Matt (15 page)

After banking the fire, she and Vanessa set their bedrolls close enough to enjoy the warmth of the hot embers through the night.

As Vanessa snuggled in, she stared at the canopy of stars overhead. Grace was right. This wasn't like anything she'd ever experienced. She'd never before seen stars so big and bright, it felt as though she could reach up and touch them. And the night air, though chilly, whispered over her face, leaving her feeling fresh and clean.

Make some memories
, Matt had whispered. And oh, wasn't she just?

Oh Dad
, she thought.
If only you could be here, safe and sound, away from danger, away from the all-consuming work that takes up so much of your time, to share this with me.

And then she thought about Matt Malloy. How would she describe him to her father? A cowboy. A rancher. A businessman. A man she would trust with her life, though she'd known him a scant few days.

With a feeling of deep contentment, she drifted into sleep.

V
anessa turned toward the warmth at her back before opening her eyes to see that Grace had added a fresh log to their fire.

She yawned, stretched, then sat up with a start. “Did I oversleep? How long have you been up?”

“Relax, Nessa. I just woke a few minutes ago, and thought I'd stoke the fire before breakfast.”

Vanessa slipped out of her bedroll and pulled on her hiking boots before stowing her bedding in the back of the truck. “Tell me what I can do.”

Grace was busy uncovering a metal storage bin and removing several packets. She handed over a blackened coffeepot that looked as though it had seen years of wilderness treks. “If you'll take this to that creek over there and fill it, we'll have coffee.”

Vanessa returned and spooned ground coffee into the basket before placing the pot on a grate over the fire. Soon the air was perfumed with the wonderful fragrance of coffee, along with the mouthwatering aroma of onion-laced skillet potatoes, as well as ham and eggs.

“All the comforts of home,” Grace proclaimed as she filled two plates.

As the two women dug into their breakfast, Grace couldn't help grinning at her young friend. “No loss of appetite this morning, I gather?”

Vanessa laughed. “I'm starving.”

“That's what hiking these hills does to a body. I'm always hungry up here.”

“I can understand why. We must have walked miles yesterday.”

“We'll walk even more today. But I promise you, we won't even notice.”

“I'd walk through fire just to see a herd of mustangs.”

“I remember those same feelings of utter excitement. It's always been the same for me. The magnetic pull of wild horses. Just knowing they're close by has my heart beating faster. Now, tell me how you felt sleeping under the stars.”

“It was just as you said. But I really never expected it to be so grand.”

“You don't mind the lack of modern facilities?”

“What lack?” Vanessa lifted her hands to encompass the green hills, the blue sky with its puffy clouds, the stream gurgling behind them. “It seems to me we have all the comforts of home, and none of the annoyances. No phones ringing. No schedules or deadlines.” She sighed, searching for words. “Honestly? Though I would have never believed I could be saying this, I think I could learn to love this way of life.”

“Now you're in trouble,” Grace said with a laugh. At Vanessa's expression she added, “That's exactly how I got hooked. A night under the stars. A herd of mustangs. A handsome cowboy…”

Vanessa felt her face grow warm.

“Speaking of which…What do you think of my grandson?”

Trying to be coy, Vanessa shrugged. “Which one?”

Grace threw back her head and laughed. “Try that on someone else. I've seen the way you and Matthew look at each other. You're not even aware he has two brothers.”

Vanessa couldn't help joining in the laughter. “Am I so transparent?”

“To anyone who bothers to look at you, Nessa.” Grace turned. “Let's get this campsite put to rights so we can get on the trail.”

The two women worked together, banking the fire, cleaning their dishes in the stream, and stowing them inside the metal container stored in the back of the truck.

After checking their supplies in their backpacks, and adding Grace's rifle and the photographic supplies, which they divided between them, they set off across the high meadow in search of the herd, with Grace leading the way.

As they crested a hill, they paused to enjoy the view. The hills around them, each one folding into the next, were green and gold, with a sky so blue it hurt to look at it. The sun shot the distant peaks with shimmering gold and mauve while a mist drifted over the lake far below.

“I think you're my good luck charm, Nessa.” Grace slipped on a pair of sunglasses. “I don't think I've ever seen a prettier day.”

As they walked, they chatted amiably.

“Matt said he was twelve when his parents died.”

“Yes.” Grace paused to lower her backpack to the grass before sitting on a smooth, sun-warmed rock. “Sudden death changes the lives of everyone involved. Until then, Frankie and I had more happiness than anyone deserves in this life. Two sons who loved this ranch as much as we did. A beautiful daughter-in-law who loved us as much as we loved her. And three grandsons who delighted all of us, just by being.”

She looked toward the brooding mountains. “We were all so carefree. Our biggest concern was doubling our herds and topping the previous year's profits. And then, suddenly, none of that mattered. All of us were changed forever.”

She met Vanessa's look. “Matthew and his brothers were as carefree as boys can be, especially boys growing up on a vast ranch, being best friends, doing all the rough-and-tumble things boys do. But from the moment they were given the news of their loss, Matthew was no longer just a twelve-year-old boy. He became, in an instant, guardian and protector to two younger ones. My wild, fearless, dangerous grandson became—” she shrugged “—responsible.”

She lifted her head, as though speaking to the air around her. “That singular event changed our entire family. Our son Colin had been the kid brother who had adored his older brother. All he'd ever wanted was to be like Patrick. And now he had to step up and become not only father to three lost boys, but also the only son to Frankie and me. And we were in such grief, we were nearly blinded by it. So was my father, who'd come to live with us so he could watch his family grow, and suddenly he had to bury a grandson and watch his great-grandsons struggle with their loss. And then there were Burke and Yancy, whose losses were as great as ours. They may not be blood, but they're family just the same.”

Vanessa caught Grace's hand. Squeezed. “I'm sure you all struggled.”

Grace nodded. “Of course you understand. Matthew told me you lost your mother as a teen. Once death touches you, you feel vulnerable. You—”

Vanessa finished for her. “—You realize it can happen to you and to all those you love. You can never again take anything for granted. In the blink of an eye, it can all be taken away.”

Grace stood and wrapped her arms around Vanessa, and the two women embraced, letting the tears flow as they shared a strange and painful bond.

For Vanessa, it was an epiphany. She had never before shared her grief with a woman who had likewise suffered such loss.

They'd hiked for several hours before Grace suddenly held up a hand and pointed.

Vanessa was stopped in her tracks by the sight of a herd of horses just ahead. Their leader, a ghostly gray stallion, stood a little apart from the others, head lifted in the air, alert to any danger.

Grace pointed again, and Vanessa smiled at the black-and-white spotted mare calmly grazing while her foal nursed.

Vanessa stood perfectly still, savoring her first view of wild horses. Though she remained quiet, she was doing somersaults inside. In her mind she was wildly dancing and singing and clapping her hands in sheer delight.

She was really here. In the Montana wilderness, just a hundred yards away from a herd of mustangs.

She wasn't even aware that she was crying until Grace drew an arm around her waist and offered her a handkerchief.

Surprised, she dabbed at the moisture running down her cheeks.

“I understand,” Grace whispered. “I've had that same reaction so many times.”

Hearing her, Vanessa got past her embarrassment over being all weepy, and simply savored the moment.

She was here. The horses were here. And her heart was nearly bursting with a feeling of wild joy.

They spent the rest of the day watching the herd.

Vanessa had assumed Grace would move closer and maybe even walk among them. But all the older woman did was sit on the boulder, aiming her camera at the various mares, and often at the stallion, snapping off picture after picture.

By the time the sun had made its arc over the distant mountains, Grace beckoned Vanessa to follow, and they made their way back to camp.

Once they were out of sight of the herd, Vanessa was free to give voice to her enthusiasm.

“Oh Gracie, I can't believe I'm here, doing something I've always dreamed of doing. I admitted to Matt that I was horse crazy as a young girl. I wouldn't let up until my parents allowed me to take jumping lessons at a nearby stable. And then I grew up and life and work got in the way. But now…these wild horses…” She gave a dreamy sigh. “It's my dream come true. They're so beautiful. And those foals. Just so precious.” She danced around, unable to contain herself any longer.

Then she paused as a thought struck. “Did you see the way the stallion watched us?”

“I saw.”

“Was he thinking of charging us if we moved too close?”

Grace chuckled. “If we were predators, he would. But with people, whenever he feels threatened, he simply leads his herd to safety.”

“So he knows the difference between people and other animals?”

Grace smiled. “Indeed. And because this herd is so isolated, he may not even feel threatened if we moved among them. But for today, I wanted to let him get used to seeing us.”

“Did you see how many mares had foals?”

“Six. I counted them.”

“I did, too. They're so cute. I could hardly keep from dashing into their midst and hugging them.”

“I wouldn't advise it, Nessa.” Grace gave a dry laugh. “Did you see the roan mare? The red one? She looks like she'll foal any day now.”

“Do you think you'll get to capture it on film?”

“Oh, I hope so.” After walking around their campsite, quietly studying the truck and their gear, Grace went to her camera equipment, sorting through lenses and cameras. “I hope you don't mind if I delay fixing something to eat until after I've assembled everything I'll need to take along tomorrow.”

“You do that, and let me handle fixing our supper.”

“You don't mind, Nessa?”

“I'd love to. After all, Yancy did all the hard work. All I have to do is choose what to heat up.” Vanessa opened the metal container and began rummaging through the labeled packages of prepared food. “Do you have anything in particular you'd like to eat, or would you like to be surprised?”

“Surprise me.”

Later as they sat around the fire, contentedly enjoying Yancy's thinly shaved roast beef sandwiches with thick potato wedges and creamy coleslaw, Grace looked over. “Excellent choices, Nessa.”

“Thanks. Not that it matters. I don't think Yancy is capable of fixing anything except the best.” She bit into her last potato wedge. “How long has he been your ranch cook?”

“I guess it's over thirty years now.”

“How did you find him? Did you advertise for a cook?”

“Advertise? I'm afraid not. It didn't happen that way.” Grace sat back, sipping coffee. “It was late October or early November, as I recall. My son Patrick heard a knock on the door long after dark. He opened it and we heard him let out a furious oath.” She shook her head. “Frankie hurried over to see who was there. Burke was carrying a boy, who looked to be about ten or twelve, who had blood dripping from a gash on his forehead, and he was barefoot. I don't know which was more shocking—the blood or the bare feet on such a cold night. Burke said he found the boy collapsed in our barn, trying to hide under the straw. The boy could barely walk, he was so exhausted and wounded, so Burke carried him inside and set him in front of the fire, while I ran around looking for a blanket to wrap him in. Just about that time there was a pounding on the door, and Frankie opened it to a man with a rifle in his arms and fire in his eyes. He said he was Rhys Martin, looking for his no-good son Yancy. Frankie told him he had to leave the rifle outside if he wanted to come in. So he dropped the rifle, and when he spotted the boy he was across the room in a flash and hauling him up so he could pound his fist in his face. Burke and Patrick pulled them apart, and when they got the man to settle down enough to say his piece, they learned that this boy was actually eighteen, even though he was no bigger than a ten-year-old. Rhys Martin blamed his own son for all the setbacks in his life. Because of ‘this scrawny kid,' as he called him, his wife had died while giving birth to him. And ever since, all manner of bad things had happened. Cows were dying. Crops were failing. He was losing his ranch.”

Vanessa couldn't hide her shock. “He thought it was all his son's fault?”

Grace nodded. “His whole life, according to Rhys Martin, was ruined because of this boy. And he was going to beat some manliness into him, if it was the last thing he ever did.”

Vanessa was wringing her hands, clearly caught up in what she was hearing. “What happened then?”

Grace gave a soft smile. “We all listened in silence, and then Frank asked Yancy if what his pa said was true. Yancy said it was. Nothing had ever gone right since he'd been born. And his father held him accountable for every bad thing that had ever happened. Then Frankie asked the father if he loved his boy. Rhys Martin asked how anyone could love a misfit like that. He said not only did he not love Yancy, but he wished he'd never been born.” Grace's voice lowered. Softened. “For my Frankie, that was the last straw. He told Burke to call the sheriff. Rhys Martin ran out the door, knowing he'd be arrested for abuse. Frankie raced to the door to let him know that Rhys would never be allowed to come close to his boy again. And if the sheriff found him, we would all testify against him.”

“Did the sheriff find Rhys Martin?”

“There was no sign of him. He left his failing ranch behind, without a trace.”

“Did Yancy ever see his father again?”

Grace shook her head. “And never wanted to. He once confided in Frankie that he believes he was born on that fateful night. Living with us, taking such joy in cooking, he found the life he'd always wanted, and he was never going back.”