A Family For Rose

“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 (#u016d6581-a197-56d9-91d8-b6f9288ea8ab)

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.