The Long Road Home

“You calling me a liar, boy?”

“No, of course not.”

Though Sam wondered about his father’s medication. If he was taking those pain killers he said he wouldn’t touch, they could be making him imagine things. How would he have seen the parking lot anyway in his condition? Or had someone put this particular idea in his head?

Sam tried to cool down the confrontation. “When I leave here, I’ll swing by the parking lot on my way back to the cabin.”

But Pop wasn’t having any conciliation. “A horse ranch in Wisconsin is a silly idea anyhow.”

Not a new sentiment. Sam knew his father didn’t approve, even if he had rented the land to Sam and had signed a contract agreeing to the business.

“It’s not the only ranch in Wisconsin, Pop. There are several west and north of here. It’s just the only one in this area, which gives me an edge in making it work.”

That’s what he was counting on, that people who weren’t dedicated riders with their own horse properties or who couldn’t afford to go to fancy riding schools, would like a less expensive, less demanding alternative.

“Met up with Will Berger at the bank this afternoon, and he gloated about the stupidity of my letting you start a dude ranch here.”

Berger being an old rival of his father’s, he would say anything to make Pop mad. “Wait a minute. You went out? Who drove you?”

“Drove myself. A broken leg’s not going to stop me.”

Pop couldn’t drive his truck with a broken leg, not with its clutch, but he could drive the old Chevy one-footed, since it was automatic. A broken leg should stop the old man, at least until the cast was off, but Sam wasn’t going to start yet another argument. To no surprise, his father did it for him.

“Why can’t you just get a normal job?”

“I’m good with horses. Great with horses.” Pop had no idea of how great—he’d never seen Sam rodeo. “That’s all I’ve been doing for fifteen years.”

“Not for the last six months, you haven’t.”

Pop never wasted an opportunity to remind him of how his life had gone off the rails. Again, he refused the bait. “If anyone can make a go of a dude ranch around here, it’ll be me. Just believe in me for once, would you?”

Pop waved a dismissive hand. “You might be good with horses. Doesn’t mean people around here are interested in riding ’em.”

“This whole area between Kenosha and Milwaukee gets a lot of tourism. A whole other potential for more clients.”

He knew it was useless to try to convince Pop, however. No matter what he did, the old man would disapprove. Being retired and getting around on crutches wasn’t improving his habitually cantankerous personality.

“I’m going to go check out that parking lot. Before I go, do you want me to get you anything?”

“I got a broken leg—I’m not an invalid!”

Sam started to say something, then clamped his mouth shut and turned on his heel to leave. He wasn’t out the door before he heard Pop yell something negative after him, but Sam just closed his ears to the probable insult.

Throwing himself into the truck, he headed for the barn and the parking area beyond. Why did the old man have to be so mean? He hadn’t always been like this. Sam remembered a time when he’d thought Pop was the best father in the world. That had all ended on his thirteenth birthday.

He didn’t want to think about that again, so he was relieved on arriving at the modest visitors’ parking area that could hold a dozen or more vehicles. Cutting the engine, he left the truck and scanned the area. Sure enough, there were some loose boards with protruding nails. Looked as if someone had pulled down a building or shed and this was the product. But why toss them here? On closer inspection, he realized boards weren’t the only things dumped here. Scattered throughout the lot were dozens of nails and screws.

Where on earth...?

The midnight visitor again?

The thought came to him unbidden: What if it hadn’t been a kid? What if it had been someone trying to hurt his business before he even got it off the ground?

But who?

He’d been a reckless teenager, had made enemies in high school, had gotten into more trouble than any other kid in Sparrow Lake, but that had all been small potatoes. And that had been a long, long time ago. Time usually tempered bad memories. People he’d run into in town when buying supplies for the ranch had been friendly enough. Even Cooper Peterson, his most bitter rival who’d hated him for being the better, faster rider when he’d challenged Sam to motorcycle races that Sam had won every time.

Had Peterson been playing him? Or someone else who held a grudge?

The idea threatened the possibility of him making a fresh start here. He couldn’t let it happen. He had to make it work. Had to make things right if his past misadventures had caught up to him.

He couldn’t fail.

Couldn’t start over again.

He had no place else to go.

* * *

TO PRISCILLA’S RELIEF, her nieces seemed to settle down when they returned to her apartment. At least for a while. After a light supper of chicken and leftover salad, they watched some television—well, she and Mia watched television. Alyssa was back to texting as she lounged in a chair.

Mia yawned for the third or fourth time. “I feel tired. And it’s not even late.”

“Your body clock is one hour ahead of central standard time,” Priscilla pointed out. “Plus the fresh air and exercise could have done you in.” She rose from the couch. “Let’s check out your bedroom and make sure you’ve got enough pillows and blankets.” When the apartment air-conditioning was on, the guest bedroom could run cold.

Mia nodded toward Alyssa as they left the living room. “We’re not sleeping in the same bed, you know.”

No, Priscilla didn’t know. “Why not?” There was only one queen-size bed in the second bedroom.

“Ugh. Sleep with her? I toss and turn a lot. And Alyssa’s on her phone all night. It would keep me awake. I can sleep on the couch in your office.”

“It’s only a love seat.” And the room was small, too, her building being from the turn of the century when spacious quarters weren’t considered necessary.

“I’ll make do,” said Mia, yawning again. “In case you didn’t notice, I’m not that tall.”

But Priscilla objected, “I can’t have you cramped up on a love seat.” She thought quickly. “There’s a folding cot in the front closet. It’ll fit in the bedroom and you girls can take turns sleeping in the bed.”

“That’s still in the same room. Alyssa’s on her phone all night.”

Priscilla raised her brows. “What?”

“I told you she’s addicted to that thing. I don’t know what she and her crazy friends have to text about at 2:00 a.m. but Alyssa sleeps with her phone under her pillow. She just has to answer.”

No matter how many times she heard about the phone, Priscilla still had trouble believing. “And your parents allow this?”

Mia shrugged.

“But your sister will be tired from waking up all night. You are sisters and I don’t have the space, you two need to share the same room.” She didn’t think she was being demanding. “We have to make do. That’s life, sometimes.” And she had to use her office to email some orders.