The Promise of Forgiveness

by Marin Thomas

  “Where’s my grandma?” Mia asked.

  “Don’t know.”

  “How come you don’t know?”

  “Your grandmother left after your mother was born.”

  “Were you mean to her?”

  Hank scowled, and his eyes disappeared into his wrinkles. “You always speak your mind, young lady?”

  “I’m afraid she does,” Ruby said.

  He clicked his tongue and the horse stopped. “I didn’t beat your grandmother.”

  “Then why’d she run off?”

  “If I knew, I’d tell you.”

  “Do you have the Internet in your house?”

  “Don’t have any use for a computer.”

  “Everyone needs a computer. I found out Pinky’s boyfriend got her pregnant on the Entertainment News website.”

  “Never heard of Pinky,” Hank said.

  “She’s a singer in a band from England.”

  Hank walked the horse closer to Mia.

  “Can I pet him?” she asked.

  “Be gentle. He’s not used to strangers.”

  Ruby got the feeling no one on the ranch—the horses, Hank, or Joe—was used to being around people.

  Mia stroked the animal’s neck. “He’s sweaty.”

  “Where’s your father?” Hank glanced between Ruby and Mia.

  “Dylan and I never married,” Ruby said.

  Hank must have been satisfied with her answer, because he changed the subject. “You want to feed the horses?”

  “Sure,” Mia said. “What’s this one’s name?”

  “Didn’t name him.”

  “How come?”

  When Hank didn’t answer, Mia rubbed the horse’s nose and asked, “Can I name your animals?”

  “Suit yourself.”

  “I’m gonna call your dog Friend.”

  “That’s a stupid name.”

  “Is not.” Mia pointed to the hound. “He follows you everywhere just like a friend.”

  “Guess you got a point there.” Hank pulled a pack of Winstons from his pocket, then flicked his lighter.

  “Cigarettes cause cancer.”

  “We all gotta die of something, kid.”

  “And they make you stink.” Mia met Hank and the horse at the gate. “A grandfather shouldn’t smell like an ashtray.”

  Hank dropped his smoke on the ground and stomped it with his bootheel, then looked at Ruby. “You coming?”

  Mia’s cold stare warned Ruby to stay behind. “I have to make the bed.” She drew in a ragged breath as she watched the pair saunter off. She and Mia had been at the ranch less than an hour and already her daughter and Hank were bonding, which left Ruby feeling like a third wheel.

  Hank was her father, not Mia’s.

  Oh, hell. What kind of mother was jealous of her own child? Ruby had been thinking only of herself when she’d made the decision to meet Hank McArthur. She hadn’t considered how the visit might impact Mia.

  Before arriving in Unforgiven, Ruby had made up her mind that she wasn’t going to like her biological father. But Hank’s unconditional acceptance of his granddaughter chipped away at her plan to keep him at arm’s length.

  First the animals, and now Mia saw something worthwhile in the old man. Maybe Ruby should give Hank a chance even if she had to wait in line behind her daughter for his attention.

  Chapter 5

  Joe sidled up to the bar at the Possum Belly Saloon—the only place in town whose name was connected to the oil and gas business. A possum belly is a receiving tank found at the end of a mud return line, and the roughnecks who frequented the bar looked like they’d spent the day in a sludgy cistern.

  The owner, Stonewall Davis—called Stony by the regulars—ignored Joe. What the retired oil worker lacked in height he made up for in muscle and tattoos. His short-cropped hair, neatly trimmed goatee, and clean, well-manicured fingernails contradicted the mishmash of multicolored skulls and fire-breathing dragons that wrapped his arms from wrist to shoulder.

  Joe wasn’t a regular at the bar—too much alcohol ripped the scabs off old wounds. But Ruby and her daughter showing up out of nowhere today had reminded him of the wife and child he’d lost, and he needed a drink to settle his nerves.

  Davis made his way toward him, and Joe pulled his wallet from his pocket. “Whiskey. Make it a double.”

  Stony measured the liquor, then banged the shot glass on the bar, splattering Joe’s T-shirt with drops of amber liquid. He’d run into Davis’s kind before—bullies who enjoyed intimidating people if for no other reason than they could. Not in the mood for the man’s games, Joe carried his drink to a table in the corner. His back to the wall, he fixated on his Johnnie Walker, fingers clenching the jigger as if he could choke off the memories that always followed the first sip.

  It had been seven years since the night he’d drunk enough whiskey to quiet his spirit for eternity. Death would have been a blessing, but a sadistic voice in his head had coaxed him to put the bottle down before he’d smothered the pain for good. He hadn’t understood why he’d survived the drinking binge until days later, when the alcohol fog had lifted and his conscience revealed his sentence—a lifetime of guilt. But unlike Jesus Christ, the cross Joe carried held his son’s lifeless body. Hand trembling, he raised the glass to his lips. The alcohol seared his throat, but he savored the sting.

  The saloon door burst open, smacking the wall. A handful of roustabouts shuffled inside, the sheriff’s deputy bringing up the rear. When Randall spotted Joe, he changed direction. Joe tossed the remainder of the whiskey down his gullet.

  “Invite me to sit, Dawson.”

  Using the heel of his boot, Joe pushed the chair out on the opposite side of the table.

  Randall straddled the seat, then caught the bartender’s eye and pointed to the empty shot glass. Stony came over with a whiskey bottle and refilled Joe’s drink and left a glass of water in front of Randall.

  “Thanks.” The deputy waited for Stony to walk off before he spoke. “Heard you drove Ruby Baxter and her daughter out to the Devil’s Wind earlier today.”

  The ride to the ranch with Ruby and Mia had been uncomfortable but in a good way. Their presence had brought back memories of a life Joe had been trying to forget for years. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed hearing a woman’s voice. He liked Ruby’s matter-of-fact tone and that she didn’t mince her words.

  “What does Ruby want from Hank?”

  “She didn’t say.” Although their conversation had been only a handful of sentences, Joe hadn’t stopped thinking about Ruby. She looked nothing like his ex-wife. Melanie had short dark hair and big brown eyes. They’d had a good marriage up to the end. But not even a good marriage had been enough to overcome their personal tragedy.

  “Is Ruby planning to stay?”

  “I don’t know.” The length of her visit wasn’t any of his business.

  “How’s Hank feeling?”

  Like Randall gave a crap. “He’s got no complaints.” A few weeks ago Hank had suffered chest pains after he’d learned that a section of fence bordering the Bar T had been opened up with bolt cutters and five steer had gone missing. Joe had asked Roy Sandoval to check his herd for the Devil’s Wind brand—666—but the rancher had balked. When Hank reported the missing cattle to the law, the sheriff had put Randall on the case and the investigation had gone nowhere.

  “Hank’s daughter might be a gold digger, looking to cash in after his ticker stops”—Randall smirked—“ticking.”

  Hank’s heart had better hold out. Joe needed his job. Needed to feel exhausted at the end of the day. Needed some kind of purpose in his life—a reason to get up in the morning. The Devil’s Wind was the first place he’d felt a sense of peace. A glimmer of hope.

  “Excuse me.” A man stopped at their table and removed his ba
ll cap, revealing a farmer’s tan forehead. Joe had run into the guy and his two sons outside the mercantile after he’d hired on with Hank. He remembered the young boys had looked as if they hadn’t had a decent bath in months.

  “How are the twins?” Randall asked.

  “Good.” Pete nodded over his shoulder. “They’re waiting outside for me right now.” He rubbed his finger back and forth over the edge of the ball cap. “I wanted to thank you for picking up the tab for their Little League fee this summer.”

  “Glad to do it. Any luck finding a new job?”

  Pete’s gaze dropped to the floor. “Not yet.”

  “You tell Chris to keep his eye on the ball when he’s in right field, and Craig needs to choke up on the bat before he swings.”

  “Will do.”

  “When’s their next game?”

  “Saturday morning.”

  “I’ll drop by the field and watch,” Randall said.

  Pete put his cap on, then glanced at Joe. “Sorry for the interruption.”

  “Are the oil fields laying off?” Joe asked once the father left.

  “No. Pete can’t keep his hands off the bottle. He got fired for drinking on his shift.”

  “Does his wife have a job?”

  “She works for one of those maid services in Guymon.”

  Randall didn’t seem like the kind of guy who cared about other people’s misfortunes. “Didn’t know you were a Little League fan. Did you play when you were a kid?”

  “No.” The deputy shoved his chair back and stood. “Tell Hank I’ll stop by the ranch tomorrow and update him on his missing cattle.”

  Joe suspected there was no update on the investigation—Randall needed an excuse to grill Ruby. An image of Hank’s daughter flashed before his eyes, and he drained the half inch of whiskey left in the shot glass. Ruby was an attractive woman, if a little rough around the edges. The few times they’d glanced at each other, he’d recognized the guarded look in her blue eyes. Those same shadows greeted him in the mirror each morning. As if his thoughts had summoned her to the saloon, Ruby walked through the door and a hush fell over the crowd.

  “What’s wrong? Haven’t you seen a woman in town before?” Ruby leered at the oil workers. When the men turned their backs to her and resumed drinking, she marched up to the bar. “I like your dragon tattoos.” She nodded to the bartender’s muscular arms.

  “You must be Ruby.”

  She wasn’t surprised that the news of her and Mia’s arrival had spread from the diner to the mercantile and now the saloon.

  “Stonewall.” He held out his hand. “Everyone calls me Stony.”

  “Nice to meet you. I’ll have an iced tea, please.”

  “A Long Island tea?”

  “Regular, no alcohol.” She’d borrowed Hank’s rust-bucket pickup and had driven into town for a cold drink with Elvis, but a CLOSED sign hung on the Airstream’s door. “Thanks,” she said after Stony filled her drink order. She’d taken only two sips of tea when her neck began to itch. She glanced over her shoulder. Joe. She weaved through the male bodies and stopped by his table. “You couldn’t sleep, either?”

  He inclined his head toward the empty chair and she sat. “It’s hotter than hell on that porch. I don’t know how you survived out there with no air conditioning.”

  “You get used to it.”

  She studied him. Mia was right—he had sad eyes. “I went outside to catch a breeze and got a nose full of flying grit.” She’d sat in the dark on the porch step, listening to the cry of a coyote. The lonely howl had reminded her of Hank, who’d asked Mia to help him groom the horses after supper rather than answer Ruby’s questions about why she’d been given up for adoption. She brushed at the thin layer of silt covering the back of her hand. “How do you stay clean in this place?”

  “I like to think of it as an all-year-round tan.”

  She laughed. “Next you’ll tell me wearing dirt is better than sunscreen.” A light flashed through his eyes and the brown orbs warmed to dark chocolate. Ruby hardly knew Joe, but his calm demeanor put her at ease. “I feel bad that you have to sleep in the barn.”

  “I’ve slept in a lot worse places.” He shrugged. “There’s a cot in the storage room. It’s comfortable enough.”

  “What else do you do for Hank besides look after the cows?”

  “Run errands and repair things.”

  “Mind if I add something to your to-do list?” she asked.

  “What’s that?”

  “Tear the house down.”

  He chuckled. “I offered to paint it when Hank hired me, but he wasn’t interested.”

  “Did you know there’s a nursery on the second floor?”

  He shook his head. “The only room I’ve been in up there is the bathroom.”

  “You and Hank don’t say a whole lot to each other.” She waved a hand in front of her face. “Not that Hank cares to converse with anyone. Is he always so blunt with people?”

  “The boss man doesn’t engage in meaningless chatter.”

  Is that what Hank thought—that the circumstance of her adoption was babble? “What about you?”

  “What about me what?”

  Joe had said more to her in the past few minutes than he had in the past ten hours. Her gaze dropped to the empty shot glass rolling between his fingers. Maybe his talkativeness was a result of alcohol consumption. “You don’t seem to mind talking. Where are you from?”

  “Born and raised in Tulsa.”

  “Mia and I are from Pineville, Missouri.” She studied his face while she took another sip of her tea. Like her, the lines around his eyes remained visible when he wasn’t smiling. The strands of gray hair at his temples, his prominent cheekbones, and his angular face hinted that he was in his mid – to late forties. “How old are you?”

  “Thirty-eight.”

  More than toiling in the hot sun and wind had aged Joe Dawson.

  “How old is your daughter?” he asked.

  Ruby expected him to ask her age, not Mia’s. “Fourteen. Why?” He’d better not be a pervert who preferred young girls to mature women.

  “I thought she might be close to my son’s age if he’d . . .” His voice trailed off, following his gaze into space.

  He couldn’t drop a bomb like that and expect her not to ask . . . “If your son what?”

  His eyelids lowered and his chest shuddered. “Aaron passed away seven years ago.”

  A nauseating knot formed in Ruby’s stomach. No wonder there were shadows in the man’s eyes. “I’m sorry.” She chewed her lip, debating whether or not to prod him for details. As a mother, she couldn’t imagine coping with the pain of losing a child. It certainly put her relationship troubles with Mia into perspective.

  “It was an accident.” Joe curled his fingers into his palm.

  Ruby caught Stony’s eye and motioned for drink refills. He brought her another iced tea, then set a half bottle of whiskey on the table before walking off.

  Joe tossed back two shots—one right after the other.

  “You don’t have to talk about it,” she said.

  “I talk about it every day in my head.”

  “His name was Aaron?”

  He nodded. “After his sixth birthday I was promoted to supervisor at Axis Exploration in Tulsa County.”

  So Joe Dawson hadn’t always been a ranch hand.

  He traced the label on the liquor bottle. “It happened on a Saturday. Melanie took off with her girlfriends and left Aaron at the house with me. There was a problem at one of the company sites, and I told Aaron that he had to go with me to check on a well. He wanted to stay home and play with a friend who’d gotten a new video game.” Joe shook his head. “I knew the parents wouldn’t mind watching Aaron that afternoon, but I’d been on the road all week and I wanted to spend tim
e with my son.” He rubbed his brow, his fingers leaving deep dents in the skin. “I went into the bedroom to change clothes, and a few minutes later someone rang the bell and shouted my name.”

  Ruby couldn’t take her eyes off the front of Joe’s T-shirt, where his heart was pounding so hard it moved the cotton material.

  “Aaron had taken off on his bike.” Joe swallowed twice before he spoke again. “The neighbor lady said he came out of the driveway so fast she had no time to stop.”

  Aaron had been hit by a car.

  “Melanie and I were adamant about him wearing a helmet. He knew the rules.” Joe’s tortured gaze begged Ruby to explain why his son hadn’t worn the protective headgear.

  She wanted to assure him that he’d done nothing wrong, but she’d yet to win any mother-of-the-year awards. Ruby had thought she’d done all the right things with Mia. She’d been open with her daughter about sex and willing to answer questions. Then she’d discovered Mia in the act and had felt like the biggest failure ever. After she’d chased Kevin’s buck-naked ass out of the trailer and Mia had locked herself in the bedroom, Ruby had cursed God, her dead parents, Mia’s father, Sean, and lastly, herself.

  Once she’d spread the blame around, she’d accepted that maybe she hadn’t been a good role model for her daughter. That maybe her tendency to swap out boyfriends as often as she changed underwear had given Mia the impression that relationships were all about sex. But how could Ruby explain what a meaningful, lasting relationship was when she’d never experienced one?

  So Ruby had done the only thing she was certain would prevent Kevin Walters from getting Mia pregnant—she’d moved them out of town.

  “Melanie and I grew apart after Aaron died.” Joe’s voice startled Ruby out of her reverie. “I quit my job and hit the road, looking for work where I could find it.”

  “And you ended up in Unforgiven.” A town with no children, women, or families. No reminders of what he’d lost.

  Joe crossed his arms, his fingers pressing into his biceps. The raw emotion in his eyes tapped into Ruby’s own uncertainty and fear about her relationship with Mia.

  She tossed a ten-dollar bill on the table and stood. “I’ll drive you back to the ranch. You can get your truck in the morning.” She left the bar first, stopping on the sidewalk to draw in a lungful of humid air, then jumped inside her skin when a voice floated through the darkness.