Spring in Snow Valley

by Cindy Roland Anderson

  “I care,” she sighed. “And Anoria cares.”

  “Anoria?”

  “C’mon, Colby, you have to know she has feelings for you.” She tightened the ponytail and let her hands fall limply to her sides.

  “Yes, I know,” he said quietly, sensing this was dangerous territory. “But I’ve never done anything to encourage her.”

  “She’s twenty-one; she doesn’t need much encouragement,” Cynthia pointed out.

  “Hey, Colby! What are you doing here?” They both turned as Jackson shuffled into the room. His eyes were heavy with sleep and his blond hair stuck out in all directions. He scratched his stomach under his baggy T-shirt, looking from Colby to his mother and back again.

  “He just stopped by to say hello,” Cynthia answered. “I’m leaving for work now; you guys be good, okay?”

  Jackson nodded and went to the refrigerator.

  Cynthia looked from her son to Colby. “Thank you for your concern,” she said to him. “I appreciate it.” She hurried out of the room and a second later, Colby heard her car backing out of the carport.

  He wanted to growl in frustration. He didn’t want her to appreciate it; he wanted her to accept it, accept him ... or at least open the door a little bit.

  Jackson had pulled a gallon of milk from the fridge and was rummaging through the cupboards.

  “What are your plans today?” Colby asked.

  Jackson shrugged. “Dunno. I might go over to the gym at the high school with Aiden and lift weights.”

  “How about this,” Colby bargained. “You go wake your sister and after breakfast we’re going to tackle the yard. Lawn, weeds, trees ... everything. Then,” he continued quickly when Jackson frowned, “if we get done in time, I’ll take you up to the ranch and we’ll go shooting.”

  Jackson’s face lit up and Colby knew he’d won. “Really?”

  “Sure. I’ve even got a black powder rifle I’ll let you try.”

  “Black powder? As in gunpowder?”

  “Yep,” Colby said smugly.

  “All right!” Jackson punched the air. “I’ll get Anoria.” He took off down the hallway.

  Colby smiled at his retreating figure. He’d figure out how to deal with Anoria and hopefully in the process he’d figure out how to deal with her mother as well.

  Chapter 9

  Cynthia clutched the shelf in the supply closet and let her head drop onto her hand. She was nearing the end of her twelve-hour shift and her head ached. It had been a slow day at the hospital, which was good because it meant no one was suffering, but it did make her shift seem longer.

  Her thoughts drifted, automatically, it seemed, to Colby—his easy smile and casual grace. The way he grinned down at her made her heart pound. She’d vowed to stop being afraid. Why couldn’t she act on that promise?

  She realized the answer to that question when she got home.

  She parked in the carport and walked around the house, straining to see in the dark. In the glow of the outside lights, she could tell the yard had been mowed and edged, the flowerbeds were weeded, and the bushes and trees were trimmed. Someone had even tilled the garden and fastened a tarp securely over the newly tilled soil to keep the weeds at bay.

  Cynthia let herself in the sliding door at the back of the house. Anoria and Jackson were at the kitchen counter with bowls of ice cream.

  “Mom!” Anoria’s face lit up. “We had the best day!”

  “Did you guys do all that work?” Cynthia asked in amazement.

  “Yep,” Jackson said proudly. “Well, us and Colby. And then we went to the ranch and I got to shoot his black powder rifle!”

  That explained the faint smell of sulfur hanging in the air.

  “Why did he do that?” Cynthia asked.

  Jackson shrugged and dug his spoon into his ice cream. “He said it would be fun.”

  “We shot at clay targets,” Anoria broke in. “He has this thing that launches them, and he could shoot three at a time!” She jumped into a detailed description of the day, including how Colby had put his arms around her when he was showing her how to aim the rifle. One look at the glow in Anoria’s eyes and Cynthia’s heart sank.

  This was what she was afraid of.

  “Are you okay, Mom?” Anoria looked at her curiously after she’d finished her spiel.

  “Yeah, fine. Just tired.” She found her voice. “Did you have ice cream for dinner?”

  “Colby made pizza at the ranch,” Jackson said. “He sent you some.” He pointed to the end of the counter, where a foil-wrapped package waited.

  She couldn’t think through all this right now. “I’m going to take a shower,” she said as she tugged the hair elastic from her ponytail. “I’ll eat later.”

  In her bedroom, she changed into a robe and picked up her phone. She should call him, text him, something. But her mind was a jumble, mixed emotions roaring through her. What would she say?

  She had the day off tomorrow. Maybe she needed to sleep on it. Then she’d drive out there and finally get things straight between them.

  ***

  Colby was in the stable when he heard the car tires crunch to a halt. He glanced up, and his pulse jumped at the sight of the little white sedan. He waited, fighting competing emotions of dread and excitement. Excitement won out when Cynthia—and only Cynthia—stepped from the car.

  “In here,” he called as she hesitated and looked around the yard.

  She entered the stable and blinked, giving her eyes time to adjust to the dimness.

  “Hi,” he said, returning to brushing the big bay mare with a gleaming mahogany coat. The horse stood quietly, her halter tied to an iron loop in the stable wall.

  “Hi.” Cynthia folded her arms as she came toward him. “Are Wade and April back yet?” She glanced around the stable as if expecting to see Wade emerge from somewhere.

  “Next week.” Colby shook his head. “I guess when you have an extremely successful app, you can take a two-month honeymoon.”

  “Not to mention an extremely competent ranch foreman,” Cynthia added with a smile.

  His heart sped up and he ducked his head, concentrating on the mare. “Thanks.”

  “Thank you so much for everything you did yesterday,” she said. “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “I know,” he said.

  “The kids were so excited,” Cynthia continued.

  He nodded. “It was fun.”

  “Anoria is acting like it was a date,” Cynthia blurted.

  He threw her a startled glance. “Well, it wasn’t. Not even close.”

  “Are you texting her?” Cynthia asked. “She doesn’t always tell me everything. I know she’s an adult and I can’t tell her what to do, but I don’t want to ... I can’t ...” She trailed off, then finally took a deep breath. “I can’t be in a position where I’m competing with my own daughter for someone’s attention.” She bit her lip and looked away.

  Colby pulled the mare’s black tail to one side and began brushing it with quick but gentle strokes. “Cynthia, I swear, I don’t text her ... or call her. I’ve never done anything to give her that kind of encouragement. If you need me to talk to her and explain, I will.”

  Cynthia shrugged helplessly. “No, I’ll talk to her. I just ... I didn’t know for sure, and I wanted to hear your side before I came to any conclusions.”

  “She and Jackson are nice kids,” Colby said. “That’s my side.”

  Along the far wall, other horses nickered in their stalls. Cynthia turned and smiled at the row. “Lots of horses,” she said, rather needlessly.

  “Wade and April love riding,” Colby explained.

  “We had a horse named Cherry when we lived here,” she said, her eyes going distant with the memory. “She was an ornery old thing, never would let us ride her very long. We didn’t have a stable, just a horse shed with a low roof. She liked to run under it when we’d try to ride her and scrape us off into the dirt.”

  “Sounds dangerous,” Colby
said with a frown. He did not approve of belligerent horses.

  “We got a little banged up,” she admitted.

  “Did you eventually tame her?”

  Cynthia shook her head. “We ended up selling her when the farm ... when we moved.”

  He knew enough about her history to know how they’d lost the farm. His heart twisted at the pain on her face. “I’m sorry,” he said softly.

  Cynthia seemed to come out of her reverie. “Well, anyway, that’s not what I’m here,” she said briskly. “I thought we should talk.”

  “I thought we already did,” Colby said.

  “That wasn’t everything.” Cynthia bit her lip, obviously nervous. “Look, I’m not stupid, and neither are you,” she finally said.

  “Thank you for saying so.”

  “I’m sure you know as well as I do that there’s something ... something, I don’t know, here. Between us?”

  He nodded solemnly, eyes never leaving the horse’s tail.

  “Anyway, I don’t mean to be presumptuous and I’m not trying to read more into it than there is. I just ... I just thought we should clear things up.”

  “Okay.” He offered her the brush over the mare’s back. “Wanna give me a hand?”

  She hesitated for a second, then took the brush and started running it down the horse’s neck in long, smooth strokes. “What’s her name, anyway?”

  “Quaker,” Colby supplied.

  “Quaker,” Cynthia parroted. “As in the religion or the oat?”

  He laughed. “That horse? Definitely the oat.” Colby ducked into stall four and hooked a lead rope to the halter of a palomino, who stepped gracefully over the threshold behind him. “And this is Willow.” Colby tied Willow near Quaker, picked up another brush, and began to work.

  “Anyway,” Cynthia said, picking up the conversation, “what I’m saying is ... I just think we need to acknowledge that, okay, yeah, there’s something there, but that doesn’t mean we should act on it, right?”

  “Something there? As in between you and me?”

  “Well, yes. I mean ... you know what I mean.”

  He nodded solemnly. “I do.”

  “Okay, thank you.”

  “Oh no, thank you.” He grinned.

  She rolled her eyes, but returned his smile.

  “So what you’re saying is, you don’t think we should act on this ... something? Or whatever it is you’re calling it,” Colby asked.

  Cynthia’s brush went still as she leaned into Quaker’s neck and inhaled deeply. “Mmmm, I love that smell,” she said, then resumed brushing. “But yes. I mean, just because we agree there’s something there, doesn’t mean we have to act on it, right?”

  “Absolutely. Switch?” He indicated the horses.

  Cynthia moved to the palomino and continued brushing while Colby went to the tack room and selected a black leather saddle and blanket. He heaved it onto the bay and began tightening the straps.

  “Well?” Cynthia finally asked when he’d evidently been quiet too long.

  “Well what?”

  “You know what. What are we going to do about this?”

  “Do we have to do anything? Excuse me for a minute.” He went back to the tack room for another saddle, this one a deep red leather with silver embellishments.

  Cynthia stepped back so he could saddle the palomino. “What are you doing?”

  “Taking care of the horses,” he replied. “You were saying?”

  “All I’m saying is something like this is too complicated. You know it, and I know it. I’m not looking for a relationship right now and I don’t know if you are or not, but if you are, there are a lot of women out there who are ... better able to give you what you want.”

  Colby finished cinching the red saddle onto Willow and reached around the corner for the bridles. “So from that, I gather you know what I’m looking for?” he asked.

  “Well ... yes. Sort of. I mean, I have a pretty good idea.”

  “Okay.” Colby nodded seriously. “And what would that be?” He slipped the bit between Willow’s teeth and looped the bridle over her ears. After fastening the buckles, he moved on to Quaker’s bridle.

  “You know ... someone young ... attractive,” Cynthia struggled. “Someone without so much baggage. I know what a guy like you wants.”

  He finished Quaker’s bridle and gathered the reins in his fist. “Uh huh. Well, you’re the expert.”

  She gave him an exasperated look. “Are you making fun of me?”

  “No, of course not,” he said, working very hard to hide his smile. “I’ve just never had it all explained to me in this way before. It’s been very enlightening.”

  “Oh, well ... good, then.” She gave him a small smile. “I’m glad we got that cleared up.”

  He chuckled. He wasn’t even entirely sure what she’d come to say, but it most certainly wasn’t cleared up. He studied her thoughtfully, his gaze roving from her ball cap to her athletic shoes. “I guess that will do,” he finally mused.

  “What?”

  “Those shoes aren’t quite right for horseback riding, but I guess they’ll work. Unless you want to see if April has a pair of boots in the mudroom that’d fit you.” He jerked his head toward the front of the stable, where the office and the mudroom were.

  “I’m not going horseback riding,” she stammered. “I came here to have a talk, and we did, and I’m leaving now.”

  “Hang on now, I’m not so sure,” Colby said. “You got to talk, but don’t you want to hear my side of it?”

  She hesitated, and he could practically see the wheels turning in her brain. “Okay,” Cynthia finally agreed.

  He gave her a grin. “So come on, then. It’s a beautiful day, and I think much better when I’m on horseback.”

  Chapter 10

  Cynthia found a pair of blue cowboy boots in the mudroom that were only a little too big. They led the horses into the courtyard and Willow shifted and tossed her head when Cynthia swung onto her back.

  “How’s that?” Colby asked as he adjusted the stirrups on the red saddle. He looked up at her and smiled, and she felt a pounding urge to knock the cowboy hat off his head and run her fingers through his wavy hair. What would the texture feel like? Was his hair soft, or was it wiry? He was so tall, she wouldn’t have to lean very far down to kiss him.

  “Cynthia?” Colby asked, and she jerked her thoughts back to safer avenues.

  “Great,” she said quickly, flexing her legs in the saddle stirrups. “Perfect.”

  He nodded and unhooked the lead rope from the fence where it was tied. “I know you said it’s been a while since you’ve ridden. Need any refreshers?”

  “I’m good,” Cynthia said. She leaned from one side to the other as Willow shifted her weight. The horse was as eager to get going as Cynthia was.

  “Can you hold her for a second?” Colby handed Quaker’s reins to Cynthia. “I’ve got to run upstairs and get something.”

  He took the steps that led to the second floor two at a time and soon reappeared with a large rifle slung over his shoulder. Cynthia’s eyes widened when she saw it.

  “We’ve been having some trouble with wolves,” Colby said by way of explanation. “I just want to be prepared.”

  She nodded and handed him the reins.

  Colby swung into the saddle and whistled, and a golden retriever came loping around the corner of the stable, tongue out, tail wagging in excitement. “This is Shiloh.”

  “I remember you,” Cynthia told Shiloh from her seat atop the horse. “Is he friendly?” she asked Colby.

  “Too friendly.” Colby rolled his eyes. “Not much of a guard dog, I’m afraid.”

  Cynthia gave Shiloh a bright smile, then looked back to Colby. “So, where are we going?”

  “Up there.” Colby nodded toward the top of the canyon.

  They rode in silence for a while, the only sounds the creaking of the leather saddles, punctuated by the gentle clopping of the horses’ hooves on the
dirt trail. Shiloh veered off once or twice when something in the bush caught his eye, but he always returned quickly at Colby’s whistle to keep pace at their side.

  Cynthia clapped one hand to her head to keep her hat on, then threw back her head and took a deep breath of the sage-scented air. “I’d forgotten how much I love riding.” She smiled.

  “Nothing like it, huh?” Colby grinned.

  “Absolutely,” Cynthia agreed. “So what are we doing, anyway? Do you actually have somewhere to go, or was this just a convenient way to distract me?”

  He gave her a crooked grin. “Depends. Did it work?”

  “Did what work? Distracting me? Maybe a little bit,” she conceded.

  Colby laughed. “We’re checking the fence line,” he told her.

  They skirted the outcropping of rock where Cynthia and the kids had scattered Lee’s ashes. Had it already been six weeks?

  “Doing okay?” Colby turned to look back over his shoulder at her. He’d taken the lead as the trail had become steeper.

  “Yep.” She replied. “I’m having fun.”

  They crossed the narrow head of the canyon, and Colby led the horses along the fence line—this one barbed wire, not lodge pole like the pastures near the farmhouse. Cynthia realized it could be the same fence that Lee had helped his father put in years earlier.

  They rode slowly, with Colby checking the fence for any signs of damage. Suddenly, Shiloh barked and sprinted away, leaping over rocks and sagebrush in his hurry to find whatever scent had caught his nose.

  “Shiloh!” Colby shouted. But the dog ignored him.

  With a muttered oath, Colby kicked Quaker’s flanks, urging the horse into a gallop. Willow followed, with Cynthia holding on as tightly as she could with both knees.

  Colby was off the horse and kneeling in the sagebrush by the time Cynthia reached him. Willow pranced nervously as Cynthia leaned forward to see what had captured Colby’s interest.

  It was a fawn. Or rather, what remained of the fawn. Something had definitely feasted on the little animal. The flies were thick and Cynthia covered her nose and mouth against the smell of decay.