Jack's Heart, page 12
“The Narrows, yeah.” He could encourage her to ask about scenery, talk about ranching, cattle, crops. It would be easy. He asked, “And Great-Aunt Susan?”
She shot him a you-really-want-to-talk-about-this? look. He nodded.
“She married Great-Uncle John, had seven children and was quite the businesswoman.”
“Successful and happy marriage?
“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” She relaxed into telling the story. “But here’s the thing about Great-Aunt Susan and Great-Uncle John. They only lived together the first three years of the marriage. Then he built a second house down the next beach. That’s where he lived, while she kept the family home.”
His brows rose. “Three years of living together, seven kids?”
“And no multiple births. Math doesn’t work, does it? You should have seen El and me trying to figure it out after we first learned about babies. At first we thought you had to be married to have kids.” She grimaced slightly. “After we learned more about the mechanics, we couldn’t figure out how she had five kids after he moved out. And, yes, by that point we were aware enough to think about other men. But one time Mom was scolding me about being wild and I said I had a long way to go to beat Great-Aunt Susan who’d had five kids after her husband moved out, so she must’ve been fooling around. And Mom started laughing and laughing, saying nobody who’d seen them doubted they were Great-Uncle John’s offspring.”
She seemed prepared to leave it there. The woman who could talk a blue streak went silent now?
“Okay, tell,” he demanded.
“Sunday dinners.”
“Sunday dinners?” he repeated.
She nodded. “For twenty years, Great-Uncle John had Sunday dinner with his family. And after Sunday dinner, John and Susan retired to her bedroom to ‘discuss business’ and were not to be disturbed. I told you she was a good businesswoman.”
He turned a chuckle into a snort. “Eliza was the scandal?”
“Absolutely. She did something that couldn’t be ignored. Besides, I wasn’t kidding about Great-Aunt Susan’s business acumen. She made great investments. She was doing micro-loans before they’d been invented. Was sharp, sharp, sharp right up to the day she died. She left her money to her kids, but she left the two beach houses — hers and Great-Uncle John’s — to El and me as joint owners. She said if she’d been born when we were, she would’ve been a career woman like we were. Course El had a real career, working as an accountant. I’d hopped around from cook to radio to chef to restaurant manager to marketing and more. But to Great-Aunt Susan that was enough. It had to help that El and I were both single at the time. Great-Aunt Susan wrote in her will that the houses were to remind us if we ever contemplated matrimony that the only way to avoid misery in marriage was through distance.”
“How’d her kids feel?”
“About us getting the beach houses? Fine. She left them plenty. Or do you mean her thoughts on marriage? That came as no surprise to them. Great-Uncle John had named the house he built to live in alone The Fishwife, telling anyone who’d listen that it was in reference to Great-Aunt Susan. El and I started a restaurant there and that’s what we called it — The Fishwife. That’s how she got to know Cahill — her husband. It was all my doing.” She smirked. “I knew they should be together from the start. They didn’t have a chance. Same thing with my older brother Anthony. I introduced him to my piano teacher’s daughter because I knew they’d be perfect together.”
But apparently she hadn’t found herself that perfect match. He didn’t point that out. None of his business.
“Anyway, Great-Aunt Susan would be delighted with the success El’s made of The Fishwife and now the Inn, even if that is with Cahill as a full partner.”
“What about you? You helped start the restaurant.”
“Yeah. Mostly I pushed El into taking the chance. And I cooked there. Stuff like that. But she’s the real business brain.”
“No restaurant without a cook. No restaurant without your half of the inheritance.”
She shrugged. “Suppose.” Then she grinned. “Great-Aunt Susan would love the blog and podcasts. Not the subject necessarily, but the idea of women helping women.”
“You admire her.”
“I do. Doesn’t mean I want Addie to be quite that strong-willed and outspoken.”
“You mean like her mother?”
“Hey, I’m the soul of tact compared to my Great-Aunt Susan.”
“Setting the bar low?”
“You bet. Now it’s your turn.”
“For what?”
“Telling me about your background. You mentioned a foster family. No, you said no siblings, so only foster parents?”
“Yeah. The Bazerocks.”
“You went to them after your folks’ died?”
“Went to their farm a year later. I don’t remember much before.” Crying. That’s what he remembered. Loneliness. He said quickly, “Older couple.”
“So that’s how you learned about animals? Living on a farm?”
“Yeah.”
“But they never adopted you.”
“No. Don’t go assuming they just wanted a kid to do chores. They wouldn’t have taken a five-year-old if they had. They couldn’t afford to adopt. They needed that foster care stipend to keep afloat. They were decent people. Solid. Reliable. Honest.”
He clamped his mouth closed, abruptly aware he was repeating a long-ago argument, not responding to Val.
She didn’t seem to notice. “You were fortunate to find people who helped you deal with the loss of your parents, to talk that out and heal — What was that grimace for?”
He hadn’t realized he’d grimaced. “All that stuff.”
“Talking and healing and dealing with loss? All that stuff?” she asked wryly.
“Yeah. The Bazerocks were a good match for me. They believed in hard work, being reliable, and if you had a problem, you worked it out yourself. They left me alone.”
She reached down and patted Buster. When she straightened she said, “Maybe that made them not such a good fit for you.”
“They took me in and gave me a home, food, education.”
“I’m sure they were wonderful people. But maybe you would have benefited from someone who drew you out more. Someone who encouraged you to participate in the world—”
“No.” The word came out harsh because his throat was suddenly raw.
“—to be part of a community,” she finished, her eyes studying him.
“I help out when somebody needs help.”
“To have interaction with other people, to enjoy being around other people,” she picked up as if he hadn’t spoken. “To believe relationships don’t have to be based solely on working hard. To accept their friendship and caring.”
I tried that and it didn’t work…
The words almost came out of his mouth. He held them back just in time.
Someone who drew you out more. Someone who encouraged you to participate in the world … friendship and caring.
Val’s words, spoken in Val’s voice, with her crisp delivery.
Yet somewhere in those words, he’d heard another voice. Not saying the same words, but expressing the same sentiment. Doing more than talk, too. Tugging him into the circle of her friends and family. Urging him to believe. And he had.
Until…
Never again.
“This part of the ranch was added on by Ed’s parents. The home ranch was the original section. Each generation has added on.” Better to talk history than to relive it.
*
The rest of the ride focused on the history and running of the Slash-C, when it wasn’t silent.
For once, she preferred the silences. Her eyes enjoyed the scenery while she sorted through what he’d said.
He’d lost his parents when he was not much older than Addie. And he hadn’t had the grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and more swoop in with waves of love, as well as providing a continuity for a child whose world had been turned upside down.
And then he’d been fostered by people who might have had the best of intentions, but had set him more firmly on the path of withdrawal.
Maybe you would have benefited from someone who drew you out more. El would be proud of her for being so tactful. For not saying his foster parents had been utterly and completely wrong for letting — encouraging! — a little boy who’d suffered a tragedy indulge his recluse tendencies. That allowing a child to apply the do-it-myself model to his emotional wounds qualified as child neglect in her book.
And yet, that wasn’t when he’d shut down. That didn’t happen until she talked about accepting friendship and caring.
He’d started to say something — to keep arguing. Then his face stiffened and his eyes went cold.
Maybe he needed to go through days like a zombie to heal at the beginning, but it went too long. We let it go to long. It’s a habit now. A safe, comfortable habit. It’s going to take something sharp and strong to get him out of that habit.
A safe, comfortable habit — that’s what Donna had said.
Nothing easy about breaking bad habits. So you’ve got to do things that stop them from heading down that familiar path. Make them stop and think. Jolt them out of doing the same thing they’ve been doing.
Interesting that was Jack’s prescription for his wounded horses’ bad habits.
*
Val sat on the porch of the foreman’s cottage, editing her next blog, while Addie played with a stuffed frog and a teddy bear, reenacting her version of Jack working with the mistreated mare.
She couldn’t wait to tell Jack that he was the frog.
A truck came into sight from the direction of the main house.
Her heartbeat picked up.
Not Jack’s.
Her heartbeat should have known better. He’d proven himself quite adept at avoiding her.
As she looked closer, she realized it wasn’t any of the trucks she’d become familiar with from the Flying W and Slash-C. Then she recognized the trio in the front seat.
She took Addie’s hand and went to meet the new arrivals — Taylor and Cal Ruskoff, with their four-year-old daughter Cassie and just over one-year-old son Rob. But the first out of the truck was an adult collie. The dog trotted toward them, sniffing and tail wagging.
“That’s Sin,” Taylor said. “He’s friendly. In fact, he might walk right in because he thinks that’s still our house.”
Addie was entranced by the dog, and the feeling appeared to be mutual. He circled around Cassie and Addie, as if inviting them to play together by urging them closer together.
After hellos, Taylor said, “Cal’s meeting Dave here for some horse-trading.”
“Actually tool trading,” Cal said with a smile as he held his sturdy son. “I picked some things up at an auction I knew he was looking for, and he has some extras I can use.”
“Cassie, Rob, and I came along for the ride and in hopes of seeing you and Addie.”
“I’m playing horse rescue,” Addie said to Cassie. “Wanna play.”
“Sure.”
“You’re the teddy bear. I’m the frog,” she informed the other girl, leading the way back to the porch, with the dog Sin right behind.
“She’s the frog?” Taylor repeated in a low voice.
“Teddy’s a mare who needs rescuing and the frog is the rescuer.”
“Ahhh. We heard about Jack working with another abused horse.”
“Does a damned good job, too,” Cal added. “Even if he isn’t green and not a great hopper.”
By the time the second truck pulled in, they were sitting on the porch steps, drinking iced tea, while the kids played behind them.
Dave and his mother joined them, with pleased hellos all around.
“Would you all like to stay to lunch after your tool trading?” She could pull together sandwiches and an interesting salad from what was in the kitchen.
“Sorry, I’ve got to get back to see a client,” Taylor said. While she maintained her law office in town, she also saw clients at home for their convenience and hers. “Can only stay another forty-five minutes or so.
“And I’m the designated driver,” Cal said with a grin at his wife that proclaimed that wherever she was going, he wanted to go, too.
“I’m afraid I’m promised for a lunch meeting at the church,” Donna said.
“And I’ve got a meeting with a client in town. Going over the proposed settlement drawn up by some shyster lawyer named Larsen,” Dave said.
“Hey,” Cal protested, drawing such an immediate grin from Dave that it was clear that had been his goal all along.
“So, what are your plans since we’re all deserting you, Valerie?” Donna asked.
“Finish editing my blog so I can upload it tonight, feed Addie lunch, then — As long as you’re all here, I can ask the experts. I want to pick up a few things. Photography supplies,” she said, purposely vague. “Only, I was hoping if there’s a somewhat bigger town…”
Dave exaggerated a double take. “What? The metropolis of Knighton isn’t fulfilling all your shopping dreams?”
She grinned. “I’m not much of a shopper, but it’s not strong on photography supplies.”
“There’s a shop in Jefferson that does framing and sells cameras. Would that do?” Taylor asked.
“Perfect. I also wanted to pick up something for Matty as a thank you for all she did with the party. If you have any ideas…?”
“Help her find a couple plants that’ll survive by that old water pump near the drive, and she’ll be ecstatic,” he said.
“With good cause,” his mother said to him. She widened her next words to include Cal and Taylor. “We were telling Valerie about the problems growing anything there. The plants get drenched every time the pump gets used, and water’s always sloshing over from the trough. I tried all the usual suspects and they’d die in weeks. Now Matty’s having the same bad luck. You’d need to talk to someone who really knows flowers.”
Cal Ruskoff looked up at that. “Dave, don’t you know a place by the courthouse?”
The men exchanged a look. As it ended, both gave a small, strange smile.
“What are you two—?” Taylor started.
But Cal put his arm around her and squeezed as Dave talked over her. “Yeah. As a matter of fact, I do. There’s this little shop. I’ll write down all the information for you, Val.” He did that as he kept talking. “It has the usual cut flowers, but ask the woman behind the desk for some help, and I’ll bet she’ll know what to get. And you can ride in this afternoon with Jack, because I was about to call him to let him know I need him to go into Jefferson on an errand this afternoon. So, I’ll go do that right now. One o’clock suit you?”
“Sure, but I can drive myself—”
“No, no, it can be confusing in Jefferson. So you ride with Jack. C’mon, Cal. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
“Sure thing,” Cal said.
The two men headed off, Cal clapping a hand to Dave’s back as if congratulating him.
Val turned and looked at Taylor, who was watching their departing backs with a hint of a frown. “Was I imagining it, or was there something weird going on?”
“Definitely something weird,” Taylor said. “For one thing, since when is Jefferson confusing? All straight roads and you can see the courthouse from just about anywhere in town, so to get to a shop near it all you have to do is open your eyes.”
Donna nodded at the piece of paper Val held. “What’s the name of this shop my son recommends?”
“Flower Power,” Val read.
They looked at one another, trying to imagine Dave or Cal shopping at a place called Flower Power.
“Wait a minute,” Taylor said slowly. “I think — I’m almost sure that’s where Dave got Matty’s bridal bouquet.”
“Ah. The Indian Paintbrush,” Donna said. “So appropriate.”
“Wyoming’s state flower,” Taylor said in response to Val’s questioning look. “Bright and tough and stubborn. Suits Matty to a T. And it was amazing that Dave got it for the bridal bouquet. Yes, I said Dave got it. Though it was a close-run thing whether she was going to whap him over the head with it or appreciate it. C’mon, let’s have some more of that iced tea, and I’ll tell you all about it.”
How Matty and Dave came to marry first and court afterward was such an entertaining story that Val forgot all about the strangeness from Dave and Cal until she was in the truck being driven by Jack that afternoon.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“Can you imagine Lewis and Clark coming all the way out here in the early 1800s and seeing this for the first time?” Val asked Jack.
In the car seat in the back seat, Addie was catching a nap as she often did in moving vehicles. Val had alternated staring out the windshield or passenger window, craning her neck to see everything at once.
The Slash-C and Flying W were tucked up closer to the mountains. It took some distance, as they were getting on this drive to Jefferson, to get the full impact of the Big Horn range.
“They didn’t see this. Weren’t around here.”
She grimaced at Jack, then looked back out her window, where a long V-shaped valley cut into the line of mountains. Wheat was growing in much of it, rippling under the wind like water.
“I was speaking metaphorically,” she said with great dignity. “The way people speak of the ocean and the mountains being similar.”
He said something under his breath, but all she caught was stream. “What?”
“Guess you know about the ocean,” he said.
It was a diversion. That was okay. At least he was talking.
“Some. Not as much as the folks who make their living from it. It’s like they feel it in their bones. We’ve lost that. Some generations back, our family members went to sea. A number of them didn’t come back. Their widows were adamant that the following generations would not be fishermen, so the various family lines gradually moved away from it.
“In a way, Gloucester has, too. Except it’s still there, at the core. Something more than history. Or tradition. I worked with a chef once who used to call it Fish Fry Town. I wanted to pop him every time. I finally did.” She turned and grinned at him. “Actually, I dumped a big bowl of batter on his head after he took credit for that particular recipe for frying fish, which I’d brought to the kitchen from my Great Aunt Susan.”
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