Home for Good

Blinking the burn away from her eyes, Ali moved to stand up. “I don’t need to hear a replay of this. In case you forgot, I was there.”

He stopped her with a touch of his hand. “Please stay.”

Who was he to beg her to stay? But like a fool, she hunkered back down.

“I stopped at Pop’s house and had an all-out yelling brawl with him, then lit for the state line. I got a job driving a tour bus at Yellowstone. They canned me a couple months later when they found out I hit the scotch before the rides. I spent the next year or two working as a ranch hand at different places, most of the time herding at the back, eating cattle dust and that’s about all I felt I was good for. I thought about coming back—wanted to—but I was a sorry mess that you didn’t need. I drank more than before. Drank all my money away. But God kept me alive, so I could come back to you and—”

“I hardly think God has anything to do with it. You were a drunk, lying, good-for-nothing boy.”

He nodded. “I can’t argue you about that. I was. And I took the coward’s way. I just needed—” he closed his eyes “—escape.”

Ali bit back a stream of words. Adults didn’t get the choice of escape. They bucked up and dealt with it, like she had. “Escape from what? Me?” Her muscles cringed. Never enough. Her love couldn’t heal him. She’d failed as a wife, and that’s why he left.

“No. Never you. I needed to escape me.” He thumbed his chest. “I was furious at God for taking my mom, hated Pop for becoming a cruel drunk—then hated myself just as much for becoming everything I despised in him. I was angry that I couldn’t be what you needed. I talked you into running away from your family in the middle of the night, into marrying me when you were only eighteen. I had nothing to give you but my heap of troubles. I was just a kid myself, and I didn’t have the first clue how to take care of you properly. What kind of man was I? So I drank. I wanted to be numb. I wanted nothing to matter anymore, but I kept seeing your face, kept catching whiffs of pretty flowers that reminded me of you.” His ratty straw hat flaked apart as he twisted it round and round in his hands while talking.

With a bull-rider’s grip on her purse, Ali chewed her bottom lip. Jericho’s humility unnerved her. He was supposed to be cocky. He was supposed to smell of alcohol, combined with the cigar smoke from whatever bar he’d rolled out of at three in the morning. But no, he sat here emitting an intoxicating mixture of hard work, rain and alfalfa.

He paused, his soft eyes studying her. When she didn’t respond, he continued. “It got worse, though. I found myself sneaking into barns at night just for a place to sleep away the hangover. Homeless...can you imagine?” He gave a humorless laugh. “The great ranch baron Abram Freed’s son, homeless.” He threw up his hands. “One night an old rancher found me, and I thought he was going to shoot me between the eyes, but he invited me inside. Let me sleep in his guest bedroom. He was a veteran, and when he talked about his time in the service he just became a hero to me. This man had been through so much terrible stuff, but he was even-keeled and kind. And I wanted to be him. So I enlisted. I owe that man the life I have now.”

“You’re really a soldier, then?”

He put back on his hat, steepling his hands together. “Ali, who’s Chance’s dad?”

The question froze every inch of her that had thawed during his story. “He doesn’t have one. He’s my son. That’s it.”

“Unless he’s adopted...that’s not really possible.”

“Are you done?” She knew her harsh tone would wound his open spirit, but she didn’t care. Not when Chance got pulled into the conversation.

He sighed and worked the kinks out of the back of his neck. “After I enlisted, I went through training and spent some good time learning what it means to be a man of discipline and determination. After a couple years my group got drawn for deployment, and I wanted to call you, wanted to say goodbye, but didn’t feel like I had the right to. Not one person I cared about knew I was over there, knew I could die at any minute.”

Die? Her head snapped up. Could he have died without her ever knowing? Wouldn’t her heart have felt the loss? Regardless of her anger, she would never have wanted that.

Across the field, Kate and Chance picked their way toward her.

“...but then one day we were sent on this mission and—”

She cut him off. “That’s great, Jericho. Sounds like life without us worked out just fine for you. Our lives have been good without you, too. I got some schooling and started a nonprofit that I really care about.” She rose, hoping he’d follow suit.

“Without us?” He took the blankets from her arms.

“What?” Her tongue raced against the back of her teeth.

He quirked both eyebrows. “You said us, plural.”

She pushed him away with her best glare. “Us...as in the Bitterroot Valley, your dad, the people here in Montana that you grew up with.” Her hands shook. Almost gave it away. Foolish mouth.

Chance’s rapid steps approached.

“Your story, well, it doesn’t change much for me. I still want you to turn on those boots and do that walking-out bit you’re so good at.”

“I can’t, Ali, not yet.”

“But you said you’d leave if that’s what I wanted, and I do.”

“I came back because I have to ask your forgiveness. And if we can, I want to fix our marriage. Be there for you like I promised nine years ago.”

“I don’t want that.”

“Hey, Mom! You found Jericho!” Chance frolicked around the two adults.

“How were the sparklers, buddy?” She dropped down and pulled her son into her arms.

Chance’s gaze flew to Jericho, and his cheeks colored. The little imp wiggled free. “They were great. My friend Michael told this girl Samantha that he was going to put a sparkler in her hair and light it on fire. But Kate told him that someday he’ll be sorry he ever talked to girls that way.”

“I’m sure he will be.” Still on her knees, she smiled.

Chance turned toward Jericho. “You’re a guy. What do you think?”

“I think your mom and your aunt are right. A real man is always nice to a girl.” His gaze locked on Ali. “Always.”

Chance grabbed Jericho’s sleeve, pulling the man to his level. “Were you talking to my mom again? Do you know her?”

Ali jumped in. “Jericho and I did know each other, but it was a really long time ago, pal. His dad’s ranch backs up to ours. We were neighbors.”

Chance took her hand. “That’s cool, so we can share him.”

Behind him, Kate attempted to hide a laugh with a cough.

“Hey, Jericho, it’s my birthday in two days. Will you come to my party? Looks like you already know where our house is.”

“Chance! Did you ever think Jericho might have other things to do with his time?” Ali’s eyes widened. Please let Jericho have something to do that day.

Jericho spread out his arms and let a low, rumbling laugh escape his lips. “I’ll be there, champ. I’m free.”

“Then will you promise to teach me to ride a ewe?” The child’s eyes lit up, hands clasped together.

Jericho rose. He rubbed his jaw and looked to Ali. She shook her head. “I think you’re too big for mutton bustin’. The kids who do that are five or six.”

Chance crossed his arms. “It’s not fair. Our ranch hand, Rider, won’t teach me. Now you won’t, either.”

“I could teach you something else. How about roping? Do you know how to lasso a steer? ’Cause that’s loads harder than riding sheep.”

“You promise you’ll come teach me?”

“I’ll bring the dummy steer and everything.” Jericho smiled down at Ali’s son, and her heart squeezed—with panic or tenderness, though, she couldn’t be sure. One thing she knew—Jericho Freed was back in her life, whether she wanted him there or not.

Chapter Three

Scientific research said mint-and-tan-painted walls were supposed to soothe her, but each step Ali took toward her mother’s room weighed her down like shuffling through deep mud. She nodded to other residents of the facility as they teetered down the hallway, gripping the railing that ran waist-level throughout the nursing home. She clutched her purse against her stomach. Mom didn’t belong here. People in their fifties shouldn’t be stuck like this.

Paces away from Mom’s door, Ali leaned against the wall and sucked in a fortifying breath. It stung her throat with the artificial smells of bleach and cafeteria food. She pulled the paper out of her purse and read it again.

I saw you together at the Independence Day picnic. If you value what’s important to you, you’ll stay away from him. You’ve been warned.

Ali didn’t know whether she should run to the police department or laugh. The glued-on magazine letters looked straight out of a cheesy television crime show. But was the threat serious? Who would leave such a thing tacked to her front door? Thankfully, her head ranch hand, Rider, found it before Chance woke up. Her son could pretend bravado, but with something like this, he would have dissolved into a puddle of tears.

She racked her mind, tallying a list of the people she remembered seeing at the picnic yesterday. Not one of them would have cared in the least if they saw her speaking with Jericho. Who wanted to keep them apart? Not that she minded. That’s what she wanted anyway, right? All the more reason to steer clear of the man, but it grated to be threatened.

Unless... No, it couldn’t be. Abram Freed had never been fond of his son’s attachment to her, but she’d made her peace with the cantankerous cowboy years after Jericho left. Besides, with the paralysis on the right side of his body, the man couldn’t move—he lay in a bed here in the same nursing home as her mother. He couldn’t harm her, and he’d keep her secret about Chance, too.

A nurse wearing a teal smock broke into her thoughts. “You gonna go in and say howdy to your ma?”

“Hi, Sue. How’s Mom doing today?”

The nurse’s blond eyebrow rose. “No disrespect, but your ma’s the most ornery patient we have. But we don’t mind none. She’s a fighter at that. I think most people would be gone already with what she’s got, but she just keeps hanging right on.”

Ali gave a tight-lipped smile. “She’s a handful.”

Jamming the menacing letter back into her purse, she smoothed down her shirt and ran a hand over her hair before entering her mother’s room. The sight of Marge Silver—weak with pale skin hanging in long droops off her arms and a map of premature wrinkles covering her face as she whistled air in and out through the oxygen nosepiece—always made Ali’s knees shake a little bit.

“How you feeling, Ma?” She came to the side of the bed. Ali felt a deep emptiness. Her mom’s eyes stared back, cold and hopeless. Shut off, like her spirit had already given up.

“Dying... Been better.” The words wheezed out, stilting every time the oxygen infused.

Ali crossed her arms and buried her balled-up fists deep in her armpits. She wanted to take her mother’s hand in both of hers, but she knew better. Never one to show affection, her mother wouldn’t have considered the touch comforting. “You aren’t dying.”

“Want to.... Nothing left...here.”

“You know that’s not true. There is Kate and me and Chance.”

“Not that any of...you...care.”

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t care, and I know Kate visited just the other day.”

“The ranch?”

Ali straightened a vase on the bedside table. “It’s fine.”

“The...lawsuit?”

Ali bit her lip. She should be used to this by now; her mom asked the same questions every time she visited. But somehow, the little girl in Ali who wanted to know her mom loved her came with expectations that left her drifting in an ocean of hurt every time. Besides, she didn’t want to think about the deaths of that poor couple. It was an accident.

“Don’t worry about that. Tripp’s taking care of it. He always does the best for us.”

“Has to.... None of the rest of you...have any thought...in your heads. Never...happen...if your father...still alive.”

Ali pulled her purse tighter up on her shoulder, then gripped the bed rails. “I miss Daddy too, Ma.”

“Your fault...he’s dead.”

“Don’t say that.”

“So...selfish, had...to ride. Had...to...rodeo.”

“It’s hardly my fault Dad got caught under that bull’s hooves.” Ali stared out the window, fanning her face with her hand to dry the tears clinging to her eyelids. She tried to block out the memory of her dad, the amateur rider Buck Silver, being crushed again and again by two thousand pounds of angry muscle and horns. She saw his body go limp, remembered trying to run into the arena but Jericho’s strong arms held her back.

“Your fault...men leave. Your dad...your husband.”

“You’re wrong. Jericho’s back,” Ali ground out.

“If he finds...out. He’ll...take your son. You’ll...be alone.”

“He doesn’t know about Chance, and he has no reason to ever know.”

“People...always leave.”

“That doesn’t have to be true. Chance will always be with me. And Kate’s back right now.”

“How long...before she goes...too?”

“I don’t know, Mom. Here, I brought you some stuff from the house.” Ali set a bunched paper bag on the nightstand. “I’ll see you next week.”

Ali barreled out of the doorway—and straight into Jericho Freed’s solid chest.

* * *

“Whoa, there.” Jericho grabbed Ali’s slender biceps to steady her.

“I’m not a horse.” She jerked away.

“Of course you’re not.” He tipped her chin with his finger, and her red-rimmed eyes, tears carving twin paths down either side of her face, made his stomach flip. “Why are you crying?”

She swiped her face with the back of her hand. “What are you doing here?”

“Pop.”

“Oh, I knew that. I’m sorry. It was so sad—he was all alone. They aren’t sure how long he lay there...”

“You’re avoiding my question.” He gave a smile he hoped exuded safety and reassurance. “Why the tears?”

She tossed her hands in the air. “Oh, just another invigorating talk with my mother.”

“She’s here, too?”

Ali shrugged and gave an unflattering grimace in what looked like an attempt to hold back emotion. “She has lung cancer. I mean, we should have expected it. She smoked three or four packs every day of my life, and only got worse after we lost Dad.”

“And let me take a guess—she’s still as bitter and mean as ever.”

Ali met his gaze, and the tears brought out the gold flecks in her eyes. For a moment he couldn’t breathe. “She’s had a hard life.”

“True, but she doesn’t have to take it out on you. Don’t blame her moods on yourself. It’s fully her choice how she treats people.”

“You’re one to talk,” she mumbled and he swallowed a growl.

Could she never forgive him?

He blocked her path when she moved to walk around him. “Are you going to be all right?”

She dug her toe into the floor, and in a small voice confessed, “She still blames me for killing Dad.”

He wanted to scoop her up in his arms and feel her head resting against his chest, trusting his strength as he carried her away from all the people who tried to tie millstones around her neck. Quashing that desire, he settled for cupping her elbow and leading her outside, away from the oppression and doom of the nursing home. Thankfully, she walked right along with him, even leaned into his touch a little bit.

When they got outside, he led her to her truck then turned her to face him. He rested his hands on her shoulders. His blues met her sparkling hazels as he said in a soft, low voice, “It wasn’t your fault. Your dad made a choice that day to get on that bull. He took a risk, and it turned out to be a disastrous one. But that’s all it was, an accident.”

She worked that bottom lip between her teeth. “But he would have been trucking. He wouldn’t have been at the rodeo if I hadn’t been so bent on barrel racing.”

“He loved the rodeo. I’m just sorry we were there to see it that day.”

Ali nodded in an absent way, then pushed up on his wrists. Jericho let go of her, but as he stepped back he noticed something curious. “Your tires are on their rims.”

“What? I just drove here. They were fine.” Ali turned around and then slapped her hand over her mouth.

Jericho bent down to examine the tires. Sure enough, each one bore a deep slash. Intentional. His stomach rolled. “Cut. Know why someone would want to make mincemeat of your tires?”

She dragged in a ragged breath and clutched her purse close to her chest. “Yes.”

“Well?”

Her eyes widened. “I can’t tell you.”

“What? That’s ridiculous. If you have a problem with someone, tell me and I’ll take care of it for you.”

Ali’s brows knit together. “Why would you do that?”

He stepped forward, propping a hand on the truck above her head. He leaned toward her. She was so close. If he dropped his head, he could kiss her. Taste the sweet lips he’d dreamt about for the eight years he’d been gone. He wanted to, badly. Would she meld against him like she used to, or would she slap him and run?

“Nine years ago, I made a promise to protect you. I went and made a real mess of that, but I’m back. You can call on that promise if you want to. I’ll be here for you. You hear me?”

“I’ll be fine. I just have to walk to Mahoney and Strong—Tripp’s an associate with the law firm. It’s not that far.” She looked around him toward downtown. Jealousy curled in his chest.

“I can drive you there.” He hated himself for being any part of bringing her near Tripp, but he’d just made a promise, and he’d stay true to it no matter the personal cost.

“I’ll walk.”

“It’s farther than you think, and it’s hot as blazes out here. Let me drive you.”

She shook her head.

“Can I pick you up from his office and drive you home?”

“I’m sure Tripp will drive me home. I’ll see you around.”

She brushed past him, but the sweet smell of her lingered—something flowery. Jericho walked back to his Jeep. His pop would have to wait another day or two for a reunion.

He needed to find four new tires and get them on that beastly truck before Tripp could swoop in with some kind of heroic act.

Chapter Four

With his legs tossed over the edge of the porch, Chance swung his feet, banging them against the house with the rhythm of an Indian drumbeat.

Ali leaned an elbow on the armrest of the Adirondack chair, resting her chin on her palm. “Hey, little man, cut that out.”

“Is that your truck, Mom?” He sprang to his feet and squinted in the direction of the driveway.

Her green monster of a vehicle rattled over the gravel. “Looks like it. I left my keys with Tripp, and he said he’d have someone fix the tires. That must be him.” She pushed up out of the chair and crossed to the steps.

The man climbing out from the driver’s side looked about the same size as Tripp, but that’s where the similarities ended. Ali pursed her lips.

Chance jostled past her. “Jericho!”

“Hey, bud.” He touched the brim of his hat. “Ali.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Why do you have my truck?”

He looped his thumbs in his pockets. “You left it at the nursing home. It’s got new tires. The old ones couldn’t be saved. But these are good ones. You won’t have to put chains on them in the winter.”

“I’ll go inside and get my purse. How much do I owe you?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing? The tires I had were almost bald. I priced out new ones weeks ago, and the lowest I could find from anyone was around a thousand. I can’t...won’t be able to give you all of that right now, but I can mail you the rest and—”

He shook his head. “Like I said, you don’t owe me anything. But your engine’s making an unnerving jangling noise, so I’m going to take a peek at that sometime this week.”

She thrust out her hand. “My keys.”

“Funny thing about that.” He leaned a foot on the steps and rested his hands on his knee. “I didn’t have keys so I had to hot-wire it.” He scratched his neck. “Hadn’t done that since high school. Remember how we used to drive Principal Ottman up the wall?”

Ali bit back a grin. “He never could quite figure out how he kept losing his car, or why the police kept finding it at Dairy Queen.”

Chance leaped off the last two steps, landing beside Jericho. “What’s hot-wire?”

“Well, it’s how you can drive a car if you don’t have keys. You see, first you take a screwdriver and pull the trim off the steering column. Unbolt the ignition switch, then—”

Ali cleared her throat.

Jericho’s lips twitched with the hint of a smirk. “Right. Not something you need to know, bud.”

The front door creaked, and Kate popped her head through the opening. “Al? Oh hey, Jericho. Your hot chocolate’s boiling over. I shut it off. Hope it’s not scalded.”

Ali slapped her hand over her heart. “I’d completely forgotten. Do you still want cocoa, Chance?”

Her son’s affirmation propelled her into the house. She stuck a spoon into the pan full of liquid chocolate. She brought the hot cocoa to her lips, blowing on it before tasting. “Still good.”

Kate set out three mugs. “Jericho can have my cup. I’m headed upstairs anyway.”

“He’s not staying.”

“Guess again, sis. He and Chance are already out there, cozy together on the steps. It sounds like they’re swapping tall tales.”

The ladle rattled in Ali’s hand. “He can’t stay. I don’t want him on our property, not near Chance.”

“Too late.” Kate drummed her fingers on the counter. “Did he fix your truck?”

“The tires.”

Kate let out a long, low whistle.

“And he won’t let me pay him back. Not like I have the money to anyway.”

After wishing her sister good-night, Ali hugged the three mugs of steaming cocoa to her chest and strode back outside. Chance popped up, reached for his and then hunkered back down so close that he bumped knees with Jericho. She handed a cup Jericho’s way, and his fingers slipped over hers in the exchange. Ali inhaled sharply.

He took a sip, then tipped the mug at her in a salute. “This is good.”

She wrapped an arm around her middle and looked out to the Bitterroot Mountain Range. The snowcapped peaks laughed down at the fading sunlight in the valley. The sides were blanketed in a vivid green tapestry of pines. Each canyon crag vied with the peaks for splendor. The Bitterroots calmed her. Taking them in reminded her that even when life felt topsy-turvy, purpose and beauty remained in the world.

“It’s from scratch. Mom says none of the packaged stuff in our house, right?” Chance beamed at her, a whipped cream mustache covering his top lip.

“Right.”

“Jericho told me he used to ride the broncos in the rodeo. Isn’t that cool? But he said he never rode the bulls. He said it’s too dangerous, just like you always say.”

Ali leaned her shoulder against a support beam on the porch. “Yes, Jericho used to ride the broncs. He used to rope in the rodeos, too.”

Chance plunked down his mug. “Sounds like you were more than neighbors, ’cause I don’t know things like that about old Mr. Edgar, and he’s lived right across the field my whole life.”

Jericho shifted to meet her gaze. He raised his eyebrows.

She let out a long stream of air. “We used to be friends, Chance, that’s all.”

Chance tapped his chin. “Does that mean you’re not friends anymore?”

Jericho kept staring at her. His intensity bored into her soul, and she looked down.

“Jericho’s been gone a long time.”

She wandered down the steps and into the yard. Their pointer, Drover, trailed after her. She scratched behind his ears, causing his leg to thump against the ground in doggy-bliss.

That had been a close call. Too close. But it’s not like she could kick the man out right after that conversation. Doing so would only raise Chance’s suspicion.

The low rumble of Jericho’s voice carried as he launched into a story detailing an adventure from his days in the army. “We had to go in helicopters, only way to get there. We could hardly see through all the sand swirling around and—”