A Family in Wyoming Read online

  Walking up the hill to the barn, he acknowledged the anger simmering in his chest. Anger at Travis Bradley, for conditioning his family to expect violence when they made a mistake. How could such a man live with himself?

  He also had to admit to being angry that Susannah would put him in the same category as Bradley, if only by reflex. Wyatt had done his best, since she’d been here, to be reassuring, to appear totally safe. He was safe, dammit. Why would she think otherwise?

  A single step into the shadows of the barn brought the sweet aroma of hay to his nose. Almost immediately, his temper started to cool. Walking along the side aisle, breathing deeply, he let the peace of the place soothe him. He’d spent too much time in the house this last month. Of course he was irritable.

  At the back of the barn, he wanted to prop his arms on the half door leading out to the corral, but the brace restrained him from bowing his shoulders. So he stood stiff as a stick, instead, watching the teenagers ride their horses. With Dylan leading the line on his Appaloosa, Leo, the kids rode patterns around the ring—circles, diagonals, even serpentines. And they were jogging, which constituted great progress since Wyatt had last observed them.

  He couldn’t help noticing that Nate, Susannah’s son, seemed more comfortable with his horse’s motion than any of the riders except Dylan. He sat easily in the saddle, arms relaxed and steady, not flapping up and down in imitation of bird wings. His long legs were wrapped around the mare’s barrel and stayed still in the stirrups. Caroline and his brothers had mentioned the boy’s natural ability. Now Wyatt witnessed it for himself—they had a prospective cowboy on their hands.

  The rest of the kids deserved encouragement, too, and he tried to speak with each one as they came in the barn to put away saddles, bridles and blankets.

  “Good job,” he said, as Thomas Gray Cloud lugged his saddle into the tack room. “You’re keeping your hands down really well at the jog.”

  The boy fiddled with the way the stirrup was hanging. “Sometimes.” He shrugged and, with a quick glance at Wyatt, headed for the door.

  Only to run straight into Marcos Oxendine.

  “Hey, watch it,” Marcos shouted. “You about knocked me down.”

  Thomas glared at him. “Like you don’t weigh twice as much as me. Give me a break.”

  “I’ll give you a break. I’ll break every—”

  “That’s enough.” Wyatt used his own version of loud. “There’s no call for an argument. Just stand back, Thomas, and let him get inside with his gear.”

  Rolling his eyes, Thomas moved out of the way until the other boy had come through. But when he tried to leave, Lizzie Hanson blocked his way.

  “Oh...hi, Lizzie. I’ll move.” He retreated again. That was an interesting development—Thomas being nice to one of the girls.

  “Thanks, Thomas.” Blonde and boy-crazy, Lizzie fluttered her mascaraed lashes. “Can you put my saddle away? That would be so great.” Then she noticed Wyatt’s raised eyebrow. “Okay, never mind. I’ll do it.” One of the camp rules was that each rider was responsible for their own tack.

  “You’re looking comfortable in that saddle,” Wyatt told her. “You and Major seem to be getting along well.”

  She gave him a wide smile. “I love him.” Lizzie had been afraid of horses at the beginning of the camp, but Major, a brown, white and black pony, had proved to be just the partner she needed.

  Nate was the last of the teens to leave the corral because he spent the longest time brushing his mare, Blue Lady. Thin and quiet, he kept his gaze down as Wyatt spoke to him.

  “You’re a born horseman, Nate. I appreciate the way you take care of your animal.”

  “Thanks.” He glanced up briefly. “I want her to be clean. Comfortable.”

  “A real cowboy does exactly that.” Wyatt’s turn to hesitate. “So...you’re having a good time? Enjoying the camp?”

  “Sure. It’s fun.” He straightened his shoulders and, finally, looked Wyatt squarely in the eye. “Thanks for taking care of my mom and my sister. I was worried about them.”

  “We’re glad to help. We’ll make sure all of you stay safe.”

  Nate took a deep breath. “I hope so.” He didn’t sound convinced.

  Before Wyatt could reassure him, Dylan looked in the door. “There you are, Nate. We were counting heads and missing one. Lunch is almost ready.”

  “Right.” With obvious relief, Nate slipped out the door.

  “Good to find you in the barn, Boss.” Dylan waited as Wyatt closed the tack room door behind him. “I think the kids are doing really well.”

  “That’s what I saw.” They walked toward the front of the barn together. “I’m not so sure about you, though. You seem kind of peaked.”

  After a brief, intense affair, Dylan’s reporter had returned to New York. Working harder than ever on his sculpture, with occasional breaks to help out with the camp or ranch chores, the youngest Marshall was obviously suffering.

  “I’ll live,” he said with a shrug. “I don’t intend to die of a broken heart, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  They stepped out into the bright afternoon and headed toward the bunkhouse where the kids ate their meals. “I wouldn’t expect you to. But the process of healing can be painful.” His own experience with first love had demonstrated the intense ache of rejection.

  Dylan was silent for a minute. “Do you ever think about her? Marley Jennings? You still hear her name on the rodeo news these days, winning barrel races across the country.”

  “It’s been more than ten years since we were together.”

  “Yeah, I know.” Dylan gave a hollow laugh. “I’m just wondering how long I should expect to feel this way.”

  Wyatt clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Not forever. You’d be surprised how soon the memories fade.” If he put his mind to it, though, he could recall the sight of her riding into an arena, her long, jet-black hair catching blue sparks from the floodlights, her palomino horse prancing as they carried the American flag along the rail. The epitome of a rodeo queen.

  And not in the least interested in becoming a rancher’s wife.

  “A woman has a right to the life she wants,” he said, aware the words wouldn’t comfort his brother. “You can’t expect them to give up their ambitions and dreams just because you fell in love.”

  “Yeah. I figured that out.” Dylan opened the door to the bunkhouse. “Isn’t it just great, being enlightened?”

  Wyatt remembered the fear on Susannah’s face.

  Not today, he thought and followed his brother inside.

  * * *

  THE TEASING BECKY RUSH had been expecting started during lunch.

  “Hey, Becky.” Marcos sat down across the table from her. “Nice tan.”

  “Thanks.” Feeling her sunburned face get even hotter, Becky tried to play it cool. “I thought I’d try a new look.” She’d overslept this morning and, in her hurry, had forgotten to put on sunscreen. Then she’d left her hat in the cabin and hadn’t had a chance to get it before their trail ride. Now, thanks to the bright summer day, her face was almost the same color as her red hair. Her arms, up to the sleeves of her T-shirt, matched perfectly.

  From the chair next to Marcos, Thomas pointed at her with his knife. “What look is that? The lobster?”

  Becky sent him a sour smile. “Ha ha.”

  Sitting on her right, Lizzie giggled. When Becky glared at her—they were supposed to be best friends—the other girl shrugged. “It was a funny thing to say.”

  Marcos pretended to be concerned. “Now, at least, you can hardly see the freckles.”

  That one hurt. She hated her freckles, the only thing she’d gotten from the dad who’d walked out on them.

  The next comment came from Becky’s left. “Leave her alone,” Nate sa
id. “You don’t want anybody making fun of your color, do you?”

  Marcos immediately got mad. “What’s there to make fun of? Huh?”

  “Nothing. Which is my point.”

  The other boy looked confused. Thomas cracked a laugh. “He told you, man.”

  Nate stared at him. “You, too.”

  Pushing quickly to his feet, Thomas propped his fists on the table and leaned across, toward Nate. “Listen here—”

  Becky caught her breath, and her chest tightened in a way she was all too familiar with. She hated arguments. Thomas and Marcos had been in trouble more than once this summer for fighting each other. Even though there were grown-ups in the room, she didn’t doubt for a minute that either one of the other boys could and would take Nate down. He was tall but thin, not at all a match for the stronger guys.

  But he stayed sitting, as calm and controlled as usual in the face of the Thomas’s anger.

  Like wind blowing against the face of a high cliff, that fury ended up with nowhere to go. “Stupid,” Thomas muttered, sitting down and picking up his sandwich. “Just stupid.” He and Marcos both made a point of attacking their food, not talking to anyone, even each other. In record time, they’d finished, dumped their plates by the sink and left the bunkhouse. In another minute, Lizzie threw her half-finished food in the trash and followed them out. As usual, Lena and Justino sat together at the end of the table in their own little world—they probably hadn’t even noticed what was going on with everybody else.

  Left pretty much alone with Nate, Becky tried to forget how silly she must look with her face the color of a tomato. “Thanks,” she said quietly. “I appreciate the defense.”

  He shrugged one shoulder. “I know what it’s like to be bullied by those two. They shouldn’t get away with it.”

  “You were so quiet, though. At my house, people—my mom and grandma—yell when they argue. Which they do most of the time.” When they weren’t too drunk or stoned to talk at all. She didn’t want to admit that part.

  “My dad yells.” He started to say something else and then stopped.

  But Becky had noticed the bruise on his jaw the morning in June after Mr. Ford had brought him back to the ranch. She could guess what else his dad did. “I hole up in my room a lot,” she confessed. “Out of the way...if I’m lucky.”

  Nate’s fingers were busy, crumbling the half of his sandwich he hadn’t eaten. “Sometimes luck isn’t enough.”

  “No.” Funny that they were sharing this personal stuff when they didn’t really know each other that well. They were in the same grade at school but went to different classes—Nate was one of the smart kids in the more advanced courses while Becky only did what she had to to pass at the regular level. What would be the point? Nobody in her family had ever gone past high school. She didn’t expect to be the first.

  “I guess we’ve got rodeo practice this afternoon,” he said, breaking into her thoughts. “Are you going to compete?” They’d watched a couple of rodeos since they’d been at camp, but Mr. Garrett had announced that morning at breakfast that there would be a junior rodeo up in Buffalo at the end of August and anyone who wanted to could enter an event. Thomas, Marcos and Lena were all excited about the possibility of riding bulls, and they’d been practicing on a bucking barrel for weeks now.

  Becky and Lizzie had been learning how to do barrel racing with Ms. Caroline—a timed event which involved running a cloverleaf pattern on their horses. “I’m not sure. My horse, Desi, and me, we’re not too fast—mostly still trotting. I’m not sure I’ll be ready. What about you?”

  Getting to his feet, Nate shook his head. “Probably not. I like just riding around, without risking my neck.” Picking up his dishes, he nodded in her direction. “See you at the barn.”

  “Sure.” She watched him walk away, noticing his straight back and long legs, the soft brown color of his messy hair. Why hadn’t she noticed before how cute he was? Cute guys who stuck up for girls with freckles and red hair were hard to find. Even harder to get to know.

  But she and Nate had more than a month of camp left—plenty of time to become friends. More than friends. Unlike Lizzie, she’d never had a boyfriend, but now she thought it might be nice to have a boy around who understood her, who would fight for her.

  Here at the ranch, where they saw each other every day, getting him to notice her, to like her, would be easier than in the crowded bustle of school. And she wouldn’t have to bring him home if they wanted time together. She never brought anybody home.

  Cleaning up after lunch with Justino and Lena, Becky found herself smiling for no real reason, except that today was a good day. Sure, her face and arms burned as if she had a fever. But because of that, she’d decided to have her first boyfriend.

  And she wouldn’t let the freckles stand in her way.

  * * *

  FOR THE FIRST time since she’d arrived at the Marshall brothers’ home, Susannah was uncomfortable. And it was her own fault.

  Wyatt hadn’t said anything, of course. She would have been relieved if he had—then she could apologize, assure him she wasn’t afraid, had never believed he would hurt her or Amber. Her reaction over the broken computer had been involuntary. Unthinking. Stupid.

  The weekend passed and the opportunity she wanted never seemed to present itself. When she did see him—at breakfast—Wyatt was polite but quiet and aloof. He spent more time out of the house than he had since she’d come to stay, ate more meals with the teenagers in the bunkhouse. Short of following him around the ranch, how would she get a chance to talk to him?

  Then, on Monday morning, disaster struck. Lena Smith collapsed and was sent to the hospital. Fortunately, the town’s new doctor, Rachel Vale, had arrived and was able to support Garrett as he managed the situation. The kids and the adults left behind were concerned, of course, and hearing that Lena had developed diabetes did not reassure them. Garrett provided some basic information to help the kids cope, but Susannah worried about what would happen when Lena returned to camp. Travis’s mother was a diabetic and kept a very strict diet. What did that mean? How should Lena be eating now?

  A library would have the answer, and she was familiar with the one in Buffalo, having taken Nathan and Amber there when they lived nearby. All she had to do was get there.

  Wednesday afternoon, Susannah gathered her courage and went searching for Wyatt. She found him in the dining room with Amber, where a sheet had been laid over the table and set with cups and saucers, a plate of oatmeal cookies and a pitcher of orange juice. They were, evidently, having a tea party.

  “Come sit down, Mommy.” Amber got up and pulled out the chair next to her. “You can have some tea, too. It’s orange tea,” she explained. “Very good.”

  “Thank you very much.” She couldn’t catch Wyatt’s eye. So she used the only leverage she had. “I’d love to have tea with you, but I wanted to talk to Mr. Wyatt for a few minutes first. Can he be excused?”

  Amber rolled her eyes. “If you have to.”

  Left no choice, Wyatt got to his feet. Susannah led him into the living room.

  “Something wrong?” he said when she turned to face him.

  Yes, she wanted to say. You’re not talking to me. Instead, she shook her head. “Oh, no. But I wondered if, when I go to the grocery store tomorrow, I could use your truck to visit the library in Buffalo. I want to find some books on what diabetics should eat.”

  Brows lowered, he stared at her without answering for so long that she began to get nervous. “Or maybe I could get Dylan to take me...” She’d driven his truck often enough this summer, but something must have changed.

  “The truck isn’t a problem.” He lifted an eyebrow. “What about the internet?”

  “Um...what about it?”

  “There’s plenty of information on the internet about diabetes. T
hat’s what Garrett’s been reading these last few days.”

  Susannah swallowed. “I’m pretty rusty as far as computers go. Travis never wanted to spend the money on one. And I... I left school before my senior year. When we ran away.”

  “You didn’t graduate?”

  She shook her head, feeling her cheeks heat up.

  Wyatt grinned at her for the first time in days. “That makes two of us, doesn’t it? But that doesn’t have to keep you from using the internet for research. I’ll get you started—”

  “Mommy!” Amber called. “What’s taking so long?”

  Wyatt’s expression became rueful. “After tea, I guess.”

  “The princess awaits,” Susannah said with a touch of embarrassment. “I’m beginning to think I’ve spoiled her.”

  “She’s just a five-year-old,” he assured her. “Dylan believed he ran the household when he was five.” He chuckled. “Some days, he still does.”

  They returned to the dining room together, laughing. Susannah sat down across from Wyatt, with Amber in between them, and the three of them conducted an intricate conversation at a five-year-old level. To Susannah’s delight, Wyatt offered ready answers to her daughter’s endless questions—Who lives on the moon? Why is the sky blue? What are clouds made of?—providing explanations that a little girl could understand.

  He’ll make a wonderful father one day. Nate and Amber would love him to death.

  At that moment she’d been pretending to take a sip of “tea,” and Susannah gasped at the thought, inhaling a dollop of juice. Choking, with Amber patting her back, she was glad of a legitimate reason for her face to be red.

  Wyatt started out of his chair, but she waved for him to sit down. “Are you okay?” he asked.

  Still coughing, she nodded. “Really,” she sputtered when she saw his anxious expression.

  He stood up. “I’ll get some water.”

  Susannah recovered as the dining room door swung shut behind her. Wiping her eyes, she finally took a deep breath and a clear swallow, just as a knock sounded from the front porch. Thinking Wyatt might not have heard, she went to the screen door...and jerked to a halt.