“You bet.” As he refined his loop, Sawyer remembered the pleasure he’d once received from roping. Maybe, he thought, he’d sign up for some July Fourth rodeo events. “Rodeos are partly for practicing necessary cowboying skills, but they’re entertainment, too. And people like to laugh. So it’s best that you don’t give them any more reason than necessary to laugh at you.”
It had been years since he’d had any reason to rope a steer, but some things you never forgot. “And you’re going to really need arithmetic.”
“Why? That’s the worst.”
“In the first place, you’ve got to keep a running track of yours and your competition’s scores. Sure, you’re going out every time to win, but so does every other cowboy. So, you need to know what times and scores you’re shooting for.”
“Don’t forget how entry fees cost money,” Buck—who as a stock contractor, had always preferred taking other cowboys’ money to paying it out—said.
“There is that.” Sawyer flipped the rope loop over his body, two or three times, getting accustomed to the extra-soft beginner’s rope his father had apparently brought over for Jack. “So do gas, meals, motels, vet bills, and either horse feed or horse rentals, depending on whether you’re using your own horse or stock like Austin and Mr. Merrill bring to rodeos.”
Swinging the rope, he walked up to the dummy, hooked it under the right horn, then brought it back up around the left. “And you can never count on payouts. Only the top finishers end up in the money, so since even the best horse and cowboy can have a bad day, a miles-long drive can result in nothing but racking up more experience and expense. If you can’t do math, you can get in the hole really fast. I’ve seen more than one guy’s career end because he’s racked up a bunch of debt.
“Right, Dad?” He exchanged a look with his father, who’d given him much the same lecture when he’d been Jack’s age.
“Right as rain,” the older man said.
“Okay.” Jack blew out a resigned breath. “I’ll learn to like school, even though I’d sure rather be outside. Do you think I’ll ever be as good as you?”
“Sure you can, if you put your mind to it.” Sawyer coiled the rope back up and handed it to his father. “It just takes a lot of practice. After you get your homework done,” he tacked on when he felt Austin’s sharp look.
He remembered her not feeling a bit sorry for him when his own father had made him study when he would’ve preferred to be riding or out in the corral swinging rope all day. Being a superior form of being, Austin Merrill had somehow managed to get nearly straight A’s in school while still making time to become good enough at barrel racing and roping to have shelves filled with trophies and gold buckles.
“I don’t have to do homework today,” Jack said. The reason for him being here at the ranch swept back to swamp the fun distraction Sawyer’s dad had created for him. “Because my mom and dad died.” His freckled face fell and his eyes shone.
“I know.” Sawyer felt so at sea here. And damn if the others weren’t just standing there, putting it on him. “And that’s as bad as it gets. But Austin and I just came from the church, and Father Cassidy really likes the idea of a kid’s funeral. We’ll need your and your sister’s help to plan it.”
“We can do that.” Jack ran the back of his hand below his nose, which had begun to run.
Austin reached into her bag and pulled out a tissue. “Blow,” she said gently.
He did, with a loud honking sound. “Sophie’s in with Mitzi and Winema.” He sniffed. “They planted some flowers. Now she’s making brownies for dessert tonight.”
“Nothing better than brownies,” Sawyer said. “But I think they could use some ice cream. Want to help me make some?”
“Okay.” He sniffed. “Mom’s favorite was vanilla bean. Can we make that?”
“You betcha, pardner.” He took off his Stetson and plunked it down on Jack’s carrot-orange head, deciding that as soon as they got past this mess, the two of them were dropping in to the Stockman’s Shop and getting the kid a real hat of his own. Like Cooper had done for Rachel’s son. “Now, let’s put this rope back in the tack room, and we’ll go track down your sister.”
*
S
OPHIE’S LONG HAIR
had been done up in some sort of fancy braid thing Austin wouldn’t have been able to pull off in a million years, revealing that Mitzi Murphy was in the house. As drained as she was by the events of the day, Austin was even more grateful the citified real estate agent had fallen in love with Dan and moved to River’s Bend.
She and Sawyer began by explaining about the caskets and showing them the brochures.
“They’re just like the cabinets Mom picked out,” Sophie said.
“That’s what we were thinking,” Austin said. “Sawyer was the one who spotted them.”
“Thank you.” Sophie looked over at him, and for a split second, Austin thought she’d seen a flash of a beginning crush in the girl’s gaze.
Which wouldn’t be surprising. Sawyer Murphy was a drop-dead-gorgeous man. Making him even more appealing was that either he didn’t realize how good looking he was or it didn’t matter to him. She’d always suspected it might be the latter.
Whichever, Austin had enough trust in the man to know that if Sophie tumbled, he’d treat her gently so someday she’d look back on her crush with fondness rather than embarrassment. She was also pragmatic enough to think that a little bit of falling in love might help dull the inescapable pain these next days and weeks would entail.
“I’m glad you approve,” he said easily.
They moved on to the next item on Earl’s list. The clothing.
“I think Mom should be buried in her wedding dress,” Sophie said. “Because she tried it on again for all of us and was really proud she could still wear it.”
“She loved that dress,” Austin said, and although she knew the children had heard the story many times over the years, she shared the tale of the making of the dress and all that beading during finals week once again.
“She wore it every year for before their anniversary.” Sophie’s bottom lip began to tremble. “She always looked so pretty I wanted to wear it for my wedding. She said it would be her happiest day.”
“Perhaps we should keep it,” Mitzi suggested gently.
“No.” Sophie swiped furiously at her glistening eyes. “I don’t want to anymore. Because Mom won’t be there to see me get married in it. So it wouldn’t be the same.”
“Whatever you want, honey,” Austin said.
She wrote down the dress on the list but decided to wait until the very last minute to take it to the funeral home, just in case Sophie changed her mind. Meanwhile, she was going to make sure to take lots of pictures. That way, at the very least, a clever seamstress could make a duplicate dress if Sophie wanted to recreate it.
“And what about your dad?” she asked. There was so much to get through, she was hoping they wouldn’t get bogged down on each item because no way did she want the children as emotionally drained as she felt.
“I think he should wear the zombie costume he wore last year when we went trick-or-treating downtown,” Jack said.
“What?” Sophie turned on him, eyes now blazing. “Why would anyone, anywhere on this planet, want to be buried in a zombie costume?”
“Austin said it was supposed to be about happy times. And we all laughed and laughed when he did his scary zombie walk.” He stuck his thin, freckled arms out and began lurching across the kitchen floor.
“In case you’ve forgotten, idiot child,” his sister shot back, “zombies are the undead. Dad can’t be a zombie because he’s dead!” She stood up so fast she tipped the chair over and ran out of the room. A moment later the sound of the front door slamming reverberated throughout the house.
“Well,” Mitzi said on a long sigh. “That went well.”
21
S
OPHIE WAS HALFWAY
down the driveway when Austin came out on the porch. The girl could definitely run. Austin thought about chasing her, then considered the truck instead. Maybe they could take a ride and talk things out. Of course if Sophie climbed the fence and cut across a pasture toward the river or mountain, she’d have to ditch the rig.
Starting to appreciate what Heather had been talking about those times she’d insisted her life wasn’t as perfect as it might seem to outsiders, Austin opted for the truck.
It took less than a minute to catch up with Sophie on the road. Austin rolled down the driver’s window. “Where are you going?”
“Home.” Sophie didn’t look her way.
“I don’t think your mom would want that.”
“My mom isn’t around to want anything. Because she’s dead. And we don’t always get what we want. I didn’t want her to die, either. And now that we’re damn pitiful orphans, I’m stuck with being idiot Jack’s mother.”
Austin decided to let her calling her brother an idiot pass and focus on the more important issue. She remembered what Rachel had said about Scott believing he’d have to be the man of the family after his father’s death. Sophie was going to have enough to deal with without having that burden put on such very slender shoulders.
“No, your brother isn’t going to be your responsibility. At least not that way, though he will need your love and support.”
“He doesn’t even care.”
“He does. But at his age, I’m not sure he totally understands the permanency of the situation.”
Sophie stopped marching down the gravel at the side of the road and spun toward the truck. “He’s having fun planning our parents’ funeral!”
“Father Cassidy said young children get caught up in the detail of ritual. I suspect it’s a form of coping mechanism.”
“Lucky him.” She kicked the ground, scattering gravel. “I hate this.”
“I do, too. Your mother was my best friend for as long as I can remember. I have this big, huge, aching hole in my heart and am afraid if I let myself cry, I’ll never be able to stop.”
“Really?” That got the girl’s attention. “I figured since you were a grown-up, you knew how to deal with stuff like this.”
“I haven’t a clue,” Austin said. She might not have any idea how to handle this situation, but decided honesty couldn’t hurt. “Neither does Sawyer.”
“He’s a Marine. He probably saw lots of people die in war.”
“I suppose he did. But the Marines undoubtedly have a very organized and detailed system to deal with battlefield losses. In civilian life, we only have guidelines and have to learn how to get through the maze as we go along.”
“Well, that’s fucking encouraging.”
Austin wasn’t wild about the f-bomb, but she did welcome the snark. At least it was communication. “How about going for a ride?” she asked. “I always feel better down by the river.”
“Do you really believe that’s going to make all this go away?”
“No.” A cattle truck, loaded with fifty thousand pounds of beef on the hoof, roared past between them in the other lane. “But at least we can talk in quiet.”
“I don’t want to talk.”
“Fine.” Austin pulled off the road onto the gravel shoulder. “I’ll talk and you can listen.”
“And if I don’t want to?”
“You can always cover your ears.”
Sophie tilted her head. “That reminds me of something Mom would’ve said.”
“I know.” Austin managed a smile. “She was a lot better at it than I am.”
Heaving a huge sigh, Sophie trudged across the road and climbed up into the passenger’s seat. When Austin gave her a pointed look, she scowled back but fastened her seat belt.
Neither spoke as they drove past the Bar M, headed toward the river. There was a small, grassy park on the bank, with picnic tables, a drinking fountain with icy water from the spring right beneath it, and horseshoe pits. She pulled into the empty parking lot and cut the engine. Then rolled down the windows and opened the moonroof, allowing the tangy scent of pine and the rushing sound of the river into the truck.
“I know no one will ever be able to replace your mom,” she said carefully. The sun was lowering. One wrong word and Sophie could bolt, possibly getting lost and, even worse, be forced to spend the night out here in the woods alone.
“Duh,” Sophie muttered, staring straight ahead.
“But Rachel, Mitzi, Winema, and I are going to do our best. Just like Sawyer, Cooper, Ryan, Dan, and my dad are going to try to help fill in for your dad.”
“It won’t be the same.”
“No. It won’t. Winema is wonderful and I’ve always loved her as much as I would a mom. But that doesn’t mean that I don’t still miss my mother. Less as I’ve gotten older, but when I was Jack’s and even your age, I thought about her every day. And missed her.”
Sophie turned to look at Austin. “Did you hope she’d come back?”
“Every day for years.” Which was something she’d never told her dad. And had even stopped mentioning to Sawyer when she’d been Sophie’s age. “Sometimes, while I’m out working with a horse in the corral, or baking for the bookstore or the New Chance, I’ll wonder if maybe this will be the day she decides to check in and see how I turned out.” And hadn’t so much of what Austin had done all these years been about trying to prove to an absent mother than she’d grown up to be worth keeping?
“You could go see her.”
Austin had often thought of that. Too many times to count. “She knows where I am,” she said mildly. “If she wanted to see me, I suspect she’d have come by now.”
“Maybe,” Sophie allowed. “Maybe she feels guilty and doesn’t know how to come back home.”
“I’ve thought of that, too.” Had Sophie always been wiser than what Austin would have expected a twelve-year-old to be? Or was she special? Of course she was. She was Heather’s daughter. How could she not be exceptional?
“Why does shit happen?”
The pain in the question tore ragged strips off Austin’s already broken heart. “I don’t have any idea.”
“Do you think it’s like God’s plan?”
“No.” Austin had thought about that. “I think it’s more random than that. I don’t believe God would take your parents.”
“I saw a movie where these kids’ parents were killed in a plane crash on Christmas Eve, and the grandmother told them that the mom and dad died because God wanted them in heaven with him.”
“No one has the answers, but that sounds pretty selfish of God to me.”