in school.”
“I didn’t share this with any of the school officials.” Elise fingered a club advertisement on the counter.
“Why not?”
“I recognized Garrett. I figured maybe you could talk to parents of the other teens in the truck and then visit Mr. Wilcox on your own. I didn’t know at the time that David Cagnalia had already been in trouble.”
Cooper very much wanted to ban his brother from the likes of David Cagnalia, but one thing held him back. He wasn’t sure who the bad influence was: David or Garrett? When David misbehaved, he always got caught. Garrett, however, knew how to be sly. At least with David, Garrett would always get busted.
“What would you recommend I do to Garrett, if, say, you were the school social worker?”
She hesitated. Her eyes sought out his, focusing in, and pulling him in the way she had all those years ago. He could still see the old Elise, buried under a sadness he didn’t know how to penetrate.
“First, he needs to work in Wilcox’s field, putting it back to rights along with the others. Then get him involved in group activities. What’s happening at the church?”
“No youth minister now. Parents are taking turns organizing events, but everyone’s busy. I don’t think we’ve done anything except a game night and that was on the fly. Garrett didn’t want to go. I made him.”
“School? Does he play football, ride, anything like that?”
“Coach Nelson retired two years ago and Garrett used that as an excuse to drop out of football. He went to one or two basketball practices but then stopped. We’ve not had a rodeo team since Emily graduated and your dad stepped down. I wish more than anything that Garrett had something like we had.”
She didn’t even blink.
Maybe she no longer remembered. Maybe she didn’t care. But Cooper did. He wished Garrett had a girlfriend who liked to chase him through the fields, only to crash down beside him on the soft grass. Someone to show him that love came in a compact package with long black hair, glittering eyes and a soft touch.
But then again, maybe that wasn’t what Garrett needed after all. His brother had already been in a world of hurt for the past year. If he found love, there was a chance it could turn sour on him. And the last thing Garrett needed on top of everything else was a broken heart like Cooper’s.
Breakfast at the Lost Dutchman was huge, designed for the many guests staying at the dude ranch, as was supper. Lunch, however, was on your own or a pre-packaged sandwich-chips-apple combination. It was well past lunchtime, but Fridays usually meant guests arriving after the noon hour, so Cook always had boxed lunches available for sale: her father’s idea.
He sat across from her, talking on his cell phone, not so much barking orders as giving advice. He was good at both. Elise listened as her dad advised someone who obviously knew little about ranching to not spend all their money on upgrades.
Her dad did have a certain “either do it yourself or pay it all off before the next venture” kind of attitude.
Her senior year, they’d planned out her college career. If she’d followed his advice, she’d be nearly debt-free by now. But that plan had gone out the window when she’d given up her rodeo scholarship and set out in a whole new direction with her life.
Finally, Dad ended the call and handed her the boxed lunch he’d brought in. “If you want something else, Cook will make it. He’s always had a soft spot for you.”
She’d already stopped in the kitchen and gotten her hug.
She pushed the box back toward him. “I’m not really hungry.”
As if to prove her wrong, Cook hurried from the kitchen. Slightly stooped, more than chubby, with dark tufts of hair on either side of his head and then a swatch of baldness across the top, he looked exactly the way she remembered him. Cook’s real name was David Cook. Thus, he liked being called Cook. He was a great buddy of her father’s and traveled the rodeo circuit with him. Back then his nickname had been Tumble.
“I remembered your favorite,” he bragged. He plopped the plate in front of her. Two peanut butter, honey and raisin sandwiches, no crust. A few chips spilled from the sides. The only thing missing from her childhood was—
“Would you like a glass of milk?”
“I’d like that very much, Cook.”
He nodded, and hurried off.
Her father cleared his throat. “We’re always glad when you stop by to visit.”
He was trying. She knew that. A man accustomed to being in charge, he hadn’t taken it well when she’d broken away from his plans for her. When she’d first moved away, he’d ordered her back. When that didn’t work, he’d threatened. And, when that didn’t work, he’d cajoled. By that time she was enrolled in school and doing well. He’d admitted defeat, but not gracefully.
“How did the job interview go today?” He leaned back, a toothpick in his mouth and an attitude of good-ole-boy that worked with everyone but her.
“It went well. If I want the job, it’s mine. They gave me a week to decide.”
“Any chance Two Mules won’t lay you off?”
“No, it’s a small office. I figure it’s a matter of days, minutes even.”
“Will it really be so bad, coming back here to work?”
She thought about it, swallowed and slowly shook her head. How many times had she told a client that the best way to battle the past was to face it? She’d always felt guilty that she was giving advice she didn’t follow.
“It’s just that I was finally getting more activities for the teenagers. I had the local library doing tutoring and study groups. And—” she looked up at her dad, smiling “—I had a rancher willing to help kids get ready for rodeo competitions.” Her dad already knew this. She’d called him a dozen times asking for advice. She continued, “I just know that if the teens had something productive and active to do with their time, they’d not get in so much trouble.”
Her dad nodded. “No reason you can’t do the same here.” Elise didn’t answer. Instead, she took a big bite of her sandwich and tried to tame the turmoil in her heart.
“What if I get it started and before fruition, I’m let go? Apache Creek isn’t that big. Budget cuts could happen here, too.”
“That’s not what’s keeping you from taking the job.” Her father knew her too well. Sitting across from him now, she thought about the years he’d guided her, always giving her a safe place to land. Too many of her kids, her clients, didn’t have such a place, let alone a father.
Jacob Hubrecht still had a full head of hair, light brown and brushed to the side. His eyebrows were bushy, his mouth wide. Age had given him wrinkles, very defined. Age had also, finally, given him patience. He’d always been the bomb going off in a room, setting people scrambling to please him. Now he knew to hold the match, hold off on lighting the fuse, see what might happen.
Elise finished one sandwich and moved on to the next. Across from her, her father was already finished. Some days, he’d finish a box lunch and ask for a second or third. Other times, he grazed all day. She was the same way. It drove Eva nuts. Her big sister, the one who managed the guest services at the Lost Dutchman, was all about rules and schedules: breakfast at eight, lunch available eleven to one, dinner at six. Snacks could be bananas or crackers or something.
“It’s part of it,” Elise said. “Did you know so many kids are getting in trouble here in Apache Creek? Did you tell them to call me?”
She should have suspected his part before now. He and Mike Hamm were