Good Together (6 page)

For some reason Kirsten thought it was cool that Portia had grown up on a ranch and that her father was a rodeo cowboy. It wasn’t cool to Portia, though, when on the night they were all presented into the Greek system, almost every other girls’ parents came except her own.

Her dad had been at a rodeo, of course.

And her Mom hardly ever left the horses. “That’s the price of owning a ranch,” she’d say, whenever Portia complained about not getting to go on holidays like other families. Pretty much the only time they left home was to visit their grandfather and Aunt Callan in Marietta, or, occasionally to watch their father at a nearby rodeo.

But Kirsten didn’t get any of that, of course. She didn’t understand that owning a ranch meant waking up before the sun came out and scooping horse shit out of stalls. Kirsten watched YouTube videos of Portia’s father on the bucking bulls and gasped at how brave he must be.

“I should probably catch up on my reading.”

“We’ll go later, around ten?”

Portia didn’t commit. The late nights were beginning to get to her. The drinking, too.

The one thing she and Wren had in common was a distaste for alcohol, ingrained by their mother who almost never indulged herself with so much as a beer or a glass of wine. When she was a teenager her mom had given riding lessons to a girl named Neve Shepherd until Neve suddenly decided boys were way more cool than horses.

Shortly after that Neve ended up dead—the result of using alcohol and drugs at a prom night party.

Her Mom had been strongly affected by that. And she’d managed to pass her attitudes along to her daughters. Mostly because she’d never tried to be preachy or bossy about it.

Whether to drink or not will be your choice girls. I just hope you do what feels right to you—and don’t start drinking just to fit in with your friends. And never if you’re driving.

Kirsten was nice. Most of the time they ate dinner together and studied, or went to parties, in the evening. But lately, Portia had begun feeling a little hemmed in. Kirsten had a lot of ideas about the kind of people she liked—and the kind she didn’t.

And one of the guys Kirsten definitely didn’t like was moving toward them right now.

Hastily Portia slipped her laptop in her shoulder bag, then pocketed her phone, as a tall boy with long hair that brushed over his eyes, gave her a private smile. No, more like a grin. She’d noticed him watching her in classes before.

She didn’t know his name, only that he didn’t belong to any of the fraternities and none of her new friends seemed to like him. Kirsten joked about his cowboy boots, calling him a
pretend cowboy
behind his back.

Kirsten’s eyes narrowed as she zeroed in on the guy, moving their way. Then she frowned and turned her back to block him from Portia’s view. “Want to grab some lunch?”

Without waiting for Portia’s response, she led the way into the hall.

* * *

M
attie cooked the steak for dinner, not expecting she’d be able to eat it. She surprised herself by finishing half, along with a baked potato and several spears of broccoli. Bless Nat, he’d known what she needed better than she had.

The TV was on, tuned to six-o’clock news so she wouldn’t be able to hear herself chew. Nothing she hated more since the twins had left than the quiet of mealtimes.  When she’d had enough, she cleaned the kitchen, putting off the calls she’d promised herself she would make.

Finally, she dried her hands, then picked up her cell. Since she was most worried about Wren, she called her first.

“Mom! Thank God! Why haven’t you been answering your phone?”

Mattie smiled as she settled on the sofa like a cat, her body curled into the corner, with her legs tucked under her. Did Wren realize she sounded just like the mother here?

“Sorry, honey. It’s been a crazy week.” She wanted to skirt the truth. Not lie. “Plus, my throat has been acting up. It’s been difficult for me to talk.”

“Is it a cold? Are you okay?”

Her daughter’s concern was touching. Mattie blinked, not wanting to risk getting emotional, because one thing would most certainly snowball into another.

“I’m a lot better, today. Don’t worry. How are classes?”

“Crazy busy, but I love them all. Poli-sci is my absolute favorite. We’re reading about Plato—he’s amazing, Mom. Just brilliant. I can’t believe he lived more than two thousand years ago.”

Wren spent fifteen minutes talking about Greek philosophers, most of which Mattie couldn’t follow.

“—and we had to write an essay, and I had the highest mark in the class, Mom. The professor singled me out later and said he was really impressed and that I should participate more during class because I obviously had worthwhile things to say.”

“That’s wonderful, honey.” She was proud of her daughter, but then, she’d never had any doubt that Wren would excel at college level classes. “What are the other kids like in the class? Have you met anyone that you like?”

Wren went silent, and Mattie felt badly, knowing her question had taken the fizz out of her mood.

“Not really. But it’s okay. I’m super busy keeping on top of the work load.”

That was what Mattie had been afraid of. That Wren would throw herself into her studies and end up with zero social life. If only Wren had agreed to go to UW, then at least she could have visited her sister and aunt when she was lonely.

“Can I talk to Dad?” Wren asked, after Mattie had updated her on the well-being of the horses and the cats.

“Sorry, honey, but he isn’t home.”

“I thought he had a clear schedule for the two weeks after Billings?”

Trust Wren to be up-to-date with her father’s calendar. Often she knew better than Mattie where Wes was supposed to be on any given day.

“His plans changed and he had to go. But I’ll tell him you called and if he gets a chance he’ll get in touch.”

They said goodbye after that, exchanging “I love yous” and “I miss yous.”

Mattie called Portia next, which was easier, since Portia didn’t hit her with as many questions, or ask what was going on with her father. For twenty minutes Portia chatted about sorority parties and a new friend of hers named Kirsten. When Mattie turned the topic to her classes, Portia just sighed.

“They’re hard, Mom.”

Portia might have kept chatting for another twenty minutes, but a friend came to her room and so she finally said good-bye. Mattie put down her phone, then closed her eyes, thinking about her daughters, wishing they weren’t so far away. She was relieved that they both sounded okay. But that didn’t prevent her from feeling guilty about being out of touch for so long. Falling apart wasn’t an option when you were a mother. She would have to do better.

* * *

O
ctober was slipping away and with it, the long days that came with spring and summer in Montana. The advent of winter was almost harder to bear than the season itself. Five long months of snow and ice, cold, and dark lay ahead. Maybe Jake’s idea about heading south wasn’t so dumb.

Mattie had already been awake for an hour when the morning alarm went off. The news came on, but she couldn’t focus. Then the weather. A cold front was coming down from Canada. She didn’t want to get out of bed. The cheerful prattle from the radio announcer didn’t fool her.

She was alone.

No man was sleeping in the bed next to her, waiting to give her a good-morning hug. No children needed her to make lunches or hurry them along to catch the bus. Even the horses outside didn’t really need her. Jake could manage on his own, one more time, if he had to.

But. She’d promised herself that this morning she would do it, resume her life, in some form or fashion.

So she hauled her body out of the bed then pulled on her work clothes.

Her first sip of coffee promised her she could do this.

She could face the cold, the work... the emptiness.

Fifteen days since Wes had left. The longest she’d been alone in her life.

Maybe she’d feel different, stronger, more capable, if she hadn’t married so young. But she’d moved from her childhood home to this one. Babies coming along so soon, she and Wes had less than a year to enjoy being newlyweds.

Taking her to-go cup with her, Mattie went to the mudroom and piled on the layers, then added her boots, gloves and hat. Outside a lightening of the sky promised that morning would be coming. Eventually. Her gaze snagged on the two sugar maples that the girls had brought home in third grade after a school trip to a nursery.

Maples weren’t indigenous to Flathead Valley and Mattie had babied those trees. Putting up chicken wire to protect the trunks and watering them faithfully during the hot, dry summers. Now they rewarded her every autumn with brilliant red leaves that stood out from the gold of the aspen and cottonwoods. They’d been at their peak the last time she’d come out to do chores. This morning, however, less than a dozen leaves remained on the slender gray branches. What made some leaves cling harder than others? Were they in denial that the season was changing, or just hanging in there to enjoy one more day?

She turned from the depressing sight and made her way to the barn.

Jake was in the feed room, wearing his winter parka and a knitted cap instead of his usual Stetson.

“Damn cold,” he said, after giving her a quick once-over.

“It is.”

They worked silently for the next hour, the repetitious chores a soothing balm on the ache of her heart. Every horse got an extra pat from Mattie that morning. Their nose butts and whispered nickers brought tears to her eyes.

Ever since she’d been a child she’d known that if you treated an animal kindly, they’d give you affection and loyalty in exchange. Never once had this equation failed her. And never once had it meant as much as it did today, especially with the specter of a potential sale looming in her future.

When they were finished in the barn, she and Jake went out to flake hay into the corrals where the majority of the horses were kept. The eastern sky was lighter now, and Mattie leaned against the whitewashed fence to take in the view.

There were ten horses in this pasture, all of them familiar, beautiful animals, who moved with the grace of dancers as they shook out their kinks from the night and welcomed the new day. In the distance a layer of mist clung to Flathead Lake, and the air held a stillness that seemed almost mystical.

In all the years of her marriage, this view never failed to fill her with awe. Even though Bishop land lay before her, almost as far as she could see, she had never been filled with a sense of ownership. The very idea that one person could lay claim to a tree, a field, a lake, seemed full of gall to Mattie.

No, she preferred to think of herself as a steward of the land. Here to enjoy and reap blessings before giving up her space to the next generation.

She’d imagined herself growing old living here—with Wes.

She’d pictured them riding horses still, when their hair was gray and their middles were thickening. She’d seen them hosting family meals on holidays, and sitting alone on the porch after everyone was gone.

If Wes wasn’t coming back, if he really was going to sell this land, what would her future look like?

She didn’t have a clue.

And that was terrifying.

The fence shifted a little as Jake came up beside her and propped his boot on the first rung.

“We should get that pump repaired before it gets much colder,” he said.

She nodded. “You think the horses are dreading the winter as much as we are?” Her gaze was on Wes’s horse now. Whiskey Chaser and her favorite mare, Rosie, named for her disposition, were standing parallel to each other, each facing opposite directions, the way horses often do.

“Nah,” Jake scoffed. “Horses been living in these hills long before ranchers started building barns and filling food troughs. They’re tougher than we are. Built for survival. I think they prefer this weather to the scorching days of summer. And frankly, so do I.”

It was a funny admission from a man who had recently threatened to pack up and head south. The upward twist of his lips told her he recognized the irony himself.

“You okay?” he asked.

It was his first reference to what was going on with her and Wes. Mattie nodded, suddenly afraid to speak in case sobs came out instead of words.

“I’ve been at Bishop Stable for almost forty years,” Jake said, his tone slow and thoughtful. “Wes’s folks, Garth and Jude, were all about the business. They cared about the horses, but even more they cared about their reputation and doing things right. They weren’t what you’d call warm. They treated Wes just fine, the same as they did the horses, actually...”

His voice trailed off and Mattie was left to her own thoughts of the Bishops. She’d been worried about impressing them when she first started dating Wes, but they’d been so hard to read that even today she wasn’t sure if they’d liked her or not.

They’d moved into town after she and Wes were married, but Garth had continued to come out to the ranch most days of the week and Jude had kept up the garden and put away her preserves every fall.

Jude had been the first to pass away, ten years ago now, from ovarian cancer. Garth had died five years later. Mattie had been surprised and saddened by how little they were missed by Wes and the twins.

“The Bishops built this ranch and established a first-rate reputation for the horses. But when you moved in, Mattie, you made this place a home. Those girls of yours laughed more in one day than Wes did his entire childhood.” Jake sighed. “What I’m trying to say is, whatever happens here on, you should know you did good work here.”

“Thanks Jake.” Montana ranchers didn’t do compliments. Which made his words all the more meaningful to her. But how much did he know? “Has Wes told you about—his plans?”

“Not yet. But I know that boy. Stews over problems in his head, makes up his mind and only then does he talk.”

Yes. That was Wes all right. “He’s left me, Jake. And he wants to sell the ranch.”

Jake’s sidelong glance didn’t reveal any surprise. “His interest in the horses has been slipping for years. But your marriage—that I didn’t see coming. I’m sorry, Mattie.”