Helen DePrima - Into The Storm

Luke slapped Jake’s shoulder. “Maybe, but me and Tom will keep after it if she doesn’t.” He stacked the bales beside the toolshed. “Let’s rustle up some lunch, then I’ll fix that stretch of fence past the creek. Last time I rode out that way it looked like a bull elk sat on it.”

They kicked off their muddy boots before entering the sunlit great room. Jake’s parents had knocked out interior walls to create a living space where the family spent most of their indoor time. A fridge and a massive gas range filled one corner, a round oak table dominated the center of the room, and a scuffed leather couch faced the wide fireplace. Plants Annie had tended lovingly sat along the ledge of a wide west-facing window—geraniums, aloes, a bay laurel and a huge flowering cactus Jake had given her as a tiny plant their first Christmas together. Scarlet blossoms still clung to the cascading stems; Jake harbored an unreasonable anger it should bloom so extravagantly with Annie dead.

Tom sat in the recliner with an ice pack draped across his left thigh. Annie had bought the chair for Jake after a cow, resentful of being separated from her calf, had landed him with five broken ribs. As she’d weakened, the chair had become her command post from which she coached Jake and the boys through simple meal prep. Now whoever needed it most used it, although Jake never sat there without sharing it with Annie’s ghost.

Luke set an iron skillet on the range and threw in half a pound of bacon while Jake pulled eggs from the fridge.

“Don’t scramble the eggs to rubber,” Tom said. “And toss me a fresh ice pack—this one’s thawed.”

Luke fetched the heavy ice pack from the freezer and dropped it in his brother’s lap. “Anything else? Champagne? Couple of buckle bunnies?”

“Hey, Doc said I should rest my leg,” Tom said. “Guess I won’t be able to stretch wire with you.”

“Aw, stop whining for sympathy.”

A thundering silence filled the room. Annie’s presence—or rather her absence—hung in the air. She’d have been exclaiming over Tom’s injury and whipping up his favorite lunch.

They had just finished eating when Mike Farley’s blue pickup pulled behind the house. A door slammed and Lucy Cameron blew into the kitchen, her red-gold hair flying. She skidded to a halt by Tom’s chair.

“Hey, big bro! Nice win—I watched at Mike’s last night. How’s the leg?”

“Just bruised—it won’t keep me from riding.” Tom jerked his chin toward Jake. “Get a load of the old man.”

Lucy turned toward Jake. Her blue eyes widened. “What happened? Are you okay?” For a moment the brittle mask slipped—Jake thought she might actually care.

“Skidded off the road coming home last night,” he said. “The driving was pretty bad—I’m glad you stayed at Mike’s.” He peered out the window. “You steal his rig?”

“I forgot my stupid uniform for work,” she said. “Mike’s got basketball practice, so I drove home to get it. I’ve got a rehearsal till five and then the Queen till closing. Mike will bring me home.”

She whirled toward the stairs but turned back with one foot on the step. “You’re sure you’re okay?”

He smiled, although it hurt his scraped cheek. “I’m fine—you should see the other guy.”

“That’s good.” She pounded up the stairs and galloped out the door moments later with her striped tunic flying behind her like a flag.

“I think we just got brushed by Hurricane Lucy,” Tom said. “I don’t know how Mike puts up with her—she’d drive me nuts.”

* * *

LUKE DROVE OUT on Thursday with Tom riding shotgun, headed for the next event in Des Moines. Ordinarily they would have driven straight through to arrive for Friday night’s go-round but they had decided to stretch the trip over two days to pamper Tom’s leg.

“Maybe I’ll just watch,” Tom had said, but Jake knew he’d be straddling his bulls, hoping to land on his sound leg and hop to a safe getaway.

Jake headed for the barn after they left. He and Luke had mended the downed fence, but he still needed to check on the line camp at the far edge of their spread. The boys took turns sleeping in the old cabin during the summer break in the bull-riding schedule, keeping an eye on the cow and calf pairs grazing there. Great pasture, but sometimes a cat would come in from the backcountry for a feed of fresh veal. He needed to hire another hand, but it was hard to compete with the better wages and easier hours in the gas fields around Farmington.

He couldn’t find the hammer he might need for repairs on the cabin; maybe it was in his rig. When he rummaged under the driver’s seat, he found a well-chewed rubber dog toy. Must belong to Shelby Doucette’s dog; he’d heard Stranger working at something while they drove. Shelby had no transportation into town for a replacement. He pulled keys from his pocket. The cabin could wait.

When he reached Durango, he stopped at the Farm and Ranch Exchange before heading north to the Norquist ranch. Forty pounds of food wouldn’t last long for a dog Stranger’s size; he’d pick up another bag, just to be neighborly.

Oscar studied him from across the counter at the Exchange. “You don’t look quite so much like you been kicked in the face,” he said. “You here for those fence staples?”

“Yeah, and I’ll take some of that dog food we stopped for on Monday.” He hoped Oscar would remember what Shelby had bought. “Could be Norquist’s trainer is running short for her big mutt.”

“You’re a day late—Gary bought a bag yesterday. Guess he figures to bribe his way into her jeans.”

Jake’s fist balled on the counter. “I knew he’d be trouble.”

“He tried getting cute with my sister’s youngest girl,” Oscar said. “While she was working evenings at Denny’s. Kept coming by around quitting time, sweet-talking about how pretty she is and how he could show her a good time after work.”

“That’s Lorrie? The one who joined the Air Force?”

“That’s her. She’s way too smart to fall for a line like that,” Oscar said, “but he had her spooked. She started asking me or her dad to pick her up after work. One night business was slow and her boss told her to punch out early.”

“So no ride waiting.”

A grin lit Oscar’s face. “I got there just about the time Gary tried to force her into his rig. I lit up the parking lot like Mile High Stadium and leaned on my horn. The manager and half a dozen customers came running out and heard him call her a dirty squaw just before he took a swing at me.”

Oscar inspected his knuckles. “I had to defend myself. One of us ended up needing dental work.”

“Not you, I’d guess.” Jake pulled the dog toy out of his pocket. “Just sell me another one of these. Her dog left it in my rig—they probably get lost pretty easy.”

“Whatever happened to flowers and candy?” Oscar held up a hand. “Just saying, brother.”

Jake shrugged and paid for the rubber KONG. Oscar pulled a sample package of Greenies dog chews from under the counter. “Take these too, pard.”

Jake didn’t try to protest—Oscar knew him too well. They had been best buds since the day they’d fought to a standstill at age nine over a mustang that had eluded both of them.

His speed dropped as he approached the turnoff to Norquist’s spread. He must be nuts, trailing after Shelby Doucette like a lovesick teenager. What did he know about her except she was an able horse trainer?

Okay, she was beautiful and smart about horses, but he’d be stupid to get involved—he had enough headaches with Lucy. How would she react? With anger, seeing her father interested in any woman after her mother? Too much to hope she’d be glad for him—she’d sulked and refused to come along the couple of times he’d taken June Buck and her kids out for a movie and pizza.