Half the town was not an exaggeration. When I saw the crowd downstairs I thought, if that’s half the town then it’s grown a lot! Old Frank caught me coming down the stairs and I was dragged helplessly to the couch in the living room.
“This is Cassidy, Mr. Gordon’s older girl,” he said, introducing me to two elderly men. They were both seated on a couch so cushy they’d never be able to stand without asking for help. They tried standing to meet me but couldn’t lever themselves up enough to stand. “Cassidy, this Hector and Bert, my two closest friends outside the ranch.”
I sat on the coffee table so they wouldn’t feel obligated to stand.
“It’s good to meet you,” I said sincerely.
“Cain’t be,” Bert said.
“Can too,” argued Old Frank.
“This kid is not a Marine,” Bert said.
“Cassidy, tell them you were in the Marines.”
“Yes, I was a Marine for four years but I’ve been out for a few years.”
“Did you really track down a man who’d been missing for a week?”
“Yes, that’s my job. Most of the people I look for haven’t been missing that long, though.”
“Who was the last person you tracked?”
“He was a man wanted for opening gunfire inside an elementary school. I invited a tracker from San Diego to help me and we tracked for two days before we found him in a house. The police closed in and made the arrest.”
“Amazing, I’d never think, by looking at you that you’d be capable of the things Frank has told us.”
“I never claimed to be capable. I do what I can and when things go awry I deal with it. I guess it works because I’m still here. Frank might tell some doosies but I’ve never known him to lie.”
A shadow fell across the coffee table.
“Well, well, if it isn’t the tough little tracker, returned from the wilds. Looks like you’ve developed a different wild side.”
His voice was an octave lower than I remembered it, but I looked up into the face of Barton Fartson, I mean Farthington. I quickly stood to prevent him from looking directly down my top but it didn’t help much because he still towered over me. He was still big but he’d stretched out and filled in some, and still had that cunning look to him.
“Barton, I’d tell you to pick on someone your own size, but from what I’ve heard, Cassidy could best you now,” Bert said.
“Bert, I think you’re exaggerating,” I said. “If I remember right, I graduated from high school several years ago. So I thought maybe Barton and I would have both grown up a little. It’s good to see you again, Barton. How have you been?”
“Fine,” he said suspiciously.
“Oh, come on, you don’t think I’d carry a grudge this long, do you? I only carried a grudge against you during the school year. And it only acted up when you were being a bully. School’s been out for a long time now. I think the grudge is gone.”
“So, what are you doing these days?” he asked.
“Still tracking. I find lost people for the Joshua Hills search and rescue team…”
“And violent criminals, too!” added Hector.
“Only rarely do I track criminals. My husband kind of has a thing against violent criminals. They tend to do bad things like shoot at me and kidnap me so he discourages me from having anything to do with them.”
“It don’t always work, though,” Old Frank said.
“Mind if I introduce you around?” Barton asked. “There are a few people from school you haven’t seen for a while.”
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea, unless you don’t mind my husband tagging along.”
“Why? What’s he going to do? He’s not the jealous type is he? Those jerks are a pain in the ass. I thought you’d be smarter than to marry a man like that.”
“He’s not the jealous type, or I wouldn’t be able to do my job.”
I found Rusty and we exchanged introductions. “Rusty this is a friend from school, Barton Farthington. Barton, this is my husband, Rusty Michaels.”
Barton took one look at Rusty and turned white, not because he was scared of Rusty, but something else was going on inside his head.
“You better march him upstairs, lock the door and tell Jesse not to say a word.”
“Barton, are you okay?” I asked.
“Barton, the guy who stuffed you into your locker?” Rusty asked.
“Yeah, but I’m sure he wouldn’t do it again.”
“Cassidy, I’m not kidding,” Barton insisted. “Misty Montague is here. And recently divorced for the third time.”
“I can’t just walk out on Mom’s party. She waited until we came just so we could be part of it.”
However, a part of me really did want to run Rusty upstairs and lock the door. Misty Montague. Of all the people I didn’t want to see it was her. She even scared Barton. I wondered if Barton was scared of her because he was one of her victims.
“Misty Montague?” Rusty said.
“Remember when I was being stalked by Tyrone Trent?” I asked.
“How could I forget?” Rusty answered. “I thought he’d killed you.”
“Misty doesn’t actually kill people, but she makes Trent look like an amateur and you are the perfect bait. Unfortunately she isn’t violent or clinically insane or anything, so we can’t lock her up. She’s just incredibly good at what she does.”
“Which is?” Rusty asked, trying to get to the point.
“She likes to steal husbands. In high school it was boyfriends. Now it’s husbands. She collects them, lures them away until she gets tired of them, then divorces them and takes half of everything.”
Rusty looked skeptical.
“And you’re worried about this Misty Montague stealing me away?” Rusty said laughing.
“Ask my sister,” I said.
“Okay, let’s ask Jesse.”
I steered Rusty through the crowd carefully avoiding the lilting laugh of Misty Montague.
“Jesse, Barton told Rusty about Misty Montague, but he thinks we’re exaggerating. Tell him all about her.”
Jesse’s mouth fell open in surprise. “Mom invited her? How could she do that? Mom knows the history. Is she here?”
“Yeah.”
“You better march Rusty right up those stairs and lock the door. I’m going to talk to Mom.”
Rusty was really amused now. I think his curiosity was working overtime. What kind of a woman could this be, who thought she could just run off with another woman’s husband? That was part of the allure. Local guys knew she was deep trouble but they still wondered what it was about the temptress that attracted her victims. One by one they found out and she had married and divorced three of them since high school. In high school it had only taken months, not years to lure her prey away and then break up with the guys. Misty adapted and had to develop some patience in the adult world but it probably had paid off monetarily.
Barton reappeared with Jason Kilby. Seems like he was bent on letting all the guys in town know I was back, if only temporarily.
“Cassidy, you remember Jason.”
“Of course.” Jason had been Joe Average in school. He was nice, had a car, made decent grades, ended up with a lousy job but smiled his way through it all.
“How’s life been treating you?” I asked.
“Oh, about average,” he said, “can’t complain. How about you?”
I looked to Rusty. “Anything but average,” I said to Jason. “This is my husband, Rusty.”
One by one Barton made the rounds, except for Misty Montague.
Music began on the big porch and people wandered out there to dance. There were tables of hors d’oeuvres and little desserts, glasses of wine inside and coolers of beer outside on the porch. Martha had her daughters come to the ranch to help with the serving. Some of the guests were wearing suits while others wore jeans. Old Frank had dressed for his shindig in his usual pressed jeans, bright western shirt and bolo tie. His boots had been shined and his hair carefully combed. Misty Montague, I noted had worn an evening gown that sparkled from the plunging neckline to the floor. It clung to every curve of her body and had a thigh high slit up the skirt. She was busy working the crowd. She laughed at rotten jokes and laid a hand on the shoulder of the man she was standing next to. I knew that part of her pathetic hobby of collecting husbands was psychological. She made women feel inferior and most men don’t like women who feel inferior. They like women who project an air of confidence. So I stood taller and carefully avoided getting anywhere near Misty Montague. I caught Rusty glancing at Misty from a distance. He could figure out who she was without any introductions. I came up beside him.
“She’s the shallowest person I’ve never met,” he said.
“She’ll be interested in anything you say to her. She’s like a social chameleon. She’s been a cowgirl, a cheerleader, and an avid collector of antiques. She even learned to play golf and make wine. By the time she gets to be Old Frank’s age she’ll know how to do just about anything.”
Old Frank was having a great time. He was swapping tall tales with the local police chief. Later I found him on the porch with a group of young ranch hands. Most of them wore jeans and t-shirts, but not our hands. He laughed and traded training tips. He sure got around, if slowly. I also saw him talking to Patrick who was feeling a little left out of the adult festivities.
“Patrick,” I said, “go get your rope and show the folks what you can do with it.”
“They don’t care about ropin’,” he said, discouraged.
“You’ll be surprised. I bet only a couple of people here can even turn a rope and none of them have tried the things you can do.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, really. I bet your dad can’t even turn a rope like you can. Give it a try and you’ll see what happens.”
He rode his bike down to the barn and got out a lasso. He went to the coatroom and retrieved his black cowboy hat. What a ham. He even had to dress the part. He found a clear spot on the big front porch and started turning the rope. I gave him time to get a consistent pattern going and then found Rusty.
“Go look on the front porch,” I told him.
Then to my sister I said, “Hey Jess, you’ve got to see what your son can do. Come here,” I said, dragging her off to the front porch, too. We found Rusty there grinning at his little nephew. He had seen Patrick do this before but I didn’t think Jesse had, which became obvious as we watched him.
“How did he learn that?” she asked me.
“James made him practice roping and he got bored,” I told her simply.
“And you know this because…”
“When he spent the night at my house I talked to him and realized he knows a lot of things that will surprise you.”
“But he’s jumping in and out of the loop. Do you know how much practice that takes?”
“He said James has him practice roping a little bit every day.”
“Well, yeah, but not this! We only wanted him to be able to catch Snoopy!”
“He doesn’t need a lasso to catch Snoopy. That horse adores him because Pat spends time with him. You know how attached horses can get. Oh, but don’t call what he’s doing a rope trick. He gets very offended if you call it a trick.”
“I’m going to find James,” she said and rushed off. I grinned to myself, glad that Patrick finally had a chance to show his parents a thing or two of his hidden talents. Pretty soon I saw Jesse lead James over to the side of the porch and they stood watching as Patrick kept the rope going, leaping and turning, twirling the rope over his head, then down by his side. I could think of a few moves that professional trick ropers were able to do that he hadn’t thought of yet but he was amazing all who stood on the porch, including the band members, who all stopped playing to watch Patrick’s performance. The guitarist started playing a country western riff to match the mood and Patrick began timing his rhythm to the chords of the guitar. When he got tired and needed to stop for a drink of water the crowd broke out in applause. Patrick looked embarrassed. He slipped into the house on his way to the kitchen and Jesse took off after her boy. I followed to make sure she gave him the credit he deserved.
“Patrick! That was fantastic! How did you learn to do all that?” Jesse beamed.
“Dad made me practice, so I practiced,” he said matter of factly.
“It’s not exactly what I had in mind,” James said from across the room. “It takes real talent to do that. I just wanted you to be capable of lassoing your horse. Long as you can lasso Snoopy then you’ll get along fine.”
“Dad, Snoopy don’t need lassoing. He follows me without a rope. I only use the rope because I’m supposed to. And even if he did need lassoing I could do that the first week you had me work the rope. I got bored practicing so I made up other things I could do with the rope. Don’t know why everybody is so surprised. Hey! Aunt Cassidy!”
“Yeah, Pat?” I said.
“I learned something new since I got my bike. I can lasso fence posts while I’m riding my bike. I thought that would come in handy when I have to rope one horse when I’m riding another.”
“Good thinking,” I told him. “It’s easier to lasso something from a horse. A good roping horse knows what to do. Bicycles aren’t very smart. What do you do when you hit the end of the rope?”
“Well, the first time I got yanked off my bike. Now I let go and ride back for the rope.”
The night was a success as far as I was concerned. Old Frank got to see half the town turn out and made the rounds of all his friends. Patrick had finally shown his parents he knew a thing or two. Mom happily played hostess while Dad made his connections.
Everyone was slow getting up the next day, except Martha, Zack and Randy. Zack and Randy were up early for the morning chores and Martha was in charge of breakfast. We had one more day at the ranch before we needed to head back home and it was a quiet day. I played Chicken Foot with Old Frank, placing his dominoes where they belonged when his shaky hands couldn’t get them in place without ruining the whole line of dominoes on the table. Then we played penny poker. He let me use quarters now that I was old enough to decide for myself how much I was willing to risk. Rusty threw his pocket change into the game too. It was really useless. Nobody wanted to win all that change. In the end Patrick watched the game with interest. We counted up all our winnings and proclaimed Old Frank the winner.
“Wow! You won three dollars and seventeen cents!” Patrick said.
“Yup, I tell you what kid. If you can add up everybody’s winnings, we’ll give them all to you. Cassidy ended up with two dollars and forty cents and Rusty ended up with two dollars and ninety-five cents. If you can tell me the grand total you win it all.”
Pat ran off quickly.
“No fair using your grandpa’s calculator. Use your brain!” Old Frank called after him.
“Aw, shucks, can I use paper?”
“Course you can use paper, gives your brain somewhere to wrastle with it.”
Patrick found a piece of paper and a pen and then wrote down the numbers. He calculated furiously, double checked, and handed the paper over to Old Frank who checked the math.
“By golly, I do believe we have a new winner!” Old Frank proclaimed. “Boy, you are eight dollars and fifty-two cents richer!”
“Oh boy!” Patrick said, jumping up and down. Everyone pushed their piles of change across the table and watched as Patrick tried to stuff it all into his pockets. Half an hour later Jesse wandered into the room.
“Why is Patrick three pounds heavier this morning?” she asked.
“Because he is the grand prize winner!” declared Old Frank.
“How much did he take from you?” Jesse asked.
“It weren’t so much a taking as a getting rid of,” Old Frank told her.
“And how much did you get rid of?”
“Eight dollars in change.”
“Well, that’s a good chunk to go into his savings,” she said.
“Wait, just a minute, a kid wins a measly eight bucks and you make him put it in savings? He cain’t buy nothing with it anyway.”
“He’s the one putting it in savings. He’s got his eye on what he calls ‘Army field glasses.’ I call them camouflaged binoculars. He thinks he can sneak up on birds easier if his binoculars don’t stand out. I say he stands out enough all by himself and his binoculars are not going to make one whit of difference.”
“Jesse, one quick trip into town and I’d buy him the field glasses.”
“Don’choo dare!” Old Frank exclaimed. “The kid wants to save his money for field glasses, you let him! It shows real character for a six-year-old to save up that much. If’n you want to help him, give him a job to do to earn money, but don’t jus’ go handing it to him.”
“What did he have to do to get your winnings?” Jesse asked.
“He correctly added them all up and it weren’t easy math for a first grader. It weren’t an even eight dollars.” He handed the paper to Jesse and she did the math, too.
“How does he know to carry over from one column to the next?” she asked.
“You’ll have to ask him that. We didn’t tell him how to do the math. We just told him if he gave us the right number he could have the winnings,” I told her.
She wandered into the kitchen and I heard her say, “Mom, look what Patrick did…”
I smiled to myself glad to have one more piece of evidence in Patrick’s favor and I was also glad to see Old Frank was definitely on Pat’s side.
I had mixed feelings when Sunday arrived and it was time to go home. I unenthusiastically packed the suitcases and helped load the Explorer. I was anxious to get back home where Rusty and I could do as we pleased. But at the same time the ranch had been peaceful and I treasured my time with Old Frank. I didn’t know how many more visits I’d have with him. Then I reminded myself that after I left he’d probably need to sleep for a few days to recuperate. He’d feel more comfortable using his walker again and could slow down again. He probably needed that.
Shadow was reluctant to go home as well. When he was at the ranch he became a ranch dog. He was able to play with the other dogs and had free run of the property. He played with the boys and followed Steve around. At home it was boring for him so I was determined, after loading up the Explorer, that we would get more involved in polishing his agility skills. That would help both of us because our house was going to feel way too quiet again.
We took the scenic route home. Rusty had pretty much decided that I needed some tracking breaks to get my mind off the ranch, so on the way home we always headed for the coast. As we walked the beaches I couldn’t help but read the footprints in the sand and it gently eased me back into my own world again. How did Rusty know to do these little things for me? How did he know I needed the time, the distraction, whatever it was? I knew he liked the beach, too, but there was more to his stopping than just a need to stretch his legs. He watched me as I tracked and he could tell when my mind was finally at ease and it was time for the next leg of the drive.
The house was dark when we got home, as it always was when we took our time on the scenic route. Rusty went in first and turned on enough lights to make the place seem cheery. He dragged me over to the old brown couch and we sat for a long time, like we always did, with me sitting on his lap, my arms around his neck. He probably felt the silence even more than I did. Rusty would have packed up Patrick and Wyatt and brought them home with us if he could but he knew it wasn’t a solution.
Over the next few weeks, Shadow and I applied ourselves to the agility course. He flew over the obstacles except for a few glitches that we had to work on. I knew if he balked at them at home he’d be even more likely to balk at the competition. So we worked on the dog walk. Shadow didn’t like looking down and seeing the ground so far away so I lowered the beam. He still didn’t like the height of it, but he obeyed me better with the beam closer to the ground. There was a pet competition in town, Bark in the Park, and I quickly signed us up just to see how we would finish. It wasn’t a stiff, formal, official kennel club competition. But it was official enough to issue the certificates that the American Kennel Club offered. Once we made it up the ranks locally maybe we’d try a larger venue. For now the annual city pet festival would have to do. It would acclimate Shadow to working in a crowd and it would force me to work amongst dogs of every shape and size.
I was leading Shadow over the lowered dog walk and wondering if he’d even try the seesaw when the phone rang in the house. After placing Shadow in a heel I ran for the house with my dog on my tail. I got to the phone just as it stopped ringing. I checked caller ID and it was the ranch. I sat down, wondering what to do. I should call back but I wasn’t ready for the news I had been fearing most. I decided there was no point in putting off the inevitable so I called the number with a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.
“Hello?” It was my dad. That was bad. If it had been an invitation or a chat, Mom would be the one to call.
“Hi, Dad, you called?”
“I did,” he said wearily as I sat down. “I called to tell you Old Frank’s gone. He fell last night in the bunkhouse and Steve called an ambulance. Turned out Frank had a stroke. He died last night. We were there. He didn’t know it, but we were there. Came as close to dying with his boots on as he could. He didn’t want a service. Said he didn’t want folks to think of him like that. There’ll be a burial next Saturday if you want to come.”
With my heart aching for Old Frank all I could say was, “Thanks, Dad, I’ll try.”
“I wanted to thank you for coming back and seeing him. It meant a lot to him to have you there. When you left he kept saying, ‘It’s too durn quiet around here without that young un’.”
“I know how he felt. I felt the same way when I got home.”
When I’d hung up the emotional pull from the hideout was calling like crazy but I couldn’t run. I couldn’t leave Rusty behind like this. Besides, he wouldn’t let me stay up there by myself in my present state. So I threw myself on the bed and cried until I couldn’t cry any more and then I slept. I woke up when I heard Rusty arrive home and I flew into his arms.
“Whoa, babe, let me put my stuff down,” he said, but I couldn’t let go. All I could do was hurt. He set his things down on the entryway floor and wrapped his arms around me and, when I didn’t respond, he carried me to the big, brown couch. I cried until I thought it was impossible to cry anymore but then I cried some more.
“How long have you known?” he asked softly.
“All… afternoon,” I sobbed.
“You could have called.”
“No… I couldn’t.”
“Thank you… thank you for not running. You don’t know how much it means to me for you to choose to stay and not run. I’d rather be here with you than traipsing off after you wondering what’s wrong.” He talked quietly, hugging me close. “I know it’s sad. I know it hurts. It’ll get better, you’ll see.”
So ended an era in time that only a few people really noticed, in the large scheme of things. The ranch would never be the same. Now the ranch would truly be too quiet.