Читать книгу As Big As Texas - K.N. Casper - Страница 8

“THE VINES SHOULD be arriving around ten,” Kayla’s father reminded her over the breakfast table Monday morning.

“Looking forward to getting your hands dirty?”

He grinned. “Yeah.”

Boyd Crawford had been skeptical when she’d found this land opportunity in Texas, but he’d supported her and agreed to come along for a few months to help her establish her first vineyard. He understood how desperately she needed to make a new beginning after Daryl had walked out on her and Megan.

Over the past month they’d identified the ten acres that had the best potential, the optimum incline and drainage. They’d tested the water, analyzed the soil and installed an irrigation system. Last week he’d flown to California and personally arranged for the shipment of select vinifera vines.

Texas boasted a growing number of flourishing vineyards. All Kayla’s studies indicated this one should be equally successful.

“Finish your milk, honey, and then get your backpack,” Kayla told her daughter. “The school bus will be here in a few minutes.”

“I’m going to ride Birdsong this afternoon, Grandpa,” the girl sang. She’d been grounded over the weekend for her temper tantrum at the Broken Spoke on Friday, yet that was all but forgotten.

“You be careful now.” He smiled at his granddaughter.

At this point Kayla wasn’t sure she was as thrilled with the idea of Megan riding. Facing Ethan Ritter again wasn’t something she particularly relished. The man had a sharp tongue, which was aggravating, and other aspects she found disturbing in a different way. His good looks, for instance. The shape of his mouth and the warmth in his green eyes made her entertain possibilities she thought she’d dismissed from her life when she’d divorced Daryl last year. Distractions she didn’t have time for now.

She couldn’t deny that she found Ethan’s personality intriguing, too. He projected strength and self-confidence, but also vulnerability. He was obviously good with kids—at least he’d been with Megan—which added to his appeal. Still, something about the man unsettled her, something she couldn’t put her finger on.

He was opinionated and critical, yet she felt safe with him, perhaps because of the protective way he’d reacted to Megan. Whatever it was, it had her spending too much time thinking about the guy.

“We’ll go over to the Broken Spoke right after you get home from school and change clothes,” she told Megan.

She was tempted to add that this first lesson might not last very long but decided not to dampen the girl’s enthusiasm. Megan would be preoccupied enough in class today without worrying about how long she’d get to ride her precious horse. “Now hurry. You don’t want to miss the bus.”

Ten minutes later the house was quiet.

“Are you sure about this riding business?” her father asked, over his second cup of coffee.

“Maybe this is just a phase, like Ethan says, but, Dad, how can I deny her the opportunity to find out?”

“Is that what Ritter thinks?”

She didn’t miss his use of the neighbor’s last name. “He says adolescence will probably distract her—”

“Woo her away, huh?” He smiled at her over the rim of his cup.

“Something like that.”

“How much time is this latest obsession of hers going to eat up?”

His tone was more amused than critical. Megan wanted to see and try everything. Most of the time her interest waned after the initial experience, but her fascination with horses hadn’t so far, and his concern had merit. Work on the vineyard, this first year especially, would absorb all Kayla’s spare time, another reason why Ethan had been right in discouraging her from buying a horse—for a while at least.

“Three one-hour lessons a week, Monday, Wednesday and Friday. We’re only a few minutes away—it’ll actually be less intrusive than having to take her to soccer or basketball.”

Boyd drank down the last of his coffee and got up from the table. “I’m going to walk the lines one more time.”

There was nothing wrong with the miles of wire they’d strung for the vines. But starting from scratch was a new adventure for both of them, and he was as nervous about it as she was.

“Thanks, Dad.”

He turned at the door. “For what?”

“Being here for us.”

His expression, often so intense and pensive, softened. “I’m the one who should be thanking you—for having me.”

Kayla got up, walked over to him and kissed him on the cheek. “I’ll let you know when they call.”

IT TOOK A MINUTE for Kayla to recognize the white Ford crew cab barreling up the long driveway that afternoon. It was common for neighbors here to visit, out of friendliness and curiosity. Several people from town had already dropped by to welcome her and ask how she was fixing to use the land.

“Hi.” Ethan opened the truck door. “I thought I’d take a look at how things are going. Hear you got your vines delivered today.”

“Welcome to Stony Hill Vineyard,” Kayla said, not sure why she felt so pleased to see him. Or why she thought he looked so good in a red-plaid flannel shirt and a down-filled vest.

He hooked his thumbs in the corners of his jeans pockets. “I don’t know anything about vineyards, or wine, for that matter, except I can tell what I like when I taste it.”

“That’s a good start. White or red?”

“White mostly. But I like a hearty red with a thick, juicy steak, too.”

“A man after my own heart.” In more ways than one. “Come on, I’ll show you around.”

She led him to the tin barn they were using as a warehouse. Large, wooden crates were lined up, open, each with dozens of clipped shoots sticking out like porcupine quills. A few showed green nubs ready to burst, but most were still dormant. Her father was in the far corner frowning over the contents of a damaged crate.

“Dad!”

Straightening, he saw their visitor and began walking toward them. At fifty-six he was beginning to develop the rounded shoulders of a man who spent his days bent over. He wasn’t overweight, but what he carried was beginning to settle.

“This is Ethan Ritter, our next-door neighbor.”

Boyd removed his work gloves and they shook hands. Kayla watched as the two men sized each other up.

“He’s here for the grand tour,” she said.

“Not a lot to see right now,” her father commented. “We just got these in a couple of hours ago. Wait a few months after we get them in the ground, though, and everything greens up. Prettiest sight you ever did see.”

Ethan surveyed the rows of oblong boxes, apparently surprised by the large number. “How many…vines do you have here?”

“Six thousand,” Boyd said, “Enough for ten acres.”

“What kind are they?”

“Chenin blanc.”

“Come on,” Kayla said. “I’ll show you where we’ll plant them.”

“I’ve got to get back to work. You two run along.” Boyd waved as he returned to the damaged crate. “Nice meeting you, Ethan. Stop by anytime.”

“He loves this, doesn’t he?” Ethan commented as they stepped out into the bright afternoon sun.

The remark pleased Kayla, perhaps because she also heard approval in it. The two would get along fine, she decided.

She led him to a slope that was out of sight of the house and the road.

Ethan took in the rows of poles and wires as Kayla explained that her father had used the augur on their tractor to make holes in the ground every eight feet.

“Our initial yields won’t be very high,” she acknowledged, “and of course we won’t know the quality until we taste it, but even poor grapes can be used in blending bulk wines.”

“The kind that comes in cardboard boxes.” At her shudder, he grinned. “Hey, I told you I’m no connoisseur.”

“You’re right—” she laughed “—about the market for them, I mean. And that’s where our first few harvests will undoubtedly go. As the vines mature, we hope our grapes develop the kind of complexity that’ll allow us to bottle under our own label.”

“How much can you expect from only ten acres?”

“Between seventy-five and a hundred tons of grapes.”

His mouth dropped open. “Did you say tons? How many bottles would that equal?”

“About three thousand cases.”

“I’m impressed,” he said. “So how’d you get interested in grapes anyway?”

“Dad’s a master winemaker. I grew up in Oregon surrounded by vineyards and majored in viticulture in college.”

“Where?”

“University of Washington.”

“What are you doing here in Texas? Why not Oregon or Washington or California?”

“Mostly because I had to get Megan away from the cold, damp Northwest.” They walked down a row and Ethan tested the tension on the wire trellises. Tight as a bowstring.

“As for California,” she went on, “no way could I afford to buy or even lease land there. I considered working for someone else, but the cost of living on the West Coast is beyond my budget. The Home Free program here is a godsend.”

“Miranda Wright’s brainstorm.”

She glanced at him. “You don’t approve?”

“On the contrary. The program is brilliant, economically and socially. It’ll probably save Homestead.”

“Do I hear a but at the end of that sentence?”

“The alternative was Clint Gallagher buying up all the land and annexing it to his ranch—the Four Aces. That sure wouldn’t have increased the population or brought in more tax revenue.”

Kayla had the feeling Ethan wasn’t telling her everything. She’d heard there’d been a few opponents to the mayor’s plan to take possession of a failed ranch, subdivide it and sell off the parcels as a way of bolstering the declining local economy.

“How long does it take to establish a vineyard?” he asked, as they came to the end of the row and turned back.

“It’ll be three years before our first harvest. Five to seven years before we know with any certainty what kind of quantity and quality we can produce.”

“A pretty long-term capital investment then,” he noted. “And a pig in a poke.”

“Good investments, like wine and love,” she said with a smile, “take time.”

He smiled back, and she quickly averted her eyes.

“What’re you fixin’ to do in the meantime?” he asked.

“Since there aren’t any other vineyards around here, I’ll probably go for my teaching certificate this summer. I minored in biology in college, and there’s usually a demand for science teachers, either full-time or substitute.”

They stood at the top of the hill overlooking the barren vineyard. “What kind of irrigation will you use?”

“Drip. Grapevine roots go down rather than laterally, making it ideal as well as ecologically sound.”

He nodded, then turned and met her eyes. “If there’s anything I can do to help, labor, equipment, manpower…horsepower—” he gave her one of his playful grins “—just let me know. By the way, are we still on for Megan’s first lesson this afternoon?”

“Nothing will keep her away. If I don’t drive her there, she’ll walk. Yep, we’re still on.”

AFTER HER FIRST riding lesson that afternoon, Megan was convinced she and Birdsong were meant for each other. Ethan wasn’t sure it might not be true. The mare had always been patient and imperturbable, except when it came to water. She was the only hydrophobic horse he’d ever encountered. That aside, she was a dream ride with a long, smooth gait. Having been Angela’s horse, she was also attuned to the young and infirm, making her ideal for a novice like Megan.

For Megan’s second lesson on Wednesday, Ethan had her walk slowly around the arena for ten minutes to warm up. She may have ridden every week for a year, but she hadn’t learned much. He suspected it was the fault of the instructor, because the girl was enthusiastic and smart.

From the fence, he continued to repeat instructions on how she should hold the reins and keep her legs straight, heels down. Like most beginners she tended to correct one thing only to lose concentration on another, but she tried so earnestly, he thoroughly enjoyed teaching her.

“My friend, Heather, wishes she could come out and ride with me, too,” Megan said as Birdsong walked into a corner and stood there.

“Rein her to the left and nudge her with your feet, like I showed you. That’s right.”

“Who’s Heather?” Kayla asked. She was standing a few feet away on the other side of the fence. The day was exceptionally warm for mid-February, so instead of a jacket, she was wearing a man’s flannel shirt. In her snug jeans she was definitely eye-catching, but then she’d look good in anything. Or nothing.

Don’t even go there.

“A girl in my class.” Megan grew very serious. “Her mommy and daddy were killed in a car crash, so now she has to live with people she doesn’t know.”

“Heather Gibbs?” Ethan asked. When Megan nodded, he lowered his voice and explained to Kayla, “She and her parents were coming home from a two-week vacation in Corpus Christi last summer when a van tried to pass them. It blew out a tire and careened into their vehicle. They were pushed into on-coming traffic just as an 18-wheeler was approaching. Heather had been sleeping in the backseat and miraculously survived without a scratch.”

“But why is she living with strangers?” Kayla asked.

“As I recall neither parents had siblings, so there was no extended family to take her in.” He shook his head. “I didn’t realize Heather had ended up in foster care though. Boy, that’s rough. Keep your heels down, Megan,” he called out.

After another half hour, he decided his student had ridden long enough. Megan wouldn’t admit it but she was getting tired.

“Can I walk her out to the pasture?” she asked after she’d dismounted and was lovingly petting the animal’s neck.

“Yep,” Ethan said. “Then you have to clean her stall before we bring her in again for supper.”

“That’s easy. I don’t mind, even if it is poop.”

He laughed softly and hoped she never lost that enthusiasm. After removing the saddle and replacing the bridle with a halter, they walked Birdsong to the pasture. Once let loose, the mare whinnied to her friends and charged toward them with a kick and a fart, making Megan cup her hands over her mouth and giggle.

“I wonder if Heather’s foster parents would let her come out here to ride after school?” he mused, as he and Kayla watched Megan run to the barn.

She shook her head. “I don’t imagine they can afford lessons, and I’m sure the state would consider horseback riding a nonreimbursable luxury.”

“I don’t mean formal lessons, just come out here with Megan and ride around for a while. It’s great therapy for troubled kids. I wouldn’t charge her.”

“That’s awfully generous.”

He shrugged dismissively. “I have an old gelding she can ride. Fiddlesticks isn’t going to run away with anyone.”

“Let me make a few phone calls tonight and see what I can set up.”

WHEN HEATHER GIBBS arrived with Megan Friday afternoon, Ethan recognized her from a talk he’d given about horses at the elementary school last spring at rodeo time. The same age as Megan, she was an inch or two taller, a pretty brown-haired girl, who’d be a real beauty one day.

Ethan remembered her as a bubbly kid who’d raised her hand several times to ask good questions. Now she seemed passive and lethargic, and there was terrible sadness in her blue eyes. No wonder, after what she’d gone through. A happy little girl on vacation with her family one day, a lonely, confused orphan the next.

Ever the leader, Megan dragged her by the hand to meet Ethan. “This is my friend Heather. She’s never ridden a horse before.”

“Hello, Heather.” Ethan extended his hand. “Welcome to the Broken Spoke Ranch.”

Unsure of herself, Heather placed her hand like a paw in his. He shook it once, then let it go. She still hadn’t said a word. Ethan caught Kayla’s eye and the message that passed between them told him she was as troubled by the melancholy child as he was.

“Come on—” he did his best to sound upbeat “—let me show you around.”

They all walked over to the fence, where he pointed to the horses in the pasture. He was beginning to name them when Megan took over. He just smiled and listened, impressed by her accurate description of each: Lottie, the one with one white sock; Izzy, who had a star in the middle of her face. She rattled off the names of the paint, the bay, the sorrel and the chestnut.

“Those are the mares,” Megan explained, “the girl horses. The boy horses are kept in another pasture so they won’t fight over the girls. Come on, I’ll show you where they are.”

“Since you’ve never ridden before,” Ethan told Heather a little while later, “why don’t you watch Megan ride for a few minutes, see what she does, then if you’d like to ride, too, I’ll put you up on Fiddlesticks.”

“Birdsong is my horse,” Megan informed her. Not for the first time, Ethan suspected.

Kayla sat with Heather on the bench Carter had moved to the side of the arena. Ethan saw Kayla speak to the shy girl from time to time, but as far as he could tell Heather said virtually nothing in return.

After twenty minutes, Ethan told Megan she could ride in the arena by herself, but only at the walk.

He went over to where Heather was sitting. “Would you like to try now?”

She nodded shyly.

“Let’s go meet Fiddlesticks then.”

She took the hand he offered and together they went to the hitching post where he’d tied the gelding next to a mounting block. Knowing how intimidating a full-size horse could be to a child, he didn’t rush things.

“First, let’s get you two acquainted.” Still holding her hand, he guided her onto the first step. It was steep and she lost her balance, panicked and clung to his neck.

“I’ve got you,” he assured her.

For a moment she seemed reluctant to let him go. What was running through her mind? Ethan wondered. Had her dad been the kind of man to hold his daughter when she was frightened or tired? Had anyone held her since her parents had disappeared from her life?

“Fiddlesticks, this is Heather,” he told the horse. “She’d like to ride you this afternoon.” The animal just stood there, of course.

As he had with Megan, he showed Heather how to hold out her hand so the horse could sniff it. “Good as a handshake,” he said, and encouraged her to rub the nose. He saw the hint of a smile on her face when she did. The velvety softness of a horse’s snout always fascinated the uninitiated.

“Ready?” he asked.

He sensed both her apprehension and excitement when she nodded. Assuring her everything was going to be fine, he lifted her into the saddle. “Being as this is your first time, you can hold on to the horn, if you want to.”

He walked the twenty-five-year-old gelding—his father’s favorite—toward the arena, confident the horse wouldn’t spook, especially with a child on his back.

“Looking good, Heather.” Kayla smiled up at the girl as she opened the arena gate so they could enter.

Ethan kept the pace slow as he led her first in one direction, then in the other. Fiddlesticks was patient, and Heather began to relax. Not completely, but her initial fear was dissipating.

The girls had just finished and dismounted when Luella appeared with a plate of homemade cookies. She was a small woman, only a little over five feet, and despite her expertise in the kitchen, she was quite slender. Almost sixty, she’d been with the Ritters over thirty years.

“I figured you girls could use a break,” she said, “and I thought you might like to try my pecan-butter cookies. They’re like peanut butter cookies, ’cept they’re made with pecans, of course.”

Ethan reached for one. She slapped his fingers. “Mind your manners. Guests first. Besides, you’ll hog them all and nobody else will get a chance to even taste them.”

She held out the plate for Kayla and the girls, and Ethan watched Kayla almost melt in front of him as she bit into one. He smiled at Luella, who smiled back.

“Now if you don’t like them,” she said, “you just tell me, and I’ll fix something else next time.”

“Mmm. These are delicious,” Kayla said.

“Yummy.” Megan took a second.

Ethan watched Heather as she nibbled the edge of hers. All of a sudden tears were streaming down her face. Putting an arm across her shoulder, he didn’t have to ask what was bothering her. He just let her cry against his shirt.

KAYLA WAS IMPRESSED with Ethan’s skill at handling the traumatized child. He hadn’t pushed, as many adults did with children who were withdrawn. He accepted her silence and her tears as perfectly natural. Kayla hadn’t missed the way the girl had clung to him when she’d lost her balance or again when he’d helped her onto the horse, either. In those fleeting moments it occurred to Kayla that the girl was reaching out for more than physical support, and to Kayla’s amazement, Ethan seemed to understand that.

How had he developed this remarkable rapport with children?

“Did you have a good time today?” she asked as she drove Heather home. Her foster mom was too busy to come and get her. Kayla didn’t mind, even if it was fifteen miles, round-trip.

“Yes, ma’am,” Heather answered softly, as if she wasn’t supposed to be there.

“Would you like to come again?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Kayla heard a spark of hope in this reply.

She couldn’t imagine the depth of loneliness and despair the poor child had endured. She herself had been a toddler when her mother had died in an automobile accident. She had no clear memory of Carol Crawford, just a few snapshots of the pretty young woman Kayla had come to resemble. Her father had been her whole world. She’d often wished he’d remarry so she could have a mother like other children, but he’d never even dated when she was growing up. He’d been a good dad, though; always there when she needed him.

“I’ll stop and talk to Mrs. Rayborn and see if you can come to the Broken Spoke with Megan during the week. Okay?”

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.”

Had she always been so polite? So compliant? Or had she learned to be this submissive?

The neighborhood Heather lived in wasn’t a slum, but it wasn’t too far removed from one, either. The houses were old, small and close together. Many of them needed painting. Only a few still had one-car garages. Most of the others had been converted to living space. Cars were parked on the street, under tacked-on carports and, occasionally, on lawns.

“Megan, please stay here while I talk to Mrs. Rayborn. I won’t be long.”

The woman who answered the door seemed about to yell as she swung it open. She stopped when she saw Kayla and Heather.

“Are you Mrs. Rayborn? I spoke to you yesterday on the phone. I’m Kayla Price. I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

On the other side of forty, Leona Rayborn was a big woman in height and girth. She had an infant propped against her shoulder. A TV blared behind her. How the baby slept through the din was a mystery.

“Oh, hi. Did you have a good time riding, Heather?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’m glad. Now go change your clothes, honey, and clean your room.”

The girl brushed past her and ran inside.

“And be sure to throw your dirty clothes in the hamper this time,” Mrs. Rayborn called after her. “We eat in fifteen minutes.”

She turned back to Kayla. “Place is a madhouse this time of day, what with meals and getting the little ones ready for bed. Randy’s late again, so it’s all on me. Thanks for bringing her home.” She was about to close the door when Kayla spoke up.

“If I can just take a minute…. Would it be all right to have the school bus drop Heather off at the Broken Spoke with my daughter after school on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays? She seems to enjoy riding, and I think it’ll be good for her. Megan really enjoys being with her.”

“I’m glad she’s finally making friends—” Leona shifted the baby to her other shoulder “—but if this is going to cost anything—”

“Not a cent,” Kayla assured her. “Mr. Ritter doesn’t want any money.”

“Monday, Wednesday and Friday, you say. Somebody will have to do her chores on those days.”

“Can she trade days with one of the other children?”

The woman thought a minute. “If horseback riding’ll get her out of that shell, I guess we can work something out. You’ll have to bring her home, though. I can’t go running out after her. Enough to do around here with all the others.”

“How many children do you have?” Kayla asked.

“Six, including this one. Just got him yesterday. Three months old. The little ones are the most work. Probably shouldn’t have taken him, but the poor thing’s got no place else to go. Make sure Heather’s home by six. That’s when we eat.”

“If we’re late, I’ll pick something up for her along the way,” Kayla offered.

“That’ll be fine. You got a cell phone?”

Kayla nodded.

“I’d appreciate it if you’d call and let me know. And please, not a bunch of junk. I’m having enough trouble getting her to eat properly. I sure don’t want her getting sick on me, too.”

“I’ll be careful. I promise. And thank you, Leona. I know Heather will appreciate it.”

“Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Got it. I’ll let her know.”

“Is she going to be able to come, Mommy?” Megan asked the second Kayla opened the car door.

“Yes, honey. Three days a week.”

“Yay!”

Kayla drove away wishing she could do more for the sad little girl.