A Certain Hope
“I guess not.” She urged Daisy through the gates leading out to the open pasture. “Who’s that other kid with Tomás?” she asked as the two teenagers waved to them from where they were exercising some of the other horses.
“That’s Adan Garcia. They’re best friends and they play football together. He helps Tomás with some of the work around here. Just a summer job.”
“Why is he staring at us?” she asked. “He looks so bitter and…full of teenage angst.”
Reed shrugged. “Guess he’s never seen a woman from New York City before. Maybe that ain’t angst, just curiosity about a ‘city girl.’”
“Will you please stop saying that as if it’s distasteful?”
“Not distasteful. Just hard to imagine.”
“You never thought I’d make it, did you?”
“Oh, I knew you’d give it your best.”
She kneed Daisy into action, tossing him a glare over her shoulder.
Reed followed on Jericho, anxious to know everything about her life since she’d been gone. “So what’s it like in the big city?”
She clicked her boots against Daisy’s ribs as they did a slow trot. “It’s exciting, of course. Fast-paced. Hectic.”
“Your eyes light up when you say that.”
“I love it. I enjoy my work at Satire and it’s fun living with Summer and Autumn.”
Reed turned his head to roll his eyes. What kind of name was Satire, anyway? But right now, he didn’t need to hear about her fancy threads workplace. So he asked the question that had been burning through his system since she’d come home. No, since she’d left. “And how about your social life? Dating any Wall Street hotshots or do you just hang with the Hollywood types?”
She slanted him a sideways look. “Honestly, I rarely have time to date.”
His gut hurt, thinking about all the eligible bachelors in New York. “I don’t believe that.”
“Okay, I’ve had a few relationships. But…I’ve found most of the men I date are a bit self-centered and shallow. They’re so involved in their careers, they kind of rush their way through any after-hours social life. I don’t like to be rushed.”
That made him grin. In his mind, she’d just described herself. Her new self. But then, maybe he’d misjudged her. “You never did like to be rushed. Maybe the city hasn’t changed you so much after all.”
“No, I haven’t changed that much. I know where I came from. And besides, most of my colleagues tease me about my Texas drawl.”
Reed could listen to that drawl all day long. “You have that edge in your voice now. That little bit of hurried city-speak.”
“City-speak?” She grinned. “I can’t imagine what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, you know. Fast and sassy.”
As they walked the horses toward the meandering river, she gazed out over the flat grassland. Red clovers and lush bluebonnets were beginning to bloom here and there across some of the pastures. “Well, fast and sassy won’t cut it here, unless I’m roping cattle. But at least I can apply my business skills to detangling some of the mess this ranch is in.”
“How long do you plan on staying?”
Her eyes went dark at that question. “I…I told my supervisor I’d be here indefinitely. I have three weeks of vacation time and she agreed to let me use my two weeks of sick days. I’ve never abused my benefits at Satire, so she knew I was serious when I came to her asking for an extended leave of absence.”
“And when…things change here, you’ll go back?”
“That’s the plan.”
Reed didn’t respond to that. But his silence must have alerted April.
Pulling up, she turned to stare over at him from underneath her bangs. “You do understand I have to go back?”
He nodded, pushed his hat back on his head. “I understand plenty. But tell that to your daddy. He has other plans, I think.”
She shook her head. “I’m not even sure he realizes I’m here.”
“Oh, he knows. It’s all he’s talked about for the last week. Every time he’d wake up, he’d ask for you. I kept telling him you were on your way. I think he’s been waiting for you to get home just so—”
She looked cornered, uncertain. “Just so what? What do you mean? That he’s going to give up and die now? After seeing him, I’ve accepted that, Reed.”
“Yeah, well, that’s something we can’t help, but there’s more to it.”
Her eyes widened with fear and confusion. “Why don’t you just explain everything, then? Just give me the whole story.”
Reed didn’t want to have to be the one to tell her this, but somebody had to. Stu had revealed it in his ramblings and whispered words. And Reed had promised the dying man he’d see it happen. “April—your father—he thinks you’ve come home for good.”
Chapter Four
“Home for good?”
April stared over at Reed, a stunned wave of disbelief coursing through her system.
Reed nodded, looked out over the flowing river. “He has it in his head that you’ll just take over things here. I mean, it’s all going to be yours, anyway. It’s in his will. And Richard and James both know that.”
“My uncles have agreed to this?”
“They’ll get their parts—a percentage of the oil holdings and mineral rights, things like that. But for the most part, the land and the house will belong to you.”
April swallowed the pain that scratched at her throat. “I thought…I just figured he’d delegate things to Uncle James and Uncle Richard. I thought I’d get only my mother’s part of the estate.” She shuddered, causing Daisy to go into a prance. “Honestly, Reed, I’ve tried not to think about that at all.”
“Well, start thinking,” he said, the words echoing out over the still pasture. Then he waved a hand in the air, gesturing out over the landscape. “Pretty soon, all of this will be yours, April. And that means you’ll have a big responsibility. And some big decisions.”
She didn’t want to deal with this today. “Could I just get settled and—could I concentrate on my father, just for today, Reed? I’ll worry about all of that when the time comes.”
“Okay,” he replied, his tone as soft as the cooing mourning dove she could hear off in the cottonwood trees. “I won’t press you on this, but I just thought you should know.”
“I’m not sure what I’ll do,” she admitted. “I just don’t know—”
“We’ll work through it,” he said, a steely resolve in his words.
“You don’t have to help me, Reed.” She could tell he didn’t want to be tied down to the obligations her father had thrust onto his shoulders. And neither did she.
“I don’t mind,” he said, turning to face her as he held the big Appaloosa in check.
“Well, maybe I do,” she retorted.
And because she felt herself being closed in, because she felt as if she were back in college and Reed was telling her what was best for her all over again, she spurred Daisy into a fast run and left Reed sitting there staring after her. She had to think, needed to feel the spring wind on her face. This was too much to comprehend all at once.
Way too much for her to comprehend. Especially with Reed sending her those mixed messages of duty and friendship. She didn’t want his pity or his guidance if it meant he was being forced to endure her. She could handle anything but that. So she took off.
Again.
Reed caught up with her at the bend in the river where a copse of oak saplings jutted out over a broken ridge. Just like April to take off running. She’d always run away when things got too complicated. She was doing the same thing now that she used to do whenever they’d fought. She’d get on her horse and take off to the wild blue yonder. Sometimes she’d stay gone for hours on end, upsetting her parents and the whole ranch in general with her reckless need to be away from any kind of commitment or responsibility.
Well, now she was going to have to stop running.
“April,” he called as he brought Jericho to a slow trot beside her. “Slow down and let’s talk.”
“I don’t want to talk,” she said over her shoulder.
But she slowed Daisy anyway. Even April wouldn’t run a poor horse to the grave.
Reed pulled up beside her as they both brought the horses to a walk. “Let’s sit a spell here by the water. Then we’ll head back and I’ll point out some of the most urgent problems around here.”
“I think I know what the most urgent problem is,” she retorted as she swung off Daisy. “My father is dying.”
Reed allowed her that observation. He knew all of this had to be overwhelming. He hopped off Jericho and stepped over to take Daisy’s reins. “I understand how you must be feeling, April. That’s why I’m here to help.”
She turned on him, her brown eyes burning with anger and hurt. “But you don’t want to be here. I can see that. I don’t want you to feel obligated—”
Reed tugged her close, his own anger simmering to a near boil. “You don’t get it, do you? I am obligated. To your father, and to you. What kind of man would I be if I just walked away when you both need me?”
“You mean, the way I walked away, Reed? Why don’t you just go ahead and say it? I walked away when my father needed me the most. I was selfish and self-centered and only thought of myself, right?”
He nodded, causing her to gasp in surprise. “I reckon that about sums things up,” he said. “But if you aim to keep on punishing yourself, if you aim to keep wallowing in the past and all that self-pity, then maybe you don’t need me around after all. You seem pretty good at doing that all on your own. That and running away all over again.”
He handed her Daisy’s reins and turned to get back on Jericho, to wash his hands of trying to be her friend. He could just concentrate on being nearby when the time came. He could hover around, checking on things, without having to endure the double-edged pain of seeing her and knowing she’d be gone again soon.
“Reed, wait.”
He was already in the saddle. It would be so easy to just keep going. But he didn’t. He turned Jericho around and looked down at April, his heart bolting and bucking like a green pony about to be broken. Just like his heart was about to be broken all over again.
“I don’t want to fight you, April. I just want to help you.” He shrugged. “I mean, don’t we have that left between us at least? When a friend needs help, I’m there. It’s just the way it is.”
She stared up at him, her brown eyes soft with a misty kind of regret, her short curls wind-tossed and wispy around her oval face. She was slender and sure in her jeans and T-shirt, her boots hand-tooled and well-worn.
“It’s just the way you are, Reed,” she acknowledged with her own shrug. But her eyes held something more than the regret he could clearly see. They held respect and admiration and, maybe, a distant longing.
He still loved her. So much.
“I need…I do need your help,” she admitted. “I don’t think I can handle this on my own. You were here when my mother died. Remember?”
“I remember,” he said, nodding. He remembered holding April while she cried, right here on this spot of earth, in this very place, underneath the cottonwoods by the river. They’d watched the sun set and the stars rise. They’d watched a perfect full moon settle over the night sky. And he’d held her still. Held her close and tight and promised her he’d never, ever leave her.
Would he be able to keep that promise this time?
Reed knew he could keep his promises.
But he also knew April hadn’t learned how to do the same.
But he got down off his horse and took her hand anyway. He didn’t dare hope. He didn’t dare think past just holding her hand. “I’ll be right here,” he told her.
“Thank you.” She smiled and took his hand in hers, a tentative beginning to a new truce.
They stayed there, in what used to be their special spot, for about an hour. April had called the house twice to check on her father, so Reed decided maybe he’d better get her home. At least he’d been able to fill her in on some of the daily problems around the ranch. They’d somehow made a silent agreement to concentrate on business. Nothing personal.
“How about we head back?” Reed asked now. April seemed more relaxed, even though he could tell she was concerned over this latest news of her becoming full owner of the Big M. “I’ll show you the backside of the property. Should be home just in time for vittles.”
That made her laugh at least. “You truly will always be a cowboy, won’t you, Reed?”
He nodded, flipping his worn Stetson back on his head. “I was born that way, ma’am.”
She laughed again at the way he’d stretched out the polite statement. “I hear you bought one of our guest houses for yourself.”
“Yep.” He got back on Jericho, noting the animal was impatient to get moving again. “A right nice little place. Three bedrooms, two baths, oak floors, stone fireplace and a game room that begged for a new billiards table.”
April slipped back on Daisy with ease. She always had been a grand horsewoman.
“I’m glad someone is occupying that house. It always seemed silly to me to send guests to another house when we have so much room in the big house.”
“Ah, but that’s the way of the Texas cattlemen. Showy and big. The bigger, the better in Texas.”
They trotted along at a reasonable pace, back over the rambling hills of northeast Texas. Reed took in the dogwoods just blooming in the clumps of forest at the edge of the vast pastureland, their blossoms bright white amid the lush green of the sweet gums and hickory and oak trees. Here and there, rare lone mesquite trees jutted at twisted angles out in the pasture, like signposts pointing toward home.
“It’s funny how small our apartment is in New York, compared to all this vast property,” April said.
“I would have thought you’d feel stifled there amid all the skyscrapers and traffic jams,” Reed said, then wondered why he’d even made the comparison.
“I did at first,” she replied, the honesty in her eyes surprising him. “The city took some getting used to. But now…well, I like being a part of that pulse, that energy. In a way, New York is as wide-open and vast as this land. You just have to find the rhythm and go with it.”
“Too fast-paced for me,” Reed said, thinking they were straying back into personal territory. To lighten things, he asked, “How do Summer and Autumn like it?”
“They love it, too,” April replied, laughing. “We all joke with our friends about how we left small towns with such big, famous names—Paris, Athens, and Atlanta—only to wind up in the biggest city of all—New York.”
“I guess your friends do get a kick out of making fun of our slow, country ways.”
“No, we don’t allow that,” she quickly retorted, an edge of pride in her tone. “Reed, you never did get that we loved our lives here in East Texas, but we all felt we had to get away, in order to…to become independent and sure-footed.”
That statement had his skin itching, as if barn fleas had descended on him. “Seems you could have done that right here on the Big M.”
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