The Cowboy's Belated Discovery: A belated epiphany Montana Ranches Christian Romance (Saddle Springs Romance Series Book 5)
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Cancer never looked good. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You had a lot going on this weekend with the Delgado wedding,” Mom said. “We didn’t want to distract you.”
And it would have, true enough. But still. “You didn’t have to stay so late. If I’d known, I’d have brought you home early. I’d have—”
Mom squeezed his hand. “I know. But I want to enjoy the time I have left. I want the people I care about to know how much I love and appreciate them.”
But her words caught in his mind. “The time you have left? Stay positive. They got rid of it last time, and they can do it again. I know it’s a tough road, but you can do it.” Man, did he know about the need for courage. He’d agonized along with them. Wished he could take the treatment for her. Protected her.
“We talked things over with the doctor, and I won’t be having chemo.”
“Of course, you will. You’ll—”
“It’s your mom’s decision, Garret.”
“How can you say that?” He shoved back, his chair tipping and clattering to the floor as he surged to his feet. “You can’t just let it win. You have to fight.”
She gave him a sad smile. “There comes a time when treatment can’t really do anything, son. It may buy a little time, but it may not, and it made me so horribly sick two years ago. This is already more aggressive. I’m ready to meet my Savior.”
Garret shook his head in denial. “So am I. That doesn’t mean I’m eager to do so anytime soon.” There’d been enough death in his life. His mother. Jenna. The demise of so many dreams and aspirations. Weren’t humans designed to cling to life? They survived the most appalling devastation and came out stronger. Nancy Morrison could, too. She’d never been a quitter. He stared Dad hard in the eye. “How can you let her say this? Do this?”
Dad rose slowly to his feet.
When had his shoulders become hunched? When had the deeply etched lines arrived on his face? When had he gotten... old? Was it concern for his wife, or was there more? But one parent’s health at a time was more than enough to deal with.
Dad straightened slightly and met Garret’s gaze. He was once again the respected genetics professor and esteemed horse breeder of years gone by. “Your mother is my partner in life. She is not my possession. I can’t make her do anything, nor do I wish to. She is her own person with her own thoughts, her own emotions, her own fears. Her own bravery. If you think she’s made this decision lightly, flippantly, then you don’t know the strong woman who raised you.”
Swaying from the impact, Garret closed his eyes for a second. “I’m sorry, sir. Ma’am.” He nodded at his mother. “I meant no disrespect.” Everything in him screamed with defiance, though. “Excuse me, please. Noela will be here any minute to start her shift.”
His mother nudged his plate. “You haven’t finished your meal, dear.”
Garret looked down. He’d eaten nearly half before they’d dropped the bombshell, and even that half sat like a hard lump in his belly. More food would not be an improvement. He pushed a smile toward his mom. “Sorry. My appetite seems to have fled.”
“I’ll be out to the stable after I help your mother clean up from breakfast.”
Garret nodded. Most days, Dad persisted in ambling around the property as though he were actually doing something significant, but reorganizing the tack hadn’t proved all that helpful. So they were alphabetical by horse now. Big whooped y-do. Garret had reached for the wrong halter more times in the past week than he could count because they weren’t where they’d always been.
He pushed in his chair, scraped his plate into the garbage bin, and slotted it into the dishwasher. With a final nod, he grabbed his Stetson off the rack, tugged on his boots, and headed outside.
How could the grass shimmer from last night’s rain while the morning sunshine angled above the eastern hills? How could the ranch smell fresh and sweet and the red-winged blackbirds trill in the cottonwoods along the creek? Didn’t nature know that the Morrisons’ lives were dark with doom?
He buried his face in Trudy’s mane, arms wrapped around her neck. Even his chestnut mare wasn’t immune to the passage of time. She was only eight, but he remembered her as the high-stepping filly she’d been when he bought her. It had been love at first sight.
Like with Jenna, but he refused to let his mind go there. Refused to remember her blond curls and her pixie face. Her habit of biting her lip when studying for her classes, the way her face lit up when she saw him, and the laughter that came so easily. He refused to remember her shining face as she came toward him swathed in white. And then… gone.
He could refuse all he wanted, but the memories were all there, jostling to erupt. He’d loved her with everything in him, but death had claimed her before he could.
Garret needed to ride, and the trapper’s cabin called him. He’d spent so much time there when they’d first come west. It was a place that had salved his spirit in those desperate times. He strode into the tack room and grabbed Trudy’s saddle and bridle.
“Going somewhere?” came Noela’s voice from the alley as he swung the saddle to Trudy’s back. “I thought we were exercising the horses on the other side today.”
He could take Newton as easily as Trudy, but no. He needed his own horse. “Change of plans. Go ahead and start over there. I’ll be back in an hour or two. Sorry.”
“Garret?” Her voice was softer, closer. “Are you all right?”
Wasn’t that the million-dollar question? “I will be.” When he got to heaven himself someday, maybe. Not likely before then. He slid the girth strap through the loop and tightened it. With the saddle in place, he moved to Trudy’s head with the bridle.
“I’ll just get started then...”
“Thanks. My dad will be out shortly to lend a hand.”
Noela gave a soft chuckle.
Yep, it didn’t take any special insight to figure out Tuck Morrison was getting old, too.
Garret led Trudy out to the open yard, mounted up, and headed her toward his favorite vista trail. The pressure in his head and heart might explode without release, but old habits died hard. All he could do was pull everything a little closer to his chest and barricade against the pain as best he could.
Chapter Eleven
Dora Yanovich toyed with strands of Tori’s hair and looked at her in the Shear Inspirations mirror. “I still think this style suits you.”
Despite Sawyer’s brief, sudden interest in her and Garret’s second look then dismissal, Tori agreed. It took two minutes to blow-dry in the mornings and looked good all day, even when she was cleaning cabins between guests or trotting Coaldust on a mountain trail.
“So you’re just wanting a trim then?” Dora peered at Tori’s scalp. “I don’t think the roots need touching up. Maybe next time, but the mahogany is so close to your original color that it blends in well.”
“Yes, just a trim. Thanks.”
Dora whipped a cape around Tori’s shoulders, snapped it up, and spritzed her hair. “So, did you catch your young man?”
Tori nearly choked on the oxygen that had been flowing freely an instant before. She’d nearly forgotten how snoopy her sister-in-law’s mother could be. “Pardon me?”
“Oh, you know.” Dora waved her scissors slightly, and Tori managed not to flinch. “You’ve had your eye on that Morrison fella for a while now.”
“I had my hair done because Denae suggested something fresher for her wedding.” Tori put as much authority in her voice as she could muster.
“Oh, come on. I saw how you two danced together before he went storming off. Have you made up? It’s been weeks now.”
“I simply told him something he didn’t wish to hear. There was no romance before or after.” In her dreams, perhaps, but she wasn’t telling Lauren’s mom that, because she’d likely tell the next person to sit in her chair and, before another day went by, half of Saddle Springs would be in the know.
Snip, snip. “Well, that’s too bad. Neither of you is get
ting any younger.”
Time for a diversion. “Are you still seeing Doc Torrington?” Lauren had been shocked to find her veterinarian partner embracing her mother a couple of years back. The two had dated for a while, but Tori didn’t remember seeing them together at the wedding.
Dora narrowed her gaze at Tori in the mirror. “How are things at the Flying Horseshoe? All booked up, I hope?”
She’d take the topic change, thanks. Nice to know there was a way to keep the town gossip from probing. “Yes, it’s a busy summer. We’ve got a full house for the next two weeks with a girls’ school from Boston coming in.”
“A school? Aren’t they on break in July?”
“Apparently they offer some trips and getaways through the off-season as well.”
“Well, isn’t that interesting?” Dora’s flat voice proved she didn’t think so. For a few minutes, she focused on Tori’s hair.
With each snip, Tori’s mind drifted further. Was the entire town speculating about Garret walking away without bothering to escort her off the dance floor, or was it just Dora? Had anyone besides Tori noticed that Garret had all but disappeared since the wedding? She’d only seen him at a distance.
It was like he lived in his own world. He slipped out of church via the side door right after the benediction and skipped Thursday night gatherings at The Branding Iron. All because she’d dared to dance with him and tell him she felt something for him.
Sheesh, cowboy. Just tell her there was no hope. She didn’t need all this drama. Not when she was already feeling all the pressure of doing something useful with her life, since marriage and kids didn’t seem to be in her future.
Dora massaged product into Tori’s hair then grabbed the blow-dryer and aimed it at her head. A minute later she stood behind Tori, fluffing her hair. “There you go, hon. Looks good, don’t you think?” She angled a hand mirror for Tori to inspect the back.
“Thanks, Dora. It feels lighter and more manageable again.”
The chair settled to the floor and the stylist swiveled it away from the mirror. “Excellent. Do you want to book your next appointment while you’re here?”
“Um, sure. I can do that.” Tori pulled her wallet out of her purse and followed Dora to the counter.
The salon door pushed open, and an elderly woman entered.
Tori sucked in a breath. Garret’s mom. When had she shrunk so much? “Hi, Mrs. Morrison.”
“Why, hello, dear.” Her smile was warm even though her face seemed sallow. “That hairstyle looks lovely on you. Dora does an excellent job.”
At the compliment, Tori patted the side of her head. “Thank you. And, yes, I agree.”
“Go ahead and have a seat in my chair, Nancy.” Dora held the magnetic strip card reader out to Tori. “I’ll be with you in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”
But Nancy Morrison’s hand rested on Tori’s arm. Her hand with blue veins clearly defined beneath mottled skin. “Are you in town for a bit longer? I’d love to have coffee with you at Java Springs when I’m done here.”
From the corner of her eye, Tori caught Dora looking eagerly between them. Great. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Morrison. I’m expected back at the Flying Horseshoe to lead a trail ride in—” she made a show of checking her watch “—twenty minutes. Maybe another time?”
Nancy squeezed gently. “Another time, then.”
Dora handed the receipt across the counter, and Tori took it and fled. What had that all been about? Did Nancy want to tell her to stop badgering Garret? Probably. He was the child of their old age, so she likely felt protective. Nancy must have been over forty when she gave birth to him. Closer to fifty? To what age were women fertile, anyway? Tori didn’t even know, but Mrs. Morrison must have been pushing the limits.
The July day promised to be a scorcher. Tori tugged her sunglasses from her purse and slid them into place then caught sight of Tuck Morrison’s gray truck with the Canyon Crossing Stables emblem on the door. Garret’s dad sat in the driver’s seat and lifted a hand to greet her when their gazes connected.
Tori waved back and hurried away. She was dying of curiosity as to what Garret’s mom wanted to talk about, but the fear of finding herself in a frank discussion about her emotions and Garret’s lack of them was completely unappealing.
No, she’d do without that little talk if at all possible.
“What songs do we know that reflect the forgiveness of sins?” James tapped a pen on his spiral-bound notebook as he sat in Garret’s music room.
“Chris Tomlin’s Amazing Grace,” suggested Lauren.
She didn’t join them often, but was here today, helping plan the next Sunday’s song list for worship.
Garret’s fingers found the keys and began to play.
“I like that.” James nodded. “Broken chains. Being set free. Mercy like a flood... all those are present in the story in Mark 2 that Pastor Roland is preaching from.”
“There’s a lot of faith in the story, too.” Lauren ran her finger down her phone app, eyes scanning the lines. “Think of how much faith those four guys had, ripping apart a roof and lowering their friend through it.” She looked up. “They knew all they had to do was get their friend in front of Jesus.”
“Right, but the pastor is focusing on Jesus’ words through the gospels.” James leaned over his wife’s shoulder and pointed. “So the point is in verse five, ‘Son, your sins are forgiven.’”
Garret tuned them out as he played through Amazing Grace again, adding embellishments and listening to the lyrics in his head. The contemporary chorus riffed off John Newton’s classic.
Those chains the song spoke of. They were definitely weaker than they had been, but were they fully dissolved? If not, was it because Garret was weak in faith?
The guy in the Bible story, though. It was his friends’ faith that got him to Jesus and totally healed, inside and out. The dude was paralyzed, for goodness’ sake. It wasn’t like he could transport himself there.
Garret glanced over to see James’s and Lauren’s heads bent over her Bible app together, their dark hair blending together. His friends couldn’t help bring him to Jesus. They thought he was already there.
A tap on the music room door sounded then Garret’s dad poked his head in. “I’ll just set the mail on the table here, and you can get to it when you have a minute. There’s some bills and, uh...” The expression on his face seemed guarded. “Something else you’ll want to see, I believe.”
What on earth? Garret turned from the piano and picked up the stack of envelopes. A sheet of paper fluttered to the floor. It had been folded and then pressed open, probably by Dad.
And a familiar face smiled innocently up at him.
His first reaction was to stomp on it, but Lauren’s voice stopped him. “Oh! We got one of those flyers in the mail, too. That’s Chantelle Devereaux, isn’t it?” Lauren picked up the paper and held it out to him. “She’s got an amazing voice, and man, can she play piano! Nearly as good as you, Garret. Have you heard of her?”
Had he heard of her? Garret stared at the black-and-white photograph. “I’ve heard of her.”
“She’s doing a concert in Spokane in a few weeks. See the dates? I wish she’d come to Missoula, but I’m sure we’re way too small for someone like her.”
So had he been. Much too small, too insignificant. Not when she could use him to boost her to the bottom rung of the ladder of success. Looked like she’d figured out how to climb the rest of the way on her own... unless she’d found other guys to use along the way. Which was likely.
“We should get a carload or two together and drive over for her concert.” James took the flyer from Lauren’s hand. “It’s a Friday night. We could stay in a hotel or come back late.”
“I don’t think so.” Garret didn’t even recognize his voice with the harsh undertone. “I’m not interested.”
Lauren angled her head up at him. “Really? I’m surprised. I would have thought her music would be right up your alley.”
“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you actually knew this person.” Lauren snatched the paper from James and held it toward him. “And didn’t like her. A long-lost sweetheart, perhaps.”
Garret took a deep breath and forced himself to meet her gaze. “Give it up, Lauren. Can we get back on track? I have a horse in the stable that seemed to be limping earlier. I need to check her out soon.”
“Which one? I’ll have a look.”
He’d forgotten for a sec that he was talking to a veterinarian. “She’ll probably be okay.” In fact, the limp was so minute it likely didn’t exist. “Other songs?”
“How about Forgiveness by Matthew West?”
Lyrics slammed Garret’s mind. Forgiveness for people who didn’t deserve it. Loving. Reaching out. Doing the impossible.
Had he ever forgiven Chantelle?
Nope. And today wasn’t going to be the day, either. “I don’t think that one’s as easy for congregational singing. Any other ideas?”
He didn’t miss the look Lauren and James exchanged, but there was no way he was going to elaborate. When he could force memories of Chantelle out of his mind, he could convince himself that he was a growing believer, secure in his faith and love for his Lord. But when she pushed her way in, he knew. It was all an act. An adhesive bandage attempting to cover a festering wound.
He was not healed.
Chapter Twelve
Thirty preteen girls and six chaperones filled the cabins at the Flying Horseshoe. They’d shown up in matching black T-shirts no less, each back emblazoned with the logo of their elite school. All the better to keep track of kids in airports, Tori guessed. At least now they wore regular clothes. Maybe now she’d be able to start seeing personalities and telling them apart.