A Family For Rose. Nadia Nichols

at her for a few moments, then said, “I’m listening.”

      “Rose has been through an awful lot. The past two years, things got pretty bad between me and Travis, and toward the end she was old enough to understand what was going on.”

      Her father’s expression hardened. “She see Travis hit you?”

      The carefully applied makeup clearly hadn’t hidden the evidence of Travis’s last fit of drunken rage. “Yes,” Shannon said. “Travis got mean when he was drunk, and these past few years he was mean and drunk most of the time.”

      Her father laid the socket wrench down at his feet and pulled a rag out of his hip pocket. Wiped his brow and his neck, shoved it back in his pocket, picked up the socket wrench, and tackled the job again, all without ever looking at her. “You don’t have to worry about me. I haven’t touched a drop since you left, and I sure as heck ain’t going to hit either of you.”

      Shannon flinched inwardly. Her father clearly remembered the last heated words they’d hurled at each other, ten years ago when she was about to leave home. “You walk out of here right now and I no longer have a daughter!” he’d hollered.

      She’d whirled around and shot back, just as mad, “You haven’t been a father to me since Momma died. You’re nothing but a useless drunk!” Then she’d walked out to Travis’s truck, climbed in and driven away, bound for Nashville, fame and fortune. That was the last time they’d seen each other, and those were the words that had festered between them for the past ten years.

      Her father had stopped working to look directly at her. “You left one useless drunk behind and ran off with another,” he said. “I’m sorry about that.”

      “I’m sorry I said what I did, Daddy,” she said. “We both said things we shouldn’t have. I’m hoping you’ll forgive me and I’m hoping we can make a fresh start. Rose needs to get to know her grandfather.”

      He dropped his eyes and didn’t say anything for a long time, long enough for Shannon to draw a deep breath and square her shoulders. “It’s okay if you don’t want us. I have friends in California, and I’ve always wanted to see the big redwoods.”

      Her father stared at the wrench in his hand and shook his head, still not meeting her gaze. He looked old and beaten. “I couldn’t make anything work after your mother died. Losing her wrecked me.”

      Shannon was surprised by his admission. She felt her eyes sting at the defeat in his voice. She wanted to reach out to him but didn’t know how. “I guess maybe when she died, the heart just went out of both of us. I’m going to walk down to the creek with Rose and look for Sparky and Old Joe.”

      “They’ll be by the swimming hole,” he said, still staring at the wrench as if it was the sorriest thing he’d ever seen. “They come up to the barn near dark, looking for their grain.”

      “I’m glad you didn’t sell them, Daddy.”

      He sat back down on the bucket and started working on the tractor. “Nobody’d want ’em,” he said gruffly. “They’re so old they’re no good for anything, not even dog food.”

      Shannon knew that’s not why he’d kept them, but he’d never admit he loved a horse, not in a million years. Crusty old bastard. “C’mon, Rose,” she said, reaching for her daughter’s hand. “Let’s go find us a couple of useless old hay burners.”

       CHAPTER THREE

      DAWN CAME AND Billy was halfway to town before the first slanting rays spangled through the big cottonwoods along the far side of the creek. The parts store wasn’t open yet, so he had to roust Schuyler out of bed. The older man cussed and coughed up thirty years of a bad habit as he came to the door, pulling on a pair of greasy old jeans.

      “What the hell you doin’ here this time of night, Billy?” he said, blinking red-rimmed eyes and scratching his whiskers.

      “Need a set of plug wires for McTavish’s Moline. We’re making hay today. And it’s morning, Schuyler, in case you haven’t noticed.”

      “Do tell. Been a while since McTavish did much of anything out to his place. This have something to do with that rich and famous daughter of his coming back home?” He already had a pack of cigarettes in his hand and was tapping one out. “I heard she might be plannin’ on stickin’ around for a while. That right? Seems kind of funny, a famous singer wanting to stick around a place like this.”

      “I need those plug wires, Schuyler. The day’s half wasted.”

      After he’d gotten what he came to town for, Billy stopped by Willard’s and asked for the day off, told him about his new work schedule and drove back to the ranch through the three open gates. He thought about how they really should be closed, how the horses never should’ve gone from this place, or the beef cows...or Shannon. McTavish said she wouldn’t stick around for long, and he was probably right, but she’d come back here looking for something, and he hoped she found it. He hoped she’d make up her mind to stay and raise her little girl here. It was a good place to raise a kid, and Rose seemed like a good kid.

      McTavish was up and waiting, and the coffee was hot and strong.

      “Been thinkin’,” Billy said after he’d poured himself a steaming mugful. He stood at the kitchen door and looked out across the valley, watching as long fingers of golden sunlight stretched across the land. “Maybe we could fix up that old windmill, the one that used to pump water to your upper pasture. Might make the grass grow better. We’ll need a lot of hay to winter the stock we buy this fall.” McTavish said nothing in reply, just pulled on his jacket. Billy took a swallow of coffee. “I got the plug wires installed and the tractor’s ready to go whenever you are.”

      “Don’t know what difference any of it’ll make in the long run,” McTavish said.

      Billy set his mug in the sink.

      “We’ll find out,” he said. “Let’s make us some hay.”

      * * *

      SHANNON SLEPT SOUNDLY and awoke with a start, surprised that the day was already in full swing. She glanced at her watch but didn’t need to. She could still measure the morning hours of ranch life by the sounds and smells and the sunlight. It was 8:00 a.m., the day half gone.

      “Rose, honey, it’s time to get up.” She nudged the small bundle curled beside her in the bed, smoothed her palm over the warm curve of her daughter’s cheek. Rose made a soft mewling and burrowed deeper beneath the quilt, never quite awakening.

      Shannon tucked the quilt around Rose and left the warmth of the bed, moving to the window. The air still held the cool of the night but was rapidly warming. She could hear the distant guttural growl of a tractor.

      Her bedroom window overlooked the barns, the molten shine of the creek, the roof of the cook’s cabin and the old bunkhouse. The lower fields were out of sight, on the other side of the creek, but she suspected the sound came from there. If Billy was helping her father, there really wasn’t much she could do in the fields until the hay was baled tomorrow. Today she’d go to Willard’s, buy some decent groceries and cook them a decent meal.

      She could wash the windows and cut down the weeds growing around the sides of the house. She could sweep off the porch and pick up the trash. Brush the burrs out of Sparky’s and Old Joe’s manes and tails. Take Rose for a ride. There was no end of chores to keep her busy, and certainly no excuse for her to be lying abed when so much needed doing.

      She showered in the small, drab bathroom with the peeling wallpaper and wiped the steam from the mirror afterward, staring at the thin face with the blackened left eye.

      The swelling was almost gone and the colors around her eye had morphed, gradually, from dark purple to a mottled greenish yellow. Makeup helped to hide the bruises, but there was no forgetting, especially when she looked in the mirror,