Meet Me at the Chapel (5 page)

“Thanks for the invite.” Casey sat down at the table.

“It's gluten free.” Brock handed her a bowl. “Hannah's allergic.”

“I figured.” Casey nodded. “I actually dated someone who had celiac disease, so I have a lot of gluten-free recipes stored on my phone if you want to see if I have any that you don't have.”

“That would help,” Brock told her. “I have a heck of a time getting her to eat much of anything other than mac and cheese. That's all she wants. Mac and cheese.”

“I have some tricks up my sleeve,” Casey reassured him.

Hannah finished her meal quickly, left the table without taking her bowl to the sink and ended up on the floor in the living room playing with Hercules.

“I'd like to take a couple of days to get settled in here, let Hannah get used to the change, and in the meantime, we can sit down and talk about some practical goals,” Casey said quietly.

Brock agreed with her timeline. Any change, even if it were a positive change like Casey coming to stay on the ranch for the summer, would be difficult for Hannah to process.

“I'd like to hear your thoughts.” Brock stabbed a chunk of hot dog he had mixed into his mac and cheese with his fork. Before he took that bite he added, “I'm sure you have some.”

He was right—she did. Her brain just naturally observed children with special needs, catalogued the behaviors to try to fit the pieces into a puzzle and then, always, there were a list of goals that emerged from her informal, naturalistic evaluation. She had been a special education teacher for a decade and it was like breathing now—it happened without thinking about it. And, in the short time she had observed Hannah, she had made a laundry list of pragmatic goals—but it was always up to the parent and child, if possible, to help prioritize those goals.

“This arrangement is going to work out real well for all of us,” Brock interrupted her thoughts.

She looked up from her bowl—she had been staring at it, but her thoughts were on Hannah. “I think so, too.”

After they were done with their food, they lingered at the table for a little while longer, making small talk mainly, before clearing the table. Casey offered to wash the dishes, but Brock told her to just pile them in the sink and he'd get around to them later. The outside of the house was where Brock liked to spend his time and energy—that was obvious by how far along in the cleanup outside he was. On the other hand, the inside of the house was as messy or even more messy than it had been a week ago. For Hannah's sake especially, some semblance of order and cleanliness needed to be established in the house. She wasn't going to lead with that thought—Brock might not appreciate her butting in that far to his personal space. Yet if she was going to earn her keep, she had to be honest with him. Part of her job had always been to have courageous conversations with parents.

* * *

“Good morning!” Casey greeted him with that bright smile that lit up her impish face.

“Howdy.” He was surprised to see her up so early and said as much.

Casey fell in beside him and walked to the barn with him.

“I'm an early riser,” she explained. “The other day was an anomaly. Can I help?”

He had gotten Hannah started with her morning routine and now he was going to move rapidly through his morning barn routine before heading over to Bent Tree Ranch for the day. He had been working at Bent Tree since he was a teen, and had managed to work his way to ranch foreman. It was a big job for a big ranch and he took his role seriously. And even though Hank Brand, Casey's uncle, gave him a lot of latitude and a flexible schedule, he didn't want to ever have it appear that he was taking advantage of his goodwill.

“I wouldn't mind a hand,” he told her.

His new tenant was dressed for the barn in slim-fitting faded jeans, ankle-high paddock boots and an untucked Kelly green T-shirt.

“You mind mucking?” Brock led the way into the feed room.

“Don't think I'm weird—but I actually enjoy mucking out stalls.” She took the pitchfork from him. “I always say that I have to be from good peasant stock because I'd much rather be mucking out stalls than sitting in an office somewhere. When I sweat, I actually feel like I accomplished something.”

Brock easily hoisted a bale of hay onto his left shoulder. “I already think you're a little weird.”

Caught off guard by Brock's rare show of humor, Casey had a delayed response. “I'll take that as a compliment.”

Brock didn't turn around—he kept on walking down the concrete breezeway of the barn. But he did say, “It was meant as one.”

Casey happily mucked out the six stalls in the barn and made the acquaintance of all the horses stabled there, as well as Lucy and Ethel, the free-range chickens. When she finished with the chore, she was winded and her shoulders were aching, but she felt proud of herself. She had ridden since she was a kid and she had competed in dressage nationally; when she went to college, her horses were sold and she hadn't had much of an opportunity to ride since. This was her chance to get back into a sport she loved. It felt so good to be back in a barn.

Chapter Five

“H
ow'd we fare?” Brock had hay all over the front of his shirt and stuck to the side of his thick, ruddy neck. The man was truly built like a brick house—his muscles were thick, heavy and rounded—defined like a body builder or someone who worked out in the gym. She leaned the pitchfork against one of the walls and gave him a thumbs-up.

“He's amazing.” Casey walked over to where Brock was standing.

A plate on the stall read “The Mighty Taj.” The way Brock was petting and talking to Taj, she could tell how much he loved this big beauty of a horse.

“Is he a Friesian?” She reached out to pet the silkiest part of his nose—right between the two flaring nostrils.

“That he is,” Brock said with pride in his voice.

“I've never seen one in person. Only in the movies—almost every black horse I see in a movie is a Friesian.”

Brock rubbed Taj on the neck and then gave him a hard couple of pats with words of affection. And then he asked her, “What did you think of the palomino?”

“She's a sweetheart—and so pretty,” she said happily.

Good as Gold, Gigi for short, was a stocky, twelve-year-old quarter horse mare that was to be her horse for the summer.

“I can tell that she's developed some bad habits, but nothing that can't be remediated with time. Thank you for letting me work with her this summer. It's really a dream come true for me.”

“It's good for both of us. I don't have time to work with her. If you weren't here to work with her, I'd have to think about finding her a new home. It's not fair not to work her out regularly.”

“Well, it means a lot to me. I've wanted to get back into horses for years, but it's expensive. And even though I love my job—and I do—it's just good that I'm not in it for the money.”

“I remember you were a good rider,” Brock said to her, their eyes meeting and holding for a minute or two. “I remember that about you.”

She remembered so much about Brock—a young man who seemed to have disappeared completely. What a crush she had had on
that
Brock! She'd pined for him as only a teenage girl can pine—and the fact that he'd been engaged to Shannon, a beauty pageant winner, had been a knife in her tender teenage heart.

He was different now. It made her wonder—where had the old Brock McAllister gone?

“I'm going to get Hannah ready to go. I'll be at Bent Tree all day. Are you going to be visiting your aunt and uncle today?”

Good question. She had been in stealth mode, avoiding her extended family. Not because she
didn't
want to see them—she did—she had just wanted to do it on her own terms, when she was a little bit more rested.

She frowned in thought. Her preference was to start working with Gigi. But she had been in Montana for a little over a week without visiting her aunt and uncle—if she waited any longer she was heading into “hurt feelings” territory.

“I probably should.” It was a statement that sounded a bit like a question.

“You probably should,” he agreed with her without hesitation.

Oh, all right. Fine!

“I'll call Aunt Barb now,” she told him.

“She'll be glad to hear from you.” Brock started to head back to the house. “I saved some pancakes for you. Just nuke 'em if you want 'em.”

Casey thanked him while she waited for her aunt to pick up the phone.

“Hello?”

“Aunt Barb? It's your wayward niece, Casey.”

“Casey-face? I've been waiting all week for a phone call from you! What in the world took you so long?”

She wasn't too long into the conversation with her aunt before they made arrangements for her to have lunch at Bent Tree; it wasn't her first choice, but sometimes with family, you had to put off what you wanted to do in order to do the right thing.

Darn it!

* * *

“
Oh
, Casey! Give me a hug!” Aunt Barb greeted her as she always had, with a big smile on her face, warmth in her striking blue eyes and a genuine hug filled with love and welcome.

“Hi, Aunt Barb.” Casey hugged her aunt tightly. “I'm sorry I didn't call right away.”

Aunt Barb nodded her head. “I was very upset with you. I couldn't understand why you didn't call us when you ran into trouble with the truck—when you needed a place to stay. Do you want some coffee? I just put a fresh pot on.”

Casey declined the coffee—she had already had two cups of Brock's personal high-octane morning blend. She followed her aunt into what had always been one of her favorite rooms in Bent Tree's main farmhouse—the study. The walls of the study were lined floor to ceiling with bookshelves jam-packed full of books. There was also a large hearth where her aunt hung stockings during Christmastime. Coming to Montana, to the ranch where her father had been raised, had always been magical for her. So many wonderful family memories were tied to this home, to this land—to the people of Bent Tree. And then, after her grandfather Brand's last will and testament was read, the family imploded and nothing was ever the same. Her father stopped speaking to his brother, her uncle Hank. Family vacations to the ranch ended. She still felt a little awkward being at Bent Tree now. Perhaps that's why she had put off coming. This was her first time back to the ranch since she was a teen. And somehow, even though her father knew she would be visiting the ranch, it felt like a betrayal.

“Is it okay if I let Hercules out?”

“Who?” Her aunt tossed some pillows out of her way so she could sit in her usual spot.

Casey held up the carrier that resembled an oversize purse. “Hercules, the greatest dog that ever was or will be.”

Aunt Barb was an avid animal lover. The minute she realized that Casey had a friend she immediately changed course and, instead of sitting down, came over to say hello.

Hercules was let out of the carrier and into Aunt Barb's hands. “You are too cute. Is he a toy or a teacup?”

“He's a teacup—a micro-teacup, actually. I adopted him from the poodle rescue. My tiny apartment could only really handle a tiny dog.”

“Well, you want to stay with your auntie for a while, don't you, Hercules? We had to put Ilsa down last month—it's been so strange without her in the house.”

“Oh. I'm so sorry to hear that.” She remembered playing with Ilsa, the family's German shepherd, when Ilsa was just a puppy.

“Thank you. Your uncle's been having the toughest time with it. They get in your heart, don't they?”

With Hercules in her lap, her aunt sat down, then Casey sat down across from her on the couch so they could talk easily.

“It's been such a long time, Casey.” Her aunt looked at her with sorrow in her eyes. “So much time has passed. I don't want to dwell on what we can't change—what would be the sense in that?—but I have to say this. You do know that we always wanted to see you—you and your sister were always welcome.”

This was the topic that made Casey squirm inside. This “feud” had started between brothers, but it had impacted everyone. Taylor and she hadn't had a vote—their aunt, uncle and cousins were taken away from them without warning or discussion. When Taylor made the decision to return to the ranch last year, she blazed a trail for Casey's return. But she still didn't feel comfortable talking about it.

“I know, Aunt Barb.”

“Well.” Her aunt's hands were busy petting Hercules. “You're here now. That's what matters.”

She
was
here now. The smells of the house, the sounds of the house, seemed to be a part of the very core of who she was now. Everything—
everything
—unlocked memories and brought them to the forefront of her mind. Things that she hadn't thought about in years—like the way the library always smelled a little soapy and clean because of the leather cleaner her aunt used to care for the furniture. And the way the wide wooden planks in the hallway creaked across from a grandmother clock that always ran fifteen minutes fast. It was...overwhelming.

They caught up for a while and then they moved to the kitchen for lunch. Uncle Hank made it a point to stop his work and drive back to the main house to join them. It was so strange seeing her aunt and uncle in person. Their images had stayed frozen in her mind—and even though she had seen pictures of them on social media, it was different seeing them in person. Uncle Hank, a tall, slender man with deeply tanned skin, deep-set blue eyes and white hair that he always parted on the left and combed neatly back from his narrow face, was still a handsome man—but he looked so old to her. And Aunt Barb, who was from Chicago and had worked hard to maintain her city chic in spite of the fact that she had lived on a cattle ranch for over forty years, had aged gracefully. But even though she still wore her hair pulled back in a neat-as-a-pin chignon, it wasn't blond any longer—it was silver. Time had moved on, had changed them all, and it made her acutely aware of everything she had missed.

“How's Brock been treatin' you over there at his place?” Uncle Hank asked her between bites of his baked chicken breast that he had smothered with homemade barbeque sauce.

“I already told her that she should be staying with us. We've got plenty of room upstairs.” Aunt Barb sent her a disapproving glance.

“He's been so good to me,” she told her uncle.

“He's a good man,” Uncle Hank said simply, but Casey knew how much weight that simple compliment carried. Her uncle wasn't an easy man to impress.

Hank turned in his chair to look at his wife, who was opening the oven. “Are you joining us, Barb? We're almost done here.”

“I'm coming, I'm coming.” Aunt Barb brought a plate of corn bread hot out of the oven and then took her place at the table.

“I appreciate the offer to stay here, Aunt Barb.” Casey took a piece of corn bread and slathered it with butter. “But I really wanted to be closer to town. And I like that the loft is my own little private retreat from the world.” Casey poured honey all over her corn bread. “Besides, Brock's place is halfway between Bent Tree and Helena—I'm close to everyone there.”

“Well.” Aunt Barb's tone reflected her continued dissatisfaction with the arrangement. “Now that you know the way, I'm sure you'll want to come to Bent Tree for regular visits.”

* * *

Aunt Barb was happy to dog-sit Hercules while Casey visited the horses in the main barn on her way to see the chapel. The chapel, a one-hundred-year-old structure, had been built by her great-great-grandfather and had been moved down the mountain so that it could be restored and enjoyed by new generations of Brands for decades to come. Her memories of the chapel were seared into her mind. She couldn't wait to see the restored structure in person—she imagined that the pictures she had seen couldn't truly do it justice.

Casey took her time in the barn, personally greeting each horse and putting little pieces of apple and carrot in their food buckets as treats. So far, it had been a successful trip back to Bent Tree. She couldn't believe that she had been worried about opening her life to this part of her family. Yes, her father still refused to speak to Hank, but she was a grown woman. Ultimately, she had to decide who she let into her life.

“Heads up!”

Casey had been in her own world, deep in thought, when the loudly shouted warning shocked her back to the present. An early model pickup truck had been backed into an open part of the barn and there was a young man in his twenties preparing to throw a bale of hay in her direction.

“Did I scare ya?” The young man stood upright with a teasing grin on his face.

“That would be a
yes
!” she snapped.

He jumped off the back of the truck and sauntered over to her.

“Well, I'm mighty sorry about that.” The cowboy pulled off his leather glove with his teeth so he could stick out his hand. “I'm Wyatt.”

“Casey.”

“I do apologize for scarin' you. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.”

She took in his dimples, the strong jawline, the masculine chin and the nice teeth to top off his lopsided, flirtatious grin.

Brushing off the flirtation, she said sardonically, “Consider yourself forgiven.”

Something akin to surprise mixed with respect flashed in his light blue eyes. “Where did you come from?”

“Chicago.” Casey shifted her body away from him, silently signaling that she was planning to end their small talk.

She took a small step back and Wyatt, she noticed, took a small step forward.

“Well, nice to meet you, Wyatt.” She gave him a quick wave of the hand.

“It's always a pleasure to make the acquaintance of such a pretty lady.” He tipped his hat to her.

His blatant attempt to flatter her, which was obviously a strategy that had worked extremely well for him in the past, made her laugh. It made her glance over her shoulder at him.

What a flirt!

Wyatt was still standing where she left him, grinning at her with both dimples showing. “Hey! Are you kin to the Brands?”

“Niece.” She threw this response over her shoulder without looking back this time.

That cowboy didn't need a bit of encouragement. He was way too cute and way too aware that he was cute
not
to be playing the field. A cowboy like Wyatt could probably pick women up just as easily as picking up a gallon of milk at a convenience store.

“Hope to see you around!”

“Goodbye, Wyatt!” She gave another wave of her hand, but resisted the urge to turn around. He was a nice piece of eye candy—that was an undeniable fact. But she had been around the block enough times to know that eye candy like Wyatt was best left on the shelf.

She was, however, still smiling at his flirtation as she hiked up the hill where the chapel had been relocated. At the top of the hill, she paused to catch her breath. The change in altitude made the air thinner; it would take some acclimating before she could hike in the mountains, which was something she genuinely looked forward to doing.