Once a Wife by Patricia Keelyn

CHAPTER ONE

Drew Colby was bored.

He’d planned on sneaking off as soon as the music started and the grown-ups began dancing. Instead, he’d been stuck with Jeb Rawlins and his sister, Rachel. Jeb was bad enough, being only ten and all, but his sister wasn’t much more than a baby.

“Come on,” he said, letting his annoyance show in his voice. “Let’s go down to the barn.” At least there, he wouldn’t be constantly getting the evil eye from his grandmother. He set out across the yard with Jeb and Rachel close behind.

Tod Beaumont, the ranch foreman, greeted them as they stepped inside the barn. “Hey, Drew, I thought you went on a hayride.”

“Nah,” Drew answered. “That’s kid stuff.”

“And your friends here …”

“This is Jeb and Rachel from the Double R.” Drew shoved his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. “They didn’t want to go, either.”

Tod nodded. “Abe Rawlins’s kids. So, what are the three of you up to?”

“Just checking out the horses,” Drew answered. “I thought I’d show ’em the new breedin’ stock.”

“Bored, huh?” Tod smiled, and Drew had to smile back a little.

Tod was cool. He seemed to understand things the other grown-ups didn’t. Like what a drag it was to be twelve and forced to hang around all day for a stupid cookout, while being on your best behavior so you didn’t embarrass your dad. And then getting stuck with a couple of babies like Jeb and Rachel.

“Well, I guess it’s all right,” Tod said. “The mare’s bedded down for the night. But I left the Appaloosa out in the corral for a bit.”

“Thanks.” Drew motioned for the other two kids to follow him. “Come on.”

“Drew,” Tod said, stopping them before they could go farther. “I’m heading on up to the shindig. You keep your distance from that Appaloosa. You hear?”

Drew nodded. “Sure.”

“So, what’s with the Appaloosa?” Jeb asked after Tod left.

“He’s the new stallion. And he’s meaner than a cornered rattler.”

“So let’s go see him.”

“Jeb,” Rachel said, “we aren’t supposed to go near him.”

“Don’t be a baby, Rachel. We’re just gonna look. Ain’t that right, Drew?”

Drew hesitated a moment and then said, “Sure. Why not?”

A few minutes later, Jeb and Rachel stood hanging on to the corral fence while Drew sat on top. Across the way, the big Appaloosa stallion pranced nervously.

“Wow, he’s really something,” Jeb said.

“My dad says he’s the best breedin’ stud in these parts.”

“Can you ride him?” Rachel piped up.

Drew shrugged. “Sure. If I wanted.”

Jeb rolled his eyes skyward. “Right.”

“He ain’t no cow pony, but he’s saddle broke.”

“But you can’t ride him,” Jeb insisted.

“Who says I can’t?” Drew glared at the younger boy.

“I say.” Jeb backed off the fence and stared right back. “ ’Cause you ain’t normal, Drew Colby. You got a disease. Come on, Rachel, let’s get out of here. We might catch something.”

Drew leapt down and grabbed the younger boy by the arm. No way he was gonna take this from a crummy fourth grader. “I ain’t got no disease.”

Jeb shook off Drew’s hold. “Then how come you’re in the principal’s office every day before lunch?”

“None of your business.”

“I heard you gotta get a shot.”

“You don’t know nothin’, Jeb Rawlins.” Drew took a step forward, towering over the other boy. “And I say I can ride that horse if I want.”

“Well then, go ahead, big shot.” Jeb held his ground. “Prove it.”

Reece Colby stifled a yawn.

The cookout was certainly a success. Just about everybody in the entire county had shown up. Their cook, Millie, had certainly outdone herself. She’d made more food than even all these folks could finish in one evening. Too bad he was just too damn tired to enjoy himself.

He’d decided months ago that he hated the whole campaign process—the weeks of traveling, seeking endorsements from various quarters, the endless receptions, luncheons and speeches. He wasn’t a man made for public display. He’d rather be back on his own land, on the Crooked C, riding herd on a few thousand head of cattle. Fortunately or unfortunately, depending on how you looked at it, his being a rancher first was part of his appeal. It was going to win him the district seat as a Wyoming state representative.

But after being on the road for two months, he needed a break. He’d planned on settling back into life on the Crooked C for a short while. His reprieve had only lasted three days. That was all the time it had taken for his mother and Millie to throw together this cookout for the local folks—a huge barbecue, the likes of which the town of Devils Corner hadn’t seen in years—to gain support for his campaign.

“Reece, there you are, boy.” A big hand clapped his shoulder, snapping Reece out of his musings.

Smiling, Reece turned and extended his hand to the older man. “Senator Hawthorne. Glad to see you could make it.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world. And what’s this ‘Senator’ bull?” Hawthorne draped his beefy arm around Reece’s shoulders. “You and I’ve known each other too long for that nonsense. It’s Bob to you. And besides—” he nodded toward a tall blonde across the yard “—it’ll be Dad soon.”

Reece chuckled. “Well, I guess it will be at that.” The two men watched Michelle Hawthorne charm the small group of people surrounding her. The word elegant fit her perfectly. It didn’t matter whether she wore a five-thousand-dollar designer gown or a pair of jeans. She graced a room full of Wyoming’s upper crust as easily as she sat a horse or charmed a bunch of wizened old ranchers. A beautiful woman, Reece thought, with more brains than any half-dozen men he knew put together.

“She’s really something,” Hawthorne said, voicing Reece’s thoughts aloud. “You’re a lucky man.”

Reece nodded. Hawthorne was right, of course. He should consider himself fortunate to be engaged to the lovely Michelle Hawthorne. So what was wrong with him? Oh, Michelle and he were friends, but that was about as far as their relationship went. There was no spark, no chemistry.

“She’s your ticket to the governor’s mansion, Reece. And maybe further.”

Reece chuckled. “First things first, Senator. I don’t think we need to worry about a gubernatorial campaign just yet. Let’s concentrate on the state representative seat for now.”

“Just thinking ahead.” Hawthorne paused to down the last half of the beer he held in his hand. Then, nodding toward Michelle again, he added, “She can work a crowd better than any woman I’ve ever seen. Even better than her mother—God rest her soul. Yes, sir, you and Michelle are gonna make one fine team.”

Reece took a sip of his own beer and thought about Hawthorne’s words. On the surface, Reece and Michelle were the perfect couple. The Hawthorne ranch butted up against Colby land, and they’d known each other all their lives. They’d ridden the same bus to school, traveled the same social circles. Their engagement came as no surprise to anyone—except maybe Reece and Michelle themselves. Because, underneath it all, they were just friends. A team, as Hawthorne had said, but nothing more.

They’d been honest with each other, if not with anyone else. Neither of them believed in love, but they wanted the same things. They were friends with a common goal, as Michelle often said; both wanted to put the state of Wyoming on the map. They’d agreed it was as good a foundation for marriage as any other. And better than most.

Suddenly, Michelle noticed the men watching her, and she smiled. It struck Reece at that moment that maybe they were cheating themselves. Then he quickly dismissed the errant thought. He’d married once for love, and he wasn’t a man to make the same mistake twice. He needed a partner, not a lover.

After a few final comments to the group she’d been speaking with, Michelle headed toward her father and Reece. She dropped a kiss on Reece’s cheek and then slipped her arm through her father’s. “Did I hear my name mentioned over here?”

“You just mind your own business, young lady.” Hawthorne, his daughter on his arm, went all blustery, puffing up like a peacock. “We’re having a man-to-man talk here.”

“Young lady, is it?” Michelle grinned and winked at Reece. “That’s how he used to admonish me when I was seventeen. He hasn’t quite got it through his head that I’m a grown woman. Not to mention an attorney.”

Hawthorne ignored her teasing. “We were just heading inside for a shot of that eighteen-year-old scotch Reece’s daddy used to hoard away.”

“Dad, you can’t spirit Reece off. This is his party, and winning this election depends on the support of these people.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Shelly-girl.” Hawthorne once again clapped a hand on Reece’s shoulder. “Reece here is a shoo-in.”

“Shelly-girl?” She rolled her eyes.

“Now don’t go giving us a hard time,” Hawthorne said, nodding toward the house. “We’ll just be a bit.”

Reece smiled at the interchange between Michelle and her father. They adored each other, and Reece experienced a moment of envy. He’d never been close to his father. Their relationship had more resembled that of two bulls forced to live in the same paddock, rather than that of father and son. And then there was Drew, who seemed more like a stranger than Reece’s own flesh and blood. Of course, it didn’t help that every time he looked at the boy, Reece thought of Drew’s mother, Sarah.

“Mr. Colby, come quick!”

Reece turned toward the high-pitched voice and the small hand tugging on his sleeve. “Rachel, what is it?”

“It’s Drew. He’s gonna ride that devil horse!”

“Devil horse? What devil? You mean the Appaloosa?”

Rachel nodded, and fear knotted Reece’s stomach. He scanned the crowd looking for Tod and then took off toward the barn, calling to the foreman as he went.

Drew had just untied the lead rope from the fence and was getting ready to step into the stirrup, when Reece came to a stop at the corral fence.

“Don’t do it,” he said, though he knew Drew couldn’t hear. Reece wanted to yell, but didn’t dare for fear of startling the already skittish horse.

“Damn,” Tod said, coming up beside Reece. “If he ain’t got that big boy saddled.”

“Yeah, and Drew’s gonna end up on his ass in the dust in about two minutes.”

“Won’t be the first boy to take a spill.”

“Circle around and see if you can get hold of that horse.”

But it was too late.

Drew swung into the saddle and all hell broke loose. The stallion flattened his ears and pranced sideways before bolting and taking off across the corral, bucking, his eyes wild. Drew’s hold lasted for a couple of seconds, then he flew from the saddle, landing hard.

Reece vaulted the fence and headed for his son, pulling him from under the flailing hooves, just as Tod grabbed the half-crazed horse.

Drew tried to stand, and Reece slipped an arm around him, half carrying him toward the gate. A group of people had followed Reece and Tod down from the house, and someone opened the gate, allowing them to slip out.

“You okay?” Reece asked as they both collapsed against the fence.

Drew nodded, coughed, and took a swipe at a trickle of blood on his top lip.

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” Drew pushed himself upright as if to prove it, wobbled slightly, but steadied when Reece grabbed his arm. “I’m fine.”

A smattering of nervous laughter erupted from the group standing nearby. Everyone there had taken their share of spills. Happened all the time. Usually, the results were nothing more than a bruised ego and a sore backside. But they’d also all seen someone seriously hurt by a bronc, and with a stallion like the Appaloosa, this could have been one of those times.

“Come on, folks.” It was Michelle’s voice. “We better get on back before those musicians decide the party’s over.”

“Way to go, Drew,” one of the ranchers said as he turned and headed back toward the house.

“Yeah. You’re a real cowboy now,” said another. “Just like your old man.”

There was a general round of laughter as the group moved off, leaving Reece alone with his son. A hush fell over the empty yard. The distant music, Tod’s voice soothing the stallion, and the pawing of hooves on the hard ground were the only sounds.

“That was a damn fool thing to do, boy.” Fear had given way to anger, and Reece’s words were like a low roll of thunder.

“I thought I could ride him.”

“You were wrong.”

“Yeah.” Drew kept his gaze locked on the ground in front of him. “I guess.”

“You guess!” Reece pushed away from the fence and turned to face his son. “Look at me when I’m talking to you.”

With obvious hesitation, Drew looked up, his liquid brown eyes meeting his father’s gaze. “I’ve been thrown before.”

“What about that horse, Drew?”

Emotion—shame, regret, pain maybe—broke across the boy’s face.

A niggling voice urged Reece to let it go, but his anger had grown to full force now. It had been a stupid stunt. Drew could have been hurt. “That’s one expensive piece of horseflesh you were fooling with. What the hell were you thinking?”

“I …” Drew looked away, but not before Reece saw the sheen of moisture. Drew wiped furiously at his eyes and then said, “Sorry.”

Reece took a step back, silenced by the boy’s tears, his anger evaporating. He realized that he’d responded just like his old man—blowing up and going on about a damn horse when it had been Drew he’d been worried about. His anger had been the aftermath of fear, exploding with relief when Drew sported nothing more than a cut lip. And here the boy had already suffered the humiliation of being thrown in front of a dozen old cowboys.

But Reece didn’t know how to say any of that to his son. Damned if he knew how to talk to the boy at all.

“Head back up to the house,” Reece said. “Get Millie to tend to that cut and give you something to eat. Then go on to bed. We’ll talk more in the morning.”

“Yes, sir.”

Reece watched Drew walk toward the house, hands in his pockets, shoulders straight. He reminded Reece of Sarah more than ever, with his large brown eyes brimming with tears, even as he held himself prouder than that damn Appaloosa. The last time Reece had seen Sarah, she’d looked just like that, strong and hurting, proud and unrelenting.

“You were pretty hard on him, don’t you think?”

Reece turned toward Tod, his foreman and the closest thing to a best friend Reece had ever known. “Maybe. But he could have been hurt.”

“Drew’s a good rider. He’s going to be a fine horseman someday.”

Reece felt a twinge of guilt. Tod knew more about his son than he did. When you grew up on a ranch, learning to ride was a given, but who’d put Drew on his first pony? And when? It hadn’t been Reece, and the realization resurrected some of his earlier anger.

“Am I just supposed to forget that he knew better than to mess with that stallion? That he could have been seriously hurt or ruined an expensive animal?”

Tod shook his head. “I ain’t suggestin’ any such thing.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“Don’t know, Reece. I just think you were a little hard on him, that’s all.” Shaking his head, Tod turned and headed back toward the corral.

“Damn,” Reece said, and sank back against the fence.

As she drove into the yard of her grandmother’s ramshackle old house, Sarah Hanson Colby had other things on her mind besides dinner and her ten-year-old daughter’s impatience.

“Hurry up, Mom. Grandmother’s waiting.” Lyssa bounded out of the car almost before it stopped.

“Wait, Lyssa. Take these.” Sarah reached into the back seat and grabbed the two blankets she’d brought along. “Put one on Grandmother’s lap.”

Lyssa grabbed the blankets and took off toward the yard, where the old woman sat in a dilapidated lawn chair.

They were later than usual, Sarah admitted as she climbed out of her car. She just hadn’t been able to get herself moving this morning. The letter she’d received yesterday weighed heavily on her mind, and she’d lain in bed until late, unable to sleep but unable to get up, either.

Circling to the back of the car, she unlocked the trunk and pulled out a small cooler. She needed to put the letter and its contents out of her mind—at least for the next couple of hours. It wouldn’t be fair to ruin Lyssa’s evening, and if Lyssa’s great-grandmother, Tuwa, picked up on Sarah’s mood, she’d want an explanation. Sarah didn’t want to burden the old woman with her problems.

By the time Sarah reached her grandmother and daughter, Lyssa had spread one blanket on the ground and tucked the other securely around Tuwa’s legs. Moving to her side, Sarah kissed the old woman’s weathered cheek.

“How are you feeling, Grandmother?”

“It’s going to storm.”

Sarah followed Tuwa’s gaze toward the western horizon, where dark clouds had accumulated about the mountains. “Probably.” She brushed a wisp of wiry hair away from her grandmother’s cheek, tucking it into one of her long gray braids. “We brought you Kentucky Fried Chicken.”

Tuwa nodded, but for a few more moments, she kept her gaze locked on the far-off drama. Then she turned and smiled, her eyes like two bright pinpoints of light in her ancient face. “Good. I am hungry.”

Sarah smiled and moved to put together their meal. Ever since she and Lyssa had moved into town six years ago, they’d come back to the reservation on Sundays to spend the afternoon and early evening with Tuwa. At first, Sarah had cooked. She’d bring the ingredients and make dinner for the three of them. Her grandmother soon let them know, however, that she didn’t want home-cooked meals on Sunday. She ate her own home cooking every day of the week. She wanted restaurant food. Which, to her, meant any of the variety of fast-food places surrounding the nearby town of Oaksburg.

Sarah couldn’t quite get over the fact that her eighty-year-old full-blooded Shoshone grandmother was a junk-food addict.

But to Sarah, it made no difference what they ate. Her grandmother had done so much for her in the past ten years. Sarah figured she owed the old woman much more than a weekly meal of fast food. So, in good weather, the three of them ate outside while watching the sun set behind the Wind River Mountains. Other times, Sarah would build up the fire in the house, and they’d make a picnic on the floor or gather around Tuwa’s wobbly mica table.

This afternoon, they managed to finish their meal, with Lyssa chattering nonstop, before the ominous clouds forced them inside. With Lyssa’s help, Sarah moved everything into the house, grabbing an armload of wood on the way. It was still early in the season, and the temperature could easily drop twenty to thirty degrees in a matter of hours.

Sarah built a fire, and they settled in to wait out the storm, which turned out to be more lightning and thunder than rain. She sat on the floor next to her grandmother’s rocking chair, her daughter stretched out on the rug next to them. Then, as the night deepened, Lyssa fell asleep, lulled by the fire and the soft voices of Sarah and her grandmother. Yet Sarah found no peace in the serene setting. Her thoughts had once again returned to the upsetting news she’d received the day before.

“It’s the boy, isn’t it?”

Sarah winced at her grandmother’s question, but kept her eyes focused on the fire. The old woman’s uncanny insight made Sarah uncomfortable. She considered pretending she didn’t understand, but Tuwa would know better. In the end, she’d have the answer to her question.

“I received a letter yesterday,” Sarah said.

“From the woman? The cook at the Crooked C?”

“Yes. Millie Danton.” Sarah kept her eyes on the fire, losing herself in the pop and crackle of the flames and the patter of rain on the roof. “It’s the second letter I’ve received from her in less than six months.”

Tuwa remained silent, her rocker squeaking against the rough-hewn floor. But Sarah knew the old woman listened, pulling the information from Sarah with silence more surely than with a dozen questions.

“For eleven years, I’ve received exactly two letters a year from Millie,” Sarah continued. “Every December and June.” She glanced at her daughter, afraid she’d overhear.

“Don’t worry about the child, Sarah. She’s asleep.”

Sarah nodded, not doubting her grandmother. “Millie has been my only source of information about Drew.”

“And now?”

“She says he …” Sarah hesitated, taking a deep breath before continuing. “He’s having problems. At home, in school, with other kids. And he’s ignoring his medical needs. Almost like he’s trying to make himself sick.” Sarah closed her eyes and, pulling her knees up, wrapped her arms around them. “I don’t know what to do, Grandmother.”

Again the silence engulfed them. Sarah rested her head on her raised knees, and her grandmother continued her steady rocking, back and forth, like the ticking of a clock.

Finally Tuwa spoke. “It’s time.”

“Time?” Sarah shifted to look at her grandmother.

“Go to him.”

Sarah shook her head and turned away. “No.”

“The boy needs you.”

“He may need something, but it certainly isn’t me.” Sarah let out a short self-deprecating laugh. “He probably hates me.”

“You are his mother.”

“I gave up my rights as his mother more than eleven years ago. I can’t claim him now.”

“You gave him life.”

Yes, she’d given birth to Drew, but what else had she ever given him? A chance, a voice inside her whispered, but she shoved the thought aside. She’d stopped being certain that she’d done the right thing a long time ago. If she’d ever been certain to begin with.

She remembered when she’d first come here after leaving Reece. She’d run home to her grandmother, to the woman who’d raised her since her parents’ death when she’d been five. As she’d done before, Tuwa had taken Sarah in without question, giving her a roof over her head and a place to wait for the birth of her second child.

Then later, after Lyssa’s birth, her grandmother had watched the baby while Sarah used Elizabeth Colby’s money to return to school. Four years later, with her teaching credentials in hand, Sarah moved into Oaksburg to take a job at the small, local high school. She’d begged Tuwa to come live with her and Lyssa, but the old woman had refused to leave the reservation.

In all that time, they’d never discussed Sarah’s leaving her husband and son. She’d often been tempted to speak to her grandmother about it, but never had.

“Grandmother, did I do the right thing?” she asked, finally voicing the question that had burned in her heart for so long.

For several minutes, her grandmother didn’t answer, and Sarah thought maybe she wouldn’t. Then Tuwa said, “You have to decide that for yourself.”

“I can’t.”

“Go to him. That’s all I can tell you.” She scooted forward in her chair and pushed herself to her feet. “Now, take the little one home.” She nodded toward Lyssa asleep on the floor. “We have spoken enough of these things.”

Sarah closed her eyes and sighed. She’d been dismissed.

On the way back to town, her grandmother’s words echoed in her head. The boy needs you. You are his mother. Yet how could she go to Drew now? What would she say? Would Reece even let her near him? And, even if he did, what could she possibly do to help this child she hadn’t seen in eleven years?

And what of Lyssa? If Sarah went to Reece, what were the chances he’d find out about the daughter she’d kept from him? And what would he do about it?

She couldn’t count the number of letters she’d written him after getting settled here, telling him about his daughter. Dozens, at least. Yet she’d never mailed them. Not even one. She should have. Reece had a right to know he had another child. But she’d always been afraid his family would swoop down and take Lyssa away from her too. Or that Lyssa might prefer to live on that big ranch in eastern Wyoming with her father and brother. Sarah had lost so much. She didn’t think she could survive losing her daughter, as well.

Later, as she lay in bed, the questions continued to whirl in her head. Sleep eluded her, and she knew had to come to some decision. Yet fear and guilt continued to cloud her thoughts, and only one thing remained clear.

Her son needed her.