Keeping them safe, p.9
Keeping Them Safe, page 9
One of the men at the corner table lifted his cup toward the counter.
Bea motioned to her. “Refill Mr. James, would you, hon?”
Sage did as she was asked, returning with two empty sweet roll plates.
As she put the carafe back onto the heater, Ms. Bea asked, “You recall that horse Ron and I bought for you kids to ride?”
“Yes, I remember him. Chigger, wasn’t it? He was such a sweet horse. Mr. Ron called him Chigger because he was small, only fourteen hands high.”
Bea laughed. “Ron used to say your legs would drag the ground, but they didn’t.”
She’d learned to ride on that gentle little palomino. Many was the time Bowie had brought one of his horses into town and they’d ridden to the Sonic for a Coke or fries. Occasionally, he hauled Chigger and her to his ranch where they rode all afternoon.
They’d solved the problems of the world, hers anyway, on those idyllic days.
She wished life was that easy again.
As she carried the dirty dishes into the kitchen, she asked, “What ever happened to Chigger?”
He had to be really old. Was he even still alive?
“After Ron passed, I stopped fostering and had no use for a horse in my backyard. I put him up for sale.” Bea took the plates from her hand and opened the dishwasher. “Guess who bought him?”
Sage reached for an empty display tray and plunked it into the suds-filled sink. “Who?”
“Bowie Trudeau.” A plate rattled as she added it to the nearly filled dishwasher. “Now, ask yourself, why would a man with a ranch full of fine quarter horses and no kids pay too much money for a gentle little pony he didn’t need and couldn’t ride?”
“Bea, you’re reading too much into it. Wade has kids now.”
“He didn’t when I sold the horse.” She added another plate to the dishwasher, groaning a little as she bent. “If you ask me, Chigger reminded Bowie of the good times the two of you had together. He bought that horse to remember you.”
Or maybe he’d bought the horse as a way to help Ms. Bea financially. Paying too much money for a kid’s pony as a way to help a newly widowed woman was the kind of thing he’d do.
Ms. Bea was way off base on this one.
Chapter Seven
By the time Sage picked up the children from school at three and returned to the bakery, the place was full of kids. Teenagers, preteens, elementary students who walked home from school. The building was a madhouse of jostling, laughing students there for an after-school snack and socializing.
No wonder Bea refused to close at noon every day. The school kids were a huge part of her income.
As Sage rushed around, waiting on the customers, Bea pointed out certain ones who required special foods because of health issues or allergies. A diabetic cupcake for the red-haired boy. Gluten free for two sisters. No peanuts or peanut butter for a cheerleader type with a toothpaste ad smile.
Bea knew every child and, as she’d done for Mrs. Marberry, created special treats for those who required them. Not one went away without a goodie in their hands. Even those short on funds.
Bea asked about their school day, their sick brother, the test they’d been worried about, all the while doling out treats and eats and making each child feel special. Feel known.
It occurred to Sage that the kids needed the bakery as much as the bakery needed their business.
After an hour of cheerful chaos, a daycare van pulled to the curb and half the kids rushed aboard, toting the remnants of their treats. Mothers and a few dads drifted in to talk amongst themselves and gather their offspring. Bea introduced Sage to all of them, many of whom she remembered. All of them were friendly, welcoming, expressing interest that she was back in Sundown Valley after such a long absence.
“Tomorrow you’ll be the talk of the town.” Bea hobbled past toting yet another white to-go box of pastries.
Tomorrow Sage and her niece and nephew would be food for the gossip mill. A curiosity. A reason for people to ask questions.
She tried not to let that bother her. Not today when she felt a part of something bigger than her problems. Not when she could forget her own worries and do something good for someone else. Wasn’t that what being a Christian was all about? Doing good was certain to please the Lord.
Was that why Bowie played handyman for the townspeople? Was that why he was so kind to her?
The big, quiet cowboy had been a believer from the time she’d met him, solid in his faith, just as he was solid in everything.
He knew who he was and what he wanted in life.
She was still looking.
When the after-school crowd waned, she and Bea began cleanup. “I understand now why you don’t want to leave the town without the bakery.”
Bea wiped a sanitizing cloth over a table. “The business folks and senior citizens in the morning, the kids in the afternoon, and everyone else all day long, exchanging news and being good neighbors. It’s what makes a community close. I thrive here.”
“So does everyone else. This town needs the Bea Sweet.”
“I can’t argue that, but I need it too, honey. I’m not sure what I would do if I didn’t have this bakery and my friends.” She limped to the counter and headed into the kitchen. “Now, come on back here. We have time before the after-work crowd for me to show you how to test the dough and set up for tomorrow morning.”
To humor her foster mom, Sage went along, though once she left Sundown Valley she’d have no reason to test dough or fill a hundred jelly doughnuts.
* * *
Inside his leather shop, Bowie sat at a makeshift desk sketching a flock of birds in flight above a mountain peak. In his mind’s eye, he imagined the extra detail he’d add to create a beautiful, unique image on leather. Swirls and curlicues depicting wind and clouds, streaks to represent the sun’s rays. Maybe some color here and there.
Was it unique enough for PJ Enterprises? Unique enough to grace the arm of a celebrity?
He pushed the paper aside, took out another, and began a butterfly design. So many ideas flooded his brain, everything from geometric and paisley to every animal known to man. Dragonflies, unicorns, even nautical and modern art.
He preferred crafting a scene rather than a single item, but considered his gift was in the detail, the coloring and shadows he added. He wanted his pieces to be distinctive enough that people recognized a piece as his.
His cell phone chimed. Deep in his art, he ignored it. A few minutes later, it chimed again.
With a sigh, he read the message. With another sigh, he left the leather and headed for his truck.
Though frustrated and more than a little concerned about making the December deadline, the ranch was his first responsibility. No one else even knew about his big dream. If he failed, the humiliation would be less painful.
The rest of the day he spent repairing a water gap in the north fence. It was an ongoing project, aggravated by the neighbors who weren’t below sabotaging a good fence just for the fun of it.
The leather contract would have to wait. Though eager to get on with the effort, he still had time as long as he stayed focused. Late nights were becoming the norm.
“I reckon we ought to scout out Keno’s pasture to make sure we didn’t lose a cow or two while this was down.” Riley, their main ranch hand, motioned toward the land adjacent to the Sundown Ranch.
Keno land. Bad blood. If any of the four Keno males discovered a Trudeau brand on their property, they’d haul the animals to the sale faster than he could say goodbye.
“You brave enough to have a look?”
Riley laughed. “Does a frog bump his behind when he hops?”
In other words, yes. Cowboys didn’t like their courage questioned.
“You finish up here. I’ll have a look-see.” Riley slithered his lean self between the barbed wires, through the low-water creek, and started across no-man’s land. No-Trudeau land, anyway.
“Text or call if they start shooting.”
Riley just laughed again. Bowie was serious.
By the time Riley returned, still alive to relate that he’d neither been shot at—a matter that seemed to disappoint him—nor had he seen a single animal bearing the Trudeau brand, Bowie had finished filling in the water gap and was ready to head to his workshop.
Finally.
As they mounted horses for the ride to the barns, Bowie said, “I visited Jinx again today.”
“Yeah? He doing good?”
“As ever.” Bowie shifted on the big, sturdy buckskin, Diesel, his favorite work mount. His boot slipped a little in the worn stirrup. The saddle needed TLC that would have to wait until he’d filled the contracted order. “A couple of times lately he’s seen someone lurking around our property. Down near the canyon where we connect to the wilderness.”
“Who was it?”
“He never gets a good look. Described him as tall and lean, dressed in camo but rough and ragged looking. Last time, he thought the man had a dog with him.”
“Probably a hunter.”
“That’s what I thought, but Jinx seemed out of sorts about it. Uncomfortable. I told him I’d set up some cameras on his property when I get time.”
Another thing on his agenda that he hadn’t gotten around to.
“Couldn’t be Kenos on that side of the ranch. Could it?”
Bowie arched his shoulders. “I don’t put anything past that bunch.”
“I could ride back in there when I get a minute, have a look if you like.”
“Nah, just keep your eyes peeled.”
By the time he reached the main house, Bowie put the stranger out of his thoughts. Sage and the kids, on the other hand, along with the art contract, had been in his head all day.
After a quick shower and hugs from the triplets, he glanced at the handyman list on his cell phone. He had only one stop tonight, mostly to make sure Fred Basil remembered to turn off his stove and feed his dogs. His daughter would be there during the day, but evenings were a challenge for the spry but forgetful octogenarian. One stop and then he could head back to the workshop and get in a few hours leatherwork.
Bowie answered a few texts, returned a couple of calls and then made one of his own.
He was about to hang up when Sage’s husky voice said hello.
Bowie let the pleasure of her low voice sift through him like a warm drink on a chilly evening.
Friends, Bowie. Friends. Don’t even let the other thoughts drift through your sappy head.
Getting left behind by people he loved hurt like a horse hoof to the midsection, no matter how much he enjoyed Sage’s voice.
“Hey,” he said. “How was today?”
“Good. Sorry I took so long to answer. Ms. Bea had my hands in dough, teaching me how to feel the proper elasticity.”
He didn’t know the first thing about dough. But a disturbing niggle of hope flared in a spot that refused to accept that Sage would never stick around.
“You learning to be a baker?”
She laughed. “No. I’m trying to be useful while I’m here.”
While she was here. A few days in town and the restless heart was already planning her getaway.
Exactly the reason he would keep his heart out of this unexpected reunion.
* * *
Sage held the phone between her shoulder and her ear while she wiped bits of dough and flour from her hands with a white tea towel. The smell of yeasty dough circled her head, pleasant and homey. Heat rose from the oven where Ms. Bea’s last batch of pastries for the day baked.
The rotator moved in a long, slow rhythm, working without a glitch.
“Bowie,” she mouthed to Ms. Bea, indicating the caller.
Standing next to her at the prep table, Bea smiled her Cheshire cat grin and motioned for her to talk.
“This will wait,” Bea whispered and pushed the dough away.
Sage fought not to roll her eyes. She wished her foster mom would stop. Bowie’s purchase of a horse was a kindness to Bea and the animal, not a signal that he carried a torch for Sage. If he had, he’d have told her long ago. He’d have pursued her when she went to New York. He’d have kept in touch. That’s what interested men did.
Bowie Trudeau was not interested, at least not in that way.
“How’re the kids doing in school? Any issues?”
There. He’d called because of the kids, not her.
“Mr. Feldman came out to the Jeep today to speak with me. He said they do okay except that Ryder wants to run to the pre-K room every hour.”
“Each day should get easier for them.”
“I hope so. Paisley still doesn’t talk to anyone, but when I asked if she likes her class, she nodded yes.”
“Progress.”
“Ryder isn’t as excited.”
“Give him time.”
She prayed they had time.
Prayer. She wished she knew exactly how God worked. Sometimes her prayers seemed to float to the ceiling and linger there like so much hot air.
The line hummed between them, silent. Bowie talked more now than he did in high school but he still wasn’t exactly a chatterbox.
“Well,” he said, and she suspected he was about to hang up. She didn’t want him to.
“Ms. Bea said you bought Chigger.”
The line was quiet again.
Finally, he sighed, emitting a small chuckle. “Yeah. I guess I did.”
“Why?”
“Seemed the right thing to do at the time.”
He’d bought the horse to help Bea. He’d as much as admitted it.
Bea and her matchmaking skills were rusty. Thank goodness. Sage didn’t need a boyfriend. She needed a friend. She needed Bowie. Like Bea, he was her connection to this town.
“How old is he now? Fifteen? Sixteen?”
“About that. He doesn’t have papers but the vet puts him around that age.”
“How’s he doing?”
“Great. You’d never know his age by looking.”
“Can I bring the kids to see him sometime? Maybe Saturday?”
The line buzzed quiet again.
Did he want to refuse?
“I think it would be good for the kids,” she said, “but if you’re busy—”
“Saturday’s fine.”
“In the afternoon, then? Ms. Bea needs me here in the morning.”
Ms. Bea flapped both hands at her. “No, I don’t. Go.”
Sage turned her back to the woman. Bea had been good to her. She was going to do her part in this bakery.
“Are you sure you aren’t too busy?” she asked once more to be sure she wasn’t taking advantage of his kindness.
“No, no. Saturday afternoon works. See you then.”
She heard a note of something in his tone that she didn’t understand.
Or did Bea have her imagining things?
* * *
The rest of the week Bowie squeezed in only a few hours in the workshop. Between checking on the triplets, carrying both his load and Wade’s on the ranch, and following up with every senior citizen on his to-do list, he was slammed. He’d even missed Bible study this week, something that rarely occurred.
He hoped things slowed down when Wade returned. They had to if he had any chance at all of making his deadline with PJ Enterprises.
Reining Diesel to a halt, he leaned on the saddle horn, rifle across the pommel, and surveyed a herd of young heifers.
Predators were ramping up for the winter. Young calves without a bull in the pasture were especially vulnerable. They’d lost one yesterday. He still hadn’t found any sign of it.
This area of the ranch bordered the canyon, with forests on either end, and provided prime hiding spots for wildlife, both harmless and dangerous. Black bear, cougar, bobcat and coyote roamed these mountains and forests.
Using the exceptional field vision Uncle Brett had termed hunter’s eyes, he scanned the landscape. Just inside the tree line, he spotted a doe and her twin fawns quietly grazing, a good indication that no predators lurked nearby.
Suddenly, the doe’s nose jerked upward, winding the air. She and her offspring bolted. Diesel shifted beneath Bowie, ears pricked forward.
Except for a soft, calming murmur to the horse, Bowie remained perfectly still. Diesel settled.
Surrounded by the cattle, he and his mount blended in. Most likely, a predator wouldn’t notice them at all.
Watchful, Bowie moved only his eyes, scanning, searching.
There. Something.
A movement. A flash like sun glinting off metal. A shadow.
Though far away, it looked more human than animal.
He reached for his binoculars. By the time he’d raised them to his face, the shadow was gone.
Was this Jinx’s stranger? Or one of the Keno boys scouting for an opportunity to rustle a few head of Trudeau cattle?
Whoever and whatever lurked in these woods, the Trudeaus needed to be on high alert.
Yeah, like he had time to sit in the pasture and stare at the woods.
They’d have to move these calves closer to the house very soon. Another chore to add to his list.
After another ten watchful minutes, he looped the binoculars around his neck, and turned Diesel toward home.
With his mind never far from the contract he’d signed with PJ Enterprises, the doe had given him an idea for a sketch. Getting the time to execute that drawing was the hard part.
He’d planned to work all day Saturday in his shop. Now he was torn between fretting over artwork and Sage’s planned visit. Saying no had been impossible. How could he refuse when he’d already promised himself and the Lord to do all in his power for Ryder and Paisley?
The bigger problem was, he looked forward to seeing Sage again way more than he wanted to allow.
