The Rancher's Wyoming Twins
Author
Virginia McCullough
Reads
15,2K
Chapters
18
CHAPTER ONE
STARING AT THE sheep dotting the basin below, Heather Stanhope shaded her eyes against the glare of the afternoon sun. This spring’s lambs stayed close to their mothers as they grazed on the newly greened pasture. Heather guessed the total number of sheep as maybe three hundred. She found that puzzling—not because of how many sheep there were, but how few.
“Hey, you, you’re slacking off. That herb field of mine isn’t going to neaten its own rows.”
Heather turned and smiled at Jen, her best friend’s mother, who stood at the edge of the field with a farm cart mostly emptied of the chive seedlings she’d planted in her ever-expanding herb garden. “Busted. I guess I’m a little distracted. Sorry.”
“Big surprise. You’ve been distracted from the minute you arrived on my doorstep on this spectacular morning, honey.” Jen sighed happily as she swept her arm to encompass both her gardens and the view down the hill. “Did you ever see such a day in May?” She asked her rhetorical question as she walked down the row to Heather and put her arm around her shoulder. She gave her a quick squeeze before planting a kiss on top of her head. “My hands smell like bee balm and basil, and it won’t be long before we’ll detect lavender in the air. The scent of the dried oregano inside the shed made me daydream about whipping up a pasta sauce.”
Heather closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “A Wyoming spring definitely is in the air. The sheep and lambs are my welcoming committee.” She smiled at Jen. “And you, of course, with your garden cart and lots of chores I can do to earn my keep.”
Jen shook her head. “Heather, I’ll be frank. Seeing you gazing at those sheep hurts my heart. You know that dwelling on them or that land isn’t going to—”
“Make those sheep mine. Or bring back what used to be mine,” Heather blurted. She should be the one to acknowledge the truth. “Or change anything at all.” No one, especially not the people closest to her, needed to point out the obvious. Heather stabbed the loose soil with the toe of her boot. She’d sworn she’d push down her sadness and keep her irrational longings to herself.
Heather looked into Jen’s soft blue eyes. Beautiful eyes now full of concern. “Maybe I shouldn’t have come back this early,” Heather said. “Bethany’s wedding is almost two months off. Better yet, I should have stayed away altogether.” She winced. Now that was a thought better kept to herself.
“And leave Bethany without her maid of honor? Unthinkable. You know she wouldn’t take one step down any aisle without you here.” Giving Heather no time to respond, Jen nodded toward the newly tilled rows in her herb garden. Some seedlings were already in, and the perennials were poking through the soil. “Thanks for lending a hand with this, honey. We’ve got a lot to do before Spring Fling on Saturday.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m at your service.” Maybe a few things had changed in her hometown of Adelaide Creek, but not Spring Fling. It was still the town’s biggest festival of the year and drew visitors from all over the county and beyond. Spring Fling had started long before Heather was born, and judging from the billboards on the road into town, it had recently expanded what it offered. When Heather grew up here, the population had hovered around four hundred on its best day, but Bethany had said it was gaining a few new families every year.
“How ’bout you finish cleaning up the tarragon and thyme rows?” Jen said. “Then I’ll show you some of the wool I’m offering.”
Straightening and squaring her shoulders, Heather forced a smile. “Whatever you need, Jen.”
Taking the cart with her, Jen headed back to her shed. Earlier, Heather had peeked inside to get a glimpse of the bins of last year’s dried herbs Jen packaged for teas and sachets.
Thick gray clouds had formed rapidly and blocked the midafternoon sun. Heather glanced again at the gradual slope from where she stood on the ridge to the flat acres of the basin. Her Stanhope ancestors had once owned all of it and even more land outside her line of vision. Beyond it, foothills and more ridges and then the line of mountains, a constant presence for most of her life.
She hadn’t been there to see the freak April blizzard, but Heather easily pictured the winter when three or four feet of snow covered the hills and pastures. She’d known that storm was on its way because she still checked the Wyoming weather almost daily. Force of habit, she supposed. Then the melt-off and rain had arrived. With a little luck, more rain would fall in May.
“Our land has a lot of energy now,” her dad, a true sheepman if there ever was one, used to say when May brought buds to the crab apple and Hawthorn trees, the hardy dogwoods. The greening of the ground brought blankets of early flowers.
Heather had reveled in that energy and had been on intimate terms with every acre. In her mind’s eye, she took a trip through that land and said hello to the admittedly ramshackle house, the barn and hay bales, horses and stables, and the sheep shelters and water troughs in the pastures.
Along with her brother, Jeff, and their mom and dad, Heather had put in long days herding and otherwise tending their sheep in both bitter cold and blistering heat. She’d grown up witnessing the violent storms of spring and the snow runoff that made the actual Adelaide—Addie—Creek spill over its banks.
A few months later, every rancher and farmer begged for that water when stretches of rainless summer days opened cracks in the parched earth. The land in front of her had supported five generations of Stanhopes.
Until it didn’t.
“Buck up. No whining. None of it matters anymore,” Heather muttered to herself as she turned away from the sight of the sheep. She had work to do in Jen’s herb garden. She had to laugh at herself, though. Who was she kidding? She could pretend she’d put her losses behind her, but some of the hurt burrowed deep in her being. The best she could do was learn how to make peace with it.
Four years ago, when she and her brother had been forced to abandon their old life, most everyone had wanted them to look on the so-called bright side. A phantom, she and Jeff agreed. Even the loan officers at the bank cheerfully pointed out that at least they’d walked away free of the debts that had burdened her family for decades.
And wasn’t Heather lucky? She had the chance to take her skills as a pediatric nurse practitioner on the road. She could create a shiny new life anywhere she chose. Well-meaning words for sure, and from people she’d known all her life, but they had zero chance of accomplishing their mission. Back then, no balm in the world had had the power to soothe the pain of her losses.
Speaking of balm, Heather patted down the mulch, expanding the space devoted to these new bee balm plants that Jen added to her tea blends. The rest of this field was dominated by lavender plants tough enough to make it through the harsh weather and end up in Jen’s sachets.
When she reached the end of the last row, she dusted off her jeans, took off her baseball cap and let her hair fly free. She headed back to the shed, taking in every sight and smell as she loped along. She calculated when the mock orange on the side of the house would bloom or the patches of prairie clover might cover the edges of the fields. The double doors of the shed were open, and she stepped inside and stood next to Jen, who was packaging and labeling herbs at the long table. “Reporting for duty, Jen.”
Jen gave her a playful shove. “Nope, I’ve changed my mind. You’ve helped enough for your first afternoon home. You go on and get settled in at the bunkhouse. Bethany will be coming along soon, anyway. Then I’ll see you both for dinner later.”
Heather didn’t protest. Excited to see Bethany—in person—for the first time in four years, she was ready to unpack. She also was a little worn out from the long hours in her SUV. She’d stretched the twelve-hundred-mile drive into a week-long trip from Red Wing, Minnesota, to Adelaide Creek. She’d played tourist and hiked and biked on trails and spent four days in South Dakota exploring the Badlands and Mount Rushmore. Everywhere she went in the Upper Midwest, she took in the landscape made magical by the onset of spring.
Finally, though, Heather’s precious Wyoming cottonwoods welcomed her back home.
“Quit calling it that. It’s not home anymore,” she reminded herself.
She’d been gone four years now on nursing assignments, two years in Red Wing, and the previous two years split between assignments on pediatric units in hospitals in Charleston and Savannah. Now, though, she was ready to stop roaming. Instead, she intended to build herself a full life.
Part of her newly formed resolve came from seeing Bethany so happy planning her future with Charlie Goodman. Before Heather had left Red Wing for this extended break, she’d noted places she could approach on her search for a permanent job. She’d even scanned real estate listings. If she bought a house in Red Wing, roots were sure to grow.
Heather navigated the twists and turns of the bumpy and slightly muddy path, a shortcut to Bethany’s converted bunkhouse a quarter-mile walk from the sprawling buildings and the farmhouse where Jen and Dan lived. In several weeks, perhaps by Bethany’s Fourth of July wedding, the field around the shortcut would be splashed with sunflowers and primrose and blanket flower. They’d last until the path turned to dust in the fall.
Bethany’s bunkhouse was the last place Heather had stayed before she’d driven away from Adelaide Creek for good. She’d always cherish her time living in what looked like a cozy cottage inside but was, and always would be, known as the bunkhouse. Heartbroken and angry, Heather had steered her car southeast and vowed never to come back to this town. Ever. It didn’t matter that the creek snaking through the Stanhope ranch and well beyond was named after her great-great-grandmother Adelaide. So what if the once-scruffy outpost town then named itself after the same creek? Who cared about that Adelaide? No one.
When she was a kid, that historical tidbit about the Stanhope family had given her and Jeff bragging rights. And brag they had. Her face turned red even thinking about the way she and Jeff had acted like they owned the town. Now, with the Stanhopes gone, how the town got its name was only a bit of mostly forgotten local trivia.
Her gait changed from the heaviness setting in. Nothing new, though. It happened every time she thought of her brother. Like her, Jeff had slammed the door behind him when he’d left Adelaide Creek for points unknown. While she’d reported for duty on her first assignment in the pediatrics department at a hospital near Charleston, Jeff had headed west without giving her a way to reliably reach him, other than a cell phone number he rarely answered. He’d been clear enough when he’d declared himself done with everything from the past. Including her, apparently.
The last she knew, Jeff had signed on as crew on a commercial fishing boat out of Seattle. In her wildest imaginings, she’d never thought about a time when she and her brother wouldn’t be involved in each other’s lives.
Farther down the path, Heather left the herb field and the basin behind, but Jen’s flock came into view. The two dozen or so sheep stood or lay in clusters, the picture of contentment in the sheared-down version of themselves. After the dip in her mood over the whereabouts of her brother, Heather’s spirits lifted looking at the Shetland sheep with their finely crimped coats. They weren’t pets, but somehow those prized wool producers sure seemed like it.
Bethany had sent videos of the Icelandic sheep her mom had more recently added. They weren’t exactly exotic, but their small size and short legs made them look different. Their mostly bare faces and heavy tan-and-brown coats weren’t a regular sight in Wyoming sheep country. At least, they hadn’t been when she was growing up.
At first look, Heather found the Icelanders, as Jen called them, amusing and a little out of place, like tourists who’d decided to stay but didn’t know quite how to blend in. On the plus side, like Jen pointed out on her videos, these critters didn’t mind the frozen, snowy winters and, best of all, her customers loved their wool.
Heather abruptly came to a stop, suddenly conscious of the tension building inside her. She shook her hands to loosen the muscles. Then she rubbed her palms as if she could massage away the cause of her frustration. She leaned forward, rested her hands on her thighs and emptied her lungs, making a deep guttural sound.
She loved the Hoovers—Bethany, Jen and Dan—with her whole heart. They were family, not of blood but forged in friendship, love and time—thirty-two years so far. But she’d never envied anyone with the same hot intensity that she envied them.
Unlike Heather’s family, Dan and Jen had kept their eyes open and read the flashing warning signs about diminishing wool and lamb markets. The old sheep-raising ways were vanishing and had left many behind, even some of the large landmark ranches built from next to nothing.
But her parents had held on, taking greater risks and adding to the debt her grandparents had left behind. Hadn’t each generation of Stanhopes survived through these cycles many times before? Dips in markets were inevitably followed by rebounds.
Short-lived revivals, Jen had warned, which had led her to carve an early niche in the fiber market. Jen’s struggle to adapt to change had morphed into a passion. Jen liked to say her sheep lived the good life, and because of these special creatures, so did she.
Heather straightened and forced herself to get moving. She’d been over and over the series of bad decisions her parents had perpetuated. Sometimes she even made peace with them. But this morning, as she’d driven into familiar territory, she’d found herself wrestling with all the memories, the light ones as well as the dark.
The sight of the “nothing fancy bunkhouse,” as Bethany dubbed it, sent her mood on the upswing again. She lingered on the long porch with its stacked firewood at one end. Two rocking chairs sat side by side, the best welcome sign of all. During their breaks from nursing school, she and Bethany had whiled away many hours in the rockers listening to the buzzes, hoots and croaks of summer nights. In every season, this porch and the yard had been a premiere spot for stargazing. The two had sent wishes to the full moon, too, a ritual they’d believed they’d invented when they were still little girls with pigtails.
The bunkhouse was now a two-bedroom cottage with a fireplace and windows large enough to bring the outside in, especially the vistas of the mountains in the distance. At that moment, the angles and peaks were dark cutouts against a sky now turned purplish pink as the sun began its descent behind the range.
She got busy unpacking and was nearly finished piling sweaters and T-shirts into the dresser in the guest bedroom when she heard a car coming up the driveway. She was on the porch in time to see Bethany pull in.
Heather hurried to the driver’s side and, two seconds later, Bethany was out of the car and hugging her so hard she could barely breathe.
Her best friend since babyhood threw her head back and let out a long wolf howl. “That’s how happy I am to see you.” She stepped back and held Heather at arm’s length. “You’re still a tiny dark-haired princess.”
Stinging tears pooled in Heather’s eyes, but she dammed them up fast with her index fingers. “And you’re still a stunning blonde queen. Even in your scrubs, you’re already a radiant bride.”
Bethany waved her off. “Pfft...don’t be silly. I’m radiant right now because you’re here. At last. Video chats don’t cut it.” Bethany narrowed her blue eyes in mock reproach. “Hmm... I don’t want to see tears, girlfriend. Let’s just be happy.”
“I’ll try. I promise.” Heather followed Bethany up the stairs. “I’m excited about staying in the bunkhouse while you’re still living in it. I guess it’s your last chance to enjoy this place.”
“Right, my last chance, but not yours. You can park yourself here anytime you feel like it for as long as you want.” Inside the cottage, the fireplace and wide windows on three walls dominated the open space. “When we come back from dinner with Mom and Dad, we’ll start a fire and break open a bottle of wine.”
“Like old times,” Heather said. “Everything I see brings back memories of all the things we did together here, even our moaning and groaning about having to wash those huge windows.”
“I still gripe about that.” Bethany flashed one of her amused, lopsided grins. Everything about her was a younger version of Jen. Mother-daughter matching blue eyes, blond hair and tall sturdy bodies they both periodically complained were too heavy. Not true. They were shapely and elegant. Queenly. Heather and her mom had dubbed them as royalty more than half a lifetime ago.
Heather sighed, long and loud. “Only you and your wedding pulled me back here, Bethany. You can read me like a book. You were certain I’d never pass up a chance to be your maid of honor.”
Bethany crossed her arms and thrust out a hip. “Well, we made that promise to each other when we were like...what, ten years old?” Out of nowhere, her eyes darkened and she turned away. She ran her hand down the back of her head and fluffed up her short wavy hair. Then she studied everything in the room, except Heather.
“Uh, was it something I said?” Heather joked, but she shivered as if a cold breeze had come through the windows.
Bethany raised her eyes but quickly dropped her gaze again. “There’s been a...well, a complication.”
“Complication? What does that mean? You didn’t call off—”
“No, no.” Bethany put her hands on her hips. “What I should have said is it could be a complication.” She paused. “It’s really up to you.”
Heather stared at her friend as she tried and failed to figure out what Bethany was holding back. “Now you’ve confused me. Just spit it out.”
“Okay, here goes. Two days ago, Jim, Charlie’s original best man, was sent overseas on some kind of hush-hush mission for his company—kind of like what Charlie is doing now.” Bethany’s hands fluttered nervously. “Jim can’t talk about it, so all we know is that he won’t be back in time for the wedding. So Charlie had to ask someone else.”
Heather shrugged. “Is that all? I didn’t know Jim that well in the first place, so I’m neutral. But who’s the stand-in? Someone from around here?”
“More or less. He moved here from Fortune, a town over in Saylor County.” Bethany studied her shoes for a couple of seconds before lifting her head. “You know of him, but you don’t know him.”
“Okay.” Bethany’s tone left Heather even more puzzled.
“He’s, uh, he’s Mathis Burton.”
Hearing that name knocked her off center. Her gut churned. The worst days of her life had had Mathis Burton’s signature all over them.
GIVING BO A pat on his dark tan neck, Mathis Burton led the horse to the corral and turned him over to his hand, Kenny, to look after. “By my calculation, I’ve got about six minutes before the school bus pulls up and drops the twins off.”
“Six minutes, huh? Not five. Or maybe seven?” Kenny teased.
“Nope. You know me. I like to be exact. Seems the bus driver and I share that trait.” Managing all the details of his sheep ranch while raising six-year-old twins had a way of creating havoc with his tight schedule. But rain or shine, Daisy, the school bus driver, rolled to a stop in front of his mailbox on time.
Matt passed the house and then dense rows of pines and cedars and a healthy number of cottonwoods lining the long drive down to the mailbox. Lucy and Nick were the next-to-last drop-off for the driver, so they had plenty of time during their ride to wind down from school and wind up for their snacks.
“And here they come now,” Matt said. The yellow bus rounded the curve and headed his way. On some days, like this one, Matt couldn’t get his mind off of his twin sister. He blamed it on the cool spring day, the best kind of day for working outside—and for riding. When the weather was fine, Susannah was always taking off for the stable where she’d boarded Pebbles, her black-and-white Appaloosa.
His sister still sometimes hovered around him like a ghost. She was the voice he heard in his head, speaking to him, usually reminding him of things he needed to do for the twins—her twins. As if he would forget. He’d never brag about it out loud, but in his mind he liked reassuring her that he knew what he was doing. I know how to read a calendar and watch for the dentist appointments coming up. That’s why I write them in red and add reminders on my phone, Susy.
Even after four years of being their permanent guardian-uncle, the weight of the responsibility would occasionally drop like a boulder on his shoulders—mostly because of challenges with the ranch he counted on to support them. Lately, the figures on his spreadsheets weren’t what he’d hoped and sometimes taunted him at night when he tried to sleep. More than anything, security was his goal. Not so much for himself but for the twins. They were the true center of his life now and that wasn’t going to change.
The worrying thoughts and doubts he harbored immediately lifted when the school bus pulled up. Lucy and Nick waved goodbye to Daisy before hurling themselves against him and giving him hugs. Just by being buoyant little kids, his two charges chased away his fears. Today, life was good.
“Tell me the truth. Are you smarter now than when you left this morning?” Matt grinned at the two, one on each side of him as they started up the drive.
“Are you going to ask that every day, Uncle Matt?” Nick’s shoulders slumped as usual. Nick liked to pretend to be burdened by the question.
Matt chuckled. “That’s the plan.”
“I can find China on a map,” Lucy announced. “That was fun. Do you know how big it is?”
“Hmm... I might need a reminder. We’ll spin our big globe tonight and you can show me.”
Lucy yanked the stretchy yellow bands off her two ponytails and combed her fingers through her auburn hair to let it fall free. Her daily ritual. “Where’s Gram? I don’t see her car.”
“She had another one of her committee meetings to get ready for Spring Fling this weekend. You know your gram. She’s doing her part to make this year’s fair a huge success. Even better than last year.”
“Are we going to ride on the Ferris wheel?” Nick asked.
“I expect so,” Matt said, “unless it rains on us. Or snows. You never know.”
“I’m going to stuff myself with hot dogs again,” Nick said, “but I’m not getting sick this year.”
“Please don’t,” Matt warned, trying to wipe away that particular image from his memory bank.
Matt wasn’t alone. The withering look Lucy sent her brother’s way was one for the record books. “You can stuff yourself while Gram takes me to the spinning tent. We’re going to the grown-up dance, too, aren’t we, Uncle Matt? Gram, too? You know Gram, she loves dancing.”
Apparently assuming his answer to all of her questions was yes, Lucy ran ahead, hair flying and backpack bouncing as she passed Nick. He also took off, but Matt noted him struggle to catch up.
With his tail wagging wildly, Scrambler was in the mudroom waiting for the kids to fuss over him. Scrambler was a rescue and although speculating about the dog’s parentage was fun, it was never definitive. Mom called him a terrier-beagle with maybe some spaniel, and she’d claimed him years ago for no reason other than his cuteness and need for a new home. They’d all lucked out because Scrambler adored kids. Lucy and Nick were indulging Scrambler with endless hugs and pats and sweet talk when Matt caught up with them on the porch. He reminded the twins about the next steps in their routine, and looked on as they kicked off their shoes and hung their jackets on the designated hooks—red for Nick, yellow for Lucy.
By the time he’d shed his own boots and jacket, the two had dragged the three-legged step stools to the sink. Those stools meant the kids never had an excuse to miss washing their hands. Splashing each other was more like it, and more fun. “Hey, you two, let’s work on the grime.” He snickered at his foolish attempt to sound stern.
With a little mild intervention, the hand-washing routine was more or less accomplished, and he sent them off to their rooms upstairs to change their clothes. He might have let that go, but their gram was old school and made changing into play clothes nonnegotiable. No messing up new school jeans when the old ones were worn at the seams and only fit for play.
It didn’t take Matt long to smear peanut butter on crackers and add apple slices to the plates. In absolutely equal numbers and amounts, of course, because the twins had an eagle eye for that sort of thing. Anything deviating from identical servings would be duly noted. He didn’t complain, though. He and Susannah had been like that, too.
Matt smiled at his favorite sound; the clomp, clomp, clomp on the stairs when the kids hurried back to the kitchen. He could measure their growth by the change in the noise they made, and not just in their speed zipping down the stairs and the race to the table, but in their chatter. History repeated itself. Fraternal twins, Matt and Susannah had resembled each other like non-twin siblings, but they’d moved in sync, like Lucy and Nick now.
The pair slid into their chairs and exchanged a grin before licking the peanut butter off the first cracker. Then they gave each other a pointed look, their signal to break off tiny pieces from the edge of the cracker and let the crumbs fall to the floor, little gifts for Scrambler.
Matt leaned back against the counter and studied the two. Nick with dark hair and light brown eyes, and Lucy, who’d inherited Susannah’s and his mom’s auburn hair and dark eyes. He listened to their plan to ride their bikes around the front yard and play with the dog. Good. They’d been cooped up during a long winter and a cold spring so far. A couple of storms had brought snow and icy rain, along with high winds whipping through the basin.
By the time Mom’s car came up the driveway, the kids were outside and Matt had cleaned up the snacks and got potatoes wrapped and ready for the grill. He looked out the window to watch the kids run to greet their gram.
Lucy and Nick had only been two when they’d come to stay with Matt for what was supposed to be the duration of Susannah’s overseas deployment. They’d considered the possibility remote, but if anything happened to her, of course Matt would become their permanent guardian. He remembered the trip to the lawyer’s office to sign the papers. They hadn’t dwelled on the risks that were an undeniable part of war and Susannah’s part in it as a helicopter pilot. But not dwelling on the risks wasn’t the same as not worrying. He and his mom had barely adjusted to taking care of a couple of toddlers when the worst possible news came only two months into Susannah’s tour.
In an instant, they’d become the twins’ forever family, and their only family. What they knew about the twins’ birth was limited to what Susannah had told them, which amounted to her writing off the kids’ dad as a mistake. A big one. No details. The way she’d told the story, she hadn’t been with him long, but by the time she’d known he was 100 percent wrong for her, it was too late. She was pregnant. She’d been working up the courage to break the news to him, but before she’d had a chance, he’d been killed in a training exercise on base. But she’d been unequivocal about one thing. She would never have taken up with him again.
From the moment he and his mother got the shattering news of Susannah’s death, Matt had diverted his grief into doing whatever was best for Lucy and Nick. First, he’d pulled back his role in Finer Rides, the successful pack trip company he owned with his friend Ruben Stiles. Then, in a quest for stability—meaning an environment where he’d be home all the time—he’d bought the ranch. He’d been mulling over that decision even before Susannah had left, but with her gone, he’d jumped at it as a first step in creating the kind of childhood his sister would have wanted for her kids.
Mom had changed her life, too, when she’d given up her job as a history teacher at a high school in their home county over one hundred miles away. Still in her fifties, she’d sacrificed the work she loved to be his partner in raising her grandkids. Standing at the window and watching her shower all her attention on the two, he doubted she regretted her choice.
Bouts of sadness over losing his twin could slam into Matt without warning and knock him off balance. Every now and then he’d catch himself letting out a little moan, as if suddenly remembering Susannah was gone. Then he’d hurt like he’d lost her only yesterday. Sometimes he’d see his mom staring off into space. He didn’t want to invade her privacy, but he’d bet something had come over her and she’d slipped into that pocket of her mind reserved for Susannah. Maybe she had random thoughts, too, like he did, fleeting memories and images that arrived like a gift to boost her spirit. But on other days a memory could slash him open.
He and his mom didn’t talk much about any of this. At first, their lives were all about the twins, and over the past few years he’d followed Mom’s lead as they’d drifted into a pattern of leaving each other to handle their grief alone.
Matt supposed that was okay, but there were times when he wouldn’t have minded sharing a heart-to-heart about missing Susannah.
“Don’t you need to be at the shelters or out in the fields? How are our babies coming along?” Mom asked when she came inside and joined him at the counter. “I can get the burgers ready for the grill.”
“I don’t need to be anywhere but here helping with dinner. To answer your question, we moved some moms and their lambs down to the pasture by the creek. Kenny looked after the horses so I could be on time to meet the bus. Fence repairs are on the agenda for tomorrow.”
He’d been waiting all winter for mild weather like this to make a dent in the long list of chores that never seemed to stop. He didn’t complain. Staying on the move kept worry from putting a dent in his upbeat attitude about the future of the ranch. He called it optimism that came naturally to him. Mom labeled it bravado—in a skeptical tone to go with an arched eyebrow.
Matt would much rather focus on recent projections that lamb prices would be up this year than dwell on their drop last fall. Same with the wool. Disheartening markets today could turn into promising ones by next shearing season. He wouldn’t let his natural optimism waver because of a couple of lean years. Risky business being a sheepman these days, but weren’t most optimists risk-takers?
His mom’s wistful smile brought him out of his jumble of thoughts. “The twins are so full of life, Matt. They remind me so much of you and Susannah at the same age. You should be proud. Maybe I don’t say it often enough, but you’re doing a great job with those two.”
Matt puffed out his chest and forgot his challenges whenever his mom said things like that about the twins. But he couldn’t take all the credit, only his rightful share. “We’re doing great. And the ranch is holding its own.”
Not a ringing endorsement, but it was true nonetheless. The way Matt sized up the situation, he owned this ranch only because the Stanhopes hadn’t changed with the times. For many ranching families, shrinking the herd, selling off some acres and pocketing the profit had been the wisest choice.
What had once been grazing acres around Adelaide Creek were now sites of private vacation homes. For people who craved space and a rugged landscape, the whole of Adams County was a little more remote, less commercial, than Jackson and the Yellowstone region to the north, so vacation homes were dotting the landscape everywhere. Matt called those places mansions since they were almost as big as some of the new lodge-style hotels sprouting up all over the place. Tourist ranches were on the rise, too.
Matt’s independent streak led him to try to buck the odds in the only way that made sense. Go small, but go premium, both on the wool and the meat. That was why his sheep were numbered in the low hundreds, not the thousands that the Stanhopes had once raised.
“Bethany Hoover’s wedding was the main topic at the meeting today,” Mom said.
That brought his attention back to the here and now. “How so? It’s still weeks away.” Since he’d recently agreed to be Charlie Goodman’s best man, he supposed he ought to pay attention. He was the groom’s second choice, but that was okay. Charlie had known Jim, the intended best man, all his life, but he and Matt had met during their college days in Laramie. Charlie had done a couple of tours in the army before going to work as a civilian in intelligence, operating from remote locations. Who he actually worked for was part of the mystery surrounding his job. Matt had reconnected with Charlie when buying the ranch had put them in the same town.
“The buzz wasn’t about the wedding plans,” Mom said. “Your counterpart, the maid of honor, was the big topic of conversation.”
“Oh? How so?”
“Well, she’s Heather Stanhope, Matt. She’s back from wherever she’s been living these last years. Minnesota, I think.” She pulled cucumbers and greens out of the fridge and put them on the counter. “From what I heard, Heather might be here for most of the summer. She’s staying in Bethany’s place on the Hoover ranch.”
Hearing her name made him jolt to attention. Charlie hadn’t mentioned the maid of honor and Matt hadn’t asked. But so what? It was probably best not to make too much of this development. “Well, that’s good. I’ll enjoy getting to know her.”
That arched eyebrow made another appearance. Mom’s way of telling him how ridiculous he sounded.
“No, no, I mean it, Mom. I wanted to meet her back when we closed on this place. This house and the land are special.” He glanced around the kitchen, doing a quick inventory of all the repairs and updates he and Mom had done over the years on a house that had started as a crude two-room cabin more than a century ago. He was standing a few feet away from what had been the sleeping corner for the first owners. He’d seen an old drawing of it.
Matt had been disappointed when Heather had left town around the time he’d bought the ranch from the bank. After the bank foreclosed on the land and everything on it. He’d have welcomed the chance to ask Heather about growing up on the ranch. She probably had a few good stories to tell. Over the years, Matt had heard a little talk about Heather now and again. Most of it positive.
Matt and his mom had met her brother, Jeff, once, and that was on the porch of the nearly hollowed-out house. The word forlorn came to mind to describe both the house and Jeff, who’d stopped by only to pick up tools from the barn. His eyes had flashed with anger, and he’d spoken in short, terse phrases. The last image wasn’t of Jeff himself, but of the clouds of dust the tires had kicked up as he’d floored the accelerator and sped away.
“Don’t get your hopes up,” Mom warned. “I doubt you’ll have much chance to spend time with Heather. Really, Matt, what makes you think she’s changed her attitude about you? Remember what the loan officer at the bank said? Heather was devastated, not only because she and her brother lost the land, but they’d lost their mother, too. A double hit. That’s why she didn’t come to the closing.”
“What happened to the Stanhopes was terrible. I get it,” Matt said. “But that was four years ago. Besides, lots of folks around here have been through the same thing, even Dad’s parents.”
Restless, he walked to the window, braced his arm on the frame and watched Scrambler dutifully going after the sticks Lucy and Nick tossed his way. A little too old to turn the game into a competition, Scrambler was inclined to take his time and slow-trot the stick back to the twins.
“C’mon, Matt,” Mom chided. “Your grandparents sold their ranch before their troubles got so bad they risked losing it. Heather Stanhope and her brother must have felt a great sense of loss.”
Matt winced. That part of the story hadn’t resonated back then quite the way it did now. He’d been cavalier about the Stanhopes, more or less blaming them for their bad luck. Since Finer Rides had done so well, he’d been pretty cocky about turning the ranch into a profitable venture.
He turned back to his mom. “Okay, I get that history and the hardships. But it’s not like we don’t know what it’s like to lose people we love.” First, his dad had died way too young. Then Susannah. Nothing could ever compare to losing his twin.
“Maybe Heather’s still bitter, but I can’t do a thing about that,” he said. “Anyway, from what Charlie told me, this is a really small wedding for family and a few close friends. A no-gift policy, too. They’re telling people to donate to the food pantry and shelter in Landrum instead.”
“I like that,” his mom said. “It must be hard for Bethany to plan a wedding with Charlie gone for such long stretches.”
“I have no idea where Charlie is right now. But he was scheduled to get a week away for the Fourth of July. The date chose them, not the other way around.”
“It seemed like an odd day for a wedding, but now it makes sense.”
“It also makes sense that Heather and I be civil, at the very least.” He shrugged. “Besides, we’re adults, not kids.”
Mom chuckled. “My, my, don’t you sound reasonable.”
“As always,” he kidded. “Reasonable is my middle name.”
“You could be right—maybe the pair of you will be two peas in a pod. But I’m not betting on it.” She flicked her hand. “Shoo, shoo. Go on, get the grill ready. I’ll finish the salad.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Matt tipped a pretend hat and went out to the gas grill on the concrete patio. Late afternoons and evenings were still too cold to eat outside at the picnic table, but it was warm enough to use the grill.
Matt waved to the kids. They were sitting on top of a pyramid of crates he’d stacked, fastened together, and secured to the ground. He’d named his invention the Twins Topper. It gave the kids a hill to climb with a safe perch on top they could call their own. Scrambler sat between them. They’d taken their arms out of their unzipped sweatshirts but kept the hoods hanging on their heads. Their gram would fuss about the cold air, but he let it go. They had the good sense to put their arms in the sleeves if they needed to. He slipped his phone out of his pocket and got a shot of the twins and Scrambler before something else caught their attention and they ran off.
Maybe Heather Stanhope would feel a little better about him once she knew these two irresistible kids were being raised here. Matt hoped the kids would want to be shepherds one day.
When he walked toward the twins, he couldn’t miss the contrast between the two. It nagged at him a little because it wasn’t the first time he’d noticed subtle differences appearing, especially in Nick, over the last few months. At the moment, Lucy sat straight and was talking to Scrambler as she scratched behind his ears. Nick was slumped and leaning against the dog’s back. His eyes were half closed.
A few weeks ago, he’d questioned their doctor about Lucy’s vitality and Nick’s tendency to run out of gas. “Nothing to worry about,” the doc had said without hesitation. “At this age, girls develop a little faster than boys. But I understand. You and your mom took these kids in under tragic circumstances, so it’s only natural you’d be nervous.”
Matt had left the doctor’s office relieved to know that nothing unusual was going on with Nick. But he didn’t like labels and he took issue with being dismissed as a so-called nervous parent. Now, though, when he looked at Nick cuddled up with Scrambler, the doc’s words came back to Matt. He could relax, right? Nick was fine. They were all fine.
