Читать книгу Second Chance Christmas - Pamela Tracy - Страница 11

Chapter Three

Breakfast at the Lost Dutchman was huge, designed for the many guests staying at the dude ranch, as was supper. Lunch, however, was on your own or a pre-packaged sandwich-chips-apple combination. It was well past lunchtime, but Fridays usually meant guests arriving after the noon hour, so Cook always had boxed lunches available for sale: her father’s idea.

He sat across from her, talking on his cell phone, not so much barking orders as giving advice. He was good at both. Elise listened as her dad advised someone who obviously knew little about ranching to not spend all their money on upgrades.

Her dad did have a certain “either do it yourself or pay it all off before the next venture” kind of attitude.

Her senior year, they’d planned out her college career. If she’d followed his advice, she’d be nearly debt-free by now. But that plan had gone out the window when she’d given up her rodeo scholarship and set out in a whole new direction with her life.

Finally, Dad ended the call and handed her the boxed lunch he’d brought in. “If you want something else, Cook will make it. He’s always had a soft spot for you.”

She’d already stopped in the kitchen and gotten her hug.

She pushed the box back toward him. “I’m not really hungry.”

As if to prove her wrong, Cook hurried from the kitchen. Slightly stooped, more than chubby, with dark tufts of hair on either side of his head and then a swatch of baldness across the top, he looked exactly the way she remembered him. Cook’s real name was David Cook. Thus, he liked being called Cook. He was a great buddy of her father’s and traveled the rodeo circuit with him. Back then his nickname had been Tumble.

“I remembered your favorite,” he bragged. He plopped the plate in front of her. Two peanut butter, honey and raisin sandwiches, no crust. A few chips spilled from the sides. The only thing missing from her childhood was—

“Would you like a glass of milk?”

“I’d like that very much, Cook.”

He nodded, and hurried off.

Her father cleared his throat. “We’re always glad when you stop by to visit.”

He was trying. She knew that. A man accustomed to being in charge, he hadn’t taken it well when she’d broken away from his plans for her. When she’d first moved away, he’d ordered her back. When that didn’t work, he’d threatened. And, when that didn’t work, he’d cajoled. By that time she was enrolled in school and doing well. He’d admitted defeat, but not gracefully.

“How did the job interview go today?” He leaned back, a toothpick in his mouth and an attitude of good-ole-boy that worked with everyone but her.

“It went well. If I want the job, it’s mine. They gave me a week to decide.”

“Any chance Two Mules won’t lay you off?”

“No, it’s a small office. I figure it’s a matter of days, minutes even.”

“Will it really be so bad, coming back here to work?”

She thought about it, swallowed and slowly shook her head. How many times had she told a client that the best way to battle the past was to face it? She’d always felt guilty that she was giving advice she didn’t follow.

“It’s just that I was finally getting more activities for the teenagers. I had the local library doing tutoring and study groups. And—” she looked up at her dad, smiling “—I had a rancher willing to help kids get ready for rodeo competitions.” Her dad already knew this. She’d called him a dozen times asking for advice. She continued, “I just know that if the teens had something productive and active to do with their time, they’d not get in so much trouble.”

Her dad nodded. “No reason you can’t do the same here.” Elise didn’t answer. Instead, she took a big bite of her sandwich and tried to tame the turmoil in her heart.

“What if I get it started and before fruition, I’m let go? Apache Creek isn’t that big. Budget cuts could happen here, too.”

“That’s not what’s keeping you from taking the job.” Her father knew her too well. Sitting across from him now, she thought about the years he’d guided her, always giving her a safe place to land. Too many of her kids, her clients, didn’t have such a place, let alone a father.

Jacob Hubrecht still had a full head of hair, light brown and brushed to the side. His eyebrows were bushy, his mouth wide. Age had given him wrinkles, very defined. Age had also, finally, given him patience. He’d always been the bomb going off in a room, setting people scrambling to please him. Now he knew to hold the match, hold off on lighting the fuse, see what might happen.

Elise finished one sandwich and moved on to the next. Across from her, her father was already finished. Some days, he’d finish a box lunch and ask for a second or third. Other times, he grazed all day. She was the same way. It drove Eva nuts. Her big sister, the one who managed the guest services at the Lost Dutchman, was all about rules and schedules: breakfast at eight, lunch available eleven to one, dinner at six. Snacks could be bananas or crackers or something.

“It’s part of it,” Elise said. “Did you know so many kids are getting in trouble here in Apache Creek? Did you tell them to call me?”

She should have suspected his part before now. He and Mike Hamm were tight.

Dad, however, shook his head. “They called me to see if I thought you’d be willing to move back. I said they should talk to you. Even if you weren’t interested in the job, I said they should see exactly what you’re doing to find out if we could try it here. I know they’ve tossed around ideas, everything from hiring a security guard to walk the halls all the way up to instigating some sort of Scared Straight program. Every idea gets shot down.”

“Why?”

“At first, it was a money issue. Now, though, I think everyone’s willing to find money in the budget. But what’s the solution? No one’s sure. I don’t remember it being this bad when you kids were in school.”

“How bad is it?

“Jasmine Taylor ran away. She’s only seventeen. Her parents are worried sick, and no one seems to know where she is or why she ran.”

Elise said the first thing that came to mind. “Maybe she got pregnant and is afraid to tell her parents.”

“She didn’t have a boyfriend that they can figure out. She’s as shy as a mouse. Her parents say she spent more time on her horse than she did with friends. The police took the family computer and figured out that she did an internet search on running away. Her parents think she both saved and stole about three hundred dollars. She wrote them a note.”

“So they wouldn’t think she was kidnapped or murdered,” Elise murmured as she cleaned the last of the chips from her plate. Jasmine appeared to come from a nice home, plenty of food and money. But appearances could be deceiving. A nice home, plenty of food, and money were tangible entities. Emotional abuse knew how to hide in such an environment.

“And then there’s David Cagnalia,” her father continued. “His mother called me last week. She wants me to let him work here, free, so he’d get some guidance.”

“Did you agree?”

“I did. I’ve always had a soft spot for him and his little brothers. Last year, Jesse gave the younger ones riding lessons. Guess I’d better get them back here, too. It’s hard on Margaret Cagnalia, being a single mother of three boys.”

“You were a single father of three girls,” Elise pointed out.

“Don’t be getting all Brady Bunch on me.” Her dad shook his toothpick at her.

“And don’t call me Alice!” Cook shouted from the kitchen.

“We weren’t hurting financially when your mother passed on,” her father said. “I was able to hire help when I needed it. Plus, I worked where we lived. I was always available to you girls. If not me, then Cook or Harold,” he pointed out, referring to the ranch’s longtime foreman.

It was the opening Elise needed to change the subject. “I think I’ll head down to the stables. I’d like to see how Pistol’s doing, maybe visit a minute or two with Harold.” Back when she was in high school, she’d ridden Pistol every day, training for the rodeo. It was strange to think how long she’d been out of the saddle now.

“Harold would love to see you. He’s got some ideas about Pistol. You might be interested.”

“He’s not thinking about retiring and taking Pistol with him, is he?” Elise joked. There were days she’d thought about renting a stall, bringing Pistol to Two Mules. In reality, though, she usually left her trailer at six in the morning and returned at eight at night. She’d be lucky to get one ride in a week. And Pistol, a brown bay with black mane, was lively. High impulsion, her father always said. If Pistol wasn’t exercised regularly, he developed an attitude.

“That man will retire after I do,” her father said.

A few minutes later, walking down to the stables in a light rain, Elise thought about her father’s words. Jacob Hubrecht never spoke about retiring, ever. Now that Jesse, Eva’s husband, was helping more, maybe retirement was a possibility. But Jesse Campbell could never love the Lost Dutchman the way Jacob did.

The way Elise did.

She turned around, facing the main house and stared at it, soaking it in, fusing it to her memory.

It was a brown/yellow/orange mixture of color that matched the desert surrounding it and boasted a combination of Santa Fe style and Old West relic. The front porch jutted out and had what looked like tree trunks holding it up. A replica of a Conestoga wagon was to the left of the porch; a modern playground was to the right, complete with a bright blue jungle gym. The rocking chairs on the porch were new. Only the cacti looked exactly the same as they had during her childhood: hot and dry.

Her father had built most of it.

More than once, she’d heard the spiel he gave guests. “She started life as a one-room cabin. Man I bought her from had added two rooms, but neither was up to code. I added electricity, running water and furniture. A few years later, when my wife got pregnant with Eva, she insisted on a bigger house. I completed this beauty when she had my third daughter, Emily.”

Elise closed her eyes. She could remember her mother. Naomi Hubrecht had been a slender woman, brown-skinned and strong. Just like Elise. Naomi had ridden many a trail with her husband, and Jacob liked to say she was the only woman who could keep up with him.

“Until you,” he’d add, meaning Elise. On that note, Elise turned and continued down the path to the stable. With every step, she saw her past. She’d played amidst the green plants and cacti that flanked the road. Every few yards there was a swing with a canopy. She and Cooper had spent many a night looking at the stars and planning their future. The last thing she passed was a one-room schoolhouse. Judging by the laughter echoing through its walls and to her ears, Patti de la Rosa—the ranch’s secretary—was inside, doing crafts with some of the guests’ children.

A snort, the horse kind and not the human kind, welcomed her to the stable. Hay crackled a bit under her shoes. Molasses, manure and leather combined together. The sweet smell of home.

Harry Potter, one of the trail horses, was in a stall with a white bandage around his back left ankle. To this day, Elise was amazed that her father let Emily the bookworm name so many of the horses. There had been a moment when Pistol was in danger of being called Wimpy Kid.

Elise smiled. It felt good. As did the entrance to the stable that had at one time been her favorite spot.

Harold Mull looked at her when she entered, half smiled and went back to talking to Harry Potter. “Now, boy, easy does it. You’re always getting hurt. Why’d you step into the fence? And, once you stepped in, why did you keep moving until you were hurt? You could have snapped a bone.”

“He going to be all right?”

“Harry Potter,” Harold predicted, “will be fine.” Once Harold finally seemed satisfied with the horse’s bandage, he came around the front and exited the stall. Soon, Elise was in a hug that reminded her of the stable: warm, filled with the scent of molasses and leather. Harold’s hair was silver, thick, and fit his head like an upside-down bowl. His face was permanently tanned, lined and partly obscured by a full mustache. He looked intimidating and had a gruff attitude to match. In all her days, she’d never seen him hug anyone else. Just her.

The first time it had happened, she’d been eight and in Cinderella’s stall crying. She didn’t want to be in the main house. Mama wasn’t coming home, or so everyone said. The stable was much safer. Nothing had changed down here.

Harold had settled right down beside her and just sat for a while. Then he’d tried singing. There was a reason he was a wrangler and not a country music star. Finally, he’d pulled her in his lap, wrapped his arms around her and rocked. She’d fallen asleep, and he’d carried her home.

They’d been close ever since.

“Pistol needs his exercise,” Harold mentioned. “Harry Potter’s kept me busy all morning.”

Elise looked out the stable door and to her truck. Then she looked out the back of the stable, to the arena, and saw Pistol tied to the fence, waiting his turn. If she went for a ride, she’d wind up staying the night. She’d stayed the night for Eva’s wedding. That would be two nights this year. Zero nights for the previous nine.

You’re needed in Apache Creek.

“I’ll do it. Let me go change clothes and tell Dad I’m staying.”

“Good girl,” Harold said, in exactly the same tone that he used for the horses.

Twenty minutes later, Elise had on her rain gear and opened the gate to the arena. Pistol stood still for a few moments. Then he started pounding the ground with his left front hoof. His body pressed into the fence as he tried to turn.

“You never forget me. Do you, boy?”

The quick ride turned into three hours. Something about the rainbow, about the small streams forming in the ground, and the way the air smelled, kept her going. When Elise returned to the stable, she removed his tack, groomed him and put him in his stall before heading to the main house just in time for supper.

Eva would be pleased.

Elise, the tension gone from her shoulders, and feeling a good sort of tired, was pleased, too. The warm feeling carried her through supper and through an hour of family time in the Arizona room—where everyone was careful not to make too much of Elise’s staying the night.

“Where’s Jesse?” Elise asked after Dad finished sharing Emily’s latest endeavor. As part of an honor’s project, she was working for the Grand Canyon Trust to build homes for Native Americans. She lived farther away from the Lost Dutchman than Elise, but she made it home every few months and every school vacation.

“He’s looking into buying a horse from Sunshine Stables over in Queen Creek. The truck broke down near a couple of hours ago. He’s getting it fixed. Guess it’s pouring there.” Dad checked his watch.

From her spot kneeling in front of the loom, Eva said, “I thought he’d be back by now. I’ve called twice and texted once.”

“He’s probably by a mountain,” Timmy said, sounding just like Jacob, and at six already a well-informed cell phone user. When Elise went to bed just after ten, Jesse still wasn’t home. This visit, since the Lost Dutchman was sold out, she was sleeping in Eva’s old room. Eva and Jesse were building a home on the west side of the property. Dad had given them the master bedroom until it was finished. He was using the apartment over the stable that had been Jesse and Timmy’s when they first moved to the ranch because Eva’s bedroom was “too plumb small!” Even smaller was Emily’s old bedroom—now converted into a bedroom for Timmy, just as Elise’s old room had been turned into an office.

After what felt like just a few hours of sleep, someone rapped on the door. The sound was soft, polite, at first. Then it got louder, a heavy knocking on the door until she muttered, “Come in.”

Timmy opened the door, stuck his head in and then tiptoed over. “It’s five in the morning. You’re going to miss breakfast.”

Elise doubted that’s what had him here, waking her up, sounding so much like her dad.

“Thanks.” She closed her eyes and turned over.

Timmy didn’t leave. Neither did his puppy, Goober, who jumped on the bed and landed next to Elise, his head on the pillow next to hers. Timmy cleared his throat. “Daddy got home an hour ago. He’s sleeping. Grandpa says we’re full up, and he can’t get away. Eva said to ask you.”

“Ask me what?” Elise mumbled into her pillow, figuring her one attempt at sleeping late had just ended.

“If you’ll take me on the gold-panning ride this morning.” Then his words came tumbling out. “If you do, I’ll never ask you for anything again, and I’ll forgive you for not getting me a present last Christmas.”

“I got you a present,” she protested, still talking to her pillow.

“A whole week after Christmas!”

“I’m going back to Two Mules today, honey. I can’t.”

In the hallway came Eva’s voice, soft but firm. “Can’t or won’t?”

“I’ve got things to do.” Elise rolled over and stared at the ceiling, wide awake now and trying to think fast.

“More important than your nephew?”

“You know that’s not the case.”

“You’re right.” Eva stepped to the door. “What has you the most scared is going on a ride with Cooper. Stepping into your old life. Helping out the family. We’ve got three horses in a trailer needing to be delivered to him. Guess the ride’s full. Say the word and we’ll load Pistol as well as Timmy’s horse.”

“I’m riding Harry Potter. He can really fly,” Timmy bragged.

This is why I don’t come home.

“I’m not scared of anything.” Now, Elise realized, she sounded very much like a middle child who always rose to the occasion when Eva baited her. Timmy’s head ping-ponged as he watched the sisters. Goober ignored them all and jumped on Elise’s stomach as if saying “You might as well get up.” Elise’s dogs often did the same thing.

“Prove it,” Eva said.

“I don’t have to prove anything.”

“Tell me, then, one thing you have on your appointment calendar that absolutely has to get done today or the world will end. I’ll add you to the church prayer list. You’ll receive a hundred cards. Then you’ll get phone calls.”

Elise threw off the blanket.

“Please, Aunt Elise, I need you to say yes. I want to go.”

Apache Creek needs you.

Looked as if she’d be going on a ride.

As the early morning fuzz cleared from her head and she looked out the window at the Arizona sunshine, she could only wonder about the power of prayer.

She knew for a fact that her father had prayed she’d stay the whole weekend.

Funny how this was working out.