A Family In Wyoming. Lynnette Kent
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“That’s what I saw.” They walked toward the front of the barn together. “I’m not so sure about you, though. You seem kind of peaked.”
After a brief, intense affair, Dylan’s reporter had returned to New York. Working harder than ever on his sculpture, with occasional breaks to help out with the camp or ranch chores, the youngest Marshall was obviously suffering.
“I’ll live,” he said with a shrug. “I don’t intend to die of a broken heart, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
They stepped out into the bright afternoon and headed toward the bunkhouse where the kids ate their meals. “I wouldn’t expect you to. But the process of healing can be painful.” His own experience with first love had demonstrated the intense ache of rejection.
Dylan was silent for a minute. “Do you ever think about her? Marley Jennings? You still hear her name on the rodeo news these days, winning barrel races across the country.”
“It’s been more than ten years since we were together.”
“Yeah, I know.” Dylan gave a hollow laugh. “I’m just wondering how long I should expect to feel this way.”
Wyatt clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Not forever. You’d be surprised how soon the memories fade.” If he put his mind to it, though, he could recall the sight of her riding into an arena, her long, jet-black hair catching blue sparks from the floodlights, her palomino horse prancing as they carried the American flag along the rail. The epitome of a rodeo queen.
And not in the least interested in becoming a rancher’s wife.
“A woman has a right to the life she wants,” he said, aware the words wouldn’t comfort his brother. “You can’t expect them to give up their ambitions and dreams just because you fell in love.”
“Yeah. I figured that out.” Dylan opened the door to the bunkhouse. “Isn’t it just great, being enlightened?”
Wyatt remembered the fear on Susannah’s face.
Not today, he thought and followed his brother inside.
* * *
THE TEASING BECKY RUSH had been expecting started during lunch.
“Hey, Becky.” Marcos sat down across the table from her. “Nice tan.”
“Thanks.” Feeling her sunburned face get even hotter, Becky tried to play it cool. “I thought I’d try a new look.” She’d overslept this morning and, in her hurry, had forgotten to put on sunscreen. Then she’d left her hat in the cabin and hadn’t had a chance to get it before their trail ride. Now, thanks to the bright summer day, her face was almost the same color as her red hair. Her arms, up to the sleeves of her T-shirt, matched perfectly.
From the chair next to Marcos, Thomas pointed at her with his knife. “What look is that? The lobster?”
Becky sent him a sour smile. “Ha ha.”
Sitting on her right, Lizzie giggled. When Becky glared at her—they were supposed to be best friends—the other girl shrugged. “It was a funny thing to say.”
Marcos pretended to be concerned. “Now, at least, you can hardly see the freckles.”
That one hurt. She hated her freckles, the only thing she’d gotten from the dad who’d walked out on them.
The next comment came from Becky’s left. “Leave her alone,” Nate said. “You don’t want anybody making fun of your color, do you?”
Marcos immediately got mad. “What’s there to make fun of? Huh?”
“Nothing. Which is my point.”
The other boy looked confused. Thomas cracked a laugh. “He told you, man.”
Nate stared at him. “You, too.”
Pushing quickly to his feet, Thomas propped his fists on the table and leaned across, toward Nate. “Listen here—”
Becky caught her breath, and her chest tightened in a way she was all too familiar with. She hated arguments. Thomas and Marcos had been in trouble more than once this summer for fighting each other. Even though there were grown-ups in the room, she didn’t doubt for a minute that either one of the other boys could and would take Nate down. He was tall but thin, not at all a match for the stronger guys.
But he stayed sitting, as calm and controlled as usual in the face of the Thomas’s anger.
Like wind blowing against the face of a high cliff, that fury ended up with nowhere to go. “Stupid,” Thomas muttered, sitting down and picking up his sandwich. “Just stupid.” He and Marcos both made a point of attacking their food, not talking to anyone, even each other. In record time, they’d finished, dumped their plates by the sink and left the bunkhouse. In another minute, Lizzie threw her half-finished food in the trash and followed them out. As usual, Lena and Justino sat together at the end of the table in their own little world—they probably hadn’t even noticed what was going on with everybody else.
Left pretty much alone with Nate, Becky tried to forget how silly she must look with her face the color of a tomato. “Thanks,” she said quietly. “I appreciate the defense.”
He shrugged one shoulder. “I know what it’s like to be bullied by those two. They shouldn’t get away with it.”
“You were so quiet, though. At my house, people—my mom and grandma—yell when they argue. Which they do most of the time.” When they weren’t too drunk or stoned to talk at all. She didn’t want to admit that part.
“My dad yells.” He started to say something else and then stopped.
But Becky had noticed the bruise on his jaw the morning in June after Mr. Ford had brought him back to the ranch. She could guess what else his dad did. “I hole up in my room a lot,” she confessed. “Out of the way...if I’m lucky.”
Nate’s fingers were busy, crumbling the half of his sandwich he hadn’t eaten. “Sometimes luck isn’t enough.”
“No.” Funny that they were sharing this personal stuff when they didn’t really know each other that well. They were in the same grade at school but went to different classes—Nate was one of the smart kids in the more advanced courses while Becky only did what she had to to pass at the regular level. What would be the point? Nobody in her family had ever gone past high school. She didn’t expect to be the first.
“I guess we’ve got rodeo practice this afternoon,” he said, breaking into her thoughts. “Are you going to compete?” They’d watched a couple of rodeos since they’d been at camp, but Mr. Garrett had announced that morning at breakfast that there would be a junior rodeo up in Buffalo at the end of August and anyone who wanted to could enter an event. Thomas, Marcos and Lena were all excited about the possibility of riding bulls, and they’d been practicing on a bucking barrel for weeks now.
Becky and Lizzie had been learning how to do barrel racing with Ms. Caroline—a timed event which involved running a cloverleaf pattern on their horses. “I’m not sure. My horse, Desi, and me, we’re not too fast—mostly still trotting. I’m not sure I’ll be ready. What about you?”
Getting to his feet, Nate shook his head. “Probably not. I like just riding around, without risking my neck.” Picking up his dishes, he nodded in her direction. “See you at the barn.”
“Sure.” She watched him walk away, noticing his straight back and long legs, the soft brown color of his messy hair. Why hadn’t she noticed before how cute he was? Cute guys who stuck up for girls with freckles and red hair were hard to find. Even harder to get to know.
But she and Nate had more than a month of camp left—plenty of time to become friends. More than friends. Unlike Lizzie, she’d never had a boyfriend, but now she thought it might be nice to have a boy around who understood her, who would fight for her.
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