“DAD?”
Chet looked up from the computer screen.
“I need to talk to you.” Sam’s expression was grim as he entered the room.
Chet had always tried his best to be available to his sons. No matter when he was needed. No matter what they were interrupting. It had become even more important to him after they lost Rick. “Sure. What do you need?”
Sam sat on the chair at the corner of Chet’s desk. “I think it was my fault.”
“What was your fault?”
“The fire.”
Chet leaned back in his chair, surprised into silence.
“It’s been eating at me ever since it happened.” Sam stared at a spot on the floor. “I was smoking a cigarette. In the barn. I heard something, thought somebody was coming. I didn’t want to get caught so I put it out and left the barn quick.” He looked up. “I . . . I’m sorry, Dad. I must not have put it out like I thought.”
There was a lengthy silence, one Chet thought he should fill. Now wasn’t the right time for a lecture on the dangers of smoking, but that seemed to be all he could think of.
“I thought I put it out, Dad.”
“I’m sure you did.” Chet cleared his throat. “How long have you been smoking, Sam?”
“Off and on for the past few months.” The boy lowered his gaze again. “I don’t do it much.”
“Any is too much.”
“Yes, sir. And I don’t plan on doing it again. I promise.”
Chet nodded. “I’m glad to hear it.”
Possible causes of Sam’s behavior—sneaking around, smoking on the sly, lying to his father by omission if not commission—raced through Chet’s mind. But in the end, the reasons didn’t seem to matter. Sam knew better.
“I’m going to have to think about this,” he said after another silence. “There’s going to have to be some kind of punishment, you know.”
“Yeah. I know. But could we keep the reason between us?”
“Yeah, I suppose we can.”
Sam stood. “I really am sorry, Dad.”
“I know you are. And, Son?”
“Yeah.”
“Thanks for owning up to it.”
“Sure.”
After Sam left the room, Chet got up and closed the door. Then he did some pacing, hands clasped behind his back. His office wasn’t a large room, and pacing required frequent turns. To the window. To the bookcase. To the window. To the bookcase. It didn’t take long to become almost dizzy with it. Or maybe what made him feel that way were the troubled turns of his thoughts.
How was he to handle this? As he’d said, there had to be some kind of punishment, whether or not a cigarette had been the cause of the fire—and they would never know for certain. So what did Sam’s behavior warrant? He wasn’t a grown man, but he wasn’t a kid either. That made punishment a little trickier. There weren’t a whole lot of options available to Chet. No cell phone to take away. No extra chores to be added when the kid already worked as hard as the hired hands.
Chet released a sigh. Looked like the truck would be off limits to Sam for a while.
LYING ON THE SOFA, KIMBERLY AWAKENED BY degrees. The book she’d been reading before drifting off was open on her chest, pages down. The television’s audio had been turned low.
“Welcome back,” Janet said from the easy chair.
“How long was I asleep?” She sat upright, lowering her legs over the side of the couch.
“Over an hour.”
She pushed her hair back from her face. “Where’s Tara? In her room?”
“No. She went over to Ned and Susan’s. Helping out with Ned’s colt, I think.”
“You’d think after spending almost the whole day at the Leonard ranch she would get her fill of horses.”
Janet laughed softly. “Only someone who was never horse-crazy herself would think that.”
“You would know.” Kimberly stifled a yawn, then said, “We’re so different, Tara and me. How did that happen? I raised her. Shouldn’t we appreciate the same things?”
“Not necessarily. We are all uniquely made. Besides, the two of you aren’t all that different.”
“You think not? It’s like she was born and raised in Kings Meadow. She’s happier in this small town than I’ve seen her in a long, long time. Maybe ever.” She shook her head slowly. “What’s going to happen when I find a job back in the city and we have to move?”
Janet tipped her head to one side and studied Kimberly. “Are you still looking? You haven’t mentioned it in a while.”
“Of course I’m still looking. Anytime I discover a position I’m remotely qualified for, I submit an application. So far, not even a nibble. It’s depressing. That’s why I don’t mention it.”
“Maybe you aren’t supposed to go back to Seattle. Are you sure it’s still what you want?”
“Of course I’m sure.” Kimberly emphasized each word, as if to better convince her friend of its truth. Or maybe it was herself she needed to convince.
“You could do worse than settle down in Kings Meadow, you know.” Janet turned off the TV as she rose from the chair. “I’m getting a Diet Coke. Want one?”
“No thanks.” But she stood and followed her friend into the kitchen, where she leaned her backside against the counter. “I like working for the mayor, but it isn’t a career. There’s no way to advance or make more money.”
“Are money and advancement so important?”
“You’ve never had to wonder how to feed your child, or you wouldn’t ask that question.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to be insensitive. I know you have to earn a decent living. But maybe not in the way you think. Maybe God has something different in mind for you.” Janet sipped her soda. “You’ve been happier these past few weeks. I’d like to see you stay that way.”
“Being employed helps a lot.”
“Oh, is that it? I thought it might have something to do with Chet Leonard.”
Kimberly straightened away from the counter. “Why would you say that?”
“I don’t know.” Janet shrugged. “Just a gut feeling.”
“Well, your gut is wrong. Chet’s a nice guy, and he’s been really good with Tara. Better than I could’ve dared hope that day I first went to talk to him about her and Wind Dancer. But I’ve got no interest in Chet other than as a horse trainer and riding instructor.”
The words tasted like the lie they were. Her interest in Chet Leonard had become more than she was ready to admit. It had become . . . personal. Much too personal for comfort. She didn’t want to walk into a doomed relationship on purpose. The best way to protect all concerned was for her to find a way out of Kings Meadow. The sooner, the better.