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Eight years of soldiering had given him the kind of masculinity that only came from encountering and surviving adversity and hardship day after day, year after year. The years since high school had changed them both in ways they’d never anticipated.
She’d come back home bruised and battered from a failed relationship, spooked as a deer and afraid of her own shadow. Billy’d been through different fires and was scorched around the edges by his years in the military, but those fires had given him a depth and substance that many men would never achieve.
True, she resented him for buying the piece of land she’d dreamed of building her little house on, but after Travis’s phone call, she was glad Billy was here. Keeping Rose safe from harm was her top priority, and Billy had as much as promised that no harm would come to them here.
“Do you think Billy could teach me to ride?” Rose asked, coming to stand beside her.
“If anyone could, it’d be Billy. He was a rodeo champ before he was eighteen. Just a kid, but he beat ’em all, even the best of the best.”
“Momma, what’s rodeo?”
Shannon looked down at her daughter and gave a rueful laugh as she reached to tousle Rose’s tawny curls. “Rodeo’s a crazy part of the wild spirit of the West, Rose, and I promise I’ll take you to see one, first chance we get. Now let’s pack up a lunch for your grampy and find him, if we can.”
* * *
BILLY FINISHED CUTTING and turning both fields by sundown. He wanted to make good on the day because of Shannon. Not only because she doubted he could physically handle the full-time work, but also because of how vulnerable she was right now. She was nursing wounds from a failed marriage, she’d given up her singing career, returned home with Rose and was looking for a safe place to rebuild her life. Billy was hoping she’d realize her father’s ranch was the place. He was hoping she’d want to stay.
Shannon had always been different from the other girls, even back in high school. Strong willed, with a self-confidence that went way beyond her years. She was smart as a whip, prettier than an October sunset and she could sing. Man, could she sing.
Billy had been used to having his pick of pretty girls. That territory came with the rodeo championships and being a winning quarterback. But Shannon was the kind of girl who intimidated most guys.
It was alphabetical luck that paired them as lab partners in chemistry class, and he got to know Shannon pretty well. She had a quick, wry sense of humor and an opinion about everything that left nobody wondering where she stood. There was a reason she was president of the debate club. Shy she was not. He looked forward to every moment of their lab time together and tested the waters very carefully before asking her if she wanted to go along with him to his next rodeo.
But still, when he asked her out, she’d very politely and coolly told him, “No, thank you,” without so much as a pause, adding, “My father says I should stay away from guys with only one thing on their minds, and I agree.”
“Have I made a move once during chem class? Come on, give me a chance.”
“Billy Mac, you’ve dated every pretty girl in this high school and then some. I’m reasonably sure you’ll find half a dozen fans to go with you to your next rodeo and they’ll jump up and down and wave pom-poms when you win that fancy belt buckle.”
Billy hadn’t given up. He’d done his best to win Shannon over, figuring that she must surely feel the chemistry simmering between them, chemistry that had nothing to do with the lab work they shared. After all, every time their hands touched, Shannon blushed. Their conversations ran the gamut from world affairs to the gossip heard at Willard’s General Store, and Billy began to hope that, in spite of the differences between them, in spite of the fact that he was just a half-breed off the rez and she was on track to be a country-and-western star, she might realize that she was falling in love with him.
But it was not meant to be, because that was the year Travis Roy’s family arrived in Bear Paw. Travis was a city boy and a slick talker. He could sing and play guitar. He started a country-and-western band and Shannon was his first recruit.
Before long, they were playing gigs at all the local watering holes. Then they were playing gigs in the big towns. Cities. The band entered a regional contest and won. Went to Nashville to enter a bigger contest and won there, too, handily. They were televised on a national star-search TV show just a few months later, which they also won.
They were young and on fire, and in retrospect, Billy couldn’t believe he’d had the nerve to ask her out that second time, to his senior prom, no less, knowing full well she’d turn him down once again and cut him off at the knees. But he asked her anyway, figuring he had nothing to lose, and she’d politely thanked him and said she already had a date.
Travis, of course.
So Billy took the head of the cheerleading squad to the prom and had to watch Shannon and Travis having too good a time together on the dance floor. That was the same night he blew any chance he might have had with Shannon by breaking Travis’s nose in the parking lot.
As soon as he could screw up the nerve he’d gone over to her ranch to apologize and he’d found her crying on the porch, her arms clutched around Tess. She’d had a fight with her dad about wanting to leave for Nashville, one of an endless string back then. Billy understood wanting something different than what you had. He’d gone to Shannon and held her for a long while...and then he’d kissed her.
He hadn’t meant to, hadn’t planned it, but Shannon’s body instantly melted against his, and she’d kissed him back with all the passion he knew lived within her. For a few brief, glorious seconds, Billy thought he’d finally won her heart...until she froze in his embrace as she realized what she was doing, wrenched herself out of his arms and slapped him, accusation in her eyes. “What happened to not making a move, Billy?” she’d said. “My father was right about you!”
Hurt and ashamed, he’d lashed out: “What’s the matter? A half-breed off the rez isn’t good enough for a McTavish?”
“I don’t care about that, Billy. Never have. I wish you could say the same.” Then she’d disappeared into the house, slamming the door on Billy’s hopes and dreams.
Shortly thereafter, with the promise of a recording contract with a big producer, Shannon and Travis left Wyoming and headed for Tennessee to cut their first single.
It was a smash hit.
Billy had wondered about her often in the years that followed. He kept up with her life through the songs on the radio, the tabloids at the grocery store and through letters from friends back home.
So he knew she’d married Travis. Had a baby girl. Gotten famous. But in spite of all that fame and fortune, her marriage had failed. As far as Billy was concerned, her coming back home was good. She needed to mend fences with her father, and McTavish needed Shannon and his granddaughter in his life more than he’d ever admit.
And her being home gave Billy a chance to prove two things to Shannon: that this was the perfect place to raise her daughter, and that Billy, in spite of his injuries, wasn’t just some half-breed Indian off the rez riding a dead-end horse.
What wasn’t good was that Travis Roy knew where she was. Travis had hurt her, and Billy could think of few forms of life lower than a man who would abuse his woman. If Travis showed up here, there’d be hell to pay.
Billy felt uneasy leaving Shannon alone at the house while he hayed, but he could watch the road from some of the fields, and even where he couldn’t, he’d be able to see the cloud of dust a vehicle kicked up when it approached the ranch.
He kept his eyes peeled all afternoon, sitting on the old Moline, driving back and forth, back and forth, across the fields, making hay.
* * *
SHANNON WALKED UP to the old windmill after lunch. She carried a hamper containing sandwiches and a thermos of hot coffee in one hand and held Rose’s hand in the other. The windmill wasn’t too far from the ranch, but after they’d hiked half an hour Rose began to complain.
“Momma, I’m tired.”
“Almost there, sweetie, just a little farther. Maybe we’ll see some horses up there, or a cow that might have escaped the roundup.”
The trail followed the creek, and Shannon scanned for tracks. There were some old hoofprints left by horses and cattle, and she thought she saw the impression of a bear paw in a soft patch of mud alongside its namesake creek, but nothing really fresh and no boot tracks. This didn’t surprise her. Her father would’ve driven the truck to the site using one of the old ranch roads. The windmill hadn’t worked in many years. After her mother died, everything had started to slide downhill.
“My legs are tired,” Rose said. “Can you carry me?”
“No, honey. You’re big enough to walk.”
“Why couldn’t we ride?”
“Because you don’t know how to ride yet.”
“But you said you’d teach me.”
“I will, but first we have to find your grampy.” Shannon was worried, though she tried to keep that from Rose. Her father thought she’d left the ranch and taken Rose. Billy said he’d been upset. Would he be angry to see them or pleased? Or would he be just his old stoic self and show no emotion at all? If only she could have left Rose back at the ranch. But with no one to watch Rose, she’d had no choice but to bring her along.
Should she tell her father about Travis’s phone call or would that just make things worse?
They crested the last stretch of steep climb and stopped for a breather. “There’s the windmill,” Shannon said, “and there’s your grampy’s truck.” She was relieved to see it, and Rose tugged at her hand, forgetting how tired she was.
“Come on, Momma. Let’s bring Grampy his food.”
Her father was sitting inside the cab of the truck. The windows were rolled down. The truck was facing the windmill, so he didn’t see them until he noticed movement in his side-view mirror. He turned his head and Shannon could tell instantly from his red-rimmed eyes that he’d been drinking. She pulled Rose to a stop beside her, her stomach churning. She wished she hadn’t come, but it was too late.
“I went to town after breakfast to get some groceries,” she said. She held up the hamper. “We brought you some lunch.”
“Do you like tuna sandwiches, Grampy?” Rose asked.
He dragged his forearm across his face and cleared his throat. “I do, yes,” he said roughly.
“We brought you some,” Rose said. “And Momma made you some coffee.”
“Thank you.” He nodded, not meeting Shannon’s eyes. “I’ll get back to work right after I’ve et.”
“Then I guess we’ll see you at supper.” Shannon set the hamper on the hood of the truck and tightened her grip on Rose’s hand. “C’mon, Rose. You can help me get Old Joe and Sparky into the barn. We should give them a good brushing.”
“But, Momma...” Rose protested as Shannon tugged her down the path away from the windmill.
“You said you wanted to go riding, didn’t you?”
“But, Momma...!” Rose was struggling to keep up with Shannon’s brisk pace.
“We can’t go riding until the horses have been groomed, and we need to check the saddles and bridles, too, and clean them so they’re nice and shiny.”
“But...!”
“It’ll be easier going back down the trail than it was hiking up. Come on, we’ve got a lot to do before suppertime.”
Rose dug her heels in and brought her mother to a halt. “Why was Grampy crying?”
Crying? Shannon had just assumed, when she saw his red-rimmed eyes, that he’d been drinking. Had she been wrong? Was Rose right? Was that why he’d wiped his face? Filled with self-doubt, Shannon turned, knelt down and met her daughter’s somber gaze.
“Maybe because he thought we’d left him, and he was feeling sad. But he’ll be okay now that he knows we’re still here. He’ll eat his lunch and work on the windmill and we’ll see him at suppertime. Don’t worry, your grampy’ll be fine.” She gave her daughter an encouraging smile. “Let’s go get Old Joe and Sparky all dolled up so we can show Grampy how good they look when he comes home.”
Rose’s face brightened. “Okay,” she said. “Maybe then Grampy’ll teach me to ride.”
Shannon glanced over Rose’s shoulder toward the old pickup truck. She’d seen her father cry only once, the day her mother died. Maybe Billy had been right. Maybe he really was glad she’d come back home. Maybe he’d even missed her a little bit all these years and just couldn’t show it.
Or maybe he just had.
“Maybe,” she said softly, hoping with all her heart it was so.
CHAPTER FOUR
THEY BROUGHT THE horses up to the barn and Shannon showed Rose how to hold the brush and currycomb, how to use a firm, gentle pressure and make the geldings’ eyes half close with the glorious pleasure of being groomed. Then she worked on getting the old burrs out of their manes and tails. Lord knows how long it’d been since they’d last had a good grooming, but the two old geldings clearly enjoyed every moment of it.
Sparky remembered her. She’d half thought he wouldn’t, but the way he lipped her jacket pocket, figuring she’d have a treat secreted there for him, was a dead giveaway. She gave him a piece of carrot, showing Rose how to present it on the flat of her palm so her fingers wouldn’t get mistaken for the treat.
“Hey, old Spark, I bet you still like to run, don’t you?” she said, rubbing his withers as he crunched on the carrot.
“Does he run fast?” Rose asked.
“He used to, and he could jump a four-foot fence. He’s too old for that now, but when he was young we competed in the barrel racing, and he’d always win for me. Always. He might not be pretty, but he sure could move.”
“I think he’s pretty,” Rose said, stepping up beside Shannon to stroke the gelding’s shoulder.
“I’m with you. I think he’s handsome and smart and talented. Now, let’s give Old Joe a treat. He’s a retired movie star. Your grandmother trained him, and he’s starred in more horse movies than any other. He’s a thoroughbred. See how much taller he is than Sparky? Sparky’s a quarter horse. Quarter horses can run really fast for a quarter of a mile, but thoroughbreds can run really fast for a lot farther.”
“Was Old Joe a racehorse?”
“He was a racehorse in most of his movies but not in real life,” Shannon began, then stopped when she heard the distant rumble of a vehicle approaching. Her heart rate trebled and she snatched Rose’s hand and pulled her out of the barn to find out who it was. Travis wouldn’t dare come here. He wouldn’t dare!
She craned to see up the valley, then felt the tension rush out of her when she noticed a big truck hauling a gooseneck stock trailer. “I bet it’s that new shipment of government mustangs for your grampy to train,” she said, light-headed with relief. “Let’s open up the corral gate for them.”
Ten minutes later the driver of the truck thanked her and departed, leaving behind six wild-eyed, scruffy-looking mustangs. Shannon kept Rose pulled tight beside her as they watched the horses circling the corral, the whites of their eyes flashing with fear. They were caked with dust and mud and sweat, and their manes and tails were tangled, yet they were wild and beautiful. “You stay away from these horses, Rose,” Shannon warned. “They’re wild and they could easily kill you if you went into the corral.”
“I won’t hurt them, Momma,” Rose said.
“I realize that, honey, but they don’t. All they know about humans is that we took them away from their band and brought them to a strange place. We robbed them of their freedom. They have no reason to trust us or like us.”
“Do you think they ever will, Momma?” Rose asked, watching them stampede around the corral, her eyes as wide as theirs.
“That’s Grampy’s job, to make sure they do, and he’s good at it. Come on, let’s turn Sparky and Old Joe loose and carry the saddles up to the house. We can work on them out on the porch and keep Tess company.”
Shannon carried the saddles and Rose held the bridles. Had saddles always been this heavy? Her arms were aching by the time she set them down on the porch. Tess lifted her head and gazed up at her for a long moment, thumped her tail twice, then returned to her nap. Shannon was just settling down to the job of cleaning the saddles when she heard the approaching growl of the old farm tractor. It was Billy, and he was making for the house at full throttle, still hauling the tedder behind him. He braked below the porch and cut the tractor’s engine.
“I saw the dust coming down the road,” he explained in the sudden silence. He followed Shannon’s gesture, spotted the horses in the corral and relaxed. Shannon realized he’d half expected to find Travis here. Maybe he’d been hoping Travis was dumb enough to come, so Billy could flatten him again like he had on prom night. The thought of Billy protecting her brought a flush of warmth to her cheeks.
“They’re a good-looking bunch,” she said. “A little spooked right now, but they’ll settle down.”
“They’d settle down a whole lot faster if it was the dead of winter and they were cold and hungry.” He paused.
“You find your father?”
Shannon nodded. “He was up at the windmill. How’s the haying coming along?”
“Fields are all mowed and turned once. With any luck we’ll be done by nightfall tomorrow. They’re predicting rain tomorrow night. Heard the forecast on my way back from town this morning.”
“That’s cutting it real close.”
“If the tractor doesn’t break down again we’ll make it.”
“Maybe.” Billy was looking a mite whipped, but Shannon wasn’t about to say so. “I can help you out, but we’ll need another hand or two to get it into the barn before it rains.”
“Thought I’d head into town after supper, see if I can scare up some more eager volunteers,” Billy said.
“Good help’s usually pretty scarce when it comes to pitching hay bales.”
Billy grinned. “True enough. But once I mention they’ll be working alongside a famous country-and-western singer, the whole town of Bear Paw’ll turn out.”
“Fine by me,” Shannon said. “The more the merrier when it comes to haying. I’ll start a big batch of spaghetti sauce tonight and plan for a big feed tomorrow.”
“Sounds like a plan. I’d best get to work.” Billy started the tractor, gave her a nod and pulled away from the porch. Shannon watched him, pondering what strange twists of fate had drawn both her and Billy Mac back to Bear Paw.
“Momma, can I help tomorrow?”
“Sure, Rose. You can ride in the hay truck and count the bales as we load them on.”
“How many bales will there be?”
“Lots and lots. Enough to feed a bunch of horses all winter long, and maybe some cows, too.”
“What if I can’t count that high?” Rose asked, frowning.
“I’ll give you a piece of paper, and when you count ten bales being loaded, you make a mark on the page. Then start counting to ten again and make another mark. Each mark will count for ten bales, and that way you’ll keep track for us. Now let’s get to cleaning these saddles. It’s almost time for me to start supper.”
They settled on the porch together, side by side, feet swinging over the edge, sponges in hand, saddles sprawled beside them. Rose made lots of suds with her sponge. Tess slept and twitched her way through the active dreams of a younger dog. Shannon breathed in the good smells of saddle soap and leather, and paused from time to time to look out across the broad sweep of McTavish Valley toward Wolf Butte. For the first time in years, she felt like she was truly home.
She wondered how long the feeling would last.
* * *
BILLY WAS DOG TIRED. His leg hurt. His side hurt. His shoulder hurt. The pain was acute, and the more he tried to ignore it, the worse it got. He tried to focus on the machinery. On loading the baling twine into the baler. On the anticipation of a home-cooked supper prepared by Shannon McTavish.
He’d overdone it today, that’s all. The pain would pass, along with the scare he’d gotten, seeing that big rooster tail of dust moving toward the ranch house, toward Shannon, and thinking it was Travis Roy.
He’d seen a lot of ugliness over the years. A lot of death. He should be immune to violence by now, but he wasn’t. Just the opposite. He’d been numb for a long time, but it was as if the pain in his body had become a conduit to all the pain and suffering he’d witnessed.
Seeing Shannon’s bruised face and how she’d tried to hide the bruises with makeup twisted him up inside. She insisted Travis wouldn’t come here. He hoped she was right, because he wasn’t sure what he’d do if he ever got his hands on that bastard. Or maybe he was sure, and that’s what scared him. Shannon was out of his league and always had been, but that didn’t keep him from caring about her, and it never would.
Billy gave up on the baler. He needed to walk the pain out. He’d go up to the windmill, check on McTavish. The wind was dying and the air was sweet with the smell of fresh-mown hay. It was going to be a pretty evening. A pretty sunset.
There was no one to see him, no one watching. He could limp. He could crawl on his hands and knees and it wouldn’t matter. That was the wonderful thing about living on the edge of nowhere. A man could find himself, re-create himself or lose himself, all without anybody watching.
McTavish was crouched at the base of the windmill, tools scattered around him, covered with grease. “I think I’ve about got ’er,” he said, wiping his hands on a rag.
Billy leaned against the front of the truck. He was sweating. He took off his hat and let the wind cool him. “I finished cutting the fields and turned them all once. Figured we could bale in the morning. I’ll head into town after supper and find us some help. With a good crew we might get all the hay in by dark, if we go at it hard.”
He let himself slide down the truck’s bumper, keeping his leg out straight, until he was sitting on the ground. “Shannon’s fixing supper, and you just got a new delivery of six mustangs from the government. Good-looking horses. Wild and wooly. I would’ve had ’em all broke by now except I’m plumb wore out.”
McTavish rubbed the stubble on his chin. He shook his head, wearing the faintest of smiles. “By God, but we’re a pair.”
Billy would’ve laughed if he’d had the strength.
* * *
TEN YEARS OF having a chef had spoiled Shannon. She’d forgotten all the basic cooking skills she’d picked up from her mother, who could shoulder a full day’s work on the ranch and still manage to produce savory home-cooked meals. As Shannon rummaged through the lower cupboards for the proper cookware, she tried to recall what she’d bought for groceries. She had two hungry men and a hungry daughter to feed in short order.
What to cook? How to keep them all happy?
“Momma, I’m hungry,” Rose said, pushing through the screen door with Tess at her heels.
She’d promised the men a good feed. They’d both be hungry. She had hamburger. Lots of hamburger. She’d fix the spaghetti sauce tonight and they’d just have to eat it two nights in a row.
“Eat a piece of fruit, Rose. It’ll tide you over until supper’s ready,” Shannon said, reaching for a skillet. “I’m making spaghetti. You like spaghetti, don’t you?”
“With meatballs?”
“With meat sauce. Sorry, no time to make meatballs. We spent too long cleaning the saddles.”
“They look nice and shiny, Momma.”
“They sure do, and they’ll look even nicer on Sparky and Old Joe.”
Shannon lit the gas burner and plunked the deep cast-iron skillet down atop it. She opened two cans of spaghetti sauce and poured them over the hamburger as it cooked. With a little doctoring, she could make the sauce look and taste like homemade.
Shannon paused, frowning. She’d forgotten about Sparky and Old Joe. They were probably down at the barn by now, wondering where their grain was. What about the mustangs in the corral? They had water, but they’d need to be fed. And what of her father? Had he been crying or drinking? If he’d been drinking, had he put the cork back in the bottle?