Читать книгу Wildflower Bride in Dry Creek - Janet Tronstad - Страница 11

Chapter Three

Tyler wondered what people would have remembered about him if he had died in that bomb blast. He had no land to claim him. No wife to mourn him. He didn’t even have a dog like Prince to howl at the moon in his absence.

He frowned, realizing he could have done more to keep in touch with his brothers and his mother. Some people thought hard times brought people together, but his father’s rages had destroyed his family. Birthday cards and Christmas greetings had seemed too impersonal after all they had gone through together. Tyler had been in a group foster home for juveniles with his brother, Jake, for several years so he’d seen him for that time. Then, once he was out of there, Tyler had sent money to his mother from time to time, but his messages had been short and full of forced cheer. He’d gotten his job with Brighton Security with a referral from the foster home, but he didn’t want to talk to his mother about that. He never knew what to say to someone who was in prison.

When Tyler saw someone open the door for Angelina, he decided it was time to get moving. It wouldn’t take her long to explain that the news of his death had been premature. He took a moment to adjust his shirt collar so it would hide more of his burn scar. He didn’t want his mother to worry.

Prince came over to run around him as Tyler started walking up to the house. He liked to listen to the crunch of his boots on the hard dirt. He’d gotten used to not hearing footsteps in the sand of Afghanistan, but it made him feel disoriented. He was a Montana man and glad to hear some sound again, especially on his family’s ranch.

Tyler kept looking around and noticed someone had been busy with the buildings. Growing up, he always remembered this old house as being in need of paint. It had been built by his father’s great-grandparents. Every winter, more white paint would flake off and more of the gray in the boards underneath would shine through. His mother had suggested once that they paint the house, but his father said he didn’t have time for all that scraping. He wanted to wait until the winter weather took all of the paint away and then, he said, he’d be happy to slap some new paint on.

Tyler wondered if the flaking had happened like his father had predicted. If it had, someone had put on a light peach color in its stead. It looked good with the white trim on the windows and porch. Looking down, he saw a border of rocks framing a raised flower bed that grew a few purple plants. And, if he wasn’t mistaken, his mother’s old Christmas rose was still alive at the far corner of the house.

His mother loved flowers and her lilac bushes were green and healthy. Most of the blooms were usually gone by this time in the summer, and he couldn’t find their scent so there had been no recent flowers. He was happy that his mother had been released in time to enjoy her lilacs this spring.

Tyler stepped onto the porch, walked through the screened-in area and faced the back door of the house. Someone had taken a paintbrush to this door, too, and it was white. Whoever it was had put a lot of effort into making it look nice and that made him feel good. It honored the whole place.

Tyler realized he was just standing in front of the door, stalling. He didn’t know if he should knock or just wait a minute and slip into the kitchen. He could hear people talking, but he couldn’t make out what they were saying. He didn’t want to startle anyone by appearing before Angelina had time to tell them what had happened.

Finally, he decided to open the door just a little so he could hear where she was in her explanation.

“It’s too nice to keep out in the barn,” a man’s voice said.

Tyler wasn’t sure which of his brothers was talking, but it sounded like a few people might be gathered in the kitchen.

“Well, of course, we can’t keep it there,” another man’s voice responded. “I’m just saying we don’t want to put it in the cemetery on top of Dad’s grave. People will think its Tyler resting underneath it.”

“You’re right. We can’t do that to our baby brother,” the other voice agreed.

“Before you do anything,” Angelina said, and Tyler could hear the stress in her voice, “I have an announcement—”

“Could you pass me that pitcher of water first?” his mother asked. She sounded hoarse. “I’m a little dry.”

Tyler smiled. He recognized her voice; it had always had a lilting quality to it.

“Of course,” Angelina said. “Let me pour it for you.”

“I’m going to miss him, you know,” one of his brothers said, sounding mournful.

“I know what you mean,” the other brother answered. “We haven’t seen him for a while, but the world was a better place with him in it.”

Now that’s what a man likes to hear when he’s dead, Tyler thought to himself in satisfaction. He wouldn’t want to cause his family any prolonged grief, but it was nice to know he would be missed. He wasn’t so sure about the baby brother comment, but the overall tone was nice.

“Actually, there’s no need to miss him,” Angelina said, her voice brighter now.

“Well—” One of his brothers started to protest.

“He’s here,” Angelina finished quickly.

There was a pause.

“You mean because of the gravestone?” the other brother asked. “It’s nice and everything, but I’ve never believed a man’s spirit comes back and hangs around any place.”

Someone pushed their chair back and Tyler could hear the squeak it made on the linoleum.

“Your great-grandfather would have believed,” his mother said. “But then he was pure Cherokee. And the Bible doesn’t give us any reason to think the dead stay on the earth as spirits. As nice as the sentiment is, though.”

“I don’t mean his spirit.” Angelina’s voice grew more desperate as she went on. “Tyler is here. Alive. With us.”

Now, there was absolute silence. It never was easy to tell the Stone family anything, Tyler thought with a grin. Once they had their minds made up to grieve, they would stay the course no matter what anyone said.

“It does seem that way, doesn’t it?” his mother finally said, her voice polite.

“I almost thought I heard his footsteps a minute ago,” one of his brothers added cautiously. “He used to love those boots of his. I wish we had them. We could bury them under that gravestone and it would be almost like he was here.”

Well, Tyler told himself, there was never a better moment to enter a conversation. He opened the door and stepped inside the kitchen. Angelina had done as she said and had everyone sitting around the table that stood in the middle of the kitchen. Unfortunately, she was the one facing him and the others were looking down, probably not wanting to talk anymore about how he was or wasn’t there.

“Nobody’s going to bury my boots,” Tyler said.

His mother gasped so hard it sounded like a squeal. Jake spilled the glass of water he had in his hand. Wade half stood from his chair, looking startled and fierce.

Tyler glanced around quickly. The kitchen had been his favorite room in the house because that’s where his mother usually was. It had been painted light green since he’d been here last and it smelled like cinnamon. The appliances were all white and looked new. Someone had painted a red bird on the wall by the refrigerator.

“I paid good money for my boots,” Tyler finally said, standing there grinning. “They’re not going into the ground.”

“Well, praise the Lord!” his mother whispered. Tears were starting down her cheeks.

Tyler nodded and took a step closer to her. She stood then and turned to embrace him.

“It’s okay,” he said as he felt her tremble in his arms. She seemed more fragile than he remembered. He hoped she couldn’t feel the weakness in his left side. She had enough to worry about without adding him to her list.

As soon as he stepped back to give his mother room to breathe, Jake was there, hugging him. Then Wade stood beside them, slapping them both on their shoulders. Fortunately, he’d chosen Tyler’s right shoulder so he didn’t hit the burn area.

“Easy,” Angelina said as she stood up then. She took a step closer to them. “His shoulder is hurt.”

Jake and Wade both stepped back.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Wade said, looking stricken. “I never thought.”

His brothers looked at him as if he was going to fade away.

“I’m okay,” he hastened to say. “Just a little—accident.”

Everyone just kept looking at him.

“I heard it was a bomb,” Jake finally said. Then he turned to Angelina. “In fact, she told me it was a bomb.”

Tyler could see where this was going. “Angelina only passed on what the military sent to her father’s firm.”

His mother was starting to frown as he talked.

“But that’s what I never understood,” she said. “Isn’t the military supposed to notify your next of kin?”

“I didn’t want to bother you,” Tyler explained. “So I listed Brighton Security as my next of kin.”

“Not bother me—” his mother said, her voice rising. “I’m your mother. I’m supposed to be bothered if you’re dead.”

“And just who is this Brighton Security?” Wade demanded. “If you didn’t want to put Mom down as your next of kin, you should have listed me.”

“I didn’t have anyone’s address,” Tyler said in his defense. Maybe he’d taken his independence too far, but he never thought the military would need to contact someone anyway. “And Brighton Security is where I work.”

“But that’s—” His mother still sounded confused. “Isn’t that Angie’s last name?”

“Angie?” Tyler didn’t understand. “You mean Angelina?”

Even in high school, Angelina had never allowed anyone to shorten her name. Not that many tried. He turned to look at her now.

“I didn’t want to be different,” she said. “Everybody here is Amy or Susie or Mary or something short. Even your mom is Gracie Stone.”

All he could do was shake his head. Here Angelina was, a bona fide rich society woman, and she wanted to sound like she’d grown up in Dry Creek. Kids here spent their summers dreaming about going to the big city. He could suddenly sympathize with her father. Mr. Brighton had worked for decades to give his daughter every advantage possible, and all she wanted was to blend into a small Western town like Dry Creek.

“I think I need to sit down,” Tyler said as he walked over to the chair Wade had been sitting in. He looked at his brother. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Anything for you,” Wade said.

Tyler closed his eyes, feeling tired. The doctors had warned him he’d have some bad days for a while, even before he began his physical therapy. He doubted they’d counted on this kind of a day, though.

“I should make you some tea,” his mother said.

Tyler nodded, not bothering to open his eyes.