“I don’t see any stores here,” Dovie said as she swung Jessica’s arm when they walked through town midday Friday.
“Me, neither.” Jessica pondered that as they completed their loop. “Most little towns have at least a couple of businesses.”
“Where can we shop?”
She’d promised Dovie they’d go grocery shopping together, always a treat for the four-year-old. “Let’s grab the car and we’ll find food.”
“And now we’ve got nice clean cupboards to put it in.”
“We do.” They’d scrubbed out the cupboards and the fridge with cleaning supplies she’d brought with them. She hadn’t left Ben’s family a forwarding address. They saw her as a turncoat.
She was nothing of the kind, but Dovie was her priority now. She could raise her to respect the dignity of her Native American heritage, but she wanted her to respect her European ancestry, too. That was no longer possible around Ben’s family. Dark, simmering anger had overtaken them once Ben was gone. And greed.
She grabbed the car keys while Dovie fastened her seat belt around the booster seat. Then she climbed in and turned the key.
Nothing happened.
She frowned, gazing at the dashboard signals. She wasn’t good with cars. She was good with computers. Graphics.
Car engines? Not so much.
She pulled out her cell phone to find a nearby repair shop.
There were no nearby repair shops. The closest ones were a half hour away, and they were both marked “Closed for Holiday Weekend.”
This couldn’t be happening. Nobody closed for the full weekend, did they?
She bit back panic and considered what they had on hand. A tiny portion of hen breast and half a stick of butter. They’d eaten the last of the bread for breakfast. She’d planned on shopping once they’d got to Idaho, but there had been long lines on the day before Thanksgiving, so she’d waited. Big mistake...
No people. No stores. No food. No car.
Now it was okay to panic.
A dusty green sedan rolled up and parked along the curb. A woman climbed out. She spotted Jessica in the car and waved to get her attention. Jess climbed out.
“Ty sent me over.” The middle-aged Latina woman flashed Jess a broad smile as she came up the walk, carrying a large box. “Normally we have so many people on the ranch that we go through these leftovers fast.”
“Leftovers?”
“From dinner yesterday. A fine feast, a blessed day. I’m Sally Ann Montroya. Or just Sally, either way. I’m from Carrington Acres. It’s a ranch south of town. So nice to meet you!”
Food from the ranch that had purchased the empty houses in town. It was a kind gesture, but she wasn’t poverty-stricken, just a little light in the wallet. No one had ever brought around charity baskets before, and embarrassment gripped her throat.
She led Sally Ann into the house and called for Dovie. When Dovie skipped up the steps after them, Jessica faced Sally Ann. “You said Ty sent you? The cowboy that wants me to give up my house?”
“What a mix-up!” Sally Ann didn’t seem all that bothered, but, then, it wasn’t her house on the line. “All will be straightened out, I’m sure, but for today so many good things right here. Were you going out?”
“We were going grocery shopping, but the car won’t start and there’s nowhere in town to even buy a quart of milk.”
“So sad.” Sally Ann widened her big brown eyes. “Not the milk—that we can fix—but the town, so empty, so forlorn, as if waiting for something, you know?”
No. Jessica did not know, but Sally’s kindly nature made her almost want to know. “I cannot fix cars,” said Sally, “and I’m heading to an appointment for my father. His chemotherapy is today and I sit with him. But I will drop off milk on my way back from McCall. It’s the next town north of us, and it’s bigger. What else do you need? I’ll stop by the market and get it. It’s right on my way.”
“Really? Even after all this?” Jessica couldn’t believe what was in the box: plastic containers of turkey and gravy, potatoes, beans, squash, a full apple pie and half a pumpkin pie. “This is amazing.”
“We’ll figure out your car and the house and everything,” Sally Ann promised. “I’ll let Ty know. He and the other men are up in the hills today, but he’ll be back down by morning. He’ll fix it.” She indicated the car with a thrust of her chin. “But, of course, I need your phone number.” She entered Jessica’s number into her phone, then bustled toward the door. She paused long enough to touch Dovie’s head and give her a blessing, then hurried to the green car. She made a U-turn, honked the horn, then headed back toward old 95.
In the space of five minutes, conditions had changed from needy to blessed, and not by her hands.
God’s hands. And the kindness of strangers.
So this cowboy had done a nice thing. A really nice thing. But that didn’t mean she was giving up her house. Not without a fight. A fight she had to win.
* * *
Sally Ann’s text came through on Saturday, one of the trials of being in the high country. Cell coverage was solid in the valley, but once you went into the hills, nada. When Ty heard the pinging of missed texts, a part of him longed to turn right around and go back uphill.
He didn’t. He’d moved somewhat beyond the anger that used to grip him daily.
Now, as long as he kept God out of the equation, he didn’t feel like such a failure.
He put the phone away. He’d answer the texts from Eric and Sally Ann later. Few others texted him. Few knew where he was or what he was doing. And every year, around this time, when folks began singing about decking halls and being jolly, all he could think of were empty seats at family tables. Including his. And his heart wanted to break all over again.
By the time he scrolled through the texts early that evening, one stood out: Jessica in green house. Her car is not working. Needs food. Needs help.
Typical Sally Ann, looking out for others, but she had a lot to handle with her father’s illness. She’d added Jessica’s number. He texted the number. Car repair shops are all closed until Monday. I’ll come take a look tomorrow.
He wasn’t sure she’d answer. When she did, he could almost feel the reluctance in her words. I’d appreciate it.
Nine o’clock okay?
Church service is at nine, she texted back. After that.
There was no church service in Shepherd’s Crossing anymore. Declining health had forced the aged pastor to retire back in June. Folks had put together weekly services since then because there was no replacement pastor. And until they had money to pay a salary, there wouldn’t be one. But he didn’t mention that. She’d find out soon enough. Around ten, then.
He’d drive in, figure out what was going on with the car and get things moving for her. Bad enough she was going to have to leave the house she thought she owned...but to do so without a car?
That went beyond unfair.
A text came in from her. With a picture attached, of her and the little girl feasting on apple pie. Pie: it’s what’s for breakfast.
He smiled. He couldn’t help it. He loved pie for breakfast. He’d loved all kinds of normal, everyday things. Until...
He texted back, Perfect way to start the day.
Whatever the new week brought, he’d be on hand to help figure things out. She’d need a car to check with the county about the house. And to shop for groceries. He couldn’t exactly lend her Eric’s jazzed-up sports car, and Eric had taken his SUV to the Colorado pharmaceutical plant. The cows had all been taken to freshened pastures. Until calves started dropping in early February, they were in the slower months of the year, which meant he had time to add chauffeur to his job list for the next couple of days.
A final text came through, another selfie, this time just of her and a forkful of delicious apple pie. Or the perfect bedtime snack... Thank you!
He’d felt guilt ridden all day Thursday, and if he’d had time to help her himself, he’d have done it. Seeing a single mother in trouble hit him wrong.
He smiled at the text and the picture.
She had to be worried about the future, and yet her smile was nonchalant.
He drew off his gear and put it in the mudroom, readily available, an old habit from being called out at night on a regular basis. For human crises. Crises of the heart. Crises of the soul. Beginnings and endings. He’d sat and prayed over both and everything in between.
Now his callouts were bovine related, and not so often, and frankly he found the occasional cow crisis far easier to deal with than anything human related back east.