Her Cowboy Soldier

“And then he was hurt in Iraq.” She felt a pang as she said the words. So much loss and pain from that war.

“That was later. First he came home and he and his dad butted heads over the right way to do things. Mitch Scofield can be pretty stubborn, and I imagine Josh takes after his old man. Then Josh shocked everyone when he enlisted. I think one reason he did it was to make Mitch mad, but you never saw two people prouder of their boy than Josh’s mom and dad. It tore them to pieces when he was hurt.”

“Josh lives with them on the ranch?”

“He has a cabin they fixed up for him, so he’s close but not in their back pocket.”

“Am I in your back pocket?” Bobbie had lived alone in the big farmhouse for almost five years before Amy and Chloe moved in.

“That’s different.” Bobbie waved her hand in dismissal. “You and I get along. Josh and his dad still don’t always see eye to eye. It would be like you living with your mother.”

“Mom and I get along.”

“And you get on each other’s nerves, too. Katherine can be plenty bossy, I know.”

Amy bit her lip to keep from pointing out that Bobbie herself liked to do her share of ordering people around. But Bobbie’s bossiness didn’t bother Amy, not the way her mother’s managing ways did. Maybe it was that generational thing again.

“Hello. Anybody home?” Both women turned to see Charla in the door of the greenhouse.

“Hello, Charla. What brings you out our way?” Bobbie asked.

“I was heading back from picking up supplies in Junction and thought I’d swing by and say hello.” She greeted each woman with a hug.

“Supplies weren’t the only thing you bought in Junction,” Amy said. “You had your hair done.”

Charla smoothed a hand over her gleaming blond locks. “I may have indulged in a little freshening up.”

“That ought to impress a certain single banker.” Bobbie winked at Amy, who did her best to stifle a laugh.

“If you’re referring to Clay Westerburg, I already struck out with him.” Charla sighed and leaned back against one of the elevated planting tables, arms crossed over her chest. “We went out and he talked about his ex-wife the entire evening.”

Bobbie patted the younger woman’s shoulder. “The right man will come along when you least expect it.”

“I hope you’re right. Anyway, I didn’t stop by to moan about my love life—or lack of it. I’m recruiting for the booster club. We need chaperones for the prom and the after-prom party.”

“Count me out,” Bobbie said. “I’m too old to stay up that late, and the music the kids play gets on my nerves.”

“What about you, Amy?”

“I don’t think I’m a prom kind of person. I never even went to a prom when I was a teenager.”

Charla’s eyes widened. “You didn’t?”

“I took correspondence courses my last couple of years of high school. We were living in Spain—and then Korea.”

“Wild. Then you should definitely do this. It gives you an excuse to get dressed up and stay up past midnight, and in this town, that’s something.”

“What do the chaperones do?”

“Just mingle among the kids, make sure they stay out of trouble.”

“Will you be there?”

“I wouldn’t miss it.”

Amy laughed. “You make it sound like a date instead of a duty.”

“We’re the responsible adults and we have to enforce the rules, but that doesn’t mean we can’t have fun, too.” She pulled a notepad from her shoulder bag and consulted it. “So far I’ve got Teresa Fischer from the bank, Josh Scofield, Rick Southerland, Zach Fremont and his wife, Susie.” She stashed the pad back in her purse. “You’d be the perfect addition. Say you’ll do it.”

Amy shook her head. “I’ll pass.” The idea of hanging out in a social setting with Josh felt awkward; they clashed every time they saw each other. “Besides, what would I do with Chloe?”

“As if I couldn’t look after Chloe,” Bobbie said. “You should go. It would do you good to socialize with people your own age—the other chaperones, I mean.”

“I don’t think so.” Sure, the evening might turn out to be fun. Or it could be a painful reminder of her status as both a local outsider and a single woman. “But thanks for asking.” She avoided looking at Bobbie, though she was aware of her grandmother’s gaze fixed on her. Bobbie wanted Amy to get more involved with the townspeople, but a formal dance was not the place Amy wanted to start.

“Let me know if you change your mind,” Charla said. “There’s always room for one more, though I could use a couple more single men, to make the night a little more interesting.”

“Charla, you’re supposed to be chaperoning, not dating,” Bobbie said.

“In this town, I’ve learned to take my opportunities where I find them. I hear the garage has a cute new mechanic. I think I’ll see if he’s interested.” She fluttered her fingers in a wave and left them.

“Why did you turn her down?” Bobbie asked as she and Amy returned to work. “I doubt the kids would give you any trouble, and you could enjoy an evening with the other chaperones.”

“I just don’t think I’d be comfortable. I’m not ready for that kind of socializing.”

“It’s a small-town prom—not a grand ball. And you’d know almost everyone there. Josh, for instance.”

“I’m not Josh’s favorite person right now. He’s still upset about the story I did for the paper.”

“Yet you’re going to the science bee with him.”

“That’s different. That’s for the paper. I’m not really volunteering—I’m writing about the event for the Herald.”

“There’s more to life than work, you know. You can’t let things get so out of balance.”

Amy knew her grandmother meant well, but she didn’t understand how important work was to Amy right now. The right work would build a good future for her and her daughter. “I’d rather spend time with you and Chloe,” she said.

“Don’t use us as an excuse for hiding from life,” Bobbie said. She put one bony hand on Amy’s shoulder and looked her in the eye. “Just because Brent isn’t here to have fun doesn’t mean you have to punish yourself by never enjoying anything.”

“I...I’m not doing that.” Was she?

“I’d better take these peppers out to the truck,” Amy said. “We need more up at the stand.” She made her escape from the greenhouse, but her grandmother’s words echoed in her head. Was she avoiding the prom out of guilt over Brent’s death? Maybe that was part of it. And maybe she just needed more time before she was comfortable with a social life. She had work and Chloe to keep her occupied; she wasn’t ready to add more.

And maybe, despite her mother’s training, she was a coward. After losing so much, she didn’t want to take more risks. She was afraid to open her heart to pain again.

* * *

ON SATURDAYS, JOSH helped his dad with whatever work needed doing around the ranch. When Josh had first come back from Iraq, Mitch had been hesitant to let his son do anything, as if the loss of his hand also meant the loss of all his skills. Josh had had to prove he could handle the job—that he could still ride a horse and string fencing and haul feed and all the jobs involved in keeping a big ranch going.

This Saturday they were shipping calves to the auction house in Junction. Josh worked with his dad and the two hands, Tomas and Ben, to round up the calves and confine them in the holding pens. From there, they’d be loaded onto a livestock trailer for the trip to the auction. It was hot, dirty work, the air filled with the bawling of the calves and the shouts of the men, dust rising in choking clouds around them.

Josh’s horse, Pico, had thrown a shoe on the way out of the corral this morning, so Josh was riding one of his dad’s mounts, a cantankerous sorrel called Pete, who wasn’t happy with the unfamiliar rider on his back. Josh had to work to keep the horse in check.

“Don’t know what’s up with him,” Tomas remarked as the horse danced back from the open gate of the pen as two calves streaked past.

“He don’t like that hook,” Mitch said. “Some animals are wary of anything that isn’t as it should be.”

Was this another subtle reminder from his dad that Josh “wasn’t as he should be?” No—Mitch was too plainspoken for subtle. He said what he thought without a lot of concern for other people’s feelings—certainly not his son’s. Part of Josh was glad his dad hadn’t coddled him after he came home from the war. If only Mitch trusted Josh to do more.

“You’re probably right,” Josh said. “But I can handle him.” He’d ridden practically since he could walk; a nervous horse and a missing hand weren’t going to defeat him.

At ten they stopped to water the horses and themselves, resting in the shade of a gnarled piñon.

“Bart Ogleby’s driving over about eleven and we can load ’em up,” Mitch said. “They ought to bring a good price over at the auction.”

“Snow’s melting fast this year,” Ben said. “Another month we can take the herd up to the high pasture.”

Moving the herd was a spectacle the whole neighborhood—and more than a few tourists—turned out for. The cowboys, including hands from neighboring ranches who came to help, drove the herd through open gates onto the highway, which had to be closed for the purpose. In a parade of cows, horses, ATVs and ranch dogs, all led by county sheriff SUVs with their lights flashing, they traveled a mile down the highway to gates leading to other pastures that fed onto high ground watered by winter snows. The cows would spend the summer in these lush pastures, then the whole process would be reversed in the fall.

The operation required precision, coordination and a little luck to run smoothly, but it was one everyone on the ranch looked forward to.

“Your mom tells me you got corralled into chaperoning the prom this year,” Mitch said to Josh.

“I did.” He’d planned to dress as he did for class, in a plain shirt and khaki trousers, but his mother had insisted he wear a suit and tie or she’d never be able to hold her head up in town again.

“You couldn’t pay me enough to spend the night in a gym full of teenagers,” his dad said.

“The prom isn’t at the gym. It’s in the ballroom, upstairs at the Opera House.” The Hartland Historical Society had restored the old Daniels Opera House five years previous, including redoing the upstairs ballroom, which hosted various community events.

“I guess that’s better than having all those kids drive into the city for their party. Where did they have it when you were in school?”

“The Bellflower Hotel.”

Mitch shook his head. “I’d forgotten all about that place.”

“It burned down the summer after my prom, so mine was the last class to celebrate there.” Josh had taken Sarah McKenzie as his date. She’d broken up with him a week later and had eventually married an accountant she met in college. They lived over in Durango, according to a letter that had gone out for their tenth high school reunion while Josh was over in Iraq.

The men grew quiet again. Ben and Tomas moved away to smoke, leaving Josh and his dad alone, the silence stretching awkwardly between them. For all the angry words they’d exchanged over the years, simple conversation came harder, as if neither was quite sure what to make of the other.

“So, you liking teaching?” his dad asked after a while.

“Yeah, I like it. The kids are interesting. Good kids, most of them.”

“I never figured you for a teacher. I always thought you wanted to be a rancher.”

Josh told himself that wasn’t a note of accusation in his dad’s voice. “Most ranchers these days have day jobs, don’t they?” he said.

Mitch nodded. “A lot of them. I’ve always managed without that, though your mom worked at the bank for a while.”

Josh remembered those years, the house empty when he got off the school bus in the afternoons, his mom at the bank and his dad working on the ranch. He hadn’t minded having the house to himself for those few hours, hadn’t even minded starting dinner and doing the chores his mom assigned him. But his father had minded. Mitch’s pride had suffered from knowing his wife had to work to support the ranch. The day cattle prices rose enough to cover their debts without her salary, he’d ordered her to give up her job, and she’d done so, though Josh sometimes wondered if she missed that taste of independence.

But she was the daughter of a rancher. She’d been raised to support the family business, and doing anything different may never have crossed her mind.

“Shipping the calves is always easier than handling the steers.”

The sudden shift of topic didn’t surprise Josh. His dad was always most comfortable talking about the ranch. About work. Mitch removed his hat and ran his thumb along the worn leather band. “That’s my least favorite job, shipping them, not to mention giving such a big cut to the feedlot.”

“I’ve been reading about these new portable operations,” Josh said. “They bring everything right to the ranch in an eighteen-wheeler. The ranchers come together in a co-op and own the unit, so they cut out the middleman. They get a bigger cut of the profit and it’s less stressful on the cattle—more humane.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard about those. But they sound way too expensive to me. And what do you do if the thing breaks down?” He replaced his hat on his head. “Time to get back to work.”

Josh clenched his teeth, swallowing angry words. Did his dad dismiss all his ideas simply because they came from Josh? He pretended to want his son’s help with the ranch, but had never once implemented any idea Josh brought to the table, or even seriously considered them. Josh didn’t know why he bothered to keep trying.

He swung up into the saddle, struggling to control the skittish horse. The rest break hadn’t done anything to calm Pete. The animal sidestepped as they neared the pen, where Josh’s job was to help usher the next batch of calves driven by Ben and Tomas into the chute.

“It’s okay, boy,” Josh crooned soothingly. “Everything’s all right.” He leaned forward to run a gentling hand along the gelding’s neck, but forgot he no longer had a hand. As soon as the metal of the hook touched the horse’s flesh, it panicked, twisting and bucking as it fought to rid itself of this alien rider.

Josh fought to stay with the horse, but felt himself slipping, falling. He kicked free of the stirrups and covered his head as he hit the ground, facedown. Sharp pain cut through his body as a trio of calves raced over him, their fright fueled by the horse’s antics.

“Son, are you all right?” Firm hands gripped his shoulder and turned him to his side. He looked up into his father’s pale face. “Don’t move. Let me check you out.”

“I’m okay.” He pushed aside his father’s probing fingers and staggered to his feet, brushing dirt and muck from his clothes. He’d feel the bruises tomorrow, but nothing was damaged, except his pride.

“You’re done here today,” his father said. “Get on up to the house and get those cuts seen to.”

Josh wiped his hand across the side of his face and realized he was bleeding from a gash there and another on his arm. “Take the ATV,” his dad said. “Tomas will bring Pete back.” Ben held the horse a little ways from them. The animal stood, legs splayed, glaring at Josh.

Josh started to argue that he could stay and keep working, but what would be the point? He was acutely aware of the others’ eyes on him, the hands’ expressions guarded, his father’s scrutiny equal parts concern and annoyance. Mitch saw Josh as a liability. Someone to be looked after, who couldn’t be trusted to do a man’s work.

Josh retrieved his hat from the dirt and stalked to the ATV. Thankfully, it started with no problem, and he gunned it away from the holding pens. But instead of heading to the house, he set off on a faint track to his favorite spot on the ranch. He left the dust and commotion around the shipping pens and headed across a series of low hills toward a distant knot of trees.

As the noise of bawling calves, clanging gates and shouting men receded, Josh’s shoulders began to relax, and he eased his grip on the ATV’s throttle. He reached a grove of scrub oak and cottonwood alongside a wide spot in the creek that was out of sight of any of the buildings on the ranch, sheltered in the lee of a hill dotted with wildflowers and sage. As a boy, Josh had spent hours here, fishing, swimming, reading favorite books or simply staring out at the land.

By the time he parked the ATV in the shade of a leafy cottonwood, his racing heart had slowed and the angry haze had cleared from his vision. He stripped off his boots and socks and left them, along with his hat and belt, on the seat of the ATV. He waded into the creek and dived under, letting the icy water wash away the dirt and muck and some of the shame. When the cold made his bones ache and his teeth chatter, he abandoned the water to sit in the sun.

The gentle heat began to dry his clothes and hair and the chattering ceased, replaced by drowsy inertia. Thoughts drifted through his head like the dragonflies that landed on his arm, then took off. He loved this ranch, but it was never his. It was always his father’s alone. He’d gone to college to study agriculture, thinking he could use his knowledge to help his father and improve the ranch, but Mitch only saw his son’s ideas as interfering. Or as criticism that the way Mitch did things wasn’t good enough. After a while, Josh had felt as if every time he opened his mouth his dad was prepared to argue.

He could admit now he’d joined the army out of spite. The military had offered a free ticket to see the world and the opportunity to serve his country, but he also knew his dad would be horrified at the idea. His mother had cried and his father had fumed when Josh had announced his plans, but they’d raised a flag in front of the house and written letters and sent care packages and been nothing but proud of him. His father had never served in the military, being too young for Vietnam and too old for the first Gulf War. This was one arena in which father and son didn’t need to compete.

And then Josh had been injured. He’d returned less of a man than he’d been, at least in his father’s eyes. His mother fussed and his father fretted until Josh wanted to explode. Only when he’d gotten the job at the school and moved into the cabin had things settled down. He’d hoped that, with time, his father would accept him as a partner in the family business, but that didn’t seem likely to happen anytime soon.

By now the sun was lower in the sky, sinking toward the horizon. His mother expected him for dinner and he still needed to clean up. He’d stop by his cabin to shower and change, and at dinner they’d talk about the prom or local politics or national news. Nothing important. Nothing to mend the rift between father and son.

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