One Summer At The Ranch. Rebecca Winters

O’CLOCK, Tracy Baretta left her office to pick up Johnny from elementary school. When she joined the line of cars waiting for the kids to come out, she hoped she’d see Clara Brewster. Her son, Nate, was a cute boy who’d invited Johnny to his birthday party last month. Johnny hadn’t wanted to go, but Tracy had made him.

      Maybe Nate would like to come home with her and Johnny to play, but she didn’t see him or his mom. Her disappointment changed to a dull pain when she had to wait until all the kids had been picked up before her skinny, dark-haired first grader exited the school doors alone.

      He purposely hung back from the others. His behavior had her worried sick. She’d been setting up some playdates with a few of the other boys in his first-grade class, but they hadn’t worked out well.

      Johnny preferred to be alone and stay home with her after school. He’d become a very quiet child since Tony’s death and was way too attached to her. The psychologist told her to keep finding ways to get him to interact with other kids and not take no for an answer, but she wasn’t gaining ground.

      He got in the rear seat with his backpack and strapped himself in. She looked over her shoulder at him. “How was school today, honey?”

      “We had a substitute.”

      “Was she fun?”

      “It was a man. I didn’t like him.”

      She eyed him in the rearview mirror. “Why do you say that?”

      “He made me sit with Danny.”

      “Isn’t he a nice boy?”

      “He calls me squirt.”

      His tear-filled voice brought out every savage maternal instinct to protect him. Praying for inspiration she said, “Do you want to know something?”

      “What?”

      “Your father was one of the shortest kids in his class when he was your age. By high school he was five feet ten.” The perfect size for Tracy. “That’ll happen to you, too. Do you think your father was a squirt?”

      “No,” he muttered.

      “Then forget what Danny said. When we go to Grandma’s house, she’ll show you lots of pictures to make you feel better.”

      Of course Johnny couldn’t forget. Silence filled the car for the rest of the drive home to their small rental house. She parked in front of the garage. While he scrambled out of the back, she retrieved the mail and they entered through the front door.

      Once inside, he raced for the kitchen. “Wash your hands before you eat anything!” He was always hungry for sweets after school.

      While her six-year-old grumbled and ran into the bathroom, Tracy went to the kitchen and poured him a glass of milk before she sorted through the mail, mostly ads and bills. Among the assortment she saw a handwritten envelope addressed to Mrs. Anthony Baretta. It had a Jackson, Wyoming, postmark.

      She didn’t know anyone in Wyoming. Her glance took in the return address. Lundgren’s Teton Valley Dude Ranch was printed inside the logo of a mountain peak.

      A dude ranch? She’d heard of them all her life, but she’d never been to one. Truth be told, she’d never traveled west of the Mississippi. Every trip had been to Florida, the East Coast, New York City, the Jersey Shore or Toronto. Tony had promised Johnny that when he got out of the service next year, they’d take a big driving trip west, all the way to Disneyland. Another pain shot through her.

      She took a deep breath, curious to know who would be writing to her from Wyoming. After slitting the envelope open, she pulled out the handwritten letter.

      Dear Mrs. Baretta,

      My name is Carson Lundgren. You don’t know me from Adam. I served as a marine in Afghanistan before I got out of the service.

      The word Afghanistan swam before her eyes. Tony. She closed them tightly to stop the tears and sank down on one of the kitchen chairs. Her husband had been gone eleven months, yet she knew she would always experience this crushing pain when she thought of him.

      “Mom? Can I have a peanut-butter cookie?” He’d drunk his milk.

      “How about string cheese or an apple instead?”

      “No-o,” he moaned.

      “Johnny—” she said in a firm voice.

      “Can I have some for dinner?”

      “If you eat everything else first.”

      “Okay.” She heard him rummage in the fridge for the cheese before he left the kitchen to watch his favorite afternoon cartoons.

      When he’d disappeared into the living room, she wiped her eyes and continued reading.

      Buck Summerhays and Ross Livingston, former marines, are in business with me on the Teton Valley Dude Ranch. We put our heads together and decided to contact the families of the fallen soldiers from our various units.

      Your courageous husband, Anthony Baretta, served our country with honor and distinction. Now, we’d like to honor him by offering you and your son John an all-expenses-paid, one-week vacation at the dude ranch anytime in June, July or August. We’ll pay for your airfare and any other travel expenses.

      Tracy’s eyes widened in total wonder.

      You’re welcome to contact your husband’s division commander. His office helped us obtain your address. If you’re interested and have questions, please phone our office at the number below. We’ve also listed our website. Visit it to see the brochure we’ve prepared. We’ll be happy to email you any additional information.

      Please know how anxious we are to give something back to you after Anthony’s great sacrifice.

      With warmest regards,

      Carson Lundgren

      His words made her throat swell with emotion. With the letter still open, she phoned the commander’s office and learned that the offer was completely legitimate. His assistant had nothing but praise for such a worthy cause and hoped she and her son would be able to take advantage of it.

      Tracy’s thoughts flew to her plans for the summer. When school was out, it was decided she and Johnny would spend six weeks in Cleveland with Tony’s parents. They saw Tony in their grandson and were living for a long visit. So was Tracy, who’d been orphaned at eighteen and had no other family.

      Luckily, she had June and the first half of July off from her job as technology facilitator for the Sandusky school district. Both she and Johnny needed a huge dose of family love, and they would get it. Grandma planned for them to stay in Tony’s old room with all his stuff. Johnny would adore that.

      The Barettas were a big Italian-American family with aunts, uncles and lots of cousins. Two of Johnny’s uncles were policemen and the other three were firefighters, like their father. Like Tony, before he’d joined the Marines to help pay for a college education.

      Their loving kindness had saved her life, and Johnny’s, when news of the tragedy had come. He needed that love and support more than ever. She wondered what his reaction would be when he heard what this new invitation was about.

      But before she did anything else, she called her sister-in-law Natalie to feel her out. When Tracy read her the letter, Natalie cried, “You’ve got to be kidding me! A dude ranch? Oh, my gosh, Tracy. You’ll have the time of your life. Ask Ruth. She went to one in Montana with my folks a few years ago. Remember?”

      “Vaguely.”

      “Yeah. It was a working ranch and they helped feed animals and went on trail rides and stuff. She got to help herd some cows.”

      “I don’t think this is that kind of a ranch, but I don’t know for sure. The thing is, Johnny’s been difficult for so long, I don’t think he’d even like the idea of