The Cowboy's Homecoming. Carolyne Aarsen
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and a sense of security.
The Saddle River unspooled below him, a winding ribbon of silver meandering through the valley as poplar and spruce trees crowded its banks. To his left lay the town of Saddlebank, its streets dotted with trees and paralleling the railroad that followed the river. From here he could make out Main Street with its brick buildings and, in the dead center of town, Mercy Park with its requisite memorial and gazebo. Past the park and above the trees, he could see the steeple of Saddle Community Church to one side, the cross and bell of the Catholic church on the other. Beyond Saddlebank and to his right, the rest of the valley was taken up with ranches—one of which, Refuge Ranch, was his final destination.
But not yet.
Lee drew another long, slow breath, letting the utter peace and splendor of the view feed his wounded and weary soul.
“Then sings my soul,” he whispered, lowering himself to a large rock worn smooth by the winds that could bluster through the valley.
The words of an old hymn that his father would sing when they were outside, working on the ranch, returned. He let his mind sift back, let the recollections he struggled so hard to keep at bay wash over him.
In prison, the memories had hurt too much. The contrast between the confines of a drab cell and the mind-numbing routine, to this space and emptiness and peace hurt too much, so he kept the disparate parts of his life compartmentalized in order to survive.
Now he’d been out for five years and he still never took for granted the ability to go to bed when he wanted. Get up when he wanted. Eat what he wanted and do what he wanted when work was over.
Lee sighed. He knew coming back here would be bittersweet. It would be both a reminder of what he’d lost because of his irresponsibility, but also a reminder of what had always been available to him. Family, community and the unconditional love of his parents and, most important, his sustaining relationship with God.
He let his eyes drift over a view that he had, for so many years, considered home. His soul grew still as the view filled an emptiness that had haunted him for so long.
Then a rustle in the branches of the large pine tree behind him caught his attention. He cocked his head, listening as he slowly turned. Something large was hiding in the branches above him. Black bear, or worse, a cougar?
Heart pounding, he thumbed his cowboy hat back on his head, scanning the tree, planning what to do. Run? Stay and stand down whatever wild animal was perched in the tree?
Then he heard a cough just as a backpack fell with a thump to the ground in front of him, followed by an angry exclamation.
“Who’s there?” he called out, still feeling that intense jolt of adrenaline surging through his veins.
“Just me,” a female voice returned.
The branches rustled again and Lee caught sight of a pair of feet in sandals searching for a branch. Then he saw legs scrabbling for purchase, hands flailing.
A cry of dismay pierced the air and Lee ran closer just as a woman plummeted out of the tree.
He caught her, but they were a tangle of legs and arms as they tumbled to the ground, breaking her fall. A camera, hanging around her neck, swung around and cracked him on the head.
They lay like that a moment as Lee’s ears rang and his head throbbed from the impact of the camera.
Finally the woman pushed herself away from him and scrambled to her feet.
Lee blinked as he tried to orient himself. He slowly stood frowning at the woman in front of him, who seemed more concerned about her camera than herself, or him, for that matter.
Her hair was tucked up in a ball cap, and a large pair of sunglasses was perched on a nose sprinkled with freckles. She wore khaki shorts, a white tank top now smeared with dirt and a brown vest with numerous zipped and buttoned pockets. She pulled a cloth out of one of them and was wiping down the body of her camera.
The woman looked familiar, but he couldn’t immediately place her.
“Everything okay?” he asked, gingerly touching his forehead. His hand came away tinged with blood, so he pulled a handkerchief out of the back pocket of his blue jeans and dabbed at it.
“I think so,” she murmured, tucking the cloth in her chest pocket. “The body looks good, but I’ll have to check the inside later.”
“I meant with you.”
She finally looked up at him and lifted her chin in a defensive move. “Yeah. Sorry about that. I’m fine.” She cleared her throat. “You didn’t need to catch me, you know. I would have been okay. Are you okay?”
“You might have broken a leg,” he returned, the sharp pain in his head settling in to a dull ache as he ignored her question. He gestured toward a long red scrape on the inside of her wrist. “You might want to get that looked at, as well. You don’t want it to get infected.”
She lifted her arm and gave it a cursory glance. “It’s fine.” She looked back at him. “Looks like you got a nasty cut on your head, though.”
“It’s fine too.”
“Awesome. Blood’s streaming down your face, I’ve got a scrape that is just starting to hurt...but we’re both okay.” She waggled her fingers as if to make sure they were still functioning, and then she gave him a self-deprecating smile. “Again, sorry about that. I should have been more careful—and I wasn’t very grateful for your help.”
“Apology accepted.” Lee returned her look for look, his own brain trying to place her familiarly beautiful features, or what he could see of her face, half-hidden by the sunglasses. “And at least you’re not the bear or cougar I thought you were.”
She angled him a mischievous smile as she bent over to pick up the knapsack that had been the first victim. “Didn’t think I was old enough to be a cougar.”
Too late Lee caught the implied insult he had given her. “No. Sorry, I meant the cat. Mountain lion might have been a better designation.”
She smiled again and Lee couldn’t stop a twinge of attraction. She was an intriguing combination of pretty and striking.
“Do we know each other?” he asked, trying to tweak out a memory that seemed to elude him.
“I can’t believe a good-looking guy like you doesn’t have better lines,” she quipped as she slipped her camera in her bag.
“Chalk it up to being out of practice,” he returned.
“So you decided to practice on me?”
He laughed, surprised at how easy she was to be around for someone he just met. “Sorry. My dad always said clichés are the tool of the lazy mind.”
Her answering chuckle as she put her camera back in the knapsack created a tremor of awareness and behind that a flutter of familiarity. Not too many people knew about this place.
Why was she up in the tree and how had she gotten here? No vehicle was parked at the end of the trail.
She stood, slinging the bag over her shoulder, and it seemed she was looking at him, as if she was trying to figure out who he was.
Which was precisely what he was doing.
Then, as she pulled her sunglasses off, she knocked her hat off her head and her auburn hair tumbled to her shoulders, her amber eyes fringed with thick lashes were revealed, and reality followed like a Montana snowstorm as things clicked into place.
He knew exactly who she was.
Abby Newton. Daughter of Cornell Newton, the man Lee had run down with his truck after a party that had gotten out of hand. The accident had put Cornell in the hospital and Lee in jail. The shame of what he had done had kept Lee away from home for almost nine years.
Until now.
He knew the precise