Winds of Wyoming (A Kate Neilson Novel) (16 page)

“Nice job, ladies.” Laura tapped the paper. “I like the wide separation between beds, so we can reach the plants.”

“Oh, look!” Trisha pointed at the open window behind the counter. “That chipmunk is peeking in the window.” She took Bethany’s arm. “Let’s see how close we can get.”

Laura turned to Kate. “Change of subject. I don’t know if you normally attend church, but you’re welcome to go with me tomorrow morning, if you’d like.”

Though she’d attended prison services, Kate knew she wasn’t good enough to go to church with regular people. But how could she tell her boss she wouldn’t ride with her? “What church do you go to?”

“It’s on the other side of Copperville, a little place called Highway Haven House of God.”

“I stopped there on the way here and met a lady named Dymple Forbes.”

“You lucky person.” Laura beamed. “Dymple is a darling. She’s there every Sunday. I can make sure you two connect, if you’d like to see her again.”

“I’d love to.”

Two short, pudgy women with bottle-bright red hair, sequined glasses and a host of freckled wrinkles bustled into the lobby. Except for the red jacket and red hair bow worn by one and the blue jacket and blue hair bow worn by the other, they were identical.

“Mamie and Minnie Curtis.” Laura hurried to hug them. “It’s so good to see you again.”

“Laura, Laura!” Both women squealed, evidently very fond of Laura.

She stepped back. “What is this, the seventh or eighth summer you’ve come to the WP?”

“It’s our ninth visit.” The woman in red held up nine fingers. “Next year will be ten years, Lord willing and the creek don’t rise.”

The woman in blue nodded. “We figured that out on the ride from Laramie. Oh, how we miss this place when we’re away, even Mangy.” She winked at the moose head.

“Goodness gracious.” Laura took their hands. “You’ve become part of our family.”

“Speaking of family …” The woman in blue laid her ringed fingers on Laura’s arm. “We were so sorry to learn about Dan. You must miss him dearly, and so do we.”

“Thank you, Minnie. I know he would be delighted to see you two again, if he was here. But we’re adjusting, and the ranch will continue as always.”

She motioned to Kate. “One nice adjustment is the addition of Kate Neilson to our staff. She’s handling Dan’s marketing responsibilities.”

The twins each shook her hand.

“And I’m sure you remember Trisha and Bethany.”

The girls turned from the window.

Mamie and Minnie hugged them. “How could we forget such delightful young ladies.”

Kate asked them how long they planned to stay.

Mamie beamed. “Six
wonderful
weeks.” She gazed at her sister. “This year is extra special.”

Minnie clasped her hands. “We’re going on a buffalo hunt!” The women clutched each other, their faces glowing.

Kate stared at them. Buffalo hunt? Where did they get such a crazy idea? Did Mike know? She looked at Laura, who did not appear surprised by the comment. In fact, she was smiling, too.

The lobby door opened and two gray-haired men dressed in worn plaid shirts and faded jeans stepped in, each holding a straw cowboy hat. Their leather belts were anchored by enormous silver buckles partially hidden by overhanging bellies. Tanned cheeks, pale foreheads, white-whiskered chins and poorly cut hair suggested they were not guests.

“Elliott. Emmitt.” Laura’s normally melodic voice had turned to lead. “What brings you two to our neck of the woods?”

The men fidgeted with their hats. Finally, the shorter brother cleared his throat. “Well, uhm, Miz Duncan, we just came to pay our respects to the deceased. May he, uh, may his remains rest in peace.”

“Dan died last fall, Emmitt. Months ago. You could have paid your respects at the funeral, along with everyone else.”

“We was real busy about that time, wasn’t we, Elliott?”

Elliott nodded.

Laura folded her arms.

The other women in the room folded theirs and stood taller.

Kate stepped close to Laura, her stance wide.

The brothers glanced from woman to woman, their hoary heads jerking like wind-up toys. Finally, they wound down. Elliott smoothed the few hairs on his scalp. “Gotta git to town.”

Emmitt scratched his hairy nostril. “Looks like yer still in operation.”

“The Whispering Pines is doing just fine, if that’s what you boys came to find out. But I’d appreciate it if you kept your snoopy, pointy noses out of our affairs.”

Emmitt stuck his chest out. “Just what does that mean?”

Kate clenched her fists.

Laura placed a hand on Kate’s arm. “You know what it means. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a ranch to run.” She turned her back on the men and moved behind the counter.

Shoving their dirty, misshapen hats onto their heads, the brothers stomped out of the lobby. The screen door slammed behind them.

For a moment, the room was quiet. Then Bethany high-fived Laura. “Good for you, Mrs. D. It’s about time somebody put those Clifford brothers in their place. They try to run all the ranches around here, when their own place is a trash heap.”

“Thanks, Bethany. I had to at least act brave, or those two would have been here every day telling me and Mike what to do. Dan had a lot of trouble with them.” Her hands quivered as she straightened a stack of brochures.

Kate placed her hands on the countertop. “Are you okay?”

Laura grinned. “I am better than okay.” She spread her arms wide. “I am
fabulous
. I’ve been wanting to give those old geezers a piece of my mind for a long, long time.”

***

Seated next to Laura in a pew near the back of the Highway Haven House of God sanctuary, Kate watched church members greet each other and settle into their seats. The floor’s creaks and groans and the welcoming smiles from the other parishioners made her feel more comfortable than she’d expected. Several people stopped to welcome her and to say “hello” to Laura.

The word
ambiance
drifted through Kate’s mind. Highway Haven’s sanctuary exuded a wonderful, almost supernatural, ambiance—in spite of its stark interior and lack of ornamentation. No stained-glass windows. No statues. No cushions on the straight-backed pews. Yet, the room radiated warmth and welcome.

She saw a couple walk in the side doorway Dymple had used last Sunday morning. Kate closed her eyes. She’d come so close to attacking the sweet lady, the one who most likely provided the wild roses on the altar. She pictured Dymple patiently coaxing the thorny branches into a perfect bouquet for the Sunday service and thanked God she hadn’t harmed the elderly woman.
Forgive me, Lord.

She heard music and opened her eyes. A group of musicians stood at the front of the room playing a pretty song she didn’t recognize. Mike, who was picking the melody on his guitar, caught her eye. Kate shifted her gaze, determined not to let his presence divert her from worship.

The simple service was surprisingly similar to those she’d experienced in prison. The parishioners seemed to forget themselves and focus on God. When they sang her favorite song from prison days,
How Great Thou Art,
she could tell by the way the music swelled and the walls resonated with emotion that the other worshipers loved it as much as she did. It felt good to sing God’s praises again. And to be reminded that he was greater than all her problems.

The singing ended, and the congregation sat. Kate smirked, amused by the sound of squeaking pews.

Laura leaned over. “You have a beautiful voice, Kate.”

Kate smiled. “Thanks, Laura. It’s such a beautiful song.”

A husky man in a tee-shirt and jeans stepped behind the pulpit, Bible in hand. “Please turn with me to Psalm 145.”

So that was Pastor Chuck, the one Dymple had said she would like. He seemed like an ordinary guy. No robe or collar. Maybe he was down-to-earth, like Chaplain Sam.

A rustle of pages whooshed through the room, reminding Kate of aspen leaves ruffled by a breeze. When the page-turning stopped, an expectant calm descended on the group. But before Pastor Chuck could begin reading, Tara strutted from the back of the room to the second row, her high heels pounding the wood floors. Heads turned, and a ripple of whispers trailed her miniskirt.

Kate blinked. She had no idea Tara was in the building or that churchgoers dressed that way.
She looks like I did when I was trying to hook up with johns.

Mike set his guitar on a stand and followed the other musicians into the congregation. Kate tried to conceal her surprise when he passed the second row to sit beside her instead of Tara.
Uh-oh.
Trouble was brewing. And she was right in the middle of it.

The pastor cleared his throat and waited until he had their attention. “Our Scripture passage today reminds us of the goodness and greatness of God. Tune your ears and your hearts to what he wants to say to you today.”

Tara stood, ran her hands down her hips to smooth her skirt, and stepped out of the pew. She stomped to the rear of the sanctuary. Again, heads turned, even the pastor’s. Mike was seated at the end of the pew, yet she wedged in beside him. He scooted toward Kate, who moved closer to Laura, who clenched her Bible like it was an anchor in the midst of a storm. And maybe it was.

Finally, when the bench no longer shook, Kate released the breath she’d held throughout the episode. How could she tune into the sermon, like the pastor suggested? Or tune into God’s voice, like Dymple had said, with Mike’s hip and arm pressed against hers and Tara’s foot swinging a furious rhythm on the other side of his Levis? Prison services had never been this distracting, even in the midst of clanging metal doors and endless directives over the loudspeakers.

Chapter Thirteen

PASTOR CHUCK CLOSED HIS
Bible. “Let’s pray.”

Mike stood, worked his way past Tara’s bare knees and walked to the front.

Though Kate bowed her head, she could feel hate emanating from the end of the pew. Should she try to defend her innocence to Tara after the service? Would it do any good? What if things got nasty? Could she keep from ripping the jealous woman’s hair out and snapping off her fake fingernails? Kate chewed at her lip. Better not chance a blow-up at church.

The moment the service ended, she turned her back on Tara and followed Laura out the door toward the parking lot.

“Kate! Kate Neilson—wait!”

Certain it wasn’t Tara’s voice she heard, Kate turned to see Dymple Forbes hurrying toward her.

The older woman grabbed her hands. “I’m so glad to see you again.”

Kate clasped Dymple’s gnarly fingers. “I’m happy to see you, too, Dymple-with-a-Y Louise Forbes.”

Dymple chortled. “You’ve got a good margarine to remember that.” She touched Kate’s cheek. “What happened to your beautiful face?”

“Clumsiness. I tripped on the path the night I arrived at the ranch, but my scrapes have healed quite a bit already.”

“I’m glad to hear that. Are you enjoying the Whispering Pines?”

“I love it.”

“I knew you would.”

“Everybody there is really nice.”
Well, almost everybody.
“And the ranch is so pretty. I love waking up to sunshine and mountain air and birds singing around my cabin.”

Laura, who’d been visiting with a young couple, joined them. “And we love having Kate at the ranch.”

Kate noticed Tara and Mike in the midst of a heated discussion on the far side of the parking lot. She felt sorry for Mike, but she was glad she wasn’t the recipient of Tara’s wrath this time.

Dymple took Laura’s hand. “Would you and Mike and Kate be able to come to my place for lunch today?”

“I’d love to, but I can’t stay long. Our guest season opened yesterday, so I need to make sure everything goes okay today.”

Dymple turned to Kate. “How about you?”

“I’d enjoy that. Thank you.” Lunching with Mike would make things worse with Tara. But how could she refuse when she was dependent on Laura for a ride?

“I can’t speak for Mike …” Laura’s voice trailed off as all three women turned toward the arguing couple. Mike’s arms were folded high on his chest as if shielding himself from Tara’s long fingernails that jabbed at his ribs.

“I don’t know what
that
is about.” Laura had a worried look on her face. “But he might not be very sociable when it’s over.”

His own mother didn’t know why Tara was mad? Kate put on her sunglasses.

Dymple placed her hands on her waist. “That brat needs a good paddling,” Her voice cracked. “She’s always causing him grief.”

Kate gawked at the little woman.

Dymple’s blue eyes blazed and her jaw jutted. “I’m going to go break it up. If that hussy gets snippy with me, she’ll be sorry.” Before Laura or Kate could stop her, Dymple started across the parking lot as fast as her arthritic feet could propel her, her fists and her braid swinging.

Conversations stopped. Kate felt for Mike, certain he’d rather not be the center of attention during an argument. She couldn’t hear Dymple’s words, but she could see the relief on Mike’s face as he wrapped her hand around his arm and walked her toward Laura’s SUV.

Tara watched the two for a moment then flipped an obscene gesture at the crowd and climbed into her canary-yellow Hummer. With a blast of the horn, she roared out of the parking lot and onto the highway.

***

Kate rode with Laura and Dymple to Dymple’s house on the other side of the cemetery. Mike and Tramp followed in Old Blue. They parked the vehicles just off the road and entered her property through an arbor-topped wrought-iron gate that opened to a flagstone walkway. Kate admired the terraced garden filled with daffodils and tulips and thought the vine-draped stone house looked like an English cottage. Multi-paned windows sparkled in the sunshine, and baskets of blossoms hung from the eaves.

Dymple opened her plum-colored door with its rounded top and beveled-glass window. The others trailed behind her, passing the hand-stitched quotes and watercolor paintings, mostly of flowers, that adorned the walls. Kate removed her sunglasses to read a cross-stitched sampler.