Kenn clearly saw the cross entwined where the hearts intersected. He breathed deep. Home again. Faith and love combined. It didn’t get any better than that. With Christy next to him on Sugarfoot, and Bragg holding no grudge, Kenn honestly had nothing else in the world to want. Even Kelley’s Sloppy Josephines had been wolfed down at noon without complaint.
“Back to civilization,” Christy said with a smile as she reined in. “When I get to my cell phone, I’ll talk to Mom. Hopefully she’s used these days alone to get some of her own thinking done. Same as me. I’ve been praying she’s back to trusting the Lord.” She cast a downward look before meeting his gaze. “Same as me.”
Kenn shook his head. “Hmmmm. About that. Doubt you’ll get good cell reception. But feel free to use the landline in the office. Ma gets tons of free long-distance minutes. First door right past the dining room.”
“All righty,” she said in true Western fashion. “Soon as I get Sugarfoot watered and unsaddled.”
“No. I’ll take care of her. You go on ahead,” Kenn said, then delved into a silent prayer that her ma wouldn’t be an obstacle to their future. “I’ll catch up with you soon.”
As Christy dismounted and headed for the big house, Kenn watched her with love and delight, eyes squinted against the setting sun. How fast these three days had gone, and how glad his heart she was staying on.
Kelley rolled up in her chuck wagon. “So, big brother, I hear you worked your magic on Christy.”
“She’s the magic,” was all he said, reckoning he blushed like a girl.
“And I do think we can convince Ma of Christy’s ideas for Posy’s Grave. I mean, grove.” She gave him an insouciant grin and gee-hawed the mules hitched to her wagon. Kenn chuckled into the dust she left behind and rode Joe Montana beyond the gate.
“Better get right on tonight’s hoedown,” he yelled after his sister, not minding in the least her attempt at matchmaking. It had worked. A contentment he’d never known wrapped itself around him like a blanket on a cold night.
“Mr. Martin! This was the best time ever,” P.J. yelled as the twins clambered from their wagon and ran to him.
Mitch hollered, “We never want to go home.”
“Dudes,” Kenn responded, using the term he thought best modernized him, “Hope ya’ll come back. And I sure hope to have some fellas of my own just like you two some day.”
The twins snickered in a touched, but embarrassed way. As Kenn dismounted, Pike jogged up, and Kenn set to protocol. “You mind tending Sugarfoot and Joe? I want to check the rigs.”
“Sure ’nuff,” said his brother, taking the reins to lead the two horses to the barn.
Kenn’s skin tingled, not just from the chill left behind by the setting sun, but from hopes that Christy’s phone call with her mom was productive. In his experience, a mother chose to support her children as long as they continued their faith journey, and he fully expected Mrs. Martin to do the same. With tonight’s finale, a true Western shindig just ahead, a tumultuous excitement fermented from his head to the tips of the Tony Lamas that had once been Pa’s.
Across the wind that always kicked its heels at the end of the day, Kenn heard the sound of a raucous car approaching in a cloud of dust. Frowning at the noisy disruption, he recognized the car as it neared, and his heart stopped just like a wrench had tightened it. He knew the car as well as he knew Joe Montana.
A cherry red 1968 Mustang. Fully restored, chrome sparkling like the first day of Creation. The only one in three counties who owned such a six-cylinder beast was the only woman who had ever smashed his heart.
He wanted to run and hide, like he’d done as a kid whenever he felt Pa’s wrath about to descend. The hayloft and its endless bales had always done the job in those days. But he was grown up now. A man who’d found his woman, a man ready to propose and plan the rest of his life with her.
A life without Daisy Densmore.
The cherry Mustang screeched to a halt and nearly crashed into the post fence outlining the corral.
“Oh, Kenn.” Daisy burst from the car like a tornado. And nobody likes tornadoes. “Oh, my sweetheart. My man. I’ve missed you so.” Small, dark and intense, she strained on tiptoe to clasp him close. Her arms tight at his neck, she barely met his breastbone. He had once liked holding her tight, but those days were long gone. As much as he tried to hold her back, she persisted with a strength he could never have imagined from her tiny bones.
“Oh, baby. I’ve missed you. Thank our good Lord Jesus for reunions. You knew I was coming, right?” Her plumped red lips planted a huge, unwanted kiss on his mouth. The taste of her almost made him gag.
So did Christy’s voice. “Oh, pardon me. Am I interrupting something?”
Kenn tried hard to disentangle Daisy as Christy watched, seeming more curious than angry.
“What reunion?” she asked casually.
Daisy snorted as if Christy were the village idiot. “The Mountain Cove All-American Summer Reunion. July Fourth. For all alumni and faculty past and present. Who is this cowgirl, da
rlin’?” Daisy tried to stay stuck to Kenn’s side, and despite his forceful maneuvers, she grabbed his hand and hung on tight.
Anger flashed in Christy’s eyes, and Kenn tried again to get his fingers back. Surely Christy could tell he wanted none of the woman hanging on him. With confidence, he announced, “This ‘cowgirl’ is the future Mrs. Kenn Martin. Now, please let go, Daisy.”
“But Kenn. It was all over Facebook. Me comin’ home. Tony leaving me. You knew I’d be here. Admit it.”
“I heard about it. Yes.” Kenn tried to ignore her imploring eyes. At one time her sparkling tears would have wrenched him to his knees.
“The future Missus Kenn Martin?” Christy’s lovely lips tightened around the words, bringing him to where he belonged and hoping she still felt the same. “You sound awfully sure of yourself, Mister Kenn Martin.”
8
I heard about it. Yes.
Over and over in Christy’s mind, Kenn’s words screeched along with the bluegrass fiddlers tuning up for the hard-heel cloggers about to perform. Facebook? He had known Daisy was coming to town. Disillusion smacked Christy in the gut.
The barn scents of oats and hay should have comforted her, but they didn’t. She sat on a bale, disinterested in the plate of Kelley’s amazing tri-tip, almost wishing she were anyplace else. Daisy sure didn’t act as if she and Kenn were an item over and done with years ago. He’d made it seem like she meant nothing. And maybe she didn’t. But her bold kiss and face lighting up like a meteor shower seemed more the actions of a confident woman than a discouraged one.
Christy’s head throbbed. More than ever, she wanted to find her bed in the guest bunkhouse, and think things through. She knew she had to give Kenn a chance to speak his mind, but with the other tourists and ranch-hands and a slew of neighbors hollering and chatting and devouring the delicious Western buffet, she hadn’t had a chance for any privacy whatsoever.
Still, he was worth fighting for. Seeing him a head taller than most everybody else, she got up, boots deep in straw, just as Mrs. Martin strode over, slowly in her surgical sandal.