Caribou Crossing (8 page)

 

It hit Wade out of the blue every now and then. He'd be focused on work, and suddenly there it would be. The pain.

Today, he'd been on the move since dawn. The cows were starting to calve, so he rode around regularly, checking for problems. The older cows usually gave birth easily, but complications could always arise, and he kept an eye on the heifers—the first-timers. When they were close to their time, he moved them to the small maternity pasture close to the ranch house, where he could check them every few hours, day and night.

When he'd ridden Romany, a sturdy bay gelding, along a section by the creek, he saw that the previous night's windstorm had brought down a dead cottonwood, the top of it damaging the fence. He'd had to ride back to fetch the small chainsaw so he could get the tree off the fence. One day, when he found time, he'd buck up the cottonwood and cart it back to chop for firewood, but now the urgent priority was mending the fence.

He tackled the task with practiced motions. Just part of a normal day's work. And the thought came:
My son will never do this with me
. It was like a punch in the gut. He gripped the fence post with one gloved hand as he doubled over in pain.

A few minutes later, glad no one was there to see, he slowly straightened and stared around him. Snow clung persistently in shady patches, but the rangeland was mostly clear now, the yellowed grass welcoming the pale spring sun. The cattle had come through the winter well, and he took an owner's pride in surveying the sturdy animals dotting the landscape, especially the dozen new calves. But the panoramic view, so familiar and always so pleasing to his eye, brought another reality home to him.

While he grieved the loss of his and Miriam's tiny boy, there was a bigger picture on top of that. There'd be no more kids to share his soul-deep love for this breathtaking, demanding land. No more kids to tuck in at night, to teach to ride, to nag to do their homework, to have snowball fights with.

No Bly to take over the ranch, not unless Jessie suddenly switched loyalty from horses to cattle, and he didn't see that happening.

He and Miriam could adopt, he reminded himself. Maybe, at some point. Right now, that was beyond imagining. For him, and, he was dead certain, for her.

If only he'd paid attention to the signs and taken her to the doctor when she first started feeling achy, maybe she wouldn't have needed a hysterectomy. If only he'd protected his wife.

Sucking in a breath, he realized the air had chilled off. The sun was dropping toward the horizon. Quickly, he finished repairing the fence, then put the chainsaw and tools into saddle panniers, tightened Romany's cinch, and mounted up. As he made a final inventory of the cattle in the fading light, he wished he had a dog to help, and for company. What was a ranch without a dog? But his parents had taken good old Shep, the ten-year-old Border Collie, to Phoenix. Wade had figured on getting another dog this year, and knew Jessie'd love it, but he wasn't sure Miriam was up to it.

Normally a healthy woman, she'd been slow to recover from the surgery. She just didn't seem to care. Not about her health; not about getting back to normal life. Wade might've liked to share his grief with her, but she couldn't even talk about the baby without crying. Hell, she couldn't get through the day without crying. Anything would set her off.

Thank God for Rose. For the first couple of weeks, she'd taken leave from her job as a high school teacher to care for her daughter, and since then she'd come out every day after school.

Wade tried to help, but he felt like a bull in a china shop, tiptoeing around his wife and always seeming to do or say the wrong thing. So he focused on work, and there was plenty of that to do.

Dr. Mathews said emotional healing took time. He and Miriam were both strong people, and they'd get through this.

He didn't identify any heifers that needed to be brought to the maternity pasture, so it looked like he stood a chance of getting a decent night's sleep. Yawning, he rode into the barnyard at dusk, but the sight of his mother-in-law's car woke him up in a hurry. Usually, she picked Jessie up after school, bought groceries, did a little housework, got dinner going, then headed home in the late afternoon. Anxiety filled him. Had something happened to Miriam?

Quickly looping Romany's reins over a hitching post, he rushed to the back door and into the mudroom, then flung open the door to the kitchen. Rose was slicing carrots at the kitchen counter. Jessie sat at the kitchen table, a schoolbook in front of her. The scent of tuna casserole—a childhood favorite of Miriam's—filled the air. Things seemed normal. He took a breath, let it out, then said, “Hi, Rose. I thought you'd have left.”

She turned to him. “I wanted to talk to you before I go.” A slight frown. “You still have your coat and boots on. Do you have to go back out?”

“Only to get my horse settled. I'll be back in a few minutes.”

As he went to deal with Romany, he wondered what Rose wanted to talk about. Sure hoped she wasn't going to say she couldn't help out anymore.

Ten minutes later, he was back at the house, shedding his heavy outerwear in the mudroom. This time, when he opened the kitchen door, Rose was seated at the table with Jessie.

Wade walked in sockfooted, rested a hand on his mother-in-law's shoulder for a moment, then bent to kiss the top of his daughter's head. “Hey, Jessie-girl.”

“Hey, Pa. Any new calves today?” She might not be as keen on cattle as on horses, but she loved baby animals of any kind.

Rose said, “You and your pa can talk ranching later. Right now, I need him for a few minutes. Would you go up and tell your mom that dinner will be ready in half an hour? Then you can read a book until it's time to eat.”

When she'd gone, Wade sat down across from Rose. “Is Miriam okay?”

Rose frowned. “She picks at the lunches I leave, and half the time she's not even dressed when I get here. I hate to see her like this.”

“Me, too.”

She tilted her head, and blue-gray eyes very like his wife's studied him. “How are you doing, Wade?”

What could he say? If he'd been a little boy and she'd been his mom, he'd have broken down in tears. She'd have hugged him and fixed whatever problem was bothering him. But he was an adult. His mom was in Phoenix, and when he talked to his folks on the phone he tried to be upbeat rather than worry them.

He shrugged. “It's hard.” Knowing this was tough on Rose, too, he asked, “How about you?”

She nodded. “Like you said, it's hard. Hard losing the baby, and hard seeing my own child this way.”

“But we have to carry on.” Gruffly, he added, “Can't tell you how grateful I am for the way you've been here for us.” It pained him that they needed that help. He should be able to look after his wife and child.

“I'd do anything for Miriam and her family.”

He saw the sincerity in her eyes. “I know you're hurting, too,” he said softly. “I wish there was something I could do.”

Rose shook her head, looking tired and sad. “It'll just take time. For all of us. And that's sort of what I wanted to talk to you about.” Her shoulders lifted and fell as she took a deep breath, then let it out. “You know that Henry's the manager at the bank.”

“Yeah, of course. Has been since he was promoted . . . when was that anyhow? Four or five years ago?”

“Seven. He's been offered a promotion, to a job in commercial lending that he'd really love to do.” She gazed steadily across the table at him. “It's in Winnipeg.”

“Winnipeg?” Manitoba was one hell of a long way away. What would he do without them? Rose, Henry, even teenaged Andie who was always happy to baby-sit Jessie.

“He says he'll turn it down. But if he does, he won't likely be offered another opportunity. Not at his age. We just don't know what to do, Wade.”

He scrubbed his face with his fingers, trying to think. It was his job to look after his family, not Rose and Henry's. They had their own lives, their own needs. Trying to work this through, he asked, “Is it just Miriam that'd keep you here?”

“You three. Yes. Caribou Crossing is a nice town and we stayed here because it's a good place to raise kids. But we don't love it the way Miriam does. Henry and I like city life, and we're getting older. Our son's in college in Vancouver, our second daughter's married and settled, and as for Andie, I'm pretty sure she'd love to move someplace with shopping malls and more activities for teens.”

“You've been here how long?”

“Seventeen years.”

“That's a long time to be in a place you don't really love.” He tried to imagine living without the wide-open land and ever-changing skies that nourished his soul, the community where everyone knew everyone.

“It is,” she said firmly. “But Caribou Crossing is your home. It's where Miriam and Jessica belong.” She raised a hand and scraped silvered brown hair back from her face. “If Miriam was healthy, I think we would move. We'd plan to visit often. Very often. But she's not well and the thought of leaving her . . .”

She was saying that he couldn't look after his wife. That he couldn't honor the vows he'd made on his wedding day. And she was so damned close to the truth that it shredded his pride as painfully as if he'd run into barbed wire. “When would you go, if Henry took the promotion?”

“The job starts at the beginning of June. That's not much more than a month off. He'd go out first, and I'd pack up the house, finish out the teaching year. Andie would finish grade nine.”

His in-laws had thought this through. Well, of course they had. It was the promotion his father-in-law had long wanted, and the kind of life that would make both of them happy.

“Have you mentioned this to Miriam?” he asked.

“No. We haven't told any of our kids. I wanted to discuss it with you; then Henry and I will talk again. If we stay, there's no need to tell our children about the job offer.”

Wade blew out air on a long exhale. What would Miriam say? If they asked her today, she'd burst into tears and cling to her mom. But later, when she was back on her feet . . . “If Miriam was healthy,” he said slowly, “she wouldn't let you make such a big sacrifice for her.”

“She's our daughter. You'd do the same for Jessica.”

He nodded. He'd do anything for Jessie. And for Miriam. But his wife was strong and capable. She would heal, and once she did, she'd find out what her parents had done. She'd feel guilty; she'd be mad. Mad at her mom and dad, and mad at Wade for letting them do it.

“I think you should go.” The words came out heavily. How would he manage? How could he take on anything more? But he had to do the right thing.

“Really?” Something lit in Rose's eyes, like a spark of hope she hadn't before allowed herself.

“Really.” This could work out. It had to. “You'll still be here for two months. We'll be able to manage then.” They'd have no other choice.

“Miriam will be feeling better. Her body's healed now, and she'll get over her depression. And if you still need help, I could always stay another few weeks.”

He'd hate to ask it of her, but it was nice to know there was a fallback.

“I'd feel like I'm abandoning her,” Rose said softly.

Wade knew that feeling. It hung on his shoulders every morning when he drove Jessie to school, leaving Miriam curled up in bed. It crept under the covers with him at night when he slid in beside his wife and realized that, for yet another day, he hadn't seen her smile. But then, he felt abandoned, too. When Miriam looked at him, her gaze was distant, like she didn't see him; when he hugged her, he held her body but her spirit was missing. Things had to change, though. As everyone said, time healed wounds, even if scars remained.

He sighed and reached over to touch Rose's hand. “Think how she'd feel once she gets better if she found out what you'd given up. Think how upset she'd be.”

Her lips opened in surprise. “Oh! I hadn't thought of that. Thank you, Wade, you're right. That'll make Henry feel so much better.”

She rose, came over, and leaned down to hug him from behind. That maternal embrace was affectionate and comforting. He pressed his arms over hers, where they circled her neck. He wasn't a boy and she wasn't his mom, but for the moment his mother-in-law's hug felt pretty darn good.

“You'll look after Miriam,” she said. “Ever since you first started dating, I've known you would look after my daughter.”

Yeah, like he'd done such a great job of it so far. “I will, Rose,” he assured her. “I always will.” Even if it meant working twenty-four/seven to keep the ranch afloat, put food on the table, get Jessie to and from school.

Quick footsteps sounded on the stairs, and Rose straightened. “That's Jessica.”

“How do you want to tell Miriam about the transfer?”

“Let's wait a while. Until she's stronger. She won't find out from anyone in town because she's not returning her friends' calls.”

Used to be, Miriam loved getting together with her girlfriends for lunch or an occasional girls' night out, and she'd come home bubbling with stories. Now, she wouldn't even talk to them on the phone.

Jessie trotted into the kitchen. “Is it dinnertime? Mommy says she's not hungry.”

Rose stood. “When I cook dinner, people eat. I'll go get her. Then I need to get home to Henry and Andie.” She hurried out of the kitchen.

Jessie pulled the milk container out of the fridge and poured three glasses. “Daddy, when can Ev come out again? I miss playing with him.”