Rocky Mountain Oasis (44 page)

Jason bent to continue scrubbing the floor, curiosity filling him. “Well?” he asked, waiting.

“Let’s see. First, you can see Brooke is expecting. We’ll have an addition to the family sometime around the end of this spring.”

“Hopefully sooner than later,” Brooke said, reaching one hand to her lower back.

Sky continued, “Then there is Sharyah. She’s finished her schooling and plans to find a teaching position for this fall.”

Jason rocked back on the balls of his feet, letting the scrub brush hang between his knees. “Sharyah. Wow, I seem to only remember her as the little pig-tailed beauty who drove all the boys at the church picnics crazy ’cause she only had eyes for Cade Bennett.”

Sky smirked. “Well, she still drives all the boys crazy, but I don’t know about her having eyes for Cade Bennett anymore. He’s been seeing a lot of Jenny Cartwright.”

“Oh, honey!” Brooke voiced exasperation. Turning back to Jason, she rolled her eyes. “Men are so blind! Of course she’s still in love with Cade, but he doesn’t have a brain in his head where Sharyah is concerned. If he had a thimbleful of wisdom, he would have snapped her up a long time ago!” She emphasized her point with a snap of her fingers.

Sky chuckled. “As you can see, Brooke and my family don’t get along very well.”

Giving a mock frown, Jason agreed, “Yes, I can see that.”

Sky went on. “Rocky is still a deputy in town. He, Dad, and I keep the town running criminal-free.” A twinkle leapt into his eyes. “And I guess that’s about all that’s new.”

When Brooke spun, wide-eyed and incredulous, in Sky’s direction, Jason surmised that Sky had been teasing her and the largest piece of news would be forthcoming. He swiped his cheek against his shoulder and returned his concentration to the last section of the kitchen floor.
Someday, Lord, if You’re willing, I’d like to have someone to love that way
.

After giving Sky a friendly punch, Brooke said to Jason, “Your cousin is deliberately withholding information from you, but maybe we shouldn’t ruin her surprise. You’d better go visit Marquis right away, though. She’d be terribly disappointed if you heard the news from anyone else.”

“Is she all right?” Jason asked, tension crawling through his chest. “She’s fine,” Sky assured.

Jason’s shoulders relaxed, but a niggling worry still clung to the back of his mind. “Maybe I’ll mosey on over that way.” He stood and picked up the scrub water. “Can I empty this for you somewhere, Brooke?”

“Oh, to one side out the back door is fine.” Brooke waved him through the kitchen.

As he made his way back to the front of the house, Jason grabbed his hat, trying not to let his worry over his sister’s news show on his face. He’d always been a little overprotective of her, since a childhood illness had robbed her of her sight. He had been gone for several years when he headed to the Idaho territory to exact revenge on a man that he blamed for their mother’s death. But he’d known that, since Marquis was living with his grandmother, she was in good hands. Since his return to the Lord, finding work had forced him away from his family, but he had faithfully sent Marquis money every month. Now he wondered what news Marquis could have that she wouldn’t have told him in her last letter.

“I’ll head on over to Gram’s, then. It’s good to see you both…and congratulations.”

Brooke embraced him once more. “Thank you for stopping by. On Sunday everyone is getting together at our place for lunch, so come on by and join us.”

“I’ll do that.” Jason settled his Stetson and headed down the street to Gram’s house, which sat on the edge of the snow-bound little town.

The Prineville bank was stuffy and hot. The teller had obviously forgotten to turn down the damper on the wood stove. The heat had felt nice to William Harpster for a few minutes after coming in from the single-digit temperature outside. Now, sitting across from the banker, Tom Roland, he frowned.

Behind his desk, Tom mopped his sweaty brow and tossed an occasional irritated glance at the teller.

William paid no attention to the teller. His eyes were fixed solely on the short, paunchy, balding Roland seated across from him. “I told you it would take some time.”

“It’s been over two years!” The words were forceful but voiced low so as not to reach the ears of the clerk. “The Association is going to be running
us
off if we don’t come up on the good side of this deal. We guaranteed them we’d have the small-timers gone by next month. You said you could get the job done!”

William’s eyes narrowed. “Do you think I don’t know that? You’re the one who said he was the perfect man for our plan! It’s not my fault he’s welching on his end.” His voice became a little too loud and drew a look from the curious teller.

But at that moment a patron entered the building, taking the man’s interest off their conversation. When it was once again safe to resume, Tom’s pale blue eyes flashed. “Keep it down, would you? This is not my fault. First,” the banker held up one short finger, “his wife isn’t nearly as timid and withdrawn as you said. She’s made friends with over half the country, for goodness’ sake! Second, he’s no longer willing to go along with our plan. And now…” A third finger joined the first two. “You’re telling me you think he might have a herd of horses back in those hills that could pay off his loan?”

William rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know. Things just don’t add up. He’s been making his payments?”

“Right on time, every time.”

William sighed. There was only one way to ensure their plan would work. “We know what the Association thinks. But how badly do you want your share of that land?”

Tom Roland dabbed at his glistening pate with a handkerchief. Then, leaning back, he lit a cigar and blew a ring of smoke in William’s direction. He wanted that land. The original owner had given up on ranching and moved back to Chicago, leaving the land up for sale. Tom had been tempted to buy the land himself, but then John Trent had walked into his bank. The only reason Tom had loaned John the money was that he was almost assured the gambler wouldn’t be able to come up with his payments. Then the land would revert to the bank, where Tom could discreetly snap it up at a lower price. That and the fact The Stockman’s Association had needed a scapegoat for their dirty work. But then John had developed a conscience. And, on top of that, he hadn’t missed one payment.

Tom ran his handkerchief across the back of his neck. Five thousand acres of the finest range land in central Oregon, and half of it was to be his. Well, maybe more than half, but he was careful to keep that thought off his face. Yes. He wanted that land very much. But a couple of things bothered him. “What about his wife?”

William smiled sardonically. “Let me worry about the little woman. Once John is out of the way, she’ll give up. There’s no way she’ll be able to make a go of it. They’ve only got two hands.”

“The Stockman’s Association will break loose with all the fury of Hades if this doesn’t pan out,” Tom warned. “They were plenty upset that I let him buy that land in the first place. And if things don’t work out for me, you know they certainly aren’t going to work out for you, right?”

“Things couldn’t be clearer. Have I ever let you down before?”

Tom blew another ring. “No, William, you haven’t. But let’s make sure this isn’t the first.”

William’s gaze hardened. “Tom, this better be the last time you need my services. A man’s patience can only be stretched so far.”

“Just do your job, William. Do your job and let the future take care of itself.”

The men glared at each other across the desk. Tom didn’t want to be the first to look away. Finally William conceded the battle.

Tom looked down at his desk, pulling in a deep drag on his cigar. “Now, back to the job at hand. I think we both know there is only one way to solve this little problem.”

The two men’s eyes locked. A silent understanding passed between them.

William stood, straightened his cowhide vest with a tug, and placed his hat carefully on his head. He shook Tom’s fleshy hand and said loud enough for the teller to hear, “Thanks. You won’t regret making me this loan, Mr. Roland.”

With that, he moved toward the door, stepping out into the cold. He took a cleansing breath of the refreshing air, then headed toward the livery, his boots thudding loudly on the boardwalk. He had a job to do back home. And maybe, just maybe, if he played his cards right, by the end of the year he’d be owner of some of the finest range land in Oregon, not to mention the husband of one beautiful, desirable Mrs. Dominique Trent. A smile lifted the corners of his mouth at the thought. Yes, indeed, now that was a dream worth chasing.

2

“Sawyer Carlos Trent! ¿¡
Que es esto!?”
Nicki threw up her hands in distress at the mess on her kitchen floor. Flour, beans, rice, and sugar were all scattered delightfully across the earthen floor, swirled together and crawled through. Baby handprints on a mound of flour and beans showed where the budding artist had patted his creation together.

Clenching her fists at her side, Nicki went in search of her little virtuoso. It wasn’t hard to find him; she just followed the flour-white footprints on the dark, hard-packed, earthen floor. He was crouched behind the chest that held their clothes. As she scooped him up and started back toward the kitchen, Nicki found herself wishing for the umpteenth time that she could put the supplies up somewhere higher, but there just wasn’t anyplace else to store them. There was barely room enough to stand up straight in the low-roofed, tiny kitchen, much less add higher cupboards.

Sitting the boy down firmly in the middle of the mess Nicki gestured to the floor around him. “Look at this mess you made for Mama to clean up!” She squatted down in front of him, tucking an escaped strand of hair behind her ear, the other fist resting under her chin.

Sawyer’s chin dropped to his chest and his lower lip protruded in a calculated pout.

Nicki tried not to give in to the smile that suddenly tugged at the corners of her mouth as she gazed into his sweet face. “Sawyer, Mama has told you not to get into the food. This is very naughty.”

Tears pooled on his lower lids, making his huge dark eyes seem even larger. The pout was still in place. “I sowwee, Mama.”

“Está bien
. That’s good. I’m glad you’re sorry, but we have talked about this before. You are going to sit in the corner while I clean this up.”

His rosy lower lip still pooching out, he stood to his flour-dusted feet. Dark head bent toward the floor, he crossed his arms over his chest and did not move.

“Go on, Son. I will come get you when I’m done.”

Feet dragging, he made his way to the corner and sat, casting a how-could-you-do-this-to-me look over his shoulder before he slumped forward, resting chubby cheeks on chubby hands.

When Nicki was sure he wasn’t looking, she allowed herself to smile. Poor boy. The winter
was
getting long. If only the weather would warm up, then they could go outside and he would have more room to play.

Looking back to the mess, she tossed her hands toward the ceiling in frustration and moved to get the broom and dust pan.

When the mess was cleaned up, Nicki walked over to get Sawyer, only find that he had fallen asleep on the floor. Stooping, she picked him up and rested his head against her breast. She grinned down at the white print of his bottom on the dark earth floor, then gazed lovingly into his sleep-flushed face. Tenderly she dropped a kiss onto his rosy cheek as tears pooled in her eyes. Blinking, she raised her face to the ceiling.

Thank You, God, for this precious little boy. He has kept me going these past couple of years. You knew just what I needed to make it through this life, didn’t You? You have blessed me beyond measure.

Moving to the room’s one bed, she laid Sawyer down and smoothed his dark curls. Gently covering him with his favorite patchwork blanket, she moved to add more wood to the stove. Today was exceptionally cold.

She eased herself down at the table, thankful to have a little quiet time. Reaching for her Bible, the one Mama had pressed into her hands that day that seemed like a lifetime ago, she thumbed through the pages. She settled on one of her favorite psalms and leaned back to read. But she only got to verse four. Pausing, she stared at the page. But she wasn’t seeing the words, she was hearing them.

“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; For you are with me; Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.”

Nicki could remember like it had happened yesterday—Father Pedro from the mission school she had attended as a child, explaining those words.
“The psalmist, he was a shepherd, no?”
The class had nodded.
“And when his sheep were in danger, what did he use to protect them, besides his sling shot?”

“His rod and staff,”
the class echoed in unison.

“Good! You sometimes listen when I teach, eh?”
He smiled good-naturedly.
“Yes. The rod and staff, and in the same way, when death comes knocking on our doors,”
he rapped loudly on his wooden desk for emphasis, causing several of the girls to jump and a titter of laughter to pass through the room,
“we know that our Heavenly Father, who loves us much more than a shepherd loves his sheep, will come to our aid, yes?”