Her Cowboy Soldier (15 page)

“Have you and Dad thought about slowing down any?” Amy asked. “I know you love your work, but you’re not getting any younger.”

“Are you kidding? We’re in our prime! Fifty is the new thirty, haven’t you heard? And people in our age group are the only ones who can afford high-end adventure travel anymore. Our bookings are up higher than ever, and I’m convinced it’s because people see we aren’t twenty-something hotshots, but a man and woman their own age. We inspire them.”

Amy had to agree her parents were inspiring. Brent, especially, had been impressed with their drive and zeal. “We should start our own adventure company,” he’d said to Amy once. “Can you imagine a more perfect life?”

Since traveling the globe while her parents hiked, climbed, rafted, dived and safaried was the only life she knew, Amy hadn’t been sure how to answer him. On one hand, she’d had a wonderful childhood. On the other, the thought of toting an infant and all the accompanying gear around the globe exhausted her. “Maybe when Chloe’s older,” she’d said.

That had been the beginning of Brent’s restlessness, she could see now. She and Chloe had been the anchor, holding him in place, while all the while he’d been searching for a way to cast himself adrift. The war had provided the answer—his escape, though she hoped he’d never consciously thought of it that way.

The Hartland Historical Museum was housed in a white-painted house two blocks off Main Street. A white picket fence marked the boundaries of the small lot and climbing roses heavy with lipstick-red blossoms trailed up the porch and onto the roof. “It looks just the same,” Katherine said, brushing one hand across the rusty black buggy parked in the yard.

Each room inside held themed exhibits devoted to the history of the area—walls of browning photographs and dusty glass cases filled with old bottles, faded gloves and antique kitchen utensils. The ranching room displayed a pair of woolly chaps alongside branding irons and chuck wagon tools. Amy leaned close to peer at yellowing photos of cowboys standing next to horses or herding bunches of solemn-faced cows. The scenes reminded her of Josh on Sunday, sitting tall in the saddle, as at home there as only a man born to that life could be.

And yet even there, at his home, he’d seemed uneasy at times—fleeing the group in search of solitude. With the clearer vision produced by time and distance, Amy doubted she was the only reason for Josh’s sudden departure from the barbecue that afternoon. Yes, the two of them had a knack for rubbing each other the wrong way, but that wasn’t enough to drive a man from the family table.

Maybe, like the soldier she’d met at the mall in Junction the day she and Charla shopped for dresses, Josh found it difficult to remain long in crowds since the war. Though he’d seemed at ease that day at the science bee, maybe someone had said or done something at the ranch that triggered painful memories.

Or maybe she was overanalyzing all of this, and he’d merely left because he didn’t like the idea of her using pictures of his family’s traditions in the paper.

“As far as I can tell, this is all the same stuff that was here when I was a kid,” Katherine said as they passed from the ranching room to one devoted to hunting and fishing in the area. “I’m pretty sure my uncle Mike donated that trout trophy there on the wall.” She indicated a mounted rainbow trout, the colors of its scales faded to pastels.

“It will all be new to tourists,” Amy said, making notes about the displays.

“Is this what you really want to be doing?” Katherine asked.

“I think the museum is kind of interesting,” Amy said. “I mean, I don’t really know much about the history of this place. But I’m almost done here. We can head to the coffee shop in a minute.”

“I wasn’t talking about the museum. I mean, are you happy shilling for the Chamber of Commerce? I thought you wanted to write for magazines.”

“I do, Mom, but everybody has to start somewhere. Writing for the
Herald
has given me good experience, and some clips I can show to other places I want to write for.”

“Terrific. So start showing off those clips. Move on to the next step. I’d hate to see you stuck here in Hartland forever. Don’t get me wrong—it’s a wonderful town. But you wouldn’t be happy here, not when you’ve seen so much of the world and done so many things.”

“You’re probably right. I mean, I’ve been planning all along to leave, eventually. I’ve just been worried about Grandma.”

“I worry, too,” Katherine said. “But your grandmother has lived here all her life—you couldn’t pry her out with a crowbar. The good side to that is she has lots of friends—people who will take care of her better than I ever could.”

“She says the orchards are getting to be too much for her.”

“Then she’d be wise to sell the place and buy a nice house in town. She’d have enough money left over to keep her comfortable for the rest of her life.”

Amy studied her mother’s face—so calm and certain of everything. “It doesn’t bother you to think about her selling the family farm?” she asked.

“It’s just land to me. I haven’t thought about it as home for years. If Mom wants to sell, she should. You don’t need to lose any sleep over it.” Katherine slipped her arm around her daughter’s shoulders and hugged her close. “Promise me you’ll do something with your writing. I’ve been reading the articles you sent me and you’ve got real talent. Don’t waste it.”

“Thanks, Mom.” Katherine didn’t hand out praise very often, so her words meant a lot to Amy. “I have a couple of names of people I met in Denver who work for magazines there. I could start with them.”

“Good girl. Now let’s go have that coffee.”

Charla, dressed today in a pink Indian sari, complete with a ruby bindi on her forehead, greeted them warmly. “The special today is chai,” she said. “I’m trying out some themed sales to see if I can spice things up a bit.”

“I have a sari just like that,” Katherine said. “So cool and practical and flattering.”

“Charla, this is my mom, Katherine Carruthers. Mom, this is my friend Charla Reynolds.”

“Wonderful to meet you.” Katherine shook Charla’s hand. “So nice to see someone here with a real sense of style.”

“I’m not sure Hartland is really ready for saris,” Charla said. “This morning Dirk Sheffield asked me if I’d decided to wear my pajamas to work, and Ashley Frawley reminded me that Halloween is four months away.”

“Ouch!” Amy said. “Do you want me to take your picture for the paper?”

“I already tried that. Ed told me he wouldn’t run my picture, since it would be free advertising. But no matter. What can I get you ladies?”

Katherine ordered the chai, while Amy opted for her usual mocha. “We toured the history museum this morning,” Amy said when Charla delivered their drinks. “I don’t think it’s going to pull a lot of people off the highway.”

“Lots of people like small-town museums,” Charla said.

“Single men do not like small-town museums,” Amy said. “And I thought that was the whole point of this exercise.”

“The curse of the small town,” Katherine said. “Not enough eligible men. Why do you think I was so eager to go off to college?”

“There are plenty of single guys here,” Charla said. “I’ve just struck out with all of them. I’m trying to find a way to draw in new blood.”

“Then you don’t need dull old museums,” Katherine said. “How about a motorcycle rally? Or an adventure race?”

Charla’s eyes widened. She turned to Amy. “Your mother is a genius.”

“Remind me before we leave, and I’ll give you some names of people who can help you,” Katherine said.

“I can’t wait to pick your brain for ideas,” Charla said. “How long are you going to be in town?”

“Oh, another day or so.” Katherine sipped her chai. “We’re headed to Costa Rica for six months, and we have a lot of shopping to do.”

“But, Mom, you just got here yesterday.”

“I know, dear, but as I told you before, short visits are the best. Maybe next time you and Chloe can fly out to Costa Rica to see us. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

Five or more hours on a plane with an active five-year-old was not Amy’s idea of fun, but there was no point arguing this with her mother, who had filled Amy’s passport with stamps before Amy was Chloe’s age. “I wish you could stay longer this time,” she said. Her mom was good for her ego, praising her writing and reassuring her that leaving Grandma and Hartland was the right thing to do.

Amy fed on Katherine’s boundless energy and confidence, but she feared when her mom was gone, her self-doubt and second-guessing would return.

* * *

“D
AD
, I’
VE
BEEN
thinking about getting my own place.” Josh and his father were riding fence lines on a bright weekday morning, checking for breaks in the wire or leaning posts that needed shoring up. Josh had rehearsed this announcement in his mind a hundred times, planning on leading up to it gradually. Instead, he’d blurted it out boldly.

Mitch, who was riding a little ahead of his son, reined his horse to a halt. “That section of wire up there is sagging,” he said, and swung down out of the saddle.

Josh dismounted and followed his dad. “Did you hear what I said?” he asked.

“I heard. Help me stretch this wire out here.”

Josh grabbed hold of the section of wire and jerked it taut. He held it while his father clipped it tight to the fence post. He felt like a kid, waiting for his dad to give him permission to use the truck on Saturday night. The sour taste of anger filled the back of his throat. “Well?” he demanded. “What do you think?”

“Something wrong with the cabin? I thought you liked living there.”

“I’m not talking about another place to live—I want my own place to manage.”

“You already have a place here.” Mitch moved down the fence line, testing the tautness of the wire here, pulling a stray branch out of the netting there.

“This is your ranch, Dad, not mine.”

“It will be yours one day. When I’m gone all this will come to you.” He shoved the fencing pliers into his back pocket and walked back to the horses.

“You’re going to be around a long time yet,” Josh said.

“Hope so.” He swung up in the saddle.

“Then there’s no reason I shouldn’t try my hand at a place of my own.”

“Where would you go?”

“I wouldn’t go anywhere.” Josh mounted again and brought his horse alongside his father. “I plan to stay here in Hartland. I’m still going to teach school next year and coach the baseball team.”

Mitch shook his head. “Son, you’re not making sense. There aren’t any ranches here for sale.”

“Not a ranch, Dad. A farm. I’m thinking of buying Bobbie Anderson’s place.”

“Anderson Orchards?” This was enough to make Mitch turn to look at his son. “You’re a rancher, not a farmer.”

“I studied agriculture in college. I know about greenhouses and irrigation and grafting and all of those things.”

“Studying things in books and doing them in real life are two different animals,” Mitch said.

“I know that, Dad, but I want the chance to try.”

“Didn’t know Bobbie was thinking of selling out.”

“She hasn’t talked a lot about it, but I let her know I was interested.”

“What about that granddaughter of hers—Amy Marshall? Why doesn’t she take over the place?”

“She’s not interested in farming. She wants to move to the city and write for a magazine.”

“Too much like her mother, then. Katherine Anderson always had her nose stuck in the air. She was the prettiest girl in school, but us ranch kids weren’t good enough to shine her shoes.”

Was that regret Josh heard in his father’s voice? Had his dad had a crush on Amy’s mother, and had she returned his affection by ignoring him? He felt a stab of sympathy for Mitch. “Amy’s not like that. She’s just never lived in one place very long. She never had a real home, so the land doesn’t mean that much to her.”

“I’ve never understood people like that.” He rubbed his chin. “The Anderson place backs up to our property. One day you’d own both places—a good bit of land. If you had two kids you’d have something to leave both of them.”

Josh almost laughed at the idea that his father was planning for his eventual progeny and demise before Josh even had the hope of children. “Nothing’s confirmed yet,” he said. “Don’t say anything to anybody.”

“You think I’m one of those people who goes blabbing my private business to everyone I know?”

“No, Dad. I’m pretty sure Bobbie will sell to me, but I’m trying not to push her. This is a big decision for her and I’m in no hurry.”

“That’s the right way to act. Bobbie Anderson’s father started those orchards.”

“She was hoping she could persuade Amy to stay and take over the place, but it doesn’t look like that’s going to happen.” He’d miss seeing Amy in town, but life would be more settled without her around to constantly stir things up.

“If the granddaughter won’t take it, Bobbie would be better off selling it to you than to some stranger.”

“That’s what I thought, too.” Some of the stiffness went out of Josh’s shoulders. He’d lost sleep, worrying about his dad’s reaction to his words, but Mitch was taking it pretty well. “I wouldn’t really be leaving the ranch, just spending more of my time next door.”

“The ranch will always be your home, no matter what.” His voice was gruffer than usual, the closest Mitch came to showing strong emotion.

“That’s good, Dad,” Josh said. He didn’t want to turn his back on his home and family, but it would be good to stake a claim of his own, to try out his ideas for better or worse, and prove himself someplace where he wasn’t hampered by the weight of his heritage.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“I
HAVE
TO
go to the feed and supply to pick up more tomato cages,” Amy announced on the morning of the third day of her mother’s visit. “Want to come along, Mom?”

Katherine set aside the magazine she’d been reading. “Yes. Anything to pass the time. I’d forgotten how boring life on the farm could be.”

“There’s always plenty of work to do.” Between writing for the paper, taking care of Chloe and helping in the orchards and greenhouses, Amy never had time to be bored.

“But as I’ve reminded you before, I’m not a farmer.” Katherine stood and smoothed her crisp khaki walking shorts and tailored white blouse. She looked ready to lead a Jeep tour across the African veldt. “Any idea where your father and Chloe are?”

“Dad said something about taking Chloe fishing. Grandma’s in one of the greenhouses.”

“Then looks like you’re my best bet for company.” Katherine’s smile took some of the sting out of her words. “While we’re in town, let’s sneak off for coffee at your friend Charla’s place.”

Amy grabbed the truck keys from a hook by the door. “I can’t believe Mom is still driving this old thing,” Katherine said as she fastened her seat belt. “I’ve seen newer models in the depths of Congo.”

“Grandma likes this old truck.” Amy patted the dashboard almost fondly. “She says on warm days she can still smell Grandpa’s pipe tobacco. It’s almost as if he’s riding along with her.”

“She hated that pipe when he was alive—she fussed at him all the time for smoking it.”

“It’s funny what means the most to us after a person dies,” Amy said. “Brent had this ratty old sweatshirt I hated, but he loved it. After he died I slept with that thing for a month.”

Her mother reached across the seat and squeezed her hand. “You know how much your father and I loved Brent. He was the perfect man for you. It was a tragedy he had to die so young.”

If Brent had been the perfect man for her, did that mean no one else was going to come close for the rest of her life? Had she had her one chance for happiness and lost it? “I don’t think Brent was very happy, living in Denver,” she said. “I think he felt tied down to one place. He wanted to travel more, explore the world, but that was hard to do with an infant and then a toddler.”

“I did it with you. It wasn’t a picnic, but we managed.”

“I guess I’m not that strong. Besides, I thought it would be good for Chloe to have the stability of a home in her younger years.”

“Children don’t need the stability of a place. You were happy as long as you were with us—and you were, twenty-four hours a day.” Katherine’s smile grew wistful. “Those were some of the happiest days of my life, when you were little. It always felt like the three of us, conquering the world. Every place we traveled was new to us, every adventure a fresh experience. There’s nothing like it.”

“Now that you’ve been everywhere and seen everything, do you ever think of settling down?” Amy asked. “Was there one place you liked enough to go back to stay?”

“There are places in Australia and Africa I think I could live. If we ever decide to retire, we might go back there.” Katherine waved her hand dismissively. “But that’s years away. And wherever we end up, we’ll still travel.”

Amy pulled the car into an angled space in front of the feed and supply store, a low-slung, tin-sided building that sold everything from hay to hats. “Grandma said to look for some pyrethrum powder and some more rawhide chews for General, too,” she said as she led the way into the store.

A white-shirted clerk turned toward them. “Can I help— Oh, Amy, hello.”

“Rick!” Amy glanced at his printed name tag although she knew his name well enough. “Do you work here now?”

“Summer job,” he said. “Can I help you find something?” He glanced at Katherine.

“This is my mother, Katherine Carruthers. Mom, this is Rick Southerland. He’s a teacher at the high school.”

“Nice to meet you,” Katherine said.

Rick nodded but said nothing.

“I’m looking for pyrethrum powder, tomato cages and rawhide chews,” Amy said.

“The chews are on aisle five, the cages are out back and we’re out of the powder,” Rick said.

“The garden center on the other side of town carries the pyrethrum.” The deep, familiar voice made Amy turn to stare.

“Josh Scofield, is that you?” Before Josh could answer, Katherine threw her arms around him.

“Josh, I hope you remember my mother, Katherine Carruthers,” Amy said.

“Nice to see you again, Mrs. Carruthers.”

“Oh, you must call me Katherine.” She beamed at him. “You grew up to be a good-looking man.” Her smile dimmed a few watts when her gaze landed on the hook at the end of his right arm. “I was sorry to hear about your injury.”

“If you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.” Rick scowled at them. Amy realized they were blocking the aisle. She started to move aside.

“Rick, I didn’t know you were working here,” Josh said.

Rick said nothing, but pushed past them.

“What’s his problem today?” Amy asked.

“I heard his wife took their kid and moved to Junction.” Mitch joined them in the aisle.

Josh raised an eyebrow in question. Mitch shrugged. “You don’t think all we talk about at the cattlemen’s society meetings is the price of cows, do you?” He turned to Amy’s mom. “You’re looking well, Katherine.”

“So are you, Mitch. It’s certainly been a while since I’ve seen you.”

“And yet you never look a day older.”

“Oh, you always were such a flirt.” But her smile told Amy the praise pleased her.

“How are Bobbie and Chloe?” Josh asked.

“My dad took Chloe fishing this morning, so she’s in heaven. And Bobbie’s fine.”

“As stubborn as ever,” Katherine said. “I caught her standing on a step stool, trying to hang wasp traps in the greenhouse yesterday. I pointed out that was how she broke her hip in the first place, but she didn’t want to hear it.”

“Bobbie’s always been as tough as they come,” Mitch said.

“Yes, but there’s such a thing as having sense,” Katherine protested.

“From what I remember, you were quite the daredevil in your day.” Mitch’s eyes twinkled.

Katherine’s blush only made her look prettier. “I still am. I’d dare you to keep up with me in the bush.”

“I wouldn’t even try.”

Amy leaned close to Josh. “You’re right,” she whispered. “Your dad likes to flirt.”

“Almost as much as your mom.” He leaned forward. “Dad, do you want me to load the truck while you visit with Amy and her mom?”

“I’d better go with you,” Mitch said. “If you don’t watch ’em, the yard hands will load all the crooked, warped fence posts.” He touched two fingers to his hat brim. “Nice to see you ladies.”

“Nice to see you, too, Mitch, Josh.” Katherine fluttered her fingers goodbye. She said nothing more as the two men made their way down the aisle, then she let out a sigh. “There’s something about a man in boots and jeans.”

“You sound like Charla,” Amy said.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed,” Katherine said. “You’re a widow, not dead.”

“I’m not going to answer that question,” Amy said, but she smiled.

She gathered her purchases and checked out, then they made their way back to the truck without seeing Rick, Josh or his dad again.

“It’s a shame about Josh’s hand,” Katherine said as Amy backed the truck out of the parking space. “But he’s still a good-looking man. He looks a lot like his dad did when he was that age.” She touched Amy’s arm. “Don’t get too attached to him. I don’t think it would be good for you.”

“Mom!” Amy’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not ‘attached’ to Josh.” Her cheeks felt suddenly hot.

Katherine gave her daughter a knowing look. “You two looked pretty taken with each other. And I saw you whispering together.”

Amy gave a harsh laugh. “You’ve got it all wrong,” she said. “Josh can hardly stand me. I wrote a news story about him he considered unflattering, and he’s never forgiven me.”

“I think you’re the one who’s wrong,” Katherine said. “Josh looks at you the way Mitch used to look at me.”

“Josh says his dad likes to flirt. I don’t think Mitch was looking at you any particular way.”

“Not now. But when we were in high school Mitch Scofield had quite the crush on me. And he was terribly good-looking. But I knew he wasn’t for me.”

“What happened?”

“Oh, we went out a few times, had some fun. But he took the relationship far too seriously. I had to end it. I was cruel, but it was for his own good. Mitch is much better off with Gail. She’s the loyal ranch wife I could never be. You’re not cut out for that life, either.”

“Why do you say that?” Amy said.

“Farming and ranching are hard work.”

“I’m not afraid of hard work.”

“Neither am I—but that kind of work is sheer drudgery. There’s no excitement, no sense of discovery.”

Amy thought of the first seeds she’d planted in the greenhouse, and the excitement that rushed through her when they began to sprout. She’d checked their progress several times a day, amazed as the plants grew from tiny seedlings to burgeoning bushes or vines. She’d loved watching the apple blossoms develop into tiny apples, and marveled every time she explored some new corner of the farm. All those things had been discoveries for her, every bit as satisfying as the explorations of foreign climes she’d taken for granted as a child. “I like living and working on the farm,” she said.

“Trust me, you’ll be bored with it soon enough,” Katherine said. “I couldn’t wait to get away from it. That was one reason I was so glad to see you marry Brent. I knew you’d never be bored with a man like him.”

Her mom spoke as if boredom was a fate worse than death. Maybe for Katherine it was. But Amy thought a little boredom and peace wasn’t such a bad thing after a life full of chaos and constant change. For Chloe, she hoped to find a balance between familiarity and adventure, a place they could belong but not grow tired of, somewhere between her mother’s and her grandmother’s ideas of perfection.

* * *

“T
HE
PEOPLE
YOU
run into in this place.” Josh was helping his dad load fence posts into the back of the truck when he heard the familiar voice. He turned and saw Zach approaching.

“Hello, Mitch.” Zach shook hands with Josh’s dad and clapped Josh on the shoulder. “You’re just the guy I’ve been looking for.”

“Whenever someone says that, I feel like I’m in for trouble,” Josh said.

“No trouble. Some of us are getting together to play softball this evening—on the ball fields next to the town park. You should come.”

“I don’t think so.” Josh turned back to the truck. His dad sent him a questioning look, but remained silent. Josh knew his dad was wondering why he’d turn down a fun evening with friends, but Josh had his reasons.

“You have a hot date or something?” Zach asked.

“If I did, you’d probably already know about it, considering how word gets around in this town.”

“True. So I know you’re not busy. I want you on my team.”

“Why?” He shoved the last post into the truck and turned to confront his friend. “I can do a lot of things with this hook, but holding a bat isn’t one of them.”

Zach leaned against Mitch’s truck. “I’ve see you at practice with the kids. You can still hit.”

“I can send a few soft ones around the field, one-handed. That’s not well enough to play.” Not the way he’d once batted, routinely hitting balls out of the park. The memory of watching those balls sail away, then trotting around the bases to the roar of the crowd, sent a pang of longing through his chest.

“You’re good enough for this team,” Zach said. “I’m talking bankers and secretaries and teachers—like us—who get together a few times a summer to toss the ball around. You’ve heard of the Bad News Bears? Well, they look like champions compared to us.”

Josh had been a champion once, the year his high school team went to the state finals. He’d been a hero, hitting two home runs in the game that won them the title. The mayor had shaken his hand, and he could feel everyone’s eyes on him when he walked down the street for weeks afterward.

Everyone would be watching now, too, when he came to bat. Though he made a big show of not minding about his hook, the truth was, he cared. He avoided doing things that made him look awkward—that reminded people he was handicapped—a word he hated. Working with the kids was one thing—that was his job and he’d made himself grit his teeth and do what he had to do. But only in practice. Not in public where anyone could see him struggle.

“Are you two done loading up?” Rick, more sour-faced than usual, joined them at the truck. “We’ve got other people waiting.”

Josh checked the yard. “I don’t see anyone.”

“We’re done,” Mitch said. “Josh and Zach are just talking about softball.”

“You’re not going to play, are you?” Rick pointedly stared at Josh’s hook. “I mean, it’s not like you can hold a bat with that thing.”

“You’d be surprised what Josh can do with
that thing.
” Mitch’s voice had an edge to it that made Josh flinch. He wouldn’t have his dad fighting his battles for him. And he wouldn’t let Rick get in another dig.

“What time’s the game?” he asked.

“Six-thirty,” Zach answered. “Bring any bats or balls or gloves you have.”

“Now I know the real reason you invited me,” Josh said.

“You got it.”

Rick looked more annoyed. “So, are you going to move your truck or not?”

“We’re moving.” Mitch dug his keys from his pocket. “You ready, son?”

“I’m ready.”

* * *

J
OSH
WASN
’
T
SO
sure he was ready that evening, though, when he stepped into the batter’s box to take his first swings. Ordinarily, he would have enjoyed being at the ballpark this time of day. The day’s heat had cooled, and the trees cast long shadows across the diamond. The outfield gave off the green scent of fresh-mown grass, and laughter and conversation punctuated the sound of the leather ball on wooden bats.