Rugged Hearts (7 page)

Wyatt frowned into the phone. “Good luck with that, and yeah, everything’s fine, why?”

“I don’t know, you sound a little distant, like you’ve got a lot on your mind. Kind of weird- sounding is all.”

“Okay, buddy, enough of this mumbo-jumbo. Stop trying to change me. I’m fine with the choices I’ve made, really. And if I want to start being social, I will, got it?”

“Got it. I’ll let Dalton know you sent your holiday wishes when he wakes up.”

“He’ll know better.” Wyatt laughed. “But I’ll talk to you before then. You guys take care and try to stay out of trouble.”

“You too. Merry Christmas if I don’t get the chance to tell you.”

“Oh, stop that. Of course you will.” He hung up and stared out the window, his mind remembering another Christmas when his life changed forever.

The fire in the grand stone fireplace, dwindled now to embers, left a soft glow in the dark room. Dalton was already in bed, eager for morning and Santa’s arrival. Wyatt, at the age of eleven, wanted to enjoy a bit longer, the colored lights and the aroma of fresh evergreen on his first real Christmas tree. Wyatt had never seen anything so majestic and beautiful, and he’d decided that if not one present appeared, he’d still consider himself the luckiest kid alive. He had a mom and the best ever stepdad, and they lived on a real ranch with horses and everything. They’d lived there almost a year, after their mom had met Jed at a New Year’s Eve party up at Dusty’s Pub. The three of them—his mom, Dalton, and him—had been traveling through on their way from Minnesota to Nevada when they’d stopped at End of the Line due to a storm. It was a whirlwind romance, with a short courtship. And within a few months, Wyatt and Dalton were standing in front of a justice of the peace, watching their mom marry the man they called, Big Jed.

“Come on, Wyatt. Time for bed.”

His mother swept her hand over his head. She thought he hadn’t noticed, but he’d been watching her all night. How quiet she’d been. It was their first Christmas together, but she hardly talked to Jed, and she hadn’t helped them decorate the tree. That much didn’t bother him. She wasn’t the domestic type, but her reclusive behavior gave Wyatt a strange, hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach. He knew the look. He’d seen it on her face just before she’d up and move them to another town. Disturbed by a strange feeling, he lay awake that night and stared at the ceiling. He’d never been to church, never really talked to God much, but that night, he whispered a small prayer in the only way he knew how, pleading with whatever power might have an influence on his mother. “How could she not be happy here? We have everything we could ever hope to have. It’s perfect. Please don’t let this get messed up.”

The next day, Christmas morning, he awoke and looked across the room to see Dalton’s bed empty. With an unexplainable excitement, he pushed off his covers and stuffed his feet into the warm deerskin slippers Jed had bought from a real American Indian artisan in town. He reached down and grabbed his blue flannel bathrobe, where he’d left it in a heap on the floor the night before. It wasn’t that he still believed in a jolly man in a red suit, but things seemed to be going well for them this year and maybe it was okay, just this once, to believe their good luck would hold out. He reached down to tie his robe and felt an object in his pocket. Thrilled at first, he thought it might be a game. He unfolded the paper, quickly opened it, and scanned the first few lines. His legs gave way and he dropped to his knees. The words he read seemed to cut off the air in his lungs.

My dearest Wyatt,

I loved your name from the day I picked it for you. It reminded me of the legendary gunslinger and lawman, Wyatt Earp, a true hero of the Old West. Those were hard times back then. Men had to be tough; they had to face their problems and their fears. I guess you could say that you and me and Dalton have had our share of those things, and that’s why I’m counting on you to understand why I can’t take you with me this time. Unlike the other men I’ve known, Jed is a gem and he will make a damn fine father to you boys. Listen to him, learn from him, and you both will be okay. God knows I was never much of a mother. Maybe it’s because I don’t know the first thing about raising boys. Jed does, and he will do right by you. I don’t expect you will forgive me for what I’ve done, but had I stayed, I’d have likely driven Jed away as I’ve done the others, and he’s too good a man for that. I’ll be okay. I always land on my feet. Be nice to your brother and remind yourself that what I do, I do for your welfare. Jed will give you a stable home. He can teach you how to be a better man than I ever could. Please know, whatever else you may think, I love you boys and maybe one day you’ll be able to forgive me and understand. Love, Eloise
.

He stared at the note, fat tears marring the paper with splotches. She insisted they call her by her given name rather than mom. She’d always said she wasn’t cut out to be one and finally—despite the times he’d tried to convince her otherwise—Wyatt finally believed her. After that, his holidays were colored in gray and the bitter root of abandonment took hold and festered inside, making him feel as though there was some kind of flaw in him. It would be a few years later, when he was a little older, that Jed confided to him she’d left with a man from Vegas who’d promised her more, but he wanted no baggage…no kids.

If Jed felt the sting of her betrayal, as he must have for a time, he never showed it, never blamed them. In fact, it seemed only to drive him with greater determination to teach the boys about every aspect of the ranch. “You boys are a gift,” he’d tell them on those occasions when they’d start to feel sorry for themselves. “I’d like to think this ranch is a gift to you. That you’ll embrace it and me and together we’ll be a family. We need each other now, more than ever. And we sure as hell have a lot to be grateful for.”

Big Jed taught them how to rope and ride, how to shoot and fish and take pride in a hard day’s work. His mother had been right about one thing—years of working at the old man’s side had transformed Wyatt for the better, but there were scars, much deeper, he guarded—scars of abandonment and lies, which tainted his attitude about many things, most especially Christmas. He was like a man standing outside of a house, looking in at the warmth of the season, but never going inside to participate. No involvement. Less chance of being hurt. It had become his mantra.

Sadie padded into the dining room, wagging her tail, and nudged Wyatt’s leg as if to pull him from his reverie. Her bark indicated that she was ready to get on with the day, and why was he still sitting on his butt? He reached down and ruffled her fur. “You’re right, girl. We’ve got cabins to check and cattle to feed, and then a trip to the grocery store. We best get going.”

***

The school bell rang and the collective scrape of fifteen wood chairs skidded noisily across the floor.

“Don’t forget your milk-pod ornaments and worksheets in your cubbyholes,” Aimee called over the heads of the busy little bodies scurrying around her to get their cubby treasures.

She knelt on one knee, zipping coats, tying scarves, and adjusting backpacks as the progression filed by her one by one on the way to where they waited to board the bus. “Good night, Ms. Worth” and “See ya tomorrow, Ms. Worth,” accompanied fierce hugs, somehow making the chaos of the day worth all the effort.

After the last child left, Aimee straightened and took a deep breath. The room still hummed with their energy and she utilized it to pick up crayons and tuck papers back into the desks, getting the room ready for the nightly janitor. Recess had been a proverbial zoo, the snow seeming to infuse them, if possible, with greater enthusiasm about the upcoming break. Coming from Missouri, she wasn’t immune to harsh winters, but knowing the Weather Channel kept a close eye on End of the Line for its record snowfalls had her a little excited to experience the first real blast of winter in the Montana mountains.

“You’ll be at class tonight?” Sally Andersen peeked around her door with a friendly smile. She’d met Sally, the school’s music teacher, the day she’d arrived. They’d become quick friends, both single, close in age, and finding they shared similar teaching styles.

Aimee slapped her hand to her forehead. “I’m so glad you reminded me. I need to run by the store and the gas station before I head home.” Aimee glanced at her watch. “It starts at seven, right?” She glanced up to see her friend leaning against her door.

“Seven thirty.” Sally corrected her with a point of her finger.

“Got it.” Aimee nodded. “I’ll be there.”

“The class is completely full. Can you believe it? Who knew so many people would be interested in something so romantic as creative writing? Sort of makes you wonder what’s going on in all those remote homes in the dead of winter, doesn’t it?” She wiggled her brows.

“Personally, I try not to think about it too much. It’s depressing.”

“There’s always Stanley,” Sally mouthed as she pointed to the classroom next to Aimee’s. Stanley was the sole bachelor at the school. It was rumored the mail-order bride he’d planned to marry, had, after her first visit to End of the Line, decided “remote” wasn’t in her vocabulary. Besides, Aimee’s perspective on being single had recently gotten a boost, however slight, after meeting the lone cowboy who lived out in God’s country with no one but his dog to talk to. However, for the chance to get up close and personal with those eyes again, she was willing to forgive his lack in social skills.

“I’ll be there. What do you think of using the screen name A & W?”

“Aimee Worth. Clever.” Sally grinned as she gave a jaunty finger wave. “See you tonight.”

Aimee gathered some assignments to check, sandwiched them in a folder, and stuffed them in her book bag, the same one she’d used in college. She found it functional and comfortable, better than carrying a purse. With a final look around the room, she slung it over her shoulder, flipped off the light switch, and headed out to her waiting car.

“Good evening, Ms. Worth,” Mr. Bartlett called to her as he retired the flag he tended to each morning and each evening. She waved in response, validated in her decision to follow through with applying at the small school where her sister had wanted to teach. Aimee climbed into her car, grateful, as she waited for it to warm up, that her wiper blades easily removed the remnant of snow on her windshield. She scanned the horizon, noting the brilliant orange-and-purple-ribboned sunset beginning to settle over the mountains. Sarah would have loved it immediately. It had taken Aimee a little longer.

The first week after she’d arrived, Sally had taken her to every “hot and happening” locale in End of the Line, according to the music teacher. All except for Dusty’s. The downtown, laid out in an old-fashioned town square, had at its focal point a courthouse built in the late eighteen hundreds. A rustic picture of Victorian architecture complete with gables and stained glass, it also housed the town’s oldest working clock tower. When the county seat was moved, the building became the town library and the city chamber office. Park benches that had once drawn walkers and shoppers to the downtown were now in need of paint. Fundraising efforts had only recently begun for a project to restore the garden areas to their former elegance. Many of the storefronts on the square were empty, but a few remained: Betty’s Sunrise Café, Smith’s Drug, RadioShack, Tyler Cabinetry and Plumbing, and the town’s one and only movie theater, built in 1945. Businesses were open daily, except Sundays, when everyone would gather at the Trinity Lutheran one block over from Betty’s Café.

A market, funeral home, fire station, small post office, and bowling alley rounded out the business roster. Doc Johnson had the only clinic in town, and anything of a serious nature was taken by ambulance, and sometimes snowmobile, to Billings.

Aimee pulled into the Git and Go grocery. She waved at one of her students and her mother, who were leaving. Though they’d only measured less than three inches of snowfall, the wind had piled the snow so it had to be pushed in large drifts to clear the lot. She maneuvered her car between two others, grabbed her purse and recyclable grocery bag, and headed inside. A blast of warm air blew tufts of her bangs around her stocking hat as she entered the store. Denise, one of the clerks, raised a hand as Aimee grabbed a plastic, handheld basket. There wasn’t much she needed for supper and the thought of starting the new class had her anxious to get home.

She picked up some honey tea, her favorite shortbread cookies, a pound of hamburger, a loaf of bread, a bag of apples, and a pint of milk. Distracted by a long strand of cellophane wrapped miniature candy canes, Aimee placed her basket on the end of the register. She picked up several packages and counted to be sure there would be enough for all of her students. She glanced at the tabloid headlines as she waited, paying no heed to those around her until the man before her moved forward and she too nudged her basket ahead. Before she could prevent what happened next, her basket tapped one of the apples on the counter in front of her and she watched in horror as it dropped to the floor with a dull
thud
.

Apologetic, Aimee looked up horrified to speak to the person in front of her. “I’m terribly sorry. I didn’t see—” Her voice stopped, and her mind went blank. It was
him
, her dark-eyed, scrumptious cowboy. The same guy with the amazing house straight out of
Cowboy and Indians
magazine. He did sort of look like a Wyatt as she stared at him. Unfortunately, he didn’t seem overjoyed to see her again. Maybe he’d already forgotten their meeting.

She knelt down to pick up the apple and found it had rolled against his boot.
Are those size thirteens
? She shook her head, hurriedly fished out one of her apples, and traded him for the one now bruised. “Sorry. Here, W—why don’t you take me…mine…this one?” Her eyes widened with the realization she’d nearly called him by name. She didn’t want him to think she’d been asking around about him. Then again, wouldn’t this be a perfect time to exchange proper introductions?