Читать книгу The Long Road Home - Lynn Patrick - Страница 13
ОглавлениеSAM’S CELL BUZZED in his back pocket. It was after supper and he was alone doing dishes and thinking about how nice it had been to see Priscilla again. Maybe it was someone calling about lessons or rides for the next day, so he pulled the phone free with some excitement.
Pop.
He answered, “Yeah, Pop, what’s up?”
“You need to get over here, right away.”
“Are you okay?” Sam’s pulse rushed. “You didn’t fall again?”
“Don’t worry, I’m still on my feet. I got a bone to pick with you, Sam.”
Sam let out a breath. He didn’t know why he bothered worrying about the old man. So Pop had a bone to pick with him. Well, when didn’t he?
“Yeah, I’ll come by as soon as I’m done here.”
“Now, boy!”
That familiar, imperious tone made Sam’s gut clench. He took a really deep breath and told himself to stay calm. “All right. Be there in a few.”
“You’d better be!”
What was wrong this time?
Leaving the cabin, Sam climbed into the truck and headed for the main house a half mile down the road. Pop was always demanding his presence, never to have his company, rather to chide him about something. Just like in the bad old days. The reason he’d left and hadn’t looked back for so many years. It had taken something he didn’t even want to think about to make him consider coming home.
When Priscilla assumed Pop was his reason for returning to Sparrow Lake, he’d let her. Despite his reservations, he had wanted to check on the old man, but he had other reasons, too. He couldn’t go back to rodeoing, not after what had happened to him. Something he would never forget. But he didn’t owe Priscilla big explanations. Not about that. Not about the past. He’d always done what he’d thought he had to. Now he was starting over. And he’d known Pop had retired and was done with the land. He’d had to find a new way to make a living, but he was no dairy farmer.
He pulled up in front of the farmhouse, a white two-story with a wide porch, and parked in front of the steps. Not knowing what to expect, he entered the front vestibule with a sense of trepidation.
“Pop?”
“In here.”
Though nearly seventy, Dwayne Larson had a voice that was as deep and strong as it had ever been. Sam followed it into the dingy front parlor that looked exactly like it had fifteen years ago. Too crowded with old furniture, most of which was stacked with newspapers and magazines that his father refused to throw away. Why he still wanted to read Midwest Dairyman and keep years of back copies when he was retired was a mystery to Sam.
Ensconced in his favorite recliner, the casted leg up, Pop grumbled, “About time. What took you so long?”
Sam refused to respond to the bait. “What do you need, Pop?”
“For you to be responsible.”
Uh-oh. What new crime had he committed in his father’s eyes now?
“You’ll have to be a little more direct.”
“The boards you left lying around the parking area!”
“What boards?”
“The ones with big nails in them. Do you want to ruin your client’s tires?”
“This afternoon, the parking lot was fine. No boards with nails or otherwise.”
“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.
Mia sighed. “Talk to Alyssa.”
Priscilla went back to the living room, deciding she’d deal with the separate beds first, then the phone. She got the reluctant teenager to help her and Mia wheel the cot into the guest bedroom, but Alyssa was adamant about not turning off her phone.
“It’s bad for your rest!” Priscilla insisted. “You can’t sleep if you keep waking up to text.”
“I’m fine. And everybody does it.” Alyssa snapped, “My dad and mom bought me this phone and they think it’s okay.”
Was she going to have to call her brother? Priscilla wondered. She was sick of the debate and they’d only been going at it for a few minutes.
“If I have to stay in here with you, you’ll keep me awake,” complained Mia, sounding even more grouchy. She put her hands on her hips and faced her sister.
Alyssa gave the younger girl an evil stare. “Oh, okay, I’ll put my phone on vibrate, nerd. You won’t hear anything.” She looked at her aunt. “I have to know what’s going on. I can’t be out of the loop.”
Honestly, what on earth could be so important? Priscilla made the cot up with sheets and a pillow. “It’s not like the Department of Homeland Security will be calling you.”
Alyssa caught the sarcasm. Her eyes flashed. “My life is super important to me! I’m young and I don’t want to miss out. We already had to come to this stupid small town out in the middle of nowhere for the summer. Dad said...”
“Okay, okay,” Priscilla interrupted, trying not to feel insulted. The girl was only a teenager. And she simply didn’t want to make an international call over texting, for Pete’s sake. “Make sure you keep the phone on vibrate.”
“Yeah, you’d better,” grumbled Mia. “Or I’m going to be getting up and ramming the stupid thing down your throat!”
“Oh, you’re so tough!” Alyssa came back, looking ready to lunge.
“Whoa, whoa.” Priscilla grabbed Alyssa’s arm to intervene. She told Mia. “Your sister has promised to be quiet. You’re tired. Why don’t you get into your pajamas and climb into bed?”
Alyssa grumbled something before walking away and Mia went to her suitcase where she opened it on top of the dresser, rummaged around, and pulled out pink Hello Kitty pajamas. Priscilla would have to assure her mother that the garments were indeed being used.
After that, Priscilla returned to the living room but she wasn’t interested in TV. Disgruntled and out of sorts with all the upheaval, she went to her office to listen to some soothing music on headphones and play some computer solitaire until she felt calmer. Then she was able to place the orders she had planned and go over some invoices. When she decided it was time for bed, she came out to find that the TV was off and Alyssa was in the bathroom, a sliver of light seeping out from under the closed door.
Priscilla went to her own bedroom to change into her nightshirt. Then she peeped out into the hall, noting the apartment’s one bathroom was still closed. It might be closed for quite a while, too. She guessed she would have to grab her keys and go downstairs to use the bathroom in the store. With a teenager around, it would probably not be the first time. She only wished bathroom use would be the only problem her nieces presented. If they didn’t drive her crazy this summer, she would be lucky.
