Promise Me Please, Cowboy, page 5
There was a message from the rodeo committee on the first page of the program, and another from the town’s mayor Chelsea Collier Flint. Lots of ads from local businesses followed—including one for Bramble House, which Eliza must have purchased back when she was running the place.
Amy read an article about how the rodeo grounds were rebuilt after a fire in 2020 and then she came to the program of events.
The weekend kicked off Friday night with a barbecue and street dancing on Main Street. Saturday morning there was a parade from Main Street to the fairgrounds. This year they were honoring Montana cowboy hall-of-famers, and here there was a list of names, which Amy skipped.
She was more interested in the rodeo itself, which started Saturday at one o’clock. Amy skimmed past the opening events to the tie-down roping event. She scanned the list of contestants, until she spotted Chet’s name. He was the fifth contestant out of ten. At the back section of the program she found a brief bio.
Chet Hardwick
Tie-down roping, 11th world standing in 2022
Born in Denver, Colorado
Joined PRCA in 2014
Won the RAM Texas Circuit Finals Rodeo (Waco)
Won New Mexico State Fair & Rodeo Albuquerque
Won the all-around at Livingston Montana Roundup
Won the Snake River Stampede (Nampa, Idaho)
It looked like an impressive list of accomplishments to Amy. She couldn’t help but think how different his life had been to hers. All the places he’d gone to visit and compete. She’d lived her entire life in her mother’s apartment in New York City—except when she’d been in college—keeping a razer focus on education and finance and her Wall Street job, with only her long-distance running as an outlet.
She went through the rest of the program, more closely this time, looking for other names that might be familiar. But nothing stood out until she came upon the list of local rodeo hall-of-famers. This time a name jumped out at her: David Wilcox.
The same name as her father.
Amy flipped pages until she found his biographical information—he’d been inducted to the hall of fame in 2021 and currently resided in Gardiner, Montana, with his wife, artist Mary Beth Wilcox, and their three sons.
Amy fingered her silver bracelet, sliding it up and down her arm.
Weeks after her mother had died, Amy had finally worked up the courage to go through the things in her mother’s bedroom. She’d found no surprises until she came to her mother’s bedside table. Inside one of the drawers she’d found the box for her mother’s silver bracelet. Stamped on the bottom of the box had been: J. P. & Sons Jewelers, Limited, Marietta, Montana.
Under the box had been a two-page, handwritten love letter to her mom. There had been no envelope, no forwarding address. Amy guessed the letter had been hand-delivered. As she read it, the details meshed exactly with the little her mother had told her over a decade ago, when she’d asked about her father.
Amy had always known the bracelet had been a gift to her mom from her father. She also knew the story about how the two of them had met, on the first day of her mother’s camping holiday in Yellowstone Park. Her mother had gone with a group of girlfriends but after meeting this guy she’d ditched her friends and spent the rest of her holiday with him.
Months later, back in New York, when Amy’s mom realized she was pregnant, she’d tried to reach the guy by snail mail, but he’d never replied. These were the days before everyone had a portable phone, but Amy’s mother admitted she could have tried harder to track him down, perhaps hired an investigator. But like her, he was only nineteen years old. She barely knew him, didn’t want to marry him, and even if she did, she was committed to New York and he to Montana.
In the end, she opted to have and raise the baby—Amy—on her own.
At that point her mom had asked Amy if she wanted to meet her father. If so, she would help her find him. But Amy had not felt the need. Her life was busy and fulfilling and she had her mom.
But that had been then.
After the accident, after her mother was gone and nothing felt right anymore, Amy found herself fixating on her father. She tried searching him out on the internet, but he had a very common name, and she found several possibilities in Montana alone. And it was always conceivable he had moved.
But perhaps more likely that he hadn’t.
She tried focusing her search on the town where he’d purchased her mother’s bracelet: Marietta. When she discovered Marietta was only a few hours from Yellowstone National Park, she realized she was on to something.
It was during those days of searching the internet that Amy had encountered the real estate listing for Bramble House Bed-and-Breakfast.
She couldn’t pinpoint the moment she got the idea to buy the place. All she knew was she was ready for a change. She needed to get away from the city, where every turn brought with it an aching memory of her mom.
Also, her curiosity about her father was growing. What kind of man was he? What parts of her did she owe to him, to his genes, his DNA?
Her plan had been to track him down once she moved here. And, if he was still alive, to meet him. So far she hadn’t found the time. Now it seemed she may not need to. David Wilcox was coming to her.
Chapter Five
Chet didn’t know why Amy’s predicament was weighing on him. It wasn’t like him to stick his nose in other people’s business.
It bothered him that she was new to town, a rookie at the B & B business, and all her staff had deserted her. He could relate to the feeling of being an outsider. He’d felt that way most of his life.
All the other kids in the various schools he’d attended had seemed to have two parents, even if they didn’t live in the same house. The few that had just one parent usually had a mom. But his had died during childbirth. Chet knew that wasn’t his fault. But his father had always made him feel it was.
Wish they could have saved my wife rather than the baby.
He’d heard his father say those words more than once. Maybe his father hadn’t intended him to hear. More likely he hadn’t cared one way or the other. Chet couldn’t remember his father ever showing him any genuine sign of affection.
Sometimes he wondered what his father would have been like if his mother had lived. Would he have been a happier, kinder man? Would he have been less of a drinker, maybe held down a regular job, lived in the same town for more than a few months at a time?
He knew his grandmother’s opinion. She’d openly disliked Walt and bitterly rued the day he’d married her daughter. This made Chet suspect that his mother’s death hadn’t turned Walt into a mean, dishonest drunk but merely hastened the process.
What Chet really didn’t understand was why his father hadn’t given him up as a ward of the state, since clearly his existence had been nothing but a bother and a burden to the man. Most likely his grandmother’s estate had something to do with it. She’d left her home and meagre savings to her grandson and since Chet was underage, that meant Walt had control of it.
He’d sold the house and what he did with the money Chet never knew. He guessed Walt had paid off old debts. Certainly Walt never used the money to rent a decent home for the two of them, or to buy clothing or school supplies for Chet. Those were things Chet learned to scrounge for young, at thrift shops. He also collected bottles and took them to the depot to get money for the things he couldn’t find at second-hand stores, things like pencils and pens and notebooks for school.
The day Chet turned sixteen had been a relief to both of them. Though he wasn’t of official legal age, Chet was old enough to drive and old enough to work. He got a job on a ranch that provided room and board. Hit the local rodeos. Saved to buy his first horse.
After that the only times he saw the old man were when they accidently attended the same rodeo. Something they both tried to avoid.
It was after one when Chet left the Circle C ranch, horses exercised, fed and groomed. He drove into town and grabbed a sandwich and coffee at the Java Café, then sat on a bench outside to eat.
Chet had seen a lot of small towns in his life, and Marietta had to be one of the prettiest. Lots of trees and planters brimming with flowers. The storefronts were well maintained and right now, most had displays supporting the upcoming rodeo, including Sage’s chocolate shop, across the street.
Not all rodeo cowgirls and cowboys transitioned easily out of the life, but Sage and Dawson had. She had her successful business and Dawson worked as a deputy. Between them they had two kids and a beautiful house just down the street from Bramble House.
He hoped his own transition from rodeo life would go as well.
At thirty he still had a few more years in him, at least physically, but mentally he was tired of the nomadic lifestyle and the pressure of competing. He wanted to settle down, buy a house, get a regular job. But a big part of him was scared to take that leap. Rodeo was all he knew. What if he put down roots and they didn’t take? Not all transplanted things flourished.
He was just finishing his sandwich and thinking of moving on, when Sage came out of her shop. He didn’t know how she normally dressed for work, but today she was going full-on rodeo in jeans, proper boots, and a western shirt. The look suited her. It always had.
She waved at him, then crossed the street.
“I thought it was you.” She sat next to him on the bench, and then passed him a milk chocolate cowboy boot. “Want some dessert?”
“If it’s your chocolate, always.” He ate the treat fast so it wouldn’t melt in the midday heat.
“So are your horses happy out at the Circle C?”
“Yeah, they’re doing great. That’s a beautiful property your family owns.”
“Right? I’m grateful Callan and Court are making it possible for us to keep it in the family. Our family is getting bigger and spreading out, but we still gather back at the ranch at least two times a year—Christmas and rodeo week.”
“Was it hard seeing Bramble House pass out of the hands of family?”
“Yes. But realistically we had to sell. Eliza and Marshall were doing a wonderful job with it, but Marshall’s heart was always hankering for adventure. They just took on a year’s contract to run a backcountry lodge in Colorado. Helicopter access, very remote. It would scare me silly to live in a place like that during winter, but they’re thrilled.”
“I take it they don’t have kids?”
“Actually they have twin boys. Eliza plans to homeschool them for the year.”
“Do they know their staff quit on Amy’s first day?”
Sage looked surprised by the question. “I’m not sure. They weren’t here for the closing, they were already up at the lodge. I know Eliza felt badly that she wasn’t able to meet Amy, but she put together a wonderful binder on Bramble House including all her favorite recipes.”
“I’m just asking because I assume Eliza—and the rest of your family—want the B & B to be a success? If Amy can’t make a go of it, she’ll probably have to sell. And who knows what the next owner might do to the place.”
Sage studied his face for a long moment. “Sounds like you’ve gotten pretty invested in Bramble House already. Or is it Amy?”
“Just making an observation.” Sage was right, he was invested—heaven only knew why—but he would never admit it. “It’s a tough business for a novice without any staff to help her. Not that Amy will admit it. She’s determined to do it all on her own. Wouldn’t even let me change a light bulb for her.”
Sage looked troubled. “I should have stopped in to welcome her when she first arrived, but we were so busy with rodeo week approaching and then Dawson’s mother announced she was coming to visit. I admit it’s not easy to see a stranger in my mother’s old home. Bramble House was a fixture for our family.”
“Any idea why the staff quit?”
“Well, Jo and Ella both came to me the day they resigned,” she admitted. “Their feathers were ruffled because Amy wanted to shake things up. I should have tried harder to convince them to give Amy a chance.”
“Did you try at all?”
“Not really. No,” she admitted. Then she sighed. “Point taken, Chet. Our family—and myself in particular—should be supporting Amy, not leaving her to fend on her own. I promise to go over and introduce myself in the next day or two. And I’ll talk to Ella and Jo as well.”
*
Seeing her father’s name in the rodeo program made Amy impatient to find out if he was indeed the David Wilcox her mother had told her about. Now that she knew his occupation and hometown, as well as his name, she went back online and had more success tracking him down to a Facebook page. She stared at his profile picture for a long time. He was a big, broad-shouldered man with a friendly, weathered face, bright eyes—blue like hers—and a humorous twist to his mouth. His hair, though streaked with gray, looked like it had once been blond.
She wouldn’t say she looked like him—in size and features she favored her mother—but there were similarities. The fair hair and blue eyes, and something about his smile… Her gut told her this was indeed her father.
She poised the cursor over the Add Friend button. Then the Message option. All she had to do was reach out. Within this very day she could probably confirm that he was indeed the man who had met Helen Arden in the summer of 1997.
She tried to imagine his reaction if she sent him a message. Did he even know she existed? Maybe her mother’s letter about the pregnancy had gone astray. Or maybe, despite all the coincidences, he wasn’t the David Wilcox her mother had met.
Amy tried to work up the nerve to compose the first message to begin their conversation.
But she couldn’t.
Instead, she decided to check out the jewelry store where her mother’s bracelet had been purchased. Maybe that would help her make sure she was on the right track. She slipped her bracelet off her wrist and returned it to the box, which she then placed into her messenger-bag-styled purse.
She felt guilty as she walked past the sitting room in need of fresh fruit and cookies, and even worse as she crossed the half-mown lawn, but she’d been in town for three weeks now without making the least effort to find her father.
It was time.
At the park she turned onto First Street and in four short blocks she was on Front Avenue. J. P. & Sons, Montana Jewelers, was on the second floor, above the bridal store. Amy paused to admire the beautiful gown in the front window, then went up the old, narrow stairs. The stairs ended on a small landing in front of an old wooden door with a frosted window. A small sign invited her to press the buzzer for admittance, but the squeaky stairs had already announced her presence and an older gentleman pulled open the door.
“Good afternoon,” he said. “Please come in.”
She guessed he was in his sixties. Or possibly seventies. He was bald with stooped shoulders and wore a Mr. Rogers-style cardigan, even though the day was warm and this second-story room even warmer.
“Hi. I’ve come to ask you about a bracelet. It used to belong to my mother. She kept it in this box so I’m assuming it came from your shop.” She took the box out of her bag and placed it on the counter.
As the jeweler reached for it, she glanced around. The shop was fitted with antique oak display cabinets and an old-fashioned cash register on the far counter. There were framed black-and-white photos on the wall of what appeared to be a mine, mineral samples, and men at work crafting jewelry. The whole process.
She wondered how many sons of the original J. P. had worked here. And was there a younger son in the wings ready to take over when this man retired? She guessed not, since he looked well past retirement age already.
As she was taking her measure of the shop, the older man had removed the bracelet from its cushioned nest and taken it to a desk where he switched on a bright light. Using a fancy-looking magnifying lens he examined it closely.
“As I thought, this is one of my designs. I need to check my records but I believe it dates back to the late 1990s. I’ve made a lot of similar bracelets over the years. I like to modify the design of each bracelet slightly, so the customer owns a unique piece.”
“It’s a beautiful bracelet. My mother wore it every day.” Like a wedding band. The comparison slid into her thoughts out of nowhere. And yet it was apt. Over the years her mother had accumulated many beautiful pieces of jewelry. Yet this was the only piece she had never gone without.
“Did you have a question about the bracelet?” the jeweler asked. “I can tell you it’s made of 92.5 percent sterling silver and the stones are Montana sapphires. Do you want to sell it? Is that why you’re here? I’m afraid it’s not particularly valuable. The ones I make now go for two hundred dollars.”
“No,” she said quickly. “I don’t want to sell it. I was just curious. It obviously meant a lot to my mother. I lost her a year ago in an accident. So now it means a lot to me, too.”
“I’m sorry I can’t tell you anything more about it. I keep records of who buys my more expensive, custom-made pieces. But not for something like this.”
“Do you sell your jewelry anywhere else? Besides this store?”
“No. This bracelet was originally purchased here. In this very store. Of that I am certain.”
“Okay. Well thank you.” She held out her hand and he passed her back her bracelet. This time, instead of returning it to the box, she slipped it on her wrist.
Two hundred dollars was not a big investment when it came to jewelry. But twenty-six years ago, it would have been a considerable amount for a nineteen-year-old man, to pay for a gift for a woman he’d known only one week.
*
Amy was deep in thought as she trudged down the stairs. Twenty-six years ago her father and mother must have been in this very shop, walking these streets that were fast becoming so familiar to her. She wondered what had drawn them to Marietta. True it was only a few hours from Yellowstone Park, where they’d met, but why pick this town in particular?
