Nadia Nichols - A Family For Rose

Rose’s expression became pained. She looked at her mother. “Momma, I really have to go pee.”

“The bathroom’s inside, up the stairs and on your right. Go on. And don’t forget to wash your hands after.”

The screen door banged behind her and light footsteps raced up the stairs.

“Been a long time since there were any kids in this place,” her father said.

“I passed a house being built on the way in,” Shannon said, figuring it was best to get it out of the way. “In that pretty spot where I used to wait for the school bus.”

Her father nodded, rubbed the bristle of gray stubble on his chin and carefully studied the distant mountains. “I sold ten acres out by the black road to someone you used to know. Billy Mac, from the rez,” he said. “He paid some cash up front and he’s paying cash for half of each month’s mortgage payment, giving me the balance in work. I charged him interest just like a bank would. Seemed fair.”

For a few moments Shannon struggled to process what he’d just said. Billy Mac! Then the blood rushed to her head and her Scots/Irish spirit took over.

“You sold ten acres of land along the Bear Paw to Billy Mac? A guy you wouldn’t even let me date in high school?”

“Property taxes were due and the town...”

“Billy Mac?”

“I needed the money to pay back taxes, and you left, Shannon. I didn’t drive you off, you left of your own free will.”

Shannon pressed her fingertips to her temples. “You’re taking half the mortgage payment in labor?” Shannon glanced around at the neglected slump of the place. “Doesn’t look like he’s in any danger of drowning in his own sweat from all the work he’s doing around here. How much did you sell him the land for? Two hundred an acre?”

Her father never flinched. “He’s working hard and doing all right by me. I got no complaints,” he said. He shoved his hands deep in his pockets and rounded his shoulders. He refused to look at her, just gazed across the valley. The silence between them stretched out, long and awkward.

“I’d have bought that piece of land from you, Daddy,” Shannon said quietly. The anger drained out of her and, with it, the hopes and dreams of her fairy-tale homecoming. “You know how much I loved that spot.”

“Too late for that, isn’t it?”

“Too late for a lot of things, I guess.” Shannon felt empty inside. She’d been a fool to think that coming home would make life better. If it weren’t for Rose, she’d get back into her car and leave this place for good.

“How long were the two of you planning to stay?” he said, still not looking at her.

“I was hoping you might let us stay for a night or two,” Shannon said. “If it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”

They heard Rose’s footsteps descending the stairs at a gallop. “You can stay as long as you need to,” he said. Curt, clipped, brusque. He wasn’t going to bend. Wasn’t going to soften. Wasn’t going to cut her any slack. Never had, never would.

“Thanks, Daddy,” Shannon said, biting back the angry words that burned on her tongue. “We won’t be much bother. We might even be of some help. I still remember how to do chores, how to drive the mowing machine and how to pitch bales of hay. I noticed the fields hadn’t been hayed yet. It’s getting late for the first cut and there can never be too many hands at haying time.”

Rose pushed the screen door open and rejoined them on the porch. She dropped to her knees beside the old border collie. “Hello, Tess. I’m sorry you’re blind.”

“Be gentle with her. She’s very old,” Shannon said. “Fifteen years, anyway.”

“I’ll be gentle, Momma. Do you think she’s hungry?”

“Maybe.”

“I’m hungry, too. We haven’t eaten since forever.”

“That’s not true, we ate lunch. You didn’t finish yours, remember? I said, ‘If you don’t finish your sandwich, Rose Chesney Roy, you’re gonna get hungry real quick.’ And now you’re hungry and we don’t even know if your grampy can feed us.”

Her father bristled at her words. “You like beans and franks?” he asked Rose, gruff as a bear.

Rose nodded up at him, wide-eyed. “And I like burgers and french fries.”

“You’ll have to settle for cowboy fare tonight.”

“Okay,” she said eagerly, scrambling to her feet. “Can you teach me to ride tomorrow, Grampy?”

He matched Rose’s intense blue gaze with one of his own and fingered his mustache. “This is a real busy time of year. I doubt I’ll have a chance.” They heard a vehicle approaching and Shannon turned to see a dark pickup truck bouncing down the last rutted stretch of ranch road, kicking up dust. “That’ll be Billy Mac. He’s been staying here while he builds his house.”

The anger that had drained from Shannon returned with a vengeance and heat rushed back into her face. “Billy Mac’s living here ? With you ?”

Her father nodded. “Bunks in the old cook’s cabin. Likes his privacy.”

The truck pulled up next to Shannon’s car and the engine cut out. Door opened. Driver emerged. Stood. Looked up at them. Shannon stared back. It had been ten years and people changed, but the changes in Billy Mac were the result of more than just the years. He stood just as tall, with those same broad shoulders and the lean cowboy build that had made him a star quarterback and rodeo rider. But he wasn’t a kid anymore. Whatever he’d been through in the past ten years had turned him into a man. He reached his fingers to the brim of his hat and gave her a formal nod.

“Hello, Shannon,” he said. “This is quite a surprise.”

“Hello, Billy. You sure got that part right,” Shannon replied. Her face burned as she remembered like it was yesterday his passionate and unexpected kiss, and how she’d slapped him afterward. “This is my daughter, Rose.”

Billy nodded again. “Nice to meet you, Rose.”

Rose skipped down the porch steps and stuck her hand out. “Momma told me it’s polite to shake hands when you meet people,” she said.

Billy took her little hand in his own for a brief shake. “Your momma’s teaching you good manners.”

“Supper’s about ready,” her father said. “Come on in.”

Billy hesitated. “The two of you have some catching up to do. I don’t want to intrude.”

“You’re not intruding,” her father said, then turned before Billy could respond. The screen door banged shut behind him.

“Nobody argues with Ben McTavish,” Shannon said. “You should know that by now. You’re working for him, aren’t you? Come on in.” As much as Shannon dreaded sharing supper with Billy Mac, she dreaded sharing it alone with her father even more.

Billy’d gained a limp—probably from getting thrown off some snuffy bronc or bull. The injury made climbing the steps slow.

“Are you a real cowboy?” Rose asked when he reached the top step.

“Not anymore, Rose, but I used to be a fair hand at rodeo.”

“What’s rodeo?”

Billy glanced at Shannon. “Your momma hasn’t told you what rodeo is?”

Shannon smiled and tousled Rose’s curls. “I’ve been remiss.”

Billy gave Rose a solemn look. “Better ask her to bring you to the next rodeo, so you can experience it firsthand.”

“Can we go, Momma?” Rose asked, excited.

“We’ll see. Come on, supper’s ready and we need to get washed up.”

Billy opened the screen door and held it while Shannon, Rose and Tess went inside. Shannon had envisioned dirty dishes stacked in the sink, counters crowded with empty cans of food and trash everywhere, but the kitchen looked much the same as it had when she’d left. More tired and worn after ten years, but surprisingly neat. Her father was adding another can of generic pork and beans to the pot on the old propane cookstove.