Nadia Nichols - A Family For Rose

Shannon served herself up some beans and franks, avoiding his eyes. “Thanks.”

“Bet your next song tops the charts, same as all the others.”

“There aren’t going to be any more songs. For ten years I lived mostly on a bus and never knew when I woke up what state or town I was in.” Shannon concentrated on cutting up her hotdog into precise segments. “I’m done with that life.”

Billy had the good sense not to pursue the subject. He helped himself to the beans and took two slices of bread, laying them carefully on the edge of his plate, then hesitated, his fork poised. “Your father probably told you I bought that piece of land by the creek.”

Shannon studied her hotdog segments. “Yes, he did.”

“He put a for-sale sign out on the road about the same time I came back home. I didn’t have much money saved—the military doesn’t make a man rich—but I didn’t want anyone else buying a piece of the McTavish ranch, so I went to talk to him about a job. He ended up selling me the land and hiring me on at the same time.”

“Lucky for you,” Shannon said drily, poking at a piece of hotdog.

“I work at Willard’s part-time, too. Your father can’t pay me, but he’s letting me work off my mortgage.”

There was an awkward silence. Shannon forked her beans and hotdog segments together in a pile in the center of her plate and stared at them. She’d never faced a more unappetizing meal.

“I guess my father isn’t gentling mustangs anymore,” she said. “I don’t see any horses down in the corrals.”

“We shipped five out to auction last week. The Bureau of Land Management’s due to bring another batch in any day now, but McTavish doesn’t make much money taming wild horses for their adoption program. Barely enough to buy groceries, really.”

“What about horse training for the film studios?”

“He had some sort of falling-out with a studio over a dog being killed on location maybe five, six years back. He blamed them for it and quit. I don’t know the details.”

Shannon prodded her beans with the fork. The bread was stale and the swelled-up franks were downright suspicious. Who knew what they were made of? She pushed her plate away and reached for her glass of milk, taking a tentative sniff to make sure it hadn’t soured.

She gazed across the room to another time. “My mother was the mover and shaker around here. She trained the horses and the dogs. Daddy learned from her after he got busted up in that horse wreck and couldn’t work as a stuntman anymore. He did all right with it, but my mother was the best of the best.”

“She was a legend around these parts,” Billy said.

Shannon was surprised he remembered the strong-willed, independent-minded woman who had been her mother. She caught his eye and felt herself flush. “Finish your beans, Rose.”

“But, Momma...”

“Clean your plate and I’ll take you out to the barn to see the horses.”

Rose dutifully lifted her fork while Billy scraped his chair back and pushed to his feet.

“Coffee’s done,” Billy said. “I’ll pour.”

Shannon downed her milk in four big swallows and held her stained Bear Paw Bank and Trust cup out. He filled it with hot strong coffee. “Thanks,” she said. “How many hours are you putting in a week to work off your mortgage? What’re you doing, exactly?”

Billy set the coffeepot back onto the stove and returned to his seat with his own mug. “I work at Willard’s store, stocking shelves, mostly at night. For your father, I help with the mustangs and other odd jobs. Right now I’m working on the fence line down along the black road. It’s slow going. Most of the posts are rotted off and need replacing.”

“I don’t doubt that, but what difference does a good fence make if the gates are left wide open for the livestock to wander through?” Shannon was aware her voice was sharp but the question needed to be asked.

He pulled his chipped John Deere Dealership mug close to his chest. “There’s no livestock on the place. We’re planning on picking up some young stuff together at the fall auction, but the fences have to be repaired before we can do that.”

We? Shannon thought. “Daddy told me there were horses.”

“The only two horses he kept were Sparky and Old Joe. He gives them the run of the place, and they never roam too far from the barn.”

Shannon took a quick swallow of coffee, which burned her mouth. The pain helped her gain control of her emotions. Sparky and Old Joe had to be twenty-five years old if they were a day. She’d practically grown up astride Sparky, and Old Joe had been her mother’s favorite horse. She set down her mug, deeply shaken yet again. As gruff as her father acted, he still had a heart. For the animals, at least.

“I won’t beat around the bush, Billy. This place is falling down. It’s a shambles. My father may be broke but I’m not. Not completely, anyhow. I can pay whatever it takes to hire you on full-time. That is, if you think you can do the work, and I understand if you can’t, with your injuries. It’s a big job, a lot harder than stocking shelves at the store, but you’ll pay your mortgage off all the sooner.”

Billy’s eyes locked with hers and the heat in his gaze hit her like a forceful blow. He pushed out of his chair so abruptly that he lost his balance and had to grab for the edge of the table. He straightened, carried his plate and cup to the sink, then limped to the door, took his hat from the wall peg, pushed through the screen door with a squeak and a bang, and was gone.

“Is he mad, Momma?” Rose said in the silence that filled the room.

“I think so, honey.” Shannon sighed. “Finish your supper, Rose, and we’ll go find Sparky and Old Joe down in one of the barns.”

* * *

BILLY WAS ON his way to the cook’s cabin when he spotted McTavish down by the machinery shed, working on the tractor. Billy pulled his truck up beside the old red Moline tractor and cut the ignition. He and McTavish had been working on the tractor for a week now, every evening after supper. Robbing parts from three other tractors in various stages of decay to build one that could take on the job of haying. Robbing Peter to pay Paul, McTavish called it. The first mowing was already three weeks late. The grass was tall and going to seed. The neighboring ranchers already had their first cutting stored away in their barns.

McTavish wiped his hands on a greasy shop rag. “Thought I might try to fire her up tonight, see how she goes.”

Billy adjusted his hat, glanced toward the ranch house then back at the tractor. “Those plug wires look bad. I should’ve picked up another set today.”

“She’s got new plugs, new oil filter, new oil, fresh gas, good hydraulic lines. Tires are old but they’ll do. She might go, cracked plug wires and all.”

“If so, we could start haying first thing tomorrow,” Billy said.

McTavish nodded. “Be good to make an early start. We’re a little late this year.” McTavish hauled himself up onto the metal seat, pulled the primer knob and kicked her over. The Moline sounded as tired as the both of them put together. The tractor’s engine turned over but wouldn’t fire. McTavish’s shoulders slumped. “If just one damn thing would go right around here,” he muttered.

“I’ll go to town first thing and pick up a new set of plug wires at Schuyler’s,” Billy offered. “He opens early. We could still be haying by seven. Get the top field done, anyhow, maybe half of the lower.”

McTavish nodded again. “Save the slip. I’ll deduct it from your monthly payment.”

A killdeer flew across the front of the tractor and landed near the corral. Billy watched it hunt for insects in the weeds along the fence line. He plucked a stem of tall grass and nibbled on it. “Been thinkin’. Maybe I could cut my hours at Willard’s so’s I can work more hours here, when it’s busy times, like haying. And the fencing needs to be done before we buy the stock.”