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“So it was like a beach?” Chance peppered Jericho’s monologue with a constant stream of questions.
“Naw. Beaches are nice. This was a desert. Hot. It’d be about one hundred twenty degrees, and we’d have to lug around seventy pounds of equipment on our backs without an ocean to cool off in. Ants all over our food. Not too much fun.”
Ali coughed. “I think it’s about bedtime.”
“No way. C’mon, Mom. One more story.”
Jericho laid a hand on her son’s head. “Don’t argue with your mom, bud. Go on up. You’ll see me again. Promise.”
With a loud groan, Chance shuffled into the house.
A pace away from her, Jericho rose to his feet, his masculine frame outlined by the light flooding from the house.
She crossed her arms. “I can pay you back.”
He stepped closer. “I promised to protect you, remember? I made that pact, and I aim to keep it for the rest of my life. You owe me nothing.”
She bit her lip.
He tipped his hat. “Sleep tight, Ali.” Then he brushed past her and strolled, hands hooked in his pockets, into the hay field back toward his pa’s place.
* * *
Sweat trickled down Ali’s neck as she lugged the last saddle onto its peg in the barn. The triangular posts drilled into the wall were genius. Much better than tipping the saddles on their sides and storing them on the ground like they had been doing. She made a mental note to thank Rider.
Ali placed her hands on her hips as her mind ticked over the accounting books for Big Sky Dreams. She’d never been great at balancing the ledgers, but even Ali could see that money was missing. But how?
Megan Galveen, the other riding instructor for Big Sky Dreams, sashayed through the back door in black designer jeans.
Ali smiled at her. “You’re a lifesaver. Thanks for taking care of Salsa when he started misbehaving. I don’t know what made the horse so skittish today. I know you’ve only been here a month, but have I told you how thankful I am for your help?”
Megan pouted her full, over-red lips and closed one eye, tapping her sunglasses to her chin. “Oh, only about every day. But please, do go on.”
Ali laughed. “Well, enjoy your afternoon off. You know you’re welcome at Chance’s birthday party, right?”
Her coworker flipped her long, glossy black hair. “A party for seven-year-olds isn’t really my thing.”
“No, I guess not.”
Why had Ali even asked her? The woman was more suited in looks to walk down runways than teach handicapped kids about horses.
Ali glanced down at her own mud-caked boots and dirty jeans. She grimaced. Maybe she ought to spend more time on her looks. She ran a hand over her flipped-out, short red hair. Yeah, right. She worked in hay and horse manure all day, and the only kisses bestowed on her came complete with animal cracker crumbs.
Someone cleared their throat, interrupting Ali’s train of thought. She looked up to find her head ranch hand, Rider Longley. The man looked like his name—taller than he ought to be and scrawnier than a cornstalk. With his junked-up Levis, scuffed boots, a blue shirt with white buttons and a new brown hat, he looked the part. But he would have been just as comfortable in a cubicle, wearing khakis while programming laptops. He lacked the cowboy snarl in his face, but he made up for his failings with heart and determination.
He looped a rope over his shoulder. “Someone’s been out messing with the fences in the heifer field again. I figure it’ll take most of the day to round them up off Edgar’s property and mend the cuts.”
Ali’s heart stopped. “What do you mean, messing with the fences?”
Rider adjusted his hat. “I’m not an expert on these sorts of things, but how the slices are, looks to me like someone snipped through our fences with wire cutters. Cows can cause damage, but not clean breaks like I’m finding.”
“That’s ridiculous.” Megan plunked down her suitcase-sized purse and pawed inside until she fished out her lip gloss. “Who would want to mess with Big Sky Dreams?”
“Dunno.” He shrugged. “I’m not a detective. Just know what I see.”
* * *
Pulling off her hat, Ali swiped a hand over her forehead. Now that Rider and Megan were gone, her thoughts swirled. The threatening note, slashed tires, money missing from the Big Sky Dreams account and now the fences—what was she going to do?
“I brought this for you.” Kate came beside her, handing over a chilled water bottle.
Ali held the bottle to her neck, then to her cheek. “Feels good. It’s really a scorcher out here today. I hope the old air conditioner in the house holds together for Chance’s party.”
“It’ll be fine. If it busts again, those kids won’t care.”
Ali stepped forward so she stood in the barn entrance. The wind ruffled through the valley, kicking up the smell of the nearby river and drying the sweat from her body.
“How’d lessons go today?”
She unscrewed the bottle cap and took a long swig, catching dribbles on her chin with the back of her hand. Ali loved nothing more than talking about her handicapped horseback-riding program. “Good. Alan’s coming along great. The movement’s strengthening his core and helping build some muscle tone.” It felt good to know that something she’d started made a difference. “Rebecca’s parents told me that her test scores have improved since joining the program last month. Can you believe that?”
Kate squeezed her arm. “That’s awesome, Al. How about those two?” She jutted her chin toward the sprawling side yard, near the practice corral where Ali usually ran her horse, Denny, through the barrels. Today two boys practiced their cattle roping. Ali gripped the barn wall. Well, if the broad shoulders and popping biceps of Jericho Freed could be classified as a boy. Okay. Man and boy.
Ali let herself breathe for a moment before answering. “I don’t know what to think. First he takes care of my truck, then this morning he shows up on the doorstep with a rope in hand, asking for Chance. What was I supposed to say?”
“I think you did the right thing, Al, by letting him spend time with his son.”
“But that terrifies me.”
“What? Him being here? Or him with Chance?”
“With Chance. Both. I don’t know.”
“What did he say when you two talked after the firework show?”
Ali crossed her arms, propping her shoulder against the barn. “He said he wants forgiveness. He said he wants to repair our...marriage.” A gritty lump formed in her throat as she watched Chance loop the rope over the fake horns and give a loud whoop. He clapped victorious hands with Jericho, whose deep laugh drifted across the yard. A person would have to be blind not to see the resemblance. They had the same eyes, same unruly hair, same slight swagger in their walk, same full-chested laugh. Ali rubbed at her throat.
Kate touched her shoulder. “What are you gonna do?”
“He’s a drunk, Kate.”
“I haven’t smelled beer around him, and I sure haven’t seen him staggering around. He might have been at one point, but it doesn’t seem like he drinks anymore.”
Ali closed her eyes. “If he’d walked out on you like he walked out on me, would you forgive him?”
“We’re called to forgive everyone.”
“He gets to turn my life into a nightmare. Then with a little ‘I’m sorry,’ we act like it never happened? Convenient.”
Kate placed a hand over hers and Ali looked down, not realizing that her knuckles had become white from her iron grip on the barn door. She let go of the metal and flexed her hand, drawing the blood back into her fingers.
“I don’t think forgiveness has to mean forgetting, Al. The consequences of sin will always be there, and I think he’s suffered them. Forgiveness means you grant pardon for what happened. It’s you saying you won’t be bitter and hold those actions against him.”
Ali hugged her middle with both arms. “I can’t do that. He left. It bothers me that his life’s been fine without me, while I had to struggle and scrape and wish each day he’d come back and rescue us.” Her voice caught.
“I wouldn’t say he got off easy. He’s missed seven years of his son’s life. Eight years with the woman he loves.”
Ali snorted. “Right. He loves me loads.”
“And he’s back—maybe now’s the rescue you waited for.”
She shook her head. “I stopped believing in fairy tales a long time ago. There are no white knights, Kate. No one is riding in to save the day. Life is about pressing on when things happen. It’s all about who has the most grit, and I think I’ve proved my worth.”
“Maybe that’s your problem.” Kate’s voice took on a sad tone.
Ali jerked back. “My problem?”
“You’re right; Jericho’s not your white knight, but he was never supposed to be. What chance did your husband have of succeeding with those kind of expectations? He can’t be the one to rescue you. Not in the way you need. Just like Ma, you’re letting hate and bitterness eat away at you, and you think your misery gained you some sort of badge of honor. You think you can punish Jericho for what he did by closing yourself off and holding him at a distance.” Kate thrust out her hand. “But look at him. He’s free, Al. You’re the one still locked up and suffering. And you will be until you offer forgiveness.”
Ali shoved the bottle into her sister’s hands. “I have work to do. Thanks for the water.” She stomped back into the barn. Twine bit into her hands as she grabbed a bale of hay.
Her sister could go chew on screws. Kate had no idea. She was so young when Dad died, and Ali had stepped into the gap to take Ma’s wrath. What did Kate know of suffering and pain and the consequences of sin?
“Nothing.” Ali yanked a razor from her pocket and sliced the twine. Pulling the hay into even squares, she placed a bundle in each horse’s stall. Drover, playing supervisor, padded along, making sure each horse got their fair share. She caressed the dog’s head and smiled when he yawned.
In the moments when Ali looked back at her short-lived marriage objectively, she could see the truth. The judge should have stamped disaster in bold red letters on the marriage certificate. In her needy state, did she drive her husband to the bar? In their small apartment, she’d watched the man who was supposed to save her morph into the man he most despised. Had it been her fault?
She swiped away treacherous tears. Infernal hay dust.
I was so afraid that I’d hurt you, Ali. I loved you so much.
Jericho Freed, hurt her? Not possible, not the way he imagined. If she thought the man possessed any tendency toward violence, he wouldn’t be alone out there with her son right now.
No. She saw the man she knew. A memory of Jericho taking a beating from his father to protect a runt puppy flashed through her mind. Then one of him at nineteen years old, stepping in between her and Ma, telling her she won’t be speaking to his wife that way anymore.
Even that last night, with clear eyes, she could see that he left to protect her then, too. In his own way, Jericho always had put her first, but then what kept him from coming home? Didn’t he know how much she needed him the past eight years?
Chapter Five
Ten children tromped like a herd of mustangs around the dining room, over the checkered kitchen floor and out the back door as Ali tried to pull the last of the food from the fridge to set out on the table.
“Don’t let the door—”
The last child jumped the three steps down into the yard, and the screen door smacked against its hinges, tearing the hole in the screen a few inches wider.
“I’ll fix the screen tomorrow.” Jericho took the heavy pile of plates from her hands and set them on the counter.
Heat blossomed on her cheeks. He had no right to look that good in a clean pair of jeans and shined boots. His tucked-in, starched red button-down hugged the coiled muscles in his arms.
The sight made her wish she’d taken another minute to give herself a once-over before guests arrived. But the emotional mess Kate had tossed on her that morning made her work slower in the barn. By the time she came back to the house, less than an hour remained until party time. Enough time to shower, but not enough time for makeup or to blow-dry her hair. Jericho probably thought she looked like a wet prairie dog.
She waved her hand, dismissing his comment. “You don’t have to fix that screen. It’s been like that for months.”
“I know I don’t have to. But I don’t mind. I have to come to tune that clank out of your truck anyway.”
Kate stuck her head into the kitchen, a smile on her face as she looked between Jericho and Ali rearranging the table. “Need any more help in here?”
Ali surveyed the room. “I think I’ve got the food under control. If you want to get one of the games started outside, that would be great.”
Kate saluted and meandered out the back door. Satisfied that everything was taken care of, Ali turned, nearly slamming into Jericho. She gasped. She’d almost forgotten he was in the room with her. Alone.
His gaze shifted down and up, then down again.
“What are you staring at?” She wiped her hands on a dishcloth and tossed the rag into the sink.
The hint of a roguish smile pulled at his lips. “You’re beautiful. I didn’t have a picture of you. For eight years I had to rely on my memory. Couldn’t do you justice. It’s nice to look at you.” Ali wanted to accuse him of lying, but his voice wrapped around her, ringing with sincerity.
“Ha.” She tucked a damp clump of hair behind her ear, only to have the doggone thing fall forward again. “Then you need to get out more.”
Jericho raised a dark eyebrow. “Nope. I don’t need to look anywhere else to know that this—” he swept his hand to indicate her “—is my favorite sight.”
She harrumphed. “I’m all wet, and I don’t have any makeup on. And I’m pretty sure I’m wearing yesterday’s socks. Still the prettiest sight?”
He leaned against the counter. “Yes, ma’am.” Teasingly, he continued, “But if you want to get good and soaked, I saw a horse trough out front I could dump you in.” He moved toward her.
Ali swatted at his hands. With a laugh, she bumped into the garbage can. “Jericho Eli! Don’t you dare. I’m too old to get troughed.” She dashed behind the table.
“Mom!” Chance burst through the door. “Can I open presents now?” A battalion of kids trailed in his wake.
“Sure, bud. We’ll open presents in the front room right now, and then we’ll eat.”
“Did you make your chocolate cake? The one made with—” he leaned toward her, knowing he wasn’t supposed to give away the secret ingredient “—mayonnaise?”
She winked, and her son’s gray-blue eyes danced with merriment. As he clomped away, a wave of joy washed over her. Threatening letters, lawsuits and financial woes couldn’t touch her today.
But an unwanted husband could.
Jericho took her elbow, turning her to face him.
“I may be asking you to kick me in the teeth, but I need to know.” Jericho stopped and looked down at his boots.
Her heart lurched in her chest. The muscles on the side of his jaw popped, and Ali’s gut rolled in anticipation of his question. A drunk she could keep secrets from, but a man who proved thoughtful, patient and kind? Everything a father should be?
But—no. He was still the same man who had run off on his wife without looking back, discarded his responsibility to her when it suited him and left his child growing inside of her. The shrapnel in her heart from his departure still chafed, and she wouldn’t open Chance up to that world of hurt. Jericho hung around for now, but he could still leave at any moment. A child deserved better than that.
Walking to the sink, she turned her back to him and rinsed off a plate. “I don’t really have time right now.”
His footsteps moved closer, but she didn’t dare turn around. He was so near. Ali’s breath caught in her throat. One look into his earnest eyes would unglue her resolve.
He took a breath. “I’ve been thinking. I did the math...being Chance’s birthday today, and him turning seven...”
Her hands gripped the cool metal of the sink.
“It only leaves two options.”
“Two?” Her voice came out small.
“Unless he was a preemie. But he wasn’t, was he?”
Ali locked her gaze through the window over the sink, to the corral. “No, Chance wasn’t a preemie.”
She felt him take another step closer. “Then it happened when I was still around.”
Spinning, she faced him, arms crossed. “It? It happened? I think you better go.”
Her emotions reflected in his eyes. The same torment. The longing for everything to be right again.
“Is Chance...is he mine?”
“Chance is mine. I asked you to leave.” Ali pushed against his chest, and he caught her wrists. She pressed her elbows into him. “Let go of me.”
“Let go of her!” Tripp crossed the kitchen in three seconds flat. Jericho dropped the light hold he had of Ali as Tripp sidled up beside her. “I don’t think you’re welcome here anymore, Jericho.”
“That true, Ali? If you want me to leave, I will.” His lips formed a grim line.
Tripp slid his arm around her waist.
She nodded. “I can’t deal with you right now. I need to take care of all the people here.”
Jericho narrowed his eyes, almost like he wanted to say something more, but then he put on his hat and dipped his chin. “Be talking to you later, then.”
When he left, Tripp took hold of her hands. “Alison, tell me what’s going on.”
“You saved me. I almost told him about Chance.”
The pressure of his hands increased a bit. Besides Kate, Tripp was the only other person in town who knew for sure that Chance was Jericho’s son. “You can’t ever do that. You tell him about Chance, and he’ll probably sue you for parental rights, or at least want shared custody.”
She broke away from him and rubbed her temples. “What am I going to do?”
“You need to divorce him. Make the separation legal. Divorce is your only option.” Tripp said it so easily. Divorce. The word tasted sour on her tongue. But the lawyer made it sound like going for coffee. His tanned arms showed from the rolled-up sleeves of his oxford, and his blue eyes seemed to take her in, while his wavy brown hair stayed perfectly in place.
She brushed at crumbs on the counter. “I don’t see the point.”
“I don’t see the point of not divorcing him.”
“I know him. He won’t sign any papers.”
Tripp shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. He abandoned you. Didn’t send word for eight years. No court will deny your petition.”
An uproar in the front room drew her attention. She glanced at the door separating the kitchen from the rest of the party. “Doesn’t a divorce cost a lot of money? You know about our financial situation.”
He waved his hand. “I have a friend at the firm who can do the paperwork for you. I’ll take care of everything. I’ll need your signature, that’s all.”
She wrung her hands. “I don’t know.”
Tripp took her shoulders so she faced him. “But what if...what if another man wants to marry you?”
Her gaze snapped to meet his, and she didn’t see a trace of mocking in his blues. Like a spooked horse, panic bolted down her spine. Another man? Did that mean...?
The door banged. “Mom! Look at what Jericho gave me. Where is he? I want to show him how I’ve been practicing.” Chance thrust a lasso into her hands.
She slipped away from Tripp and took the thick bound rope, running her thumb over the rough surface. “He had to go home.”
“Aw, man. I wanted him to show everyone. He’s so cool.” Chance started walking back toward his party, then stopped. “He’ll be here tomorrow, right?”
“I think so, honey.”
“Good. I like him the best out of all your friends.”
She hugged her middle as she watched Chance leave the room. What was she going to do about his growing attachment to Jericho? It couldn’t continue. For Chance to be safe, and her life to continue without any bumps, Jericho needed to leave town. Soon. Because if he didn’t, Jericho was bound to figure out that Chance was his son.
* * *
Adrenaline tingled through Jericho’s muscles as he walked the short length of the Silvers’ hay field toward his father’s expansive land—the Bar F Ranch. The pain in his knees throbbed, almost blinding him with intensity, but he limped without stopping to rest. He’d ice them at home.
He’d like to rub that smug look off Tripp’s face. How dare the man touch his wife?
Scooping up a rock, he tossed the stone into the deep gully separating their properties and waited, listening for the ping of it hitting bottom. His heart felt about as jagged and bottomless.
No wonder she didn’t like the sight of him. Ali hadn’t cheated on him. Chance had to be his son. Not only had he left his teenage wife, he’d left her pregnant and alone.
Why didn’t she tell him? He would have stayed. No. That was worse. To stay for the sake of the child when he hadn’t been willing to stay for the sake of his wife? Cow manure ranked better than him right about now.
The army chaplain’s voice drifted through his mind. You are not your past errors. You are redeemed. Jericho had rejoiced in that. He had learned to live in victory, but he wanted his wife’s forgiveness, too. What would he have to do to prove to Ali that he could be trusted? Would he ever get through to her?
Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her.
The scripture whizzed through his head and stopped him cold in his tracks. He looked up at the sky as a burning Montana sun began to wrap purple capes over the mountains.
Love her. Keep on loving her.
That much he could do.
Chapter Six
Jericho stared at the clock on the dashboard.
Twenty minutes.
He ran a hand over his beard. He needed a shave. Maybe he should do that first. No. He refocused his eyes on the front doors of the nursing home. It was now or never.
Never sounds good. But he pushed open the Jeep’s door and climbed out onto the sun-warmed pavement.
The over-bleached smell of the nursing home assaulted his senses. The hollow clip of his boots on the laminate floor echoed along with the one word ramrodding itself into his head. Failure. Failure. Reaching the door bearing a nameplate reading Abram Freed, Jericho froze. He pulled off his battered Stetson and crunched it between his hands. Then he took a step over the threshold.
The sight of Pop tore the breath right out of Jericho’s lungs.
Once the poster of an intimidating, weathered cowboy, Abram now just looked...weak. His hair, brushed to the side in a way that Jericho had never seen, had aged to mountain-snowcap-white, but his bushy eyebrows were still charcoal. Like sun-baked, cracked mud, cavernous lines etched the man’s face. The once rippled muscles ebbed into sunken patches covered by slack skin.
Jericho waited for his dad to turn and acknowledge him. Or yell at him. Curse him. But he didn’t move. What had the doctor told him about Pop? The call came months ago. Stroke. He’d lost the use of his right side. None of it meant anything at the time. But now he saw the effects, and his heart ached with grief for the father he hardly loved. Abram Freed looked like a ship without mooring—lost.
“Hey there, Pops.” He hated the vulnerability his voice took on. Like he was ten again, chin to his chest, asking his dad’s permission to watch cartoons.
Pop’s body tensed, and his head trembled slightly. With a sigh, he raised his left hand off the white sheet by a couple inches. His dad couldn’t turn his head. A stabbing, gritty feeling filled Jericho’s eyes as he skirted the hospital bed and pulled out the plastic chair near his father’s good side. His dad’s eyes moved back and forth over Jericho’s frame, and the left side of his dad’s face pulled up a bit, while the right side remained down in a frown.
A nurse bustled into the room. “Well, now, look at this, Mr. Freed, how nice to have some company. Saw you had a visitor on the log—thought it was that pretty little lady always popping by.” She moved toward his father as she spoke.