Good Together (2 page)

Chaser was a relatively young horse, and this was only the second year Wes had ridden him for bulldogging. Mattie wondered if he was the reason Wes had performed so poorly lately. But last season, Chaser’s first, he’d done pretty well.

Mattie slid open the main door to the barn and unzipped her insulated vest at the welcoming warmth. It was designed and built over thirty years ago, and she was impressed anew every time she stepped inside. Her father, Hawksley Carrigan, a practical cattle rancher who owned more than ten times the land of the Bishops, would never have approved of the expensive wood interior, the brick floors, the airy open-topped stalls with their wrought iron gates.

Wasteful. Extravagant. She could hear the adjectives in her father’s voice, but that didn’t prevent her from appreciating the attractive setting.

Jake Webster was already in the feed room, to the right of the main door, doling rations into the cart which everyone in the family referred to as the “gravy train.” It was built on wheels, so it was a simple matter to push it down the broad main corridor and measure out the feed and supplement according to the charts outside each stall door.

“Morning Jake.” Mattie picked up a scoop and started filling the back side of the cart.

Jake had been hired by Wes’s father and was in his late fifties. His hair was thick and straight—and pure gray. He shaved every day, but in the evening, so he had a perpetual grazing of stubble over his long, lean face. When he’d been younger and his hair was dark, this look had been rather attractive. Now, however, the stubble merely accented his age.

He was still lean, though, and healthy, getting as much done in a working day as he ever had.

“I see Wes made it home last night. Where was he this time?” The note of disapproval in Jake’s voice was customary any time he referred to Wes’s “other” life, as a rodeo cowboy. Jake considered Wes’s bulldogging and bull-riding to be a ridiculous and dangerous hobby, whereas running a horse breeding and training operation was a real man’s career.

Mattie sometimes felt the same way. Over the years there’d certainly been many times when she’d wished Wes spent more time at home.

But whenever she went to watch him at one of the rodeos, she could understand why he was hooked. He was so talented, and he knew how to play to the crowd.  His rides always earned him roars of approval, no matter the score. Over the years, he’d made a lot of friends, too. His rodeo family meant almost as much to him as his real-life one did.

“Billings,” she kept her answer brief, knowing where the conversation was heading and not looking forward to it.

“Don’t suppose he bought us any yearlings while he was out there?”

The Northern International Livestock Exposition, where Wes had gone for the rodeo, also held auctions for some of the best horses and yearlings that money could buy. Here was another sore point with Jake. In the old days—when Garth Bishop was in charge—they’d kept more than a hundred horses. Now they were down to twenty-two.

She shrugged. “Not sure. We haven’t had a chance to talk yet.” But she’d be surprised if he had. “Look at it this way—no new horses means less work for both of us.”

Jake snorted. “Hardly worth you guys paying me a fulltime salary if this place doesn’t require fulltime work.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, you’ve got to stop spending so much time on your iPhone, Jake.”

He gave her an affronted look. Then they both laughed. She and Wes had had to practically threaten to fire him before he’d finally agreed to accept the thing and keep it charged and in his pocket while he was working.

“This way, you run into trouble, and you can call for help, quick,” Wes had told him.

“More like, you can reach me anytime to give me more work to do,” Jake had grumbled. But the man wasn’t lazy. It was the infringement on his privacy and his innate dislike of change—especially any change involving technology—that had made him reluctant to accept the phone.

A lot of the older ranchers in Montana were suspicious of change, Mattie’s father included. Rich newcomers from places like California and Washington were buying up the relatively cheap Montana land for hobby ranches. Money to spare, and a lack of appreciation for the way things were done around here, led to a lot of animosity toward the interlopers... and the fancy contraptions they brought with them.

But over time, Jake had started to appreciate certain features that came with the phone. Like the weather app. And sports updates.  Portia had even taught him how to download apps for video games.

“Ah well,” Jake sighed. “Maybe this winter I should sell my horse and buy me a nice little trailer. Head south to the desert and soak up some rays.”

About this time of year, Jake always made the same threat. Mattie didn’t take him seriously. She couldn’t imagine Jake being happy if he wasn’t busy working with horses. And if he hadn’t left Montana ten years ago, after his wife Chris died, she didn’t figure he ever would.

About an hour later, all the horses had been fed, their water checked, and most of the stalls were mucked out. Mattie checked her watch. “Think I’ll head inside. Wes should be up by now.”

Jake made no reply to that. But he stopped working and straightened, meeting her gaze with an expression that was partly a frown. And partly concern. To Mattie it felt as if a sheet of ice had been slipped down her back.

Jake’s look told her that he’d noticed the new distance between her and her husband.

Which meant it wasn’t in her head.

Their problems were real.

T
he smell of burned toast and eggs greeted Mattie as she replaced her boots with a pair of gray canvas slip-ons. After washing up at the stainless steel sink in the mudroom, she headed for the kitchen. Wes was at the island, his head bent over his iPad as he finished up his breakfast with a cup of coffee.

“Hey. How are things out there?”

Since he hadn’t stood to give her a hug, she wrapped her arms around his neck and laid her cheek on the top of his head. Her husband was a small-framed man, but solid muscle. “Want to come out with me when you’re finished with that coffee? We’ve got a couple horses that could use some work this morning.”

His answer was a sigh. “I’m pretty sore after the weekend.” His gaze dropped back to the iPad, that had gone dark. “Not that I have anything to show for my aches and bruises.”

“Bad draws?” She had years of practice at saying the right, sympathetic thing. The score in the rodeo ring was only fifty percent under the cowboy’s control. The bulls were assigned by random draws—and not all of them were star performers. But bad draws couldn’t explain his sad bulldogging times.

“I guess.”

She rinsed out the cup she’d taken with her to the barn, then refilled it. Still lots left in the pot. Both girls had become coffee drinkers after they turned sixteen and were allowed to drink the beverage at home. Mattie no longer needed to make a full pot every morning. But it was one of those habits that was tough to break.

Like cooking too much food and checking the girls’ rooms for dirty clothes when it was time to do laundry. And waiting for them to come through the back door after the school bus drove by...

She leaned her back against the counter, sipping the hot coffee and eyeing her husband. He was looking at the iPad again, as if her presence was nothing but an interruption. That was when she noticed the key was no longer on the counter.

“I found a key on the floor by your jacket this morning.”

Wes nodded, head still lowered. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“So... what’s it for?”

Wes hesitated a moment before answering. He seemed annoyed that she felt it necessary to ask the question and he answered with exaggerated patience. “I crashed with the Wilkinson’s this weekend. Peter gave me a key to their guest cabin and I forgot to return it. I’ll put it in the mail later today.”

A wild impulse rose in her—a desire to take his silly iPad and toss it into the garbage. What was he reading on there that was so damn fascinating? After four days apart, was it so unreasonable of her to expect to have a proper conversation with her husband?

Mattie willed herself to be calm. She’d try again, bring up another subject.

“Jake wondered if you’d bought any yearlings?”

“Why would I do that?”

She raised her eyebrows. There was no point in telling him they only had twenty-two horses in their stables right now. Wes was gone a lot, but he still made all the business decisions around here—and paid the bills. He was aware that last year they’d barely broken even. And without new clients or horses, they’d be lucky to do as well this year.

“What’s going on, Wes?” she asked softly.

He grabbed onto his mug with both of his tough, sun-darkened hands and gazed down into it, his posture sagging with a sort of sadness Mattie had never seen in him before.

“Why won’t you look at me?”

He did raise his head then, but only briefly. Getting up from the stool, he went to the far window. The house had been designed open concept with a seamless transition between kitchen and family area. A river-rock fireplace with a heavy walnut mantel grounded the south end of the room. Large paneled windows to the west and north looked out to the pastures and Flathead Lake in the distance.

Mattie set down her mug next to her husband’s and went to stand beside him. She’d lived with this view for nineteen years, but never took it for granted. From here you could see almost all of their land. And it was beautiful.

Wes shifted, putting an extra foot between them. “Mattie—I’ve been thinking it’s time to sell.”

“What?” This was something they’d
never
discussed. She wouldn’t even have considered it an option. “But—this land is...” She couldn’t find the words to go on. She’d been raised to consider land the most important and valuable thing in the world. Her father’s ties to the Circle C were blood and marrow deep. And, being married to Wes, she’d come to feel the same way about Bishop Stables too.

“I’m getting too old to rodeo, but I’m not interested in breeding and training Tennessee Walkers. That was Mom and Dad’s thing. Not mine.”

She wasn’t surprised that he was making this admission. She’d suspected as much for years. “But—what about the girls?” This land was their heritage, their birthright. But then an ugly suspicion rose up in her. Unlike her father who had made no secret of his disappointment in fathering four daughters, Wes had never seemed to care that they had no sons. After the twins were born he’d agreed with her that their family was complete. “Would you be saying this if we had a son?”

“Of course... Hell, Mattie, that’s not what this is about.”

She was relieved to hear that. But only for a second. She was beginning to see that he’d been thinking about this a long time, and by the firm set of his jaw, he’d already made up his mind.

Without any discussion with
her.

This was not how their marriage worked. At least, up until now it wasn’t.

“But, how will we earn our living? We have four years of college to pay for.”

“Only because you pushed the girls to go. I still don’t know why. Neither of us went—and we did just fine.”

The further education of their daughters had been a no-brainer to her. With Wren, it hadn’t been an issue. She’d been excited to go, had already picked out a program at the University of Colorado. Portia, however, had required some persuading.

Mattie had been shocked when Wes sided with Portia, and they had argued privately for over a week. “Let her learn a trade, instead,” Wes had said. “She could be a hairdresser or work in one of those nails places. I see them everywhere I go.”

Finally he’d backed down and gone silent on the subject, leaving her to persuade her lovely, less academic daughter that secondary education these days was a must.

But all of this had taken place a year ago. She wasn’t going to let him pull her back into that argument now.

“Even if the girls could fund college on their own—what about us? How will we support ourselves, not to mention save for our retirement? It’s not like we have a big nest egg set aside.” Making payments to registered plans had never seemed important. After all, they weren’t yet forty.

“The proceeds from the ranch will be enough to take care of the girls.” Wes hesitated. “And you.”

Mattie stared at him. Finally he was looking at her, too, and his eyes didn’t look like Wes’s anymore. They were cold and distant as a stranger’s.

Understanding hit her like a bullet. She gasped, felt a physical pain explode in her gut.
This must be what it’s like to die. You’re living your life—and suddenly you aren’t.

When he didn’t say anything, she was forced to put words to the awful thing.

“You want to sell the ranch. A-and you want to leave me.”

He moved restlessly from the window, to the sofa, where he straightened a cushion before shifting to the fireplace. Resting one hand on the walnut mantel, he turned back to look at her. “Yeah.”

Mattie clasped her arms around her torso, feeling a wintery chill, and also, a sense that this simply couldn’t be happening.

It was only last Christmas that she and Wes had sat in this very room talking about their future, once the twins were off to college. One more year of rodeoing, he’d promised her, and then he’d have more time to dedicate to the ranch and more time for her. Maybe they’d take a few trips—see a bit of the world outside the continental US.

Was he going through some sort of midlife crisis?

“Is this about Dex’s accident last spring?”

In May a cowboy had been killed in the rodeo ring in Texas. Dex Cooper had been a bull-rider, competing in the same event as Wes. Mattie had found out about the death online, when she was checking for her husband’s scores. A video of the accident had even been posted on YouTube, but she hadn’t watched. It appalled her that people filmed these things—and then, rather than deleting them, actually put them on the Internet for other people to view.

Who were these other people who got such thrills out of tragedy?

Reading about the incident had been horrible enough. It was her worst nightmare, of course, that Wes would be mauled by a bull and be terribly injured—or worse.