A Certain Hope

“Okay,” he replied, his tone as soft as the cooing mourning dove she could hear off in the cottonwood trees. “I won’t press you on this, but I just thought you should know.”

“I’m not sure what I’ll do,” she admitted. “I just don’t know—”

“We’ll work through it,” he said, a steely resolve in his words.

“You don’t have to help me, Reed.” She could tell he didn’t want to be tied down to the obligations her father had thrust onto his shoulders. And neither did she.

“I don’t mind,” he said, turning to face her as he held the big Appaloosa in check.

“Well, maybe I do,” she retorted.

And because she felt herself being closed in, because she felt as if she were back in college and Reed was telling her what was best for her all over again, she spurred Daisy into a fast run and left Reed sitting there staring after her. She had to think, needed to feel the spring wind on her face. This was too much to comprehend all at once.

Way too much for her to comprehend. Especially with Reed sending her those mixed messages of duty and friendship. She didn’t want his pity or his guidance if it meant he was being forced to endure her. She could handle anything but that. So she took off.

Again.

Reed caught up with her at the bend in the river where a copse of oak saplings jutted out over a broken ridge. Just like April to take off running. She’d always run away when things got too complicated. She was doing the same thing now that she used to do whenever they’d fought. She’d get on her horse and take off to the wild blue yonder. Sometimes she’d stay gone for hours on end, upsetting her parents and the whole ranch in general with her reckless need to be away from any kind of commitment or responsibility.

Well, now she was going to have to stop running.

“April,” he called as he brought Jericho to a slow trot beside her. “Slow down and let’s talk.”

“I don’t want to talk,” she said over her shoulder.

But she slowed Daisy anyway. Even April wouldn’t run a poor horse to the grave.

Reed pulled up beside her as they both brought the horses to a walk. “Let’s sit a spell here by the water. Then we’ll head back and I’ll point out some of the most urgent problems around here.”

“I think I know what the most urgent problem is,” she retorted as she swung off Daisy. “My father is dying.”

Reed allowed her that observation. He knew all of this had to be overwhelming. He hopped off Jericho and stepped over to take Daisy’s reins. “I understand how you must be feeling, April. That’s why I’m here to help.”

She turned on him, her brown eyes burning with anger and hurt. “But you don’t want to be here. I can see that. I don’t want you to feel obligated—”

Reed tugged her close, his own anger simmering to a near boil. “You don’t get it, do you? I am obligated. To your father, and to you. What kind of man would I be if I just walked away when you both need me?”

“You mean, the way I walked away, Reed? Why don’t you just go ahead and say it? I walked away when my father needed me the most. I was selfish and self-centered and only thought of myself, right?”

He nodded, causing her to gasp in surprise. “I reckon that about sums things up,” he said. “But if you aim to keep on punishing yourself, if you aim to keep wallowing in the past and all that self-pity, then maybe you don’t need me around after all. You seem pretty good at doing that all on your own. That and running away all over again.”

He handed her Daisy’s reins and turned to get back on Jericho, to wash his hands of trying to be her friend. He could just concentrate on being nearby when the time came. He could hover around, checking on things, without having to endure the double-edged pain of seeing her and knowing she’d be gone again soon.

“Reed, wait.”

He was already in the saddle. It would be so easy to just keep going. But he didn’t. He turned Jericho around and looked down at April, his heart bolting and bucking like a green pony about to be broken. Just like his heart was about to be broken all over again.

“I don’t want to fight you, April. I just want to help you.” He shrugged. “I mean, don’t we have that left between us at least? When a friend needs help, I’m there. It’s just the way it is.”

She stared up at him, her brown eyes soft with a misty kind of regret, her short curls wind-tossed and wispy around her oval face. She was slender and sure in her jeans and T-shirt, her boots hand-tooled and well-worn.

“It’s just the way you are, Reed,” she acknowledged with her own shrug. But her eyes held something more than the regret he could clearly see. They held respect and admiration and, maybe, a distant longing.

He still loved her. So much.

“I need…I do need your help,” she admitted. “I don’t think I can handle this on my own. You were here when my mother died. Remember?”

“I remember,” he said, nodding. He remembered holding April while she cried, right here on this spot of earth, in this very place, underneath the cottonwoods by the river. They’d watched the sun set and the stars rise. They’d watched a perfect full moon settle over the night sky. And he’d held her still. Held her close and tight and promised her he’d never, ever leave her.

Would he be able to keep that promise this time?

Reed knew he could keep his promises.

But he also knew April hadn’t learned how to do the same.

But he got down off his horse and took her hand anyway. He didn’t dare hope. He didn’t dare think past just holding her hand. “I’ll be right here,” he told her.

“Thank you.” She smiled and took his hand in hers, a tentative beginning to a new truce.

They stayed there, in what used to be their special spot, for about an hour. April had called the house twice to check on her father, so Reed decided maybe he’d better get her home. At least he’d been able to fill her in on some of the daily problems around the ranch. They’d somehow made a silent agreement to concentrate on business. Nothing personal.

“How about we head back?” Reed asked now. April seemed more relaxed, even though he could tell she was concerned over this latest news of her becoming full owner of the Big M. “I’ll show you the backside of the property. Should be home just in time for vittles.”

That made her laugh at least. “You truly will always be a cowboy, won’t you, Reed?”

He nodded, flipping his worn Stetson back on his head. “I was born that way, ma’am.”

She laughed again at the way he’d stretched out the polite statement. “I hear you bought one of our guest houses for yourself.”

“Yep.” He got back on Jericho, noting the animal was impatient to get moving again. “A right nice little place. Three bedrooms, two baths, oak floors, stone fireplace and a game room that begged for a new billiards table.”

April slipped back on Daisy with ease. She always had been a grand horsewoman.

“I’m glad someone is occupying that house. It always seemed silly to me to send guests to another house when we have so much room in the big house.”

“Ah, but that’s the way of the Texas cattlemen. Showy and big. The bigger, the better in Texas.”

They trotted along at a reasonable pace, back over the rambling hills of northeast Texas. Reed took in the dogwoods just blooming in the clumps of forest at the edge of the vast pastureland, their blossoms bright white amid the lush green of the sweet gums and hickory and oak trees. Here and there, rare lone mesquite trees jutted at twisted angles out in the pasture, like signposts pointing toward home.

“It’s funny how small our apartment is in New York, compared to all this vast property,” April said.

“I would have thought you’d feel stifled there amid all the skyscrapers and traffic jams,” Reed said, then wondered why he’d even made the comparison.

“I did at first,” she replied, the honesty in her eyes surprising him. “The city took some getting used to. But now…well, I like being a part of that pulse, that energy. In a way, New York is as wide-open and vast as this land. You just have to find the rhythm and go with it.”

“Too fast-paced for me,” Reed said, thinking they were straying back into personal territory. To lighten things, he asked, “How do Summer and Autumn like it?”

“They love it, too,” April replied, laughing. “We all joke with our friends about how we left small towns with such big, famous names—Paris, Athens, and Atlanta—only to wind up in the biggest city of all—New York.”