Chapter Five
May 30
“Now that we’re tanked up and topped off,” Logan said, slanting her a glance as he parked the truck near a group of buildings, “I wanted you to see the center of Silver Creek when it comes to the folks who live around here.”
“It’s a fairgrounds,” she said, climbing out of the cab.
“The heart and pride of our community,” he assured her, settling his Stetson on his head, meeting her at the entrance from the parking area. He resisted the urge to cup her elbow. Since #MeToo, he’d been aware that a lot of things men did were not seen as positive or invited or wanted, as he’d assumed. Hands off. That was it. Logan was trying to put himself in a woman’s world. Men were taking unconscious, unthinking advantage of them. It was a whole new world for both genders. No more uninvited physical contact. Not touching her hand, no touching her shoulder. Nothing. And yet, that’s exactly what he wanted to do, but he curbed his desire.
Lea seemed to have ramped down and appeared less stressed. Maybe the ranch had lulled her with its own unique magic, its ephemeral beauty, the wildlife, or perhaps she had dived fully into the job and was comfortable being there. He liked having her around. Even more, he made more stops at the house at lunchtime than before she had arrived. And dinner was something he eagerly looked forward to every night, whereas before, it had been lonely and like one hand clapping. Now he was feeling positive in ways he hadn’t been for a long time. And he knew it was because there was a woman under his roof. But not just any woman. A highly intelligent, creative woman with common sense for a soul. Never mind he found her beautiful in every possible way, but those words weren’t coming out of his lips. At least not yet, probably never.
“Over here, my grandfather and his wife had the 4-H building built.” He pointed to the one-story, warehouse-like structure. “My mother and father had a livestock arena and pens built next to it. That allowed 4-H kids who were raising animals to compete.”
“I like the copper rooster on the steeple,” Lea said, appreciating the huge, long, wide building. Turning, she looked up into his eyes. “What are you going to build for the town?”
He smiled a little, gesturing to another huge building. “My mother was old-fashioned. She gardened, raised everything we had on our dinner plates at night, and created beautiful flower gardens, which you’ve seen around the property. She wanted a place where people who had gardens like hers, of which there are many to this day, as well as people who owned fruit trees and grew flowers, could compete for prizes, too. When I was younger, I worked with my father on blueprints, along with my mother, to create such a building. My mother wanted lots of classrooms built within it, too, where people could go to learn best agriculture and gardening techniques, or, if someone wanted to raise irises, for example, what it took to do that.”
“Wow, you just about own everything at this fairgrounds, Logan. You and your family. What a gift to the people of this valley.” She saw his cheeks redden a little, a bit of shyness in his eyes.
“I grew up learning one thing is very important,” he murmured, “and that is, we all need one another. My family provided timber for the silver mines. When they turned to raising livestock and continued to expand the wood business, they worked in the valley in partnership with other ranchers. When we became prosperous, so did everyone else. I like that idea. It’s an ‘all for one, one for all’ sort of idealism, but we manifested it by actually doing it here in Silver Creek Valley.”
“I’m a dyed-in-the-wool idealist, too,” Lea said quietly, standing and welcoming the warmth of the sun to cut the chill of the breeze, which was much colder. “I love that your family wasn’t selfish, self-centered, or greedy. They spread their wealth to others. That’s so commendable, especially in today’s environment where you see big business and lobbying groups buying and running our government instead of the votes of the people.”
He nodded. “It’s not right. There are other models, better business models, than turning into a greedy, selfish company or corporation. Right now, I’m leading the charge with our city council and our county to keep fracking out of it. I’m also working with the state legislators, but that’s tough because they want to be paid for their vote, and I don’t have that kind of money. No one in Silver Creek does.” He scowled.
“All we can do is get people registered and then get them to vote. It sounds simple enough, but it’s complex. And it takes everyone’s attention on the problem in order to fix it,” Lea said quietly.
“That’s what my family has done here in the valley,” Logan said. “We saw a problem, we came together, chawed it over, came up with ideas on how to fix it. Those weren’t county or town board meetings, either. The ranchers would invite townspeople to a ranch barbecue, a barn dance, and together, they’d solve a problem over a good meal and dancing with their families.”
“Well, it sounds like the real problem confronting this valley right now is with that fracking corporation that you mentioned to me early on. They fall into the rich, powerful, greedy, and I don’t give a damn about any other human beings other than my own family, kind of mentality.”
“Harvey Polcyn is sixty years old, worth one billion dollars,” Logan growled. “He’s got three children, two boys and a girl, and he’s got them on his board. He refuses to be on the stock market, keeping the company from going public, wanting to make his own rules rather than go by the ones that are already in place. He’s been destroying the geologic substructure in the county to the south of us. He’s tried to bribe our town officials, but they turned him down cold. The whole valley wants nothing to do with him, but there’s loopholes.”
“What kind of loopholes?”
“Some of the ranchers in the county don’t own the mineral rights to their own land. Polcyn can come in, pay them, set up his fracking equipment, and start destroying the geologic substructure of our valley, legally.”
“Isn’t there anything you can do about it, Logan? This sounds heartbreaking.”
“It is heartbreaking.” He sighed. “But, a glimmer of hope. Oregon’s legislature created House Bill 2623, which imposes a five-year moratorium on hydraulic fracturing for oil or gas in your state. Did you know about it, since you live there?”
“Yes, my family and I followed it. We were relieved when it passed. Oregonians are ecologically minded, first and foremost. We want clean water, breathable air, and as little or no pesticides or herbicides used on crops. There’s an awful lot of organic farmers in the state. We hate genetically altered anything. We won’t buy it.”
“That’s why Silver Creek will be good for you,” he noted. “We’re into fighting climate change, supporting the environment, and eating clean food that is organic.”
“I got really lucky.”
“Have you been to Mama’s Market yet?”
Lea shook her head. “Not yet. You’re feeding me too well, Logan. And I’m rarely in the kitchen except to offer a hand to Maddy, which she usually turns down.”
“Next time Maddy goes grocery shopping for the ranch? Go with her. You’ll love Mama’s Market. It’s actually owned by a good friend of mine, Chase Bishop of the Three Bars Ranch. His family has been in this valley almost as long as mine has. They own a thirty-thousand-acre ranch and he’s turned part of it into an organic farm, and has plans for more ecologically friendly commodities. Mama Mary Bishop is the matriarch of the valley, and the one who started the supermarket here in Silver Creek. Over time, it has become the only grocery store in town because everything is fresh, organic, and non-GMO. She’s been responsible for just about everyone having a garden. Matter of fact, Mama gives classes at the fair on how to start one. We have a huge knitting group here, which, by the way, comprises women and men.”
“Do you knit, Logan?”
He chuckled. “No. My interests are more in building infrastructure in the valley to serve the people who live here, not wrestling with yarn.”
She laughed, and then became serious. “I find that admirable. I wish we could clone you and have you in every town and village in this country.”
Logan felt his cheeks growing warm over her husky, emotional comment. “When you live out away from cities and suburbs, you learn to rely on your neighbors.” He removed his Stetson, running his fingers through his short, dark hair and then settling it back on his head. He motioned her toward the exit. “I want to give you the layout of our town.”
“Sounds good to me. I feel like it’s a bus woman’s holiday,” she teased, grinning over at him.
He smiled and opened the door to the outside of the building. “You need to take more breaks, Lea.”
“I just get lost in my work. And it’s not really work at all, to me,” she amended, walking with him toward the truck.
“You’re passion driven.”
“Good way of putting it.”
He opened the door to the truck before she could reach for the handle. There was humor in her eyes as she nodded her thanks and climbed in.
“Silver Creek, the town, is a strip kind of place,” Logan said as they drove slowly down the mostly deserted highway. “We have photos in my family album of buckboards drawn by horses coming into this town.” He gestured ahead of them. “It was a muddy, rutted main drag.”
“I can imagine it,” she murmured, wanting to always know more about the man, not the owner of the largest spread in the valley.
“The fairgrounds sit outside the town for a reason. My grandfather, and the other ranchers of that era, got together a long time ago and drew up a kind of map of what the town should be and should have. They were pretty farsighted.”
“Your grandfather fight in World War Two?”
“He did. For four years. Like so many other young American men of that era did.” Logan’s voice dropped. “Nowadays, we know that a lot of military men and women come out of combat with PTSD. Back then, it was called battle fatigue, but everyone who had it either drank heavily upon their return or just buried it and tried to hide it and adjust to civilian life the best they could.”
“What did your grandfather do?” Lea wondered. She saw Logan’s dark brows dip momentarily. He had one hand draped over the top of the steering wheel and he opened his hand in response.
“I grew up remembering he was a pretty closed-up gent. I didn’t know why at the time. I just accepted him like that. And no one talked about the war. So, I didn’t understand until I went into the army why he was so inward and untalkative. I was a software mechanic on the Apache gunship helicopters and was stationed over in Afghanistan, in Helmand Province, one of the worst combat areas in that godforsaken sandbox of a country. We’d routinely get mortared or have hand grenades thrown over the fence around the perimeter of our base. I didn’t see combat like my grandfather did in Europe. He survived the Battle of the Bulge in Belgium, near the end of the war. I found out from my grandmother and mother about some of his heroism in combat. He had a Silver Star and a Bronze Star with a V for valor. He’d been in the thick of the army move to drive the Germans out of Europe. I began to understand from my own four years in the army, what he must have gone through. I wish—” He sighed. “I wish I’d known then, at eighteen through twenty-two, when I served my country, and realized how much pain and suffering my grandfather endured daily. By the time I left the army, he’d passed on. It’s one of my great heartaches, not getting to speak with him, understand some of what he went through. I wonder if he talked to anyone about it. My grams knew some of it because she would tell me he’d wake up screaming at night, scaring the hell out of her.”
Shaking her head and giving Logan a sad look, she said softly, “I think war should be the last option any country thinks about, not the first. I see so many vets returning, and their spirits are shattered and broken.”
“Yes,” he said. Taking a deep breath, he glanced at her. “We’re coming up on The Unicorn bookstore where Poppy and her husband, Brad, own it. It’s here on the left and I know you said Poppy was one of the first people you met when you came here.”
“Yes, she’s wonderful. I met her husband, Brad, and he’s just as nice as she is. He runs the restaurant portion for her in the back of the bookstore.”
“Sometimes, Brad wrangles at our ranch. We often need more help in the summer when we’re vaccinating our calves and such. He’s a hard worker, honest as the day is long.”
“Like everyone else you employ, I’m sure.”
He smiled. “I think you draw what you are. Don’t you?”
“Most certainly.” She pointed toward the bookstore. “There’s a hair salon on the other street behind it.” She touched her hair. “I’m going to have to get a trim pretty soon.”
“We only have one hair salon, too,” he said. “Mariposa was the name given it by Helen Dinkens. She’s the owner. Everyone loves her. She’s in her fifties now, but came here thirty years ago, worked hard, saved her money, and had her salon built.”
“Are a lot of the people here from other parts of the country? Are they drawn here for a reason?”
Nodding, he said, “Pretty much the story. Most of them were from cities or suburbs. All of ’em wanting a country or rural lifestyle.” He pointed to the right. “There’s our only school, and it has all grades. The school was originally built in the 1920s, but has been added on to over the decades as the population grew. I spent my twelve years there.”
“It’s a huge, gray, stone kind of looking building,” she said, pointing to the year it opened: 1922.
“At least from what you can see from here,” Logan said. “Behind it are far more recent buildings to house the growing student population.”
“What is the population here?”
“Forty thousand, now.”
“I see you have a pancake restaurant.” She pointed off to the right.
“It’s a diner,” he said. “Good food, day or night.”
For as far as Lea could see, the town was definitely built around the straight-ahead four-lane highway. “Is there something here that you’re really proud of?”
“Yes,” he said, “and I got involved in it because of my grandfather’s PTSD. About half a mile up on the right, I’ll take a turn and you’ll see a number of tiny houses. This has been in my heart for a long time because a lot of the ranchers around here went into the military and then came home. Silver Creek is a mecca of sorts in the summer months. A lot of homeless vets come into our valley. I wanted to have a place for them to live, not on the street, and so did the other ranching families.” He slowed the truck and made a right turn, driving down two blocks and then pulling over on the berm. “You see these tiny homes?”
“Yes.” They were all brightly painted, reminding her of Easter eggs, each small home with a yard and white picket fence around it. She saw a number of men and women out and about around each home or on the porches, where rockers sat.
“Last summer, we got wrangling crews from all the ranches in the valley, and the town paid for everything we needed. We spent three months putting up these small rows of homes for the vets. Now, they all have a place to stay. It’s warm in the winter, air-conditioned in the summer. We don’t have a Veterans Administration hospital here, but our own social network for the town helps them with mental and emotional issues, any drinking or drug problems. We’ve gotten the county to put money into social services for them.” He grimaced. “That wasn’t easy. Wyoming is not a highly populated state, so we don’t have tons of taxpayer money around to pay for things we all might want for others.”
“How did you get it then?” she wondered.
“Writing grants. It’s not my forte, but there’s a number of ranchers here who sent sons and daughters off to college, and they did the work. We supplied most of the lumber for their homes. It was time to thin the groves and we’d done that two years earlier. Took the wood to our local sawmill and had the lumber made and donated it to the project.”
“You could have sold that lumber for a lot of money,” Lea said, her heart opening even more to this man.
Shrugging, Logan said, “What’s money if you can’t do something good with it? Why have it? My parents were fully behind this project, and I’d talked it over with them beforehand. Our ranch is unique in that we’ve got many streams of income. No one else has groves of hard- and softwood like we do. But it was my relatives who planted them and now, it’s paying off in many ways.” He smiled slightly. “I would like to think my forebears would approve of the use of this wood to help the homeless.”
“I think,” Lea said, touched by his family’s generosity, “that they would celebrate your kindness toward others.”
“Most do, some don’t. We have our detractors here on the city council. We almost didn’t get enough votes to build these homes for the vets. Everything, nowadays, is a battle of one sort or another, to hold a dream and make it come to fruition.”
“You live in a world I honestly don’t know much about. My parents never got invested in their city council.”
“Well,” he warned, putting the truck in gear and easing out onto the road once more, “if you don’t? Your voice and needs aren’t going to be met or heard. I had civics classes in high school, teaching us how democracy works. Voting is a privilege. I was over in Afghanistan, where no woman could vote. No man can, either. It’s all about the tribe and the facilities within it, and they all have an authoritarian leader. Some of them were good men with good hearts, but others were not like that at all. I understood our democracy as never before while I was over there. I came home realizing if I didn’t take part in what was going on in the town I lived in, that I was shirking my duty as a citizen.”
“Nowadays,” Lea said darkly, “schools don’t teach civics. Mine did, but I know it is an anomaly to what’s going on with our education system right now. Kids can’t count money, they rely on a computer to do everything. I often wonder if the electric grid ever collapsed across our country, how many of them would know how to survive without technology.”
“Exactly,” he said, pulling over to the curb. He pointed to the left. “Here’s another undertaking we’re proud of, Lea. This is our homeless shelter. Right next to it is a medical and dental outreach clinic which charges nothing, or next to nothing, to help homeless people or low income families.”
“Did grants pick up that cost?” she wondered.
He grinned. “Sure did. We’re a town full of grant money, and the people who write them are always scouring for ways to find more. Not all grants are forever, and many have to be renewed or we have to go through the entire process yearly, which is a lot of work on our part.” He pointed to another building. “And right next to them is our women’s shelter.”
She saw the large two-story white building with green trim. “It’s so nice to see a town taking care of those who have difficult lives. I rarely have seen something like this.”
“Part of it is that we have a woman mayor,” he said, chuckling. “She’s been voted in every three years for the last couple of decades. Daisy Woods is now sixty, silver hair, blue eyes, and a real hands-on mayor. She has made huge changes, including the building of the women’s shelter during her tenure. And like every city council, she has her detractors that try and stop her vision for Silver Creek from coming true, but she’s a very smooth, diplomatic politician. Most of the people here love her. She worked tirelessly with all of us ranchers to get the tiny homes built for the homeless vets.”
“Women see the world differently,” Lea said. “We are the nurturers, the caregivers, and the ones who bring life into this world. I’m afraid I see a lot of men who all they want to do is to chase greed, money, and power. They don’t care if they destroy our water, our air, our animals or way of life. They just care about money, position, and power over all of us.”
“Well,” he growled, “that’s not happening here. Not in our county, our valley, or in our town. The only rat we have like that is Polcyn and the money that his company has for fracking their way from the Gulf, northward. And now, he’s at our county’s doorstep.”
“That’s such an awful thing, this fracking. They’re destroying the rock and geology beneath an area, polluting the water so people can’t drink it.” Lea shook her head, feeling as grim as Logan looked. “Is Mayor Woods in this fight to stop him from coming into the county?”
“Better believe it,” he said, pulling out of the parking zone. “But we’re in a fight of our lives with the state, too. There’s men like Polcyn in power at the governor’s office, as well as in the state legislature, who want him to frack all the counties where there’s natural gas.”
“Do you have to lobby, then? That takes a lot of money.”
He drove the speed limit, heading out of town. “Yes, to both. Like I shared with you before, our biggest worry is Polcyn being able to frack in our county where some of the ranchers don’t own the mineral rights to their property. We’ve got a team of lawyers working on that side of this battle, already.”
“I hope they can help you stave off that greedy monster.”
“I think they’ll do it. But it involves years of holding that vision, and stopping Polcyn from ever setting foot in our county. It’s a daily, constant threat to all of us.”
As they sped out of town, about half a mile from the entrance to the ranch, Lea saw a dark blue truck pulled over on their side of the road. A cowboy climbed out.
“That’s Chase Bishop,” Logan said. “I’m pulling over to see if he needs some help.”
Lea nodded. “He doesn’t look happy.” Chase was easily six-foot-four-inches tall, the light blue chambray shirt outlining his massive shoulders and chest. He wore a white straw Stetson on his military-short black hair, well-worn Levi’s, and scuffed, well-used dark brown cowboy boots.
“No, he doesn’t. Probably an issue with his vehicle.” He put his truck in park and climbed out.
“Hey, Chase,” he called, shutting the door to his truck, “what’s going on with your Bronco? Do you need some help?”
Chase gave him a one-sided grimace. “Yeah, my beloved 1992 Ford Bronco here, had an oil light come on. I pulled over immediately and turned off the engine.” He got down on his hands and knees, staring hard at the underside of the engine. There was a slow oil leak dripping onto the asphalt shoulder.
Logan got down beside him, spotting the leak. “Did you pull over in time?”
“I think so. Otherwise, I’d have blown the engine on my girl.” He sat up, leaning back on the heels of his boots, wiping his large hands on his thighs. “It’s got two-hundred-thousand miles on it, and you know I care for this baby.”
“I do,” Logan said, standing up, brushing off his hands. “I hope you can patch that oil pan or replace the oil line to it.”
“Oh, no worries, I will. Can I hitch a ride to Three Bars?”
“Sure, come on. Lea, the woman who is a master wood carver, is with me.”
Bishop grinned elfishly. “I don’t bite and I’ll leave her alone.”
Chuckling, Logan waited while he locked up his white Bronco with gray trim. “I don’t think either of us need to worry. Come on.”
Lea scooted over as Chase introduced himself after opening the passenger-side door. He tipped his hat and was all manners, asking permission to come and sit next to her when Logan took him to the Three Bars Ranch.
“Of course, you can,” Lea said. She didn’t say anything about the opportunity to sit close to Logan. Literally, she could feel the heat from his body despite the clothing he wore. Deciding that he was a magnet to her, Lea smiled over at Chase as he edged in with his height and bulk.
“Three Bars is about five miles down the road,” Logan said. “Do you want me to drop you off at the ranch house first, Lea?”
“No, thanks. I’ve not seen any other ranches, so this will be part of my reconnoitering around Silver Creek.”
Chase took off his hat, placing it in his lap and pulling on the seat belt. “Logan has the nicest-looking ranch in the valley,” he said. “But ours isn’t far behind.”
Driving out onto the highway, Logan hooted. “Three Bars is a model ranch. You’ve been leading the way to different types of ecology for the valley.” He turned his attention to Lea. “He owns thirty-thousand acres and our ranches butt up against one another. We’ve been good neighbors forever.”
“Our families are like kissing kin,” Chase told Lea. “But when you live out in the middle of nowhere, you learn to appreciate your neighbors and overlook some of their other more eccentric qualities.”
Snickering, Logan added, “Chase can be diplomatic when he wants to be.”
“Better to be neighbors,” Lea agreed.
“I’m glad to meet you, Lea. There’s word buzzing around the valley that you’re the real deal. I don’t know how long you’re going to be in our valley, but I’d sure like to get your thoughts on some kitchen remodeling.”
“I didn’t know you were a man of the kitchen,” Logan jabbed, grinning even more.
“Well,” Chase admitted, “I’m not. But you know? My mother, Lea, was on me just a month ago to make some much needed changes to our kitchen.”
“Mary Bishop is Chase’s mom. She owns Mama’s Market,” Logan reminded her. “She runs it to this day.”
“Oh, I see,” she said. “And your mother lives with you, Chase?”
“Well, she lives nearby. The house I’m occupying now was her home when my dad was alive. After he passed, she didn’t want to care for such a large house and we built her a much smaller one, about two hundred feet from the main ranch house.”
“But she wants you to update your kitchen?” Lea asked.
“Yes. The cupboards are really worn. They’ve been there for a hundred years and she thinks it’s about time they got replaced with something better.”
“How do you feel about it?” Lea wondered.
“I’m fine with it. We had a good last year, and I have money enough to do it, but hearing what you’re doing with Logan’s kitchen got around. Mary wanted me to contact you, and here you are.”
Laughing, Lea said, “I’d be happy to come over and look at your cabinets. Would Mary be there? I’m sure she’d like some input, or to give me suggestions.”
“Sure, she’d be there in a heartbeat. She’s all excited about you. Logan, here, has been bragging all over the county about your incredible artistry. Mary and I would like to come over and see it, if Logan will let us in the front door.”
Snickering, Logan said, “Chase knows he and his family are welcome anytime at the Wild Goose. And seeing Lea’s incredible gift for woodworking will make you salivate, pardner.”
“I’m sure it will. Once I get my Bronco back in order, I’ll give you a call or email you and find out when’s a good time to come over. Mary will be beside herself.”
Five miles wasn’t that far and too soon, Lea saw their threesome go down to a twosome once more. The Three Bars Ranch was huge, had a two-story log ranch headquarters with plenty of wranglers either riding horses or on ATVs, doing a lot of daily work that the sprawling ranch demanded. After dropping off Chase, Lea reluctantly moved back to her original spot in the cab.
“That Bronco is a 1992 model, and it’s still running?”
Backing around in the large circular driveway, Logan said, “Chase is the kind of man that doesn’t let go of anything. His father, Tom, died at forty-five of a heart attack and it was his car. Chase took it over, has babied it over the years, drives it everywhere, and I think it keeps him close to his dad, even though he’s gone.”
“That’s so bittersweet,” Lea said, sad for Chase.
“They were close, although Chase was very young when his dad died.”
“So, he grew up without a father?”
“Yes. Mary never remarried. It was well-known in the valley that she and Tom were deeply and forever in love with one another. She started Mama’s Market about a year later because she and Tom had dreamed of having an organic grocery store. In a way,” Logan murmured, his voice lowering with emotion, “I think Mary having her grocery store was like Chase having Tom’s Bronco. Each of them had a piece of Tom to hold on to.”
“That’s such a beautiful tribute to Tom,” she whispered, giving him a warm look, wanting to put her hand on his shoulder, seeing the pain in his expression, wanting to comfort him. But she didn’t. It would have been unseemly. She was an employee. Nothing more. But how she wished there was so much more between them.
“It is. They have a family graveyard on the Three Bars, just as we have our family plot on the Wild Goose. Mary, I think, found a lot of solace in starting up the grocery store, following her and Tom’s dreams. They had literally a three-inch binder of notes, ideas, and so much more, for the grocery store before he died. She calls it her bible to this day. And it’s always in her office there at the store. For her, Tom is still alive, still a part of her life as she walks the aisles of their store. I know it gives her closure, but also, comfort. Tom might be gone, but he’s not forgotten. He’s well loved by his wife and son to this day.”
“That’s something that people like Polcyn will never understand or value,” Lea murmured. “And I cherish that kind of warm relationship and connections, like you do.”
“Well, luckily,” Logan said, turning into the driveway of the Wild Goose, “my parents are both alive, and happy to be in Arizona, where there’s no four seasons.”
“We’re both lucky,” Lea agreed. “I hope my folks live to be a hundred like yours.”
“I learned a long time ago, Lea, to just live the day that’s in front of me. I don’t normally look past that because being in Afghanistan taught me that a person you love can be erased in a nanosecond. They won’t have any tomorrow.”