A Family For Rose

“With meatballs?”

“With meat sauce. Sorry, no time to make meatballs. We spent too long cleaning the saddles.”

“They look nice and shiny, Momma.”

“They sure do, and they’ll look even nicer on Sparky and Old Joe.”

Shannon lit the gas burner and plunked the deep cast-iron skillet down atop it. She opened two cans of spaghetti sauce and poured them over the hamburger as it cooked. With a little doctoring, she could make the sauce look and taste like homemade.

Shannon paused, frowning. She’d forgotten about Sparky and Old Joe. They were probably down at the barn by now, wondering where their grain was. What about the mustangs in the corral? They had water, but they’d need to be fed. And what of her father? Had he been crying or drinking? If he’d been drinking, had he put the cork back in the bottle?

“Rose, I have to toss some hay to the mustangs in the corral. I won’t be two minutes. Stay here with Tess and I’ll be right back.” She paused at the door, scanning the small kitchen, the spaghetti sauce starting to bubble in the skillet, the old dog finishing her meal over in the corner, and the young child waiting and hungry. She wondered if she’d ever be able to juggle feeding horses and a haying crew while effortlessly mothering her own child.

She couldn’t leave Rose alone in the kitchen. What had she been thinking? “Grab an apple and come with me, honey. You can watch, okay?”

Rose took an apple from the bowl on the table, crossed the kitchen and took Shannon’s outstretched hand. “It’ll be okay, Momma,” Rose reassured her with all the trusting innocence of a child. And for one blindingly beautiful moment, as that small, perfect hand slipped into hers, Shannon believed that it truly would.

* * *

SUPPER WASN’T SERVED until 8:00 p.m., which was early for Shannon but very late for her father and Billy, who were both so tired they spoke in monosyllables as they methodically cleaned their plates and then made short work of seconds. The spaghetti was good, and she served it with garlic bread and a big salad. Her fears that her father might have been drinking up at the windmill had been laid to rest. He was stone-cold sober and dog tired.

“I’m afraid it’s the same menu for tomorrow, but I’ll bake an apple pie, too,” she promised as she cleared the table.

“Been a dog’s age since I’ve had apple pie,” her father said, leaning back in his chair. “Your mother could make the best pie crust. Light as a feather.”

“Well, Daddy, I hope you’ll settle for a store-bought crust.”

Billy was sitting quietly, finishing off his cup of coffee. “It’ll be great.”

“What’s that?” Shannon asked, her hands full of plates.

“Your apple pie.”

“Better save your praise till you’ve tried it,” she said as she piled the dishes in the sink. “Rose, it’s time for you to get washed up and ready for bed.”

“But I don’t want to go to bed.”

“Tomorrow’s going to be a big day. You’ll be counting the bales for us, remember? That requires a good night’s sleep.”

Billy’s chair scraped away from the table and he pushed to his feet. “That was a good supper, Shannon,” he said. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” She dropped her eyes from his and turned back to the sink to hide her blush.

“Guess I’ll head into town and see if I can rustle us up some recruits for tomorrow,” he said, reaching for his hat. He paused for a moment, fiddling with the hat brim in his hands. “It’s Friday night. Thought maybe I’d get a beer at the Dog and Bull. You’re welcome to come along if you like, Shannon. I’ll buy you a beer.”

Shannon froze at the sink, her hands dripping with soapy water.

“I’ll watch Rose,” her father volunteered in the awkward silence, “and I know how to clean up a kitchen. The two of you go out and have some fun.”

“Grampy and I can watch TV together, Momma,” Rose said, excited by this sudden turn of events. “Just one show won’t hurt.”

Shannon didn’t know which surprised her more, Billy’s invitation or her father’s offer to babysit. “All right,” she relented. “Just one little program on that little TV, and you’re off to bed. Daddy?”

“Just one,” he said. “And maybe some popcorn.”

“I love popcorn!” Rose said.

Shannon turned her attention back to the dishes, feeling Billy’s eyes on her. “Might be fun to see the old hangout again. Give me ten minutes.”

Billy pushed past the screen door and Shannon blew out her breath. Dove back into the hot sudsy water and finished the supper dishes. It felt good to do domestic things, to wipe the counters down, clean off the table. Her father and Rose were already in the living room, trying to choose a program. Rose picked a Western. Gunsmoke, from the sound of it. Shannon had just finished the dishes when she heard Billy’s truck pull up to the porch. He leaned out of the driver’s-side window when she stepped out. “Ready?”

“Almost. I need to change.”

“You look fine just the way you are.”

Shannon hesitated, wiping her hands on the kitchen towel. “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.”

Billy tugged his hat brim lower. “These are the same folks you used to rub shoulders with back when you had cow manure on your boots and horse slobber on your shirt. They don’t care if you aren’t dressed fancy.”

Blunt and to the point. Shannon blew out another breath and nodded. “I’ll be right down.”

She raced upstairs to the bathroom, where she washed up in furious haste, brushed out her hair, feathered more foundation over the greening bruise, glossed her lips and called it good.