The Rancher's First Love (8 page)

“Did you manage to pound those fence posts to death?” Gus asked.

A grin eased the tension inside Remington. “Yeah, I guess I did. Tomorrow I'll come back and do this up right. Today I just needed to take out some frustration.”

“How's things stand between you and Sam?”

“Probably not the best.” Remington admitted. “Not that it matters.”

Gus studied him for a long, uncomfortable minute. “You sure about that?”

“I'm not sure about much of anything right now. I do know that the past is just the past. It's been lived and it's long gone.”

Gus headed for his truck, grumbling about fool, stubborn kids. Remington saw him hesitate when he got to the truck. He watched him stiffen and reach for the door handle.

“Gus?”

He got no response, and a trickle of fear edged through him.

“Gus, you okay?” Remington headed for his granddad. Before he could reach him, Gus turned, his face a little pale.

“I'm good. Probably just my blood sugar. Doc says I have to watch what I eat. Some foolishness about potatoes and bread being sugar. I don't get that. I put...I put...” He shook his head. “Sugar. I put sugar in my coffee. Not potatoes.”

With that, Gus climbed in the truck, started it and headed off across the field.

When Remington got to the house after putting up the farm truck and checking on John Wayne, Gus had gone to bed. He'd told Aunt Lee his blood sugar levels were high and he'd just go to bed early and sleep off those potatoes and bread.

Aunt Lee repeated the explanation as she finished washing dishes. “But Rem, he looked pale and seemed confused.”

“He had some kind of spell back in the field.” Remington thought about the angry words he'd shared with his grandfather. “We argued.”

“That doesn't mean anything. He's not as healthy as he likes to pretend.” She dried her hands and offered him a sympathetic look. “He's also stubborn. He's my brother and I love him, but he won't take a break for anything.”

“No, he won't.”

Parker pushed himself into the room. He had a big grin on his face.

“What are you up to?” Remington asked, eyeing his little cousin.

“Nothing. I just...well, nothing.”

“Nothing?” Aunt Lee asked.

He shook his head.

“Still getting baptized tomorrow?” Remington asked as he poured himself a glass of milk and grabbed one of the cookies his aunt had made.

“Yeah,” Parker said, eyeing the cookie. “I'm ready.”

They had talked at length about this step of faith. Remington wouldn't have agreed if he hadn't known that the boy was ready. Parker was nine, almost ten; sometimes he seemed to be closer to fifty.

“Could I have another cookie?” Parker asked, giving his grandmother a sweet look that had her laughing.

Remington took his milk and cookie with him as he walked away, leaving Aunt Lee and her grandson. The two of them had been through a lot but they were surviving, together. His thoughts went back to Samantha Martin. He didn't know how to feel about her. Angry?

Connected?

The word took him by surprise. He'd managed to work through most of his anger, taking it out on the fence posts he'd pounded into the ground. They might have had a connection, but after today he wasn't sure that what they shared would survive.

He and Samantha had a daughter. That was a lot for a man to just let go of.

Chapter Eight

C
ountryside Church had been built decades ago. Today it stood as a sentinel of the past, a brick-sided building on a country road. Two dozen or so cars filled the gravel parking lot.

Church was the last place Samantha wanted to be, but when Parker called the previous evening, she hadn't been able to tell him no. He was getting baptized today. She wanted to see that, to be there for him. And what could she have said? That because her aunt had hurt her, she avoided church like the plague?

Besides, this wasn't Aunt Mavis's church.

And she knew she would have to eventually face Remington. She would have to look him in the eyes, knowing he resented her, and he had good reason. Maybe that resentment would help them to keep their priorities straight and not get pulled back into anything.

As she walked through the doors of the little country church, she stopped and took in her surroundings. The sanctuary was bathed in golden, early-morning light. It not only felt peaceful, it looked peaceful. She drew in a deep breath of air that smelled like furniture polish, sunshine and age.

What did sunshine smell like? Warmth? Lemons? Maybe spring and good soaking rains.

“Imagine seeing you here.”

She opened her eyes, smiling at Remington before she realized she was smiling. He stood before her, a slightly more polished version of the cowboy she knew. He wore a button-up shirt and crisp, dark jeans. His boots were polished, not the ones he wore to work in. His dark hair curled just slightly without a cowboy hat to flatten it down.

“I was invited,” she said with clipped words she hadn't intended.

“I assumed you were,” Remington answered. “But you don't have to be invited, you know.”

“No, of course not.” She let the words trail off as she looked up, into the unsettling gray of his eyes. What did she do or say now?

“I'll walk with you,” he offered. “I figure you'll want to sit with Gus, Lee and Parker.”

“Yes, of course, but you don't have to do this, you know.”

“What? Walk with you? Forgive you?”

“All of the above.”

He shrugged it off, as if it didn't matter. But deep in his eyes, she could see that it did.

“I'm good.”

She let it go because this wasn't the time or the place to push. She let him walk her down the aisle, and then she nearly choked on the thought. There they were, walking down the aisle, dozens of curious onlookers and no way out.

“Well, this is uncomfortable.” She giggled as she said it.

Remington glanced down at her. “You always do find the amusement in the strangest things.”

“You're walking me down the aisle.”

His smile faltered briefly. “I would have, you know.”

“Don't,” she said too quickly. “Let me joke and smile right now. And maybe, when you can, forgive me.”

He didn't get a chance to respond. Parker was suddenly in front of her. His grandmother sat on the pew behind him and next to her sat Gus. She gave the older man a careful look, concerned by the slightest drooping of his left eye.

“Good morning.” She leaned to hug Remington's aunt Lee, then she touched Parker's shoulder.

“Parker. Thank you for inviting me,” Sam said, choking up a little.

He grinned big. “You're like our family.”

“And I wouldn't miss this for anything.” She took a seat next to his grandmother. Her attention again strayed to Gus. She started to ask him how he was doing, but she didn't get a chance.

Piano music, a little loud and not well played, filled the sanctuary of the old church. Samantha glanced toward the tiny stage area, past the pulpit and past the poor man trying to lead the singing. The pianist, gray haired with wire-framed glasses perched on her nose, smiled joyfully and continued to bang away at the keys.

Samantha made the mistake of looking at Parker. His eyes sparkled and he bit down on his bottom lip. Okay, she couldn't look at the nine-year-old. She glanced toward the front of the church, where Remington sat alone in a chair and she noticed he had closed his eyes.

All around her, people tried to sing along to the discordant but rapturous music. But no one laughed. They all sang along to “I'll Fly Away.” The piano had so overwhelmed her she hadn't quite noticed, but now that she recognized the song she tried to sing along. She stood with the rest of the congregation and made the best of what appeared to be the worst pianist in history.

But no one seemed to care. They sang hymn after hymn with music that rocked the little church. No matter how bad the pianist, the words of those songs still meant the same thing.

There was faith in difficult times. There was hope. There was a light. Samantha tried to shut down as she'd done so many times in her aunt Mavis's church. But in this church she couldn't tune out the message. She couldn't pretend she didn't need hope.

Everyone needed hope. But some felt less deserving.

If it hadn't been for Parker, she would have slipped quietly away. She stayed.

Parker was counting on her. She felt his hand on her arm, and she gave him a look that she hoped was reassuring. He blinked quickly because he was nine and he wasn't going to cry like a baby. He'd told her that once in the hospital, and she'd told him she was twenty-five and if she were him, she would cry. He hadn't given in. He'd shaken his head and told her no, he wouldn't cry.

“You okay?” she whispered.

Parker nodded but didn't speak. She guessed if he spoke he might lose the tight control he had on his emotions.

“They're watching from heaven,” she said, guessing where his thoughts were headed. “And they're proud.”

“People don't watch from heaven,” he choked out. “Didn't you hear the song? Everybody will be happy over there. They can't be happy if they look down.”

“Oh, buddy.” She closed her eyes and drew in a breath. “I'm sorry.”

“Don't cry,” he warned. His voice was small and quiet. “Don't cry.” More to himself than to her.

Then Remington stood in front of them, a smile on his too-handsome face and eyes that showed understanding and warmth. “Ready?”

Parker nodded. “Can Sam go with me?”

“She can if she wants.”

How could she say no? She would share this moment with him. She would walk next to Remington and with his aunt Lee. They made their way to the baptismal with a little boy who wanted his faith to be made public. It was a ceremony as old as time. Not a dry eye remained in the church as Remington baptized his cousin.

The pianist suddenly sat straight up, raised her hands and began to beat out a worthy tempo on that poor old upright piano. She grinned broadly, her glasses sliding to the end of her nose. She paused to push them back up, and then she went back to playing.

Remington stepped close to Samantha, Parker in his arms. “And that's how we have church in the country.”

“Will you join us for lunch?” Parker's grandmother asked as they left the church a short time later.

“I'd love to but I have to go to work. Another time?”

“When are you scheduled to come to the house again?” Parker asked.

She'd thought about it, that someone else should take over his case. But she couldn't walk away from Parker. As much as it hurt to be around Remington. As much as she had hurt him, they couldn't avoid each other. Parker came first.

* * *

Remington took his family to Duke's No Bar and Grill for lunch that Sunday. Why not poke the bear? The bear being Duke Martin.

Duke didn't seem too upset to see him. The middle Martin brother, Duke was the tallest and probably the most dangerous of the bunch. As Remington and his small family took their seats, Duke left the table where he'd been having lunch with the Martin clan. And they were quite a big group these days.

“Remington, good to have you all with us. Might as well join the Martins. We have a big table at the back.” Duke pointed in the direction of three tables pushed together. “Marty had the day off. She's busy dating and it looks like we might lose her to a worthy adversary, Oregon's dad, Joe.”

“Well, I'll be,” Gus said. “I watched television.”

At that non sequitur, Remington glanced at his granddad. “Gus, you okay?”

“Why wouldn't I be? I'm happy for Marty and Joe. Both good people.”

“You said you watch television.” Remington glanced at Aunt Lee. She glanced from Remington to Gus and shook her head.

“Well, I don't know but I know what I meant to say. Let's join this crew for lunch.”

“Gus, we should go to the hospital.” Remington pulled his grandfather aside. “You've been doing this for a few days and I've let it go. I shouldn't have, but I did.”

Gus shook his head. “Don't be a bother, boy.”

“I'm not being a bother. I'm being someone who cares enough to let you be angry with me when I insist on taking you to the hospital.”

“We can feed Lee and Parker,” Duke offered. “Then give them a ride home.”

Gus headed for the door, grumbling that he was old enough to know when he needed medical help. Remington looked to his aunt and she nodded.

“Take him. I can't lose my brother on top of...” She stopped herself, glancing around to make sure Parker had moved away. The boy was at the table with the Martins, acting as if he'd been in their lives forever. He and Lilly Martin were having a conversation that included a lot of hand gestures.

“Don't worry. I'm sure he's fine,” Remington assured his aunt. “I'll call you.”

“Where are we going?” Gus asked as Remington got behind the wheel of the truck a few minutes later.

“Braswell is closer than anywhere else.”

“Fool-headed boy. I'm fine.”

Remington headed out of town in the direction of Braswell.

“Gus, you're not fine. For the second time in two days you've had a spell.”

“It's because I've been eating too much sugar.”

“That could be, Gus, but we're going to find out for sure.” Remington picked up his phone and dialed his parents. They were on vacation in California, but he knew they'd want to be informed.

“I don't know why you're calling them,” Gus snarled.

The phone went to voice mail and he left a message. After he'd hung up he glanced at Gus. His grandfather was slouched down in his seat, his cowboy hat pulled low and a frown on his face.

“Gus.”

“Don't tell me what you think I ought to do. You've got no idea, boy. You don't have a clue how it feels to get old. When you were ten, I took you to the doctor because you cut your knee open. I took care of you. I took care of your dad. And now you all think I'm a helpless old man. ”

“We all take care of each other,” Remington offered. He knew it wouldn't make things easier.

“Yeah, I guess we do. I can tell you this, before I head for the other side, I'm going to see that you make things right with that little gal.”

“What? Where did that come from?”

Gus shrugged and hunkered down in his seat. “It wasn't a stroke talking. It needed to be said. You're stubborn. You get that from your mom's side.”

“Right. Since you brought it up, there's nothing to make right.”

Gus tugged on his mustache. “I reckon there is. The two of you have things to work out, and then you'll figure out what the next step is.”

“There's no next step. How did we get from your health to Samantha Martin?”

“Because I didn't want to talk about getting older and needing you to take care of me,” Gus grumbled, looking out the window.

Remington pulled into the parking lot of the hospital emergency room.

“I'd rather you give me a beating than take me in there where some young doctor is going to talk to me like I'm five and can't answer the questions he's got. ‘Mr. Jenkins, when was the last time you had a...'” Gus cleared his throat. “You know.”

“Yeah, I know.” Remington laughed a little. “You might try to make it easy for them.”

“When they ask the questions that no grown man ought to have to answer? No, sir. And if he looks at you, like you can answer and I can't, that's when I'm walking out of this place,” Gus said as they walked through the front door.

“If you can walk on your own two feet, more power to you. And since you're the man in charge, tell this nice receptionist why we're here.”

Gus gave the receptionist a charming smile followed by a wink and a tug on that mustache.

“Young lady, my grandson here can't seem to get a date on his own so he wanted me to pretend to be elderly and tell you that I can't seem to form a sentence.”

“Gus,” Remington warned.

“My grandson thinks I've had some kind of attack.”

The receptionist asked a few more questions, and then directed them to a room down the hall. Within minutes they were joined by a nurse and then a doctor. There were questions about the symptoms of Gus's attack, about his state of mind afterward. The doctor explained that he wanted to do tests and that he might possibly admit Gus overnight just to observe him. Two TIAs in two days wasn't something they wanted to ignore.

“Do you think they might feed me some lunch in this place?” Gus asked as they placed an IV. “My grandson didn't even let me eat lunch.”

“Mr. Jenkins, we'll get you something to eat,” a nurse soothed. “Let's get you settled and we'll have some broth.”

Gus held up a hand. “I've got a hankering for chicken and I want it fried, not boiled and all the good stuff taken out.”

Remington sighed.

The nurse offered him a sympathetic look. “It's okay. We're used to this behavior. It might seem as if your grandfather isn't acting himself but that can be a symptom of a TIA. You understand TIA, don't you, Mr. Jenkins? Transient Ischemic Attack. It can be a precursor to a stroke, so we do want to take all necessary precautions.”