The Bride Wore Denim (5 page)

“Can it be rescheduled?” Amelia asked, out of the blue.

The room, which had started to buzz again, went still.

Harper closed her eyes and tried to call up her yoga Ujjayi breathing. “I probably should want to reschedule, Mia, but this show took years to get, and for me to renege at this point would screw my reputation, which isn’t all that big to begin with. I probably should love my father’s memory a little more, huh?”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Harper. That isn’t what I meant.”

“Are
you
going to stay?” Harper asked.

“I have surgeries scheduled nonstop next week.”

“And can
they
be postponed?”

“All right,” Cole said. “That’s enough for now. Mia, we’re not in crisis this second. I think something your sister has waited for most of her life can take precedence.”

“I’m sorry,” Mia replied. “We’re all in shock, and I thought maybe she was looking for an excuse to get out of her commitment. It wasn’t meant to be a slam.”

“You’re right,” Harper said, reluctant to say much. “We have no idea about each other’s lives or priorities anymore. We had a bomb dropped on us after we’d already been through a disaster, and it’s hard not to get defensive. We should be more careful of each other’s fragile spirits right now.”

“Fragile spirits? If that wasn’t spoken like the gypsy artist you’ve always been.”

Anger flared again. “Is this your normal bedside manner?”

“Girls, that’s enough,” Bella said. “It’s time to put the big differences among you aside. You’ve always been six unique people, and that’s why you’re all creative and have found your own ways. Try to celebrate that.”

“No.” Grandma Sadie held up her hand. “I have to disagree, Isabella. It’s not time to coddle each other; it’s time for some ruthless honesty. I say it again. I’m a very old woman, and I remember back before what you young people call political correctness took over. We didn’t have time to say things we didn’t mean. Nor do we now, because the decision that must be made is going to change lives, mark my words. I’m not telling you what that decision should be, but it has to be made without the burden of secrets and hard feelings, or it’s going to ruin lives.”

“You,” she fixed her stare on Amelia, “are a wonderful doctor. Most commendable. You
must
figure out what’s important to you here, if anything is. There are no wrong choices, but you can’t not make a choice.

“You,” she turned next to Harper, “have always had a free spirit. I envy you, but live your dream and stop defending it as if it needs defending.

“Joely, you seem the most wounded by this. I know you think we don’t notice, but if there’s something wrong, you need to learn to tell your family.

“You three . . . ” For the first time, Sadie’s tired-but-firm mouth softened into a smile that actually looked like a grandmother’s rather than an ancient, exasperated monarch’s. “Our little caboose babies, as my mother used to call the youngest children. You’re making your ways, too, very impressively. I’m sorry this is being forced on your young shoulders.

“Finally, you, Cole Wainwright, the prodigal son. This ranch is not your responsibility, as you’ve so adamantly insisted. And you say you know where you’re headed. Make sure that’s truly where you want to go.”

As all the pronouncements settled on their recipients, Grandma Sadie took in the uneasy quiet without apology. “That was too many words for me to say and too many for you to hear. My part in this is over, and my purpose has been served. I will accept whatever decisions are made, but you had to know the problems are here to be dealt with. I’m tired. I’m going upstairs to my bedroom, and I’m going to weep again for my son. But lest you think the last tough-minded Crockett is gone, think again. You are each more like your father than you’ll ever admit.”

Sadie eased her way slowly from behind Sam’s desk, leaning heavily on her cane. For all her forceful words, she suddenly did look tired and a little frail, stooped in her plain black dress, snowy pearls stark against her chest, and her thick white curls starting to relax from the long, sad, rainy day. Leif and Bjorn followed her through the room, each on an arm. She stopped in front of Harper and placed a warm, gnarled hand on her cheek.

“My sweet Harper Lee. Find your common ground with Amelia. You two are the keys.”

For the first time, Harper felt the full force of guilt, resentment, and sorrow. She kissed her grandmother and offered a hug, which the old woman accepted. “I don’t think we can be as wise and tough as you are, Gram,” Harper said. “I’m certainly not.”

“Well, you have to start thinking differently. If anyone can change the course of her long-held ideas, it’s you. You have the imagination for it.”

Once Sadie was gone, the room burst into noise again, but Harper had no heart for the arguments and questions. Her mother sat quietly at the desk, her face a mask of endurance, while her girls talked around each other like traders on the stock exchange. After five minutes, Harper could stand it no longer. She moved to the front edge of the desk, sat on its gleaming surface, and placed two fingers in her mouth. She let loose a window-rattling whistle.

“Excuse me?” Amelia’s brows furrowed at the interruption.

“Sorry,” Harper said, smiling despite the tension. “A ten-year-old community ed art student taught me how to do that. I think we need to stop and all take time to think. This moment isn’t the time to make a decision. The movie stars have to leave, but Mia, Joely, and I have five days yet, which gives us time to look at all the options, and we can keep in touch with Kel, Rocky, and Gracie.” She twisted to look behind herself. “Is that okay with you, Mama?”

“It sounds perfect,” she replied.

“We’ll make something work out,” Joely said. “There are six of us. We can keep Paradise. We’ll figure it out.”

That’s when Amelia stood. With a calm that almost chilled the room, she stared at the group. “For once I agree with Harper,” she said at last. “This is the wrong time to be making maudlin promises.”

“Aw, c’mon, Mia.” Grace looked up. “This is a maudlin day. An awful day. We can’t be logical and detached either. Doesn’t the thought of losing Paradise double the pain of losing Dad?”

“On the contrary.” Amelia’s voice remained calm. “It should be clearer than ever. Paradise Ranch drove us all away, and it killed our father, just as it killed his father. I, for one, don’t intend to let it kill any more of us.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Joely turned from the huddle. “Dad loved this place.”

“Dad sacrificed everything to this place, including his family.”

“That isn’t true, Amelia,” their mother said, with the same quiet intensity her daughter exuded.

“It is true, Mother. Don’t get me wrong, growing up on a ranch was the most phenomenal life training a girl could ask for. But it’s a driven and unforgiving lifestyle. The new grave at the church cemetery proves that.”

“That’s the grief talking. You don’t mean this.” Harper started toward Mia.

“Don’t tell me that it’s grief.” Mia glared and backed toward the office door. “You think we all need to dwell on this for five days? I say you’re wrong. Sell this place, take the money, and let someone else die of a heart attack ten years from now.”

“Mia, stop,” Raquel said sharply. “That’s not a sensible argument.”

“Life and death isn’t sensible?” She looked at each person in turn, ending with Harper. “Sell Paradise Ranch.”

Harper stared at the door after her sister had powered through it and gazed anxiously around the room. Every person left looked as if a knife had been thrust into her or his heart.

S
KYLAR
T
HORSON SAT
in the rough mounds of scree and stumpy, weedy alpine grass at the base of her favorite mountain, a sketch pad at her feet and an ancient Minolta 35-millimeter camera in her lap. Wolf Paw Peak wasn’t a true mountain, just one of a handful of random foothills rising from the plains south of the Teton Range, which anyone on Paradise Ranch could see any time they looked to the northwest. But Wolf Paw’s unique shape, like the head and front leg of a wolf rising from its den according to Indian legend, stood fully on Paradise land and always made Skylar feel safe. Safe and lucky to live within riding distance of its wild slopes, which rose a little over three thousand feet into the Wyoming sky. Although she’d reached its summit twice in the company of her older brother, Marcus, she was forbidden to climb it alone, which pissed her off because she was fourteen and totally capable.

She’d nearly defied the rule this morning. After Mr. Crockett’s funeral yesterday, the last thing she’d wanted was to hang around while her Grandpa Leif, her parents, and all of Mr. Crockett’s daughters came down to the barns and kept talking about him and starting to cry. She was done crying. Her mother, who was normally really strict for a homeschool teacher, had given her and her two brothers another free day from lessons, so she’d taken Bungu out and come here to escape.

Mr. Crockett was gone, and he’d been her friend—even though everyone else except her grandfather thought he was hard and even a little bit mean. He’d never been mean to her. When she’d been little, he’d always pulled out a hidden candy bar when he’d come to visit. As she’d gotten older, he’d taught her how to swing a lariat the old-fashioned way. When she’d decided she liked photography, he’d given her the old camera.

Her parents thought all the developing was too expensive and she should save her money for a digital camera. She didn’t want one. Like she didn’t want a digital watch. Like she didn’t want to be around mourners for Mr. Crockett. So, she’d almost decided to climb her mountain to be sad and grieve in her own way. But she wasn’t stupid. It would be dangerous to start the trek after all the rain they’d had yesterday. Besides, she wasn’t in the mood to get yelled at for getting in trouble. And she’d be in trouble if she climbed Wolf Paw on her own.

Glancing to her right, she watched Bungu grazing contentedly where she’d hobbled him, the white coloring with its black spots shone stark and beautiful on his broad Appaloosa rump against the rest of his black coat. She wasn’t supposed to ride him out alone either—he was only four and still green to field and trail work. But she’d raised him from a foal and knew him better than she knew anyone or anything else on the ranch. She wasn’t about to listen to her worrywart parents. Besides, she’d been riding horses since the age of three.

She looked back down at her sketchbook and assessed the pencil drawing she’d made of Bungu beneath the cloudy sky. Earlier there’d been a rainbow, and she’d captured it with the camera. She could finish her drawing and put in the color at home after she got the film developed. Maybe her dad would be willing to take her into Wolf Paw Pass tonight after work. It was one of the only advantages to being homeschooled—she could do homework anytime. Pretty much everything else about it, she hated.

On the other hand, she’d heard her father talking to Grandpa Leif that morning. The ranch, the only home she’d ever known, was in some kind of trouble. The Crocketts might decide to sell, and the ranch families might be forced to move. Maybe she’d get a chance to go to a regular school.

The thought was clinical and calm. The roiling in her stomach over the thought of leaving Paradise Ranch was not. She made a few swipes with her pencil on the preliminary drawing. Her family had worked with the Crocketts for two generations. How could anything happen to this place she loved?

Bungu’s sudden, shrill whinny catapulted Skylar to her feet and nearly sent her into respiratory failure. Her horse stood alert, ears pricked to statue-perfect points, every muscle coiled, eyes fixed on the trees along the trail. Skylar searched desperately for a place to hide, unable to imagine who but trespassers would be all the way out here on a day like this. She shrank into the closest hillock and tried to edge toward her horse.

She didn’t make it.

The pretty sorrel quarter horse Skylar recognized as Chevy appeared around a copse of scrub pine and replied to Bungu’s ringing call with one of his own. The woman on his back reached forward to stroke his neck, and Skylar recognized her, too.

“Oh!” Harper Crockett pulled up quickly when she spotted Skylar. Her flushed face and rounded eyes proved she hadn’t come looking for anyone. “Hello there. I . . . sorry, didn’t mean to scare your horse.”

“He’s not afraid.” Skylar couldn’t keep the defiance out of her voice. “He’s the bravest horse I’ve ever known.”

Harper looked like she could maybe laugh, and Skylar found resentment rising along with her other emotions. She wondered if “Miss Harper,” as Mama had always required her to say, even remembered her. All the Crockett ladies had been “Miss.” Except Mrs. Crockett. She was Mrs. Crockett. But she and
Harper
—she thought with purposeful disrespect—hadn’t seen each other since Skylar had been five.

“It’s a good thing to have that trust in your horse up here in the high country. Do you ride here often?”

“All the time.” Skylar stared at her, waiting.

“Do I . . . know you?”

She
didn’t
remember. For some reason that only depressed Skylar further. She shrugged. “I know you.”

“You actually live here, then? Wait. No, you can’t be. Bjorn’s daughter?”

“Yeah.”

“Skylar?”

“Yes.” Stupid relief and a little happiness flooded through her.

“Oh my gosh, sweetie, how is this possible? You’re all grown up.”

A fragment of defensiveness melted. Nobody called her a grown-up. “Kind of. I guess.”

“Oh, you have. I remember babysitting you. But not very many times, I don’t think, because I left for college. I think maybe Joely took care of you more often.”

Skylar nodded. “I saw her today. She’s still, like, gorgeous. I think my grandpa said she was a model or something.”

“She is definitely still beautiful,” Harper replied. “She modeled for about a year. Then she got married and moved to California.”

“Does she have kids?”

“No. Not yet.”

“Do you?”

Harper laughed. “Nope. I’m a long way from that. How ’bout you?”

Her eyes twinkled in fun. Skylar felt a smile beg to be set free, and although she really, really didn’t want it to, it slipped onto her lips. “I’m a long ways from that, too.”

“Thank heavens. You’re not
that
grown up yet.”

“Besides. Don’t you need, like, a guy first?”

This time Harper snorted. “Uh . . . yes, ma’am. Do we know each other well enough to be moving in this direction?”

In Skylar’s experience you could say almost anything on the ranch. Guys talked about girls and sex and cow sex and food and politics and pretty much everything else. She heard a lot the adults didn’t think she heard.

She shrugged. “I don’t care. I don’t have a boyfriend; that’s no secret. The only person around here who’s cute enough to be a boyfriend is Cole.” She saw Harper’s features fold immediately into a frown. “Cole Wainwright, I mean. Do you know who he is? He’s hot.”

“Oh, believe me, I know him. We’ve been friends most of our lives. He’s a very nice guy.”

“My grandpa says the ranch runs smoother when Cole comes back every year.”

Harper moved Chevy two steps closer and leaned forward over the saddle horn. “What are you working on? I don’t mean to pry, but it looks like you’re sketching, and I’m kind of an art fanatic.”

Everyone said Harper was some kind of new-age, liberal hippie who lived in communes, protested things, and thought she was an artist. Skylar studied her fully for the first time. She sure didn’t look like any hippie she seen in books. She looked like a normal person in jeans and a cool, worn jean jacket and cowboy boots. In her own way, she was prettier even than Miss Joely. She took a deep, rebellious breath. Than
Joely.
No “Miss.” This wasn’t her mom’s freakin’ South Carolina.

“I like to draw my horse. Sometimes I start the drawing then take pictures and finish it at home.”

“Could I . . . see your drawing?” She seemed a little embarrassed to be asking. “You don’t have to. I know drawings can be private.”

Skylar shrugged, surprised again. Nobody ever really looked at her drawings. “Yes, very nice,” they always said, and that was about it. “I don’t care. You can.”

Harper straightened in the saddle and swung down, completely unlike a city-girl hippie. She held Chevy’s reins casually as she dug in a worn leather saddle bag, produced a notebook of some kind, and then flung the ends of the reins around a short, thick-branched bush.

“Turnabout is fair play. I’ll show you mine, too,” she said.

To Skylar’s astonishment, the notebook was a sketchpad, similar to her own. She handed hers to Harper first and took the one offered to her without opening it. Instead, she watched Harper flip pages. Suddenly, desperately, she wished she hadn’t agreed to give it to her.

Harper’s face didn’t change, although her frown disappeared. She studied each page for a long time, as if she were looking at every line or . . . or for mistakes. To protect herself from the sudden urge to grab the book away, she opened Harper’s. With one glance at the first drawing, she had to swallow hard to keep from totally throwing up. It was just a flower, in pencil like her own sketches, but it looked like Harper had picked it out of the field and pressed it into the book. An actual photograph couldn’t have looked any more real.

She flipped the page, spiral-bound at the top, and stared at the next drawings—three small studies of a stalk of wheat with grass stems blowing around it. Every little kernel of bran on the wheat head was perfect.

Humiliation burned through her like a grass fire. If Harper didn’t laugh her head off at the drawings in Skylar’s book, it was because she was the nicest person in the world. With a sick fluttering in her stomach, she turned to another picture and then another. The horse barn. A bird feeder. A chicken. Skylar sighed. Even the quick line drawings were perfect. She turned the page a final time and gasped. She’d been so dumb. She’d asked if Harper knew Cole Wainwright, and there he was on the page. The sketch was simple, but there was no doubt whatsoever who it was.

“Ahhh, you found Cole.” Harper smiled. “I did that for him to go with one I drew when we were kids. It’s not quite finished.”

“Oh. Sure. That’s cool.”

Skylar’s chest tightened, and she looked at the picture rather than face Harper. She didn’t tell anybody about her fantasy crush for Cole. He wasn’t around much in the summer, but every winter he came back—just as nice as Mr. Crockett had been, but much, much younger. And hot. But it was her deepest secret.

“Wow.” Harper had stopped at one of Skylar’s drawings. “This is amazing.”

She turned the pad around so Skylar could see which page. It was a close-up of Bungu’s ear and eye. “I sketched it from a photo.”

“It’s really good. You have a lovely touch with your pencils.”

“Not as good as yours.” Skylar exchanged sketchpads with her.

“They aren’t supposed to be like mine. They’re yours. They’re wonderful. I hope you keep it up.”

Skylar didn’t know how to respond. Definitely nobody had ever called her drawings wonderful. She managed a blown-away “thank you,” and Harper saved her from having to say anything more intelligent by noticing the camera.

“That’s an old beauty.” She pointed. “A thirty-five-millimeter Minolta? My dad used to have a camera like that. I played with it when I was younger than you are.”

“It is your dad’s,” Skylar said without preamble and without really thinking. She swore Harper’s face went a little bit white.

“What do you mean it’s my dad’s?”

“He, um, gave it to me. He taught me how to use it and where to send the film to get it developed.”

“
My
father?”

Skylar nodded.

“When did he do this?”

The joyful twinkle and flowing compliments had disappeared. Harper suddenly looked more suspicious than friendly, and Skylar stepped back one involuntary step. “About two years ago. I don’t know.”

“Why would he do that? He loved that camera.”

“I don’t know. He . . . he said it would teach me how to take good pictures. He said I had . . . ” She lowered her head, thoroughly embarrassed.

“Had what?” Harper’s voice gentled again.

“Talent.”

Harper surprised her again with a harsh burst of laughter. “Seriously?
My
father told someone she had talent? You’re sure?”

Skylar didn’t understand at all and didn’t say a word. Harper’s change of mood made no sense.

“I’m sorry,” Harper said again. “I guess this is a little weird for me. My father is gone, and I’m finding out all kinds of thing I never knew about him.” She straightened. “I’m glad his camera is in good hands. You take care of it.”

“O-okay.”

“So, it was great seeing you, Skylar. I’m sure we’ll meet again. Time for me to head on. You be careful up here in the foothills.”

Just like that, because of the camera, someone Skylar thought might be a little different from the others on Paradise Ranch, turned cool and standoffish. It was almost like she hadn’t believed Mr. Crockett had really given away the camera. Resentment swelled up again. It was pretty typical for people to change their opinions of her, but this was even faster than usual.

“I will,” she said. “I’ve lived here my whole life.”

For an instant she thought Harper might say something more, or apologize or something, but she gathered up Chevy’s reins, and mounted smooth as any cowboy on the place.

“Good.” She smiled, but not like she had when they’d first met. “I’ll see you around, okay?”

She was moving before Skylar could reply. After she’d disappeared down the trail, Skylar fought with tears for one brief moment before anger replaced her hurt feelings.