Easter Sunday—three months later
As the voices of the congregation rose in the final bars of “Old Rugged Cross,” Grace linked one hand with her mother and the other with Hank and let her heart float with the music. Her family filled the entire pew—Jeremiah and the boys on Mama’s right, Johnny and Bing on Hank’s left, with Melanie and Wyatt on the end. Having failed to convince their new daughter that Wyatt’s plane wasn’t, as she put it, a beer can with wings, their kids had stayed in Oregon under the eagle eye of their older brother and would be helping serve the complimentary Easter dinner at the Bull Dancer.
Wyatt might be on uneasy terms with organized religion in general, but he was willing to smile and bear it—unlike Grace’s father, who had quit his job and gone to live with her sister rather than stay in Earnest and face the daily humiliation of having lost control of his family. Thanks to an ace attorney from the Patterson firm, the divorce had been final for almost a month—record speed in Texas.
But there had been very little to divide up except the family.
The hymn ended, the minister gave the final blessing, and they exchanged hugs and handshakes all around as they filed out into a warm but blustery spring day. The wind whipped Grace’s bright-yellow sundress around her legs and made her tuck the cardigan more securely around her shoulders. On the front steps, the older Jacobs sister, Lily, stood beside her husband greeting the faithful, the picture of the small-town minister’s wife if it hadn’t been for the irreverent “See you at Christmas!” and “So that’s why my lightning detector went off!” comments that she tossed out along with her smiles.
The Jacobs-Sanchez-Brookman contingent milled around on the lawn as the rest of the crowd scattered. Gil was the only one absent, gone to Oklahoma City to hear Quint sing at mass. The fact that his son was an actual choirboy was a source of much amusement back in Earnest.
Lily’s baby had started to fuss, and Miz Iris passed him to his mother before moving off to greet friends she hadn’t seen in ages, judging by their exclamations.
“I have to go help Tim divvy up all those pots of Easter lilies.” Lily patted the baby’s back, casting an eye around. “Can someone take him?”
Violet shook her head, engaged in a tug-of-war with Ruby. “I’ve got my hands full keeping mine from running out to play in traffic.”
Grace sidled behind Hank, so that Lily’s gaze fell on Shawnee and Tori. They both threw up their hands and backed away.
“Wow, I’d love to, but we’ve got to go do…” Shawnee trailed off, but Tori jumped in.
“That thing. With the Easter eggs. Sorry.”
“And I have to help them,” Melanie said, hot on their heels as they escaped to the parking lot.
“Honest to Pete.” Lily rolled her eyes heavenward. “Where are the women who are supposed to be elbowing each other out of the way to cuddle a baby?”
“You’re hanging with the wrong crowd,” Hank said dryly.
“Here, let me.” Grace’s mother gathered up the little one and cradled him against her shoulder, pressing her cheek to his downy head. “I’ve been missing my grandbabies. Which doesn’t mean any of you need to go out and make me more,” she added, with a stern look at her three boys.
Grace could laugh along with everyone else because they had talked about her lack of interest in motherhood, to which Mama had replied, “Whatever makes you happy, sweetie. Children are supposed to be a blessing, not a requirement.”
As her mother rocked and cooed, Steve’s deep voice boomed out over the hubbub. “Dinner will be on the table at noon!”
In less than a minute, the parking lot was empty.
* * *
When the dinner plates had been cleared, Johnny strolled out onto the covered back deck of Miz Iris’s house, freshly poured coffee in hand. Normally he would have migrated toward where most of the men were gathered, debating Delon’s chances at a huge winner-take-all rodeo that had become the sport’s version of the U.S. Open, pitting weekend warriors against world champions for a chance at a million dollars.
If Johnny had been fifteen years younger, he might’ve given it a shot.
But the slight pang was swept away by the sight of Bing laughing with Melanie as they leaned against the railing, more vibrant than the beds of flowers in their bright spring dresses. He ambled over to join them, perching close enough to Bing that his shoulder brushed hers and earning himself an I know what you’re up to smile. After dealing with her house and waiting for Indian Health Service to find her replacement, she’d only been back in Texas for ten days and he could hardly stand to let her out of his reach.
She’d laughed the first time he asked her to marry him, but he wasn’t too concerned. He could wait a few months, while she settled into her new job at the mental health clinic in Dumas. Lord knew he and Hank could find a way to pass the time, between the three Patterson horses that had just been delivered and the half dozen others that had been arriving for the past month. As of last Tuesday, Johnny had full clearance from the doctor, and he couldn’t remember a time when he’d ended his days sweatier, dustier, and more happily exhausted.
And they were just getting started.
“So that’s the new buckle,” he said to Wyatt, who was showing off his prize to Grace.
“Yeah.” Wyatt hooked his thumbs in his belt with a grin that reminded Johnny of a mutton buster who’d been handed his first trophy, forget the stack he’d collected for being pro rodeo’s Bullfighter of the Year. It turned out he was as good at heading steers as he hadn’t been at heeling, and judging by that gleam in his eyes, he was well and truly hooked.
Johnny eyed him—dressed in jeans, boots, and a button-down shirt instead of the slacks and loafers he’d sported on Easter Sunday last year—and shook his head at his daughter. “Way to go. You married a fine, upstanding citizen and managed to turn him into a team roping bum.”
“Who spends the rest of his time running a bar.” She gave a mock sigh, then looped her arm through Wyatt’s and smirked. “Ain’t it grand?”
Amid the laughter, Wyatt said, “Don’t forget Grace. She kicked some serious butt at the rodeo last weekend.”
Grace blushed, but her smile was fierce. “I’m hoping to make a habit of it.”
“Me too.” Wyatt held a hand up, and they exchanged a high five. “Here’s to the latecomers.”
Johnny laid his hand over Bing’s on the railing, sliding his fingers between hers so he could still see her nails, each one poppy red with a tiny cactus in the center, her Honey, I’m home present to him. Lord, he loved her hands, especially when they were on him and all she was wearing was her nail polish. Hank had finally stopped coming in the house without texting a ten-minute warning, swearing they were gonna warp his already fragile mind.
Make that formerly fragile. Johnny continued to be amazed at his son’s determination and resilience, rolled up inside such a cheerful, easygoing package. Love, career, family—Hank had watched them all go up in flames, then dragged himself out of the ashes to rebuild everything he’d lost and more.
Given his history, Johnny supposed it was fitting that Hank would choose Easter Sunday for his final resurrection.
* * *
Late that afternoon, Hank stopped in the open gate of the Jacobs arena to watch the breeze send miniature dust devils spinning across the plowed dirt. He and Joe could have done this any time since Christmas, but he’d thrown himself into the repairs and upgrades at the ranch instead. If all went well, Hank would eventually be hitting the road again, but not full time, and not until the business was well established. Plus he didn’t want to be away from Grace more than a couple of weeks at a time.
Since he was in no big rush, he’d decided to wait until the gang was all here. Now butterflies danced above the wildflowers along the arena fence and in his stomach as he did a couple of squats, accustoming his body to the familiar bulk of braces and pads, feeling his cleats dig into the ground.
“You coming or what?” Joe called out. He was standing out in front of the chutes in a pair of bleach-stained gray sweatpants with frayed soccer shorts pulled over the top and a neon-orange bandanna folded and tied headband-style to keep his hair out of his face.
A few yards away, Wyatt was adjusting the ankle strap on his Aircast. His color-coordinated shorts and jersey had designer logos and were worn over the high-tech, moisture-wicking compression tights favored by professional football players.
“We’re all set,” Cole declared, one hand on the middle chute gate.
As if in agreement, the bull inside banged his horns on the wooden planks.
“Us too!” Shawnee yelled from down the arena, where she and Violet sat horseback with ropes at the ready. An unnecessary precaution, but Shawnee had declared that she preferred the view from inside the fences.
The whole crowd had straggled down to watch, strung out along the fence in lawn chairs or lounging in the sparse grass, their Sunday best swapped for jeans. Hank glanced over to where Grace and Melanie sat on upended buckets, elbows on knees and chins on fists, settled in for the show.
Grace smiled at him. “Go get ’em!”
Hank hauled in a huge lungful of air, then let it stream out as he strode into the arena to take his position—starting at the beginning one more time. He looked at Joe on his left, then Wyatt on his right, and then at Cole.
“I’m ready,” he said. “Turn him loose.”