ON SATURDAY MORNING, FOLLOWING A PHONE CALL from Chet Leonard, Kimberly and Tara went to the corral to wait for him. Janet tagged along. Not long after, they were joined by Susan and Ned Lyle. The Lyles were close friends of Chet Leonard, and Kimberly couldn’t help hoping that was a good sign.
It was a quarter past eleven when a large black truck rolled into the driveway. A moment later, Chet hopped down from the cab, settling a battered brown hat over his dark hair as he did so. He looked around, saw the small group of folks near the corral, and started in their direction, moving with an easy gait.
Kimberly had never been attracted to cowboy types—although that might be because she rarely, if ever, met any—but she found this man good-looking in the extreme. He was tall and clean-shaven with black hair and dark blue eyes. He had a square jaw with the slightest of clefts. He didn’t just look comfortable in his clothes: boots, jeans, plaid cotton shirt with a dark T-shirt visible behind the open collar. He looked comfortable in his own skin too.
According to all she’d heard from Janet and the Lyles, Chet Leonard was a salt-of-the-earth kind of fellow. If he was everything others claimed him to be, he was next to perfect. Only Kimberly didn’t believe in perfect. Not perfect men. Not perfect people. Not perfect anything. Life had slapped her down too hard to go on believing in fairy tales or happily-ever-afters. The best she could hope for was to survive one day at a time.
Chet tugged at the brim of his hat. “Morning.” His gaze encompassed everybody.
“Good morning,” Kimberly replied.
“Hey, Chet,” Janet said.
“Morning.”
“Glad you came.”
He nodded again. “Didn’t expect a crowd.”
Ned and Susan laughed in unison.
Chet’s gaze shifted to Tara, standing beside her mother. Kimberly introduced them to each other.
Chet bent his hat brim a second time. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Welch. I hear you’ve got a horse for me to look at.”
Tara nodded.
Chet stepped to the corral. Head and shoulders taller than the top rail, he rested his arms on it as he looked into the enclosure. Everyone else moved to stand by the corral too. The young horse inside began to move about, sensing he’d become the center of attention. The whites of his eyes showed as he tossed his head and snorted.
“Easy there,” Chet said, almost too softly for Kimberly to hear.
But she did hear, and his voice calmed her along with the fidgety horse.
“How’d you come by him?” Chet glanced at Tara.
“Janet got him for me.”
Chet looked over Kimberly’s head to where her best friend stood. “Somebody gave the horse away?”
“Long story, but yeah, he was given to me for Tara. Nobody wanted to bother with him, I guess.”
“But he isn’t a mustang.” The words were more statement than question.
“No,” Janet answered, “he wasn’t part of a wild horse roundup. He just never got any attention or training as a colt.”
Chet looked at the horse again. “He’s got pretty good conformation. Looks like he’ll have powerful hindquarters when he’s got his full growth.” He returned his gaze to Tara, studying her with the same intense look he’d given the pinto. “Have you owned a horse before, young lady?”
“No, sir.” She shook her head.
“Done any riding?”
“Not really.”
“Owning a horse is a big responsibility. It might have been better to start with one that’s already trained. One that’s been ridden for a decade or so.”
Tara turned her head toward her mother, accusation in her dark eyes. As if she believed Kimberly had made Chet Leonard say those words. “My mom wouldn’t let me have a horse before, but I’ve wanted one since I was real little. I’m not giving him up. I’ll take care of him. I’ll do whatever it takes.”
Chet didn’t say anything more for a long while. Just looked from Tara to the horse in the corral and back again. Finally, he stepped away from the fence and turned toward Ned Lyle. “Did you bring the horse here?”
“Yes.”
“How does he trailer?”
“Not bad. Little skittish at first but not bad. Especially when you consider his background.”
“How about I pick him up after church tomorrow? I’ll bring the trailer into town with me.”
Ned nodded. “That’ll do fine.”
Chet turned again toward Tara. “You’ll have to come out to the ranch and work with him most every day. Can you make that commitment?”
“Yes. If Mom can’t bring me, I’ll ride my bike.”
“It’s a bit far for that this early in the spring. Gets dark too early still. But you could catch a lift with the boys after school, then spend more time with him on the weekends until school lets out.”
Tara didn’t even blink. “Okay.”
“You’ll have to do whatever I say. No arguments. You don’t keep your commitment, we’ll end the training.”
“I will. I promise.”
Concern tightened Kimberly’s chest. Chet Leonard hadn’t said anything about what this would cost. If Kimberly had to disappoint Tara now, her daughter would never forgive her. “Mr. Leonard—”
“Call me Chet.”
“Mr. Leonard.” She stressed the word. “I don’t have a job yet and we don’t have—”
“We can talk about that later.”
Was that pity she saw flicker in his eyes? She didn’t want pity. She’d had to learn to swallow her pride, nearly choking on it more than once, but it still tasted like sawdust every time.
CHET HAD COME TO JANET’S HOUSE CONVINCED HE would tell Kimberly Welch and her daughter that he couldn’t help them. And he should have done just that. He hadn’t any spare time to train a horse and rider. He had too much of his own work to do. There was always more to be done on a ranch than there were hands to do it. Never enough daylight or money either.
Instinct told him what he hadn’t given Kimberly a chance to say: She was flat broke. She didn’t have the money to pay for lessons or training or boarding or anything else. Kimberly and Tara Welch hadn’t come to Kings Meadow to visit Janet. They’d come because they needed a place to stay. He didn’t know the reasons, but he knew in his gut that he was right.
Was Kimberly running from something or someone? Like Marsha had run from him?
The thought caused Chet to clench the steering wheel a little harder as he drove the ribbon of highway toward the ranch. Thoughts of his ex-wife never came without tension and regret. Time—and the good counsel of friends and mentors—had helped heal his broken heart, but he hadn’t been able to stop himself from feeling like a failure. Try as he might, he’d let himself down. He’d let Marsha and his boys down. He’d let God down too.
It was a lousy way to feel.
Chet arrived at the ranch in time for the noon meal. His part-time ranch hands, Blake Buttons and Denny Haskins, joined the family in the dining room for lunch, as was routine for a Saturday. Anna was there, too, looking spry in a cotton shirt and Levi’s and nowhere close to her real age. She fit right in with all the men at the table, the same way she had when Chet was a boy. Seeing her now improved his mood.
As serving dishes were passed around, Sam said, “So, Dad. Are you going to tell us what happened in town?”
“Horse looked sound. Girl seemed nice enough. I decided to work with them for a while. See how they both do.”
Sam elbowed his brother. “Pay up.”
Pete grumbled something unintelligible.
Sam explained, “I bet Pete ten bucks that you wouldn’t be able to say no. You’re a soft touch, Dad.”
Everybody but Chet laughed. He tried to scowl at his son, but it was a half-baked attempt to look disgruntled. And all he accomplished was to make the others laugh harder. Before long, his laughter joined theirs. For the remainder of the meal, the conversation moved easily between ranch matters, school matters, and town matters, with a dash of good-natured teasing and more laughter added in.
“Blake and I are gonna go to the upper canyon and do some fence repairs,” Denny said as he stood, his lunch dish clean of food. “Unless you need us to do something else.”
“No. That’ll be great. Thanks.” Chet looked from his ranch hands to Anna. “What are your plans for the afternoon?”
“I thought I would start sorting through things in the guesthouse.”
“Want one of the boys to help you?”
She shook her head. “Not necessary. Boys their ages would rather be outside on a beautiful spring Saturday instead of cooped up inside with me.”
Chet sensed his sons holding their breaths to see what he would decide. They knew better than to try to wheedle their way out of something their dad wanted them to do. “All right then.” His gaze shifted to the pair. “Got your chores done?”
“Yessir,” they answered in unison.
“Then you can be excused.”
Sam and Pete hopped up from their chairs and carried their dirty dishes into the kitchen. A short while later, they left the house through the back door.
“They’re good boys,” Anna said into the ensuing silence. “You’ve done a fine job raising them, Chet. You can be proud.”
“I am proud.” He paused on a sigh. “It was hard on them after Rick died. Harder still when their mom left. I tried to make sure they knew her going didn’t have anything to do with them. Not sure they believed me, especially when she cut off all communication. I could handle her not wanting to talk to me. It was her marriage to me she was ending. But our sons?” He shook his head. “I’ll never understand that. She just went off the deep end, and nothing I tried could bring her back.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You said they’re good boys, and you’re right. They are. And Marsha had plenty to do with that. She was a good mom.” A lump formed in his throat, making it hard to continue.
“Where is Marsha now?”
Chet shrugged and forced himself to answer. “Got no idea. She was in Reno for a long time. That’s where she got the divorce. But last time I tried to call her, the number’d been disconnected. Not a word from her in close to two years. Not even a phone call on the boys’ birthdays or at Christmas.”
“I’m sorry,” Anna repeated. “You know, Chet. Some folks say God never gives us more than we can handle. I don’t believe that’s true. He doesn’t give us more than He can handle. The battle belongs to the Lord. Let Him fight it for you.”
Feeling a now-familiar surge of affection, he leaned over and kissed her cheek. When he drew back, she reached up and patted his face.
“Better get to it.” He stood. “You call for help if you need any.”
“Don’t you worry about me. I’ll be happy as a clam. Sortin’ through memories is always fun, and there’s decades worth of memories stored up in that old cottage.” A grin crinkled the skin around her eyes. “But I don’t know how you ever got to calling it a guesthouse. Barely room to turn around in there. Not that I’m complaining. Makes me feel needed.”
“You don’t need to sort through a lot of junk for us to need you, Anna.”
“I know, but it’s good to be busy all the same. Even at my age.”
“Then I’ll leave you to it.” Chet took both her plate and his own into the kitchen before heading outside like the others, his Saturday half over but his work not yet half done.