Tuff went home, leaving the Daltons to celebrate Christmas. Angie was staying the night with her family, which he was torn about. After the events of the day, he wanted—needed—to hold her through the night. Yet today had only cemented all the reasons why he couldn’t give her all she deserved.
Tuff could never be that man.
His cabin was cold and dark. Instead of building a fire, he turned on the heat and sat on his sofa, staring into the darkness. There was no Christmas tree, just a sad looking Ficus Tuff had tried to nurse back to life. It was hanging on by a thread. Perhaps if he’d remembered to water it from time to time, the plant would be doing better.
He let Buddy out and fed him an extra biscuit when the dog finished his business. “Merry Christmas.”
The hound stretched out at Tuff’s feet and together they went back to staring into the dark. The cabin grew warm to the point of being stuffy. Tuff started to shrug out of his shearling jacket when he felt his mother’s envelope weighing heavy in his pocket. He ignored it the same way he had when Sheriff Strong had handed it to him at her funeral.
Hanging the coat up, he hunted through his refrigerator, even though he’d eaten at Cash and Aubrey’s. A bad habit, he supposed.
The scrimmage with the Liberty Fighter wannabes played through his head on a constant loop and he tried not to think about what would’ve happened if Angie hadn’t taken control of the gun. Later, when the police came, he discovered that Klingman had also been packing.
He could’ve lost her. In the blink of an eye, he could’ve lost the one person who mattered the most. The knowledge of that haunted him.
He closed the fridge and searched through the cupboards for the Maker’s Mark he’d stashed there so long ago the bottle was dusty. Tuff took a glass down and gave himself a healthy pour. The bourbon burned its way down the back of his throat.
He took the drink with him to the sofa and turned on the side lamp. He didn’t even remember where the table lamp had come from, whether he’d inherited it from Gina when she’d moved into the cabin or if he’d bought it secondhand. For the first time, he noticed how ugly it was. A white misshapen resin cowboy boot and a mismatched shade with a burn mark from a hot bulb.
He finished his bourbon and went to the window. Except for the porch light, Angie’s cabin was dark. Tomorrow, he’d let himself in and clean up whatever mess those sons-of-bitches left. He didn’t want Angie to have to see the carnage.
Buddy whined as if he could feel Tuff’s discontent and the melancholy that had settled over him like an old coat. It was just the trauma from the morning, he lied to himself. Deep down inside, he knew it was his past catching up with his present. It was about his inability to let the darkness go. To forgive and forget.
He wandered into the kitchen, considering the wisdom of a second drink and looked at the clock. Midnight. Christmas morning. Another shitty holiday alone.
He thought about Cash and Aubrey’s house, about all the gifts under the tree, about the aroma of a homecooked meal, about happy and well-adjusted kids. But mostly he thought about the love he’d witnessed in that house, how it emanated off the walls.
He thought about his own Christmases as a boy after his father died. About his mother passed out on the couch, barely coherent. About his shame. About his loneliness.
How long would it go on like this? As long as he let it, he supposed.
He drifted back into the living room, took his jacket off the rack, and rifled through the pocket. The envelope. He warred with it as he touched it with his hand.
Throw it away. Better yet, burn it.
He stood there for what seemed like a long time, rubbing the edge of the worn paper. Finally, he removed it, wiped the lint away and took the envelope with him to the sofa. He placed it on the coffee table and stared at the swirly cursive of his name. Theodore. The “T” looked like a leafy tree and the “d” a flower. He traced the letters with his finger as if they were three dimensional.
Buddy lifted his head, dropped it on Tuff’s boots and went back to sleep.
Tuff gingerly picked up the envelope as if it might scald him. There was a small bump in the corner, like a penny had been tucked inside, hidden in the folds of a piece of paper. He turned the envelope over and stared at the seal, then quickly sliced it open before he changed his mind.
He unfolded the top third of the notebook paper to find his father’s St. Christopher medal buried in the bottom seam of the letter.
Mary hadn’t sold it after all.
His eyes blurred as he touched it, holding it between his fingers, the warm medal smooth against his hand. It had been Tuff’s grandfather’s, passed down to his father when he joined the marines. The police had given the medal to his mother with the rest of his father’s personal effects after the convenience store shooting. The chain was gone but the bail was still there. His mother’s perfume and the faint smell of cigarette smoke clung to the pendant. It was a familiar scent, flooding Tuff with memories of the singlewide trailer in Fontaine.
He found a leather cord in his work box, strung it through the bail, and tied it around his neck. He would be the third Garrison to wear the St. Christopher medal, the last vestige of his father. The last vestige of Tuff’s heritage.
He settled into the couch to read the letter. Like the envelope, it had been scribed in his mother’s floral handwriting.
Dear Theodore,
Countless times I wanted to reach out to tell you how sorry I am. But I was afraid the words would sound empty after all this time. And I didn’t want you to think I was looking for a handout.
I know about your saddle shop—I saw your website on the internet—and your success. I am so proud of your accomplishments. I know your father would’ve been too. Despite my deplorable actions as a mother, you pulled yourself up by the bootstraps and made something of yourself. Of course, I’m not surprised. You were always a special child. Your father’s son. Too good, too smart, and too honorable for someone like me. I’ve always known that about you, even when I was too drunk to walk.
As I write this, I am sober. Twenty-four hours and eighteen minutes. For me, sobriety brings clarity. The stark clarity of the terrible things I’ve done and the despicable way I treated you. I turned my back when you needed me the most. You probably saved my life that day. But the sad truth of the matter is that I wanted to die.
I love you, Ted. For years, I’ve been sorting through the old pictures, wondering what life would’ve been like had I not been the awful person I turned into after your father died. You were better off without me. I only would’ve let you down over and over again.
You will always be the good and kind man your father was. I go to my grave heartened that someday you will marry and carry on your dad’s legacy, not mine.
I’ll say it again. I love you, Ted.
Sincerely,
Your mother, Mary Garrison
He read the letter three times, needing time to process each word, each sentiment. He wasn’t sure how to feel about it. Anger, sadness, guilt, or acceptance. In the end, he decided she hadn’t been asking for anything. Not for his love, not for his understanding, not even for his forgiveness. She simply wanted him to know how she felt about him before taking her own life.
He slept on it, letting his mother’s words dominate his dreams. When he woke, he felt lighter. Freer. And for the first time in twenty-five years, he forgave Mary Garrison and released the self-inflicted shackles that had held him hostage from living a full life.
He removed the photo he’d snatched that day from his mother’s trailer from the nightstand drawer where he’d tucked it. It was of him as a small child and his parents in front of a roadside diner outside Missoula. They looked happy. They looked loved.
He swung his legs onto the cold, hardwood floor, slid into a pair of jeans and went to the kitchen where he stuck the picture to his refrigerator with a magnet.
Then he called to Buddy. “You want out, boy?”
Buddy loped out of the bedroom and shot outside to the creek, sniffing his way along the shoreline. Tuff gazed across the water at Angie’s cabin. No sign of life there yet.
Forty minutes later, he was out the door.
Breakfast was in full swing at Jace and Charlie’s. Though Tuff had invited himself, they welcomed him like he was part of the family. He made his way around the piles of torn wrapping paper and boxes of strewn gifts to find Angie.
She was in the kitchen, alone, washing out the coffee pot. She did a little double take when he wrapped his arms around her waist.
“You sleep okay?”
She put down the pot, turned so she faced him and waggled her hand from side to side. “In fits and spurts.”
“Can I take you away from all of this for a little while?”
“Uh, sure.” She worried her bottom lip. “Is everything all right?”
“I read my mother’s suicide note last night.”
“Oh, Tuff.”
“It’s okay. It was actually good that I read it.”
She held his gaze, ostensibly to see if he was telling the truth. “Let me grab my coat.”
They walked through the dining room to curious stares. “I’m borrowing Angie. We won’t be long, I promise,” he said.
Angie grabbed a jacket from the coatrack in the entryway and led him out the door. “You want to take a walk?”
“Yeah.” He took her hand and headed for the creek.
They followed it for a while, letting the sounds of nature fill the silence between them. They came upon a large oak. Tuff pressed Angie’s back against the massive tree trunk and kissed her. He’d missed her. They’d only been separated a night and yet he’d felt like a piece of him had been lost.
She caught his face in her hands and kept him from taking the kiss deeper. “Tell me about the note.”
“Not much to tell. She apologized and basically said she couldn’t live with what she’d done.”
Angie’s eyes grew moist and she pulled him toward her. “I didn’t know she’d left a note.”
“Yeah. The Fontaine sheriff gave it to me after her funeral. I wasn’t going to read it but…”
“What?”
He lifted his head and stared up at the sky, not knowing how to put his thoughts into words. “After yesterday…after nearly losing you…I guess I needed to close the door on some things.”
“Did it help, reading your mother’s note?”
“I think so.” He took a deep breath. “It helped me let go of the anger.” A lot of the pain, too, he supposed. “It helped me re-evaluate my life…the things I now realize I want and out of fear denied myself.”
“Fear of what?”
He swallowed hard. Tuff had never been one to express his feelings particularly well. Half the time, he went around hiding them from himself. Talking about them out loud? Well, he was just a cowboy. A proud cowboy.
When he didn’t answer, she looked at him. Really looked. “Did you fear being rejected because of your mother?”
“Maybe,” he finally said. “But that’s not what I came out here to talk about.”
“Oh, God, you’re leaving.” Angie tipped her head back and closed her eyes.
“Why would you think that?” Though if he was being honest with himself, he’d thought about it. He’d considered bolting the moment he knew he was in too deep with Angie. “My business is here…you’re here. That is if you’re planning to stay.”
She opened her eyes and he stared into their blueness, mesmerized. Wholly smitten.
“I am,” she said. “My family is here. And I love it. Everything about it.” She held his gaze, making her implication clear.
“Good,” he said. “Because I love you.” The words slipped off his tongue easier than he’d expected. The last time he’d told anyone he loved them was his mother when he was only thirteen years old.
He pulled Angie into an embrace and held her, basking in how right she felt in his arms…in his heart.
“Tuff,” Angie reached up and pulled his face down for a kiss, “I love you too.”
“You think we can make this work?” he said against her lips.
“It’s been working.” She giggled into his shoulder. “Don’t you realize that our hearts were locked together, even before you said the words?”
He let that float around in his head for a while. “I want more.”
“Okay. Tell me what more looks like to you.”
He walked her over to a fallen-down log and tugged her down to sit next to him. She stuck her hand in his jacket pocket and he pulled her tight against him to keep her warm.
“A commitment,” he began. “Maybe a family at some point.”
“Yeah?” A smile split her face. It was so bright it was radiant. “I’d like that.”
“Is this going to be enough for you?” He stared past the creek, over the mountain tops. “I know your career plans didn’t include this ranch. I’ll go wherever you want but I believe we could have a good life here.”
She leaned her head against his neck. “Me too. Are you sure you’re ready for this?”
It was a big step for him, and he’d be lying to himself if he didn’t say he was swamped by fear. By doubt. But he loved Angie Dalton beyond all measure, and he couldn’t imagine life without her.
“I can’t give you a fraction of this.” He waved his hands to indicate the vast wealth of a ranch the size of Dry Creek. “I was raised in a singlewide trailer in Fontaine, Montana. It’s a million miles from where you came from. I don’t have a fancy college education or a corporate job. And I grew up one of the hungry folks you wanted to feed. But I love you and I’ll always take care of you, even though you’re perfectly capable of taking care of yourself. Damn, woman, you took on an entire militia group and won.” He kissed the top of her head, inhaling the scent of her shampoo, wanting to hold onto her…protect her…forever. “You’re my everything, Ange. Until you came along, I was a lost soul.”
“Me too,” she whispered, then moved into his lap, twining her arms around his neck. “I traveled the world, looking for something I couldn’t find, only to come home and find the love of my life just next door. This ranch was my solace as a child. A wonderous place, where my brother, cousins, and I roamed free. But I never thought of it as a place where I would settle. Funny, how I went in search of my future when it was right here all along. But, Tuff, wherever you are is home.”
He looked at her, love shining in her baby blues like a beacon in a storm. And whatever residual resentment he harbored toward his mother and the ugly hand he’d been dealt all those years ago melted away.
“I’m good here.” He put his hand over her heart. “With you…always.”