considered his having grown up on a ranch to be a stroke of luck, since he had loved country living from the time he was big enough to sit a horse. In his heart, though, he believed he would have derived a connection to the land if home had been a two-acre operation instead of the many thousands making up the Kingsley Ranch.
That attitude wasn’t due to a lack of respect for his family’s good fortune. Nothing had ever been handed to the Kingsleys free of charge. The family had worked hard to make their ranch successful, and the fact that it was the biggest and most productive in the area was merely a result of their efforts.
Now, of course, the elder Kingsleys were able to enjoy the fruits of their labor. At age sixty-five, Stratton, Reed’s father, still mounted a horse and checked on the herds of healthy, hardy cattle in his fields, but not with the dedicated regularity of his early years. Stratton was becoming a gentleman rancher, a little more so each year. He had good men working for him, young cowboys full of vinegar, and the rides he took these days were more for enjoyment than necessity.
Then, too, he had MonMart on his mind. The immense discount store in Rumor was the flagship for what would soon become a national chain. Russell, Reed’s older brother, was the driving force behind MonMart’s inception and rapid expansion. Stratton was content to leave the kudos for MonMart’s astounding success to Russell—and most of the enormous responsibility, as well. He showed up at the administrative offices just often enough to keep his fingers in the pot and let everyone know that he backed his eldest son one hundred percent.
Reed couldn’t boast of anything as audacious as MonMart as a personal accomplishment, but then, he wasn’t the spitting image of his father, either, as Russell was. Russell could talk cattle, horses, land, irrigation and anything else that went with ranching but it was all business to him. To Reed the land was so much more than a means to make money.
Reed had never envied Russell’s business acumen or his younger brother Taggart’s long-ago declared and seemingly permanent independence from the family coffers. Tag was happily married and made his living as a carpenter—an extremely competent carpenter, by all accounts. In his own way, Tag was as much of a success as Russell, their father and Reed himself.
Reed also had a sister, Maura, and he considered Jeff Forsythe, who’d been in the family since age six, as another brother. All the Kingsley kids were married or engaged, except for Reed. Not that it bothered him to be the only hold-out. After all, his siblings had fallen in love and he hadn’t. He sure wasn’t going to get hitched just to join the pack.
Besides, he was happy as he was, content with his routines. For instance, he drove from his house—built awhile back on Kingsley land, same as Russell’s house was—to his parents’ home for early morning coffee. Carolyn, his mother, sometimes slept in, but usually she was up and active, planning her day and willing to talk about it. Stratton was always awake early, usually with plenty to say about the ranch, the MonMart chain, the family, the national and global news, or any other subject that might arise. It was a good way to start the day, and Reed rarely missed a morning.
Sometimes he did work at the ranch for his dad, and after that he drove to Rumor and put in a few hours at MonMart. Russell seemed to appreciate his input, and Reed enjoyed his time at the superstore.
Then he almost always went by the volunteer fire station. He was Rumor’s fire chief and even when no one else was at the station, he liked checking equipment and making sure everything was in order. Last summer’s fire had devastated the landscape for miles around and could have been worse; it could have turned and destroyed the town. It was a sobering thought, and Reed knew that while he’d always taken his job as fire chief seriously, the Rumor fire intensified his dedication to civic duty hugely.
This morning, Election Day, he drank coffee with his folks and discussed the candidates on the ballot. Around nine he drove to the Rumor courthouse, where voting booths had been set up in the lobby. He voted, then chatted with everyone he ran into, and finally turned his SUV back the way he’d come, toward MonMart. The superstore sat on twenty acres of lush, heavily treed land four miles from the center of town. Five acres were paved; the remaining acreage was gradually being turned into a park with bike paths and hiking trails. The store itself was Russell’s baby, but the park was Reed’s. Before the fire, his idea had been a good one. But after the conflagration that had blackened so much land south and southeast of town, it had mushroomed to greatness.
People already used the park, even though Reed didn’t consider it finished. Much of the underbrush had been cleared and some trails created, along with one bike path around the perimeter. But his plans included hiking trails crisscrossing the property, picnic areas, playgrounds for the younger set and a special area for youthful bikers and skateboarders. Also, he wanted to add plants and trees to spots of sparse vegetation. He had gone to the Billings office of the U.S. Forest Service and picked up several books and pamphlets about indigenous vegetation, so that along with what he already knew about the subject, he was able to lay out a sophisticated but sensible landscape blueprint.
His mother had become interested in the project and offered her services. Carolyn felt the town should be involved in both labor and finance. “People will feel a much stronger bond with the park if they help in some way to develop it, Reed,” she had told him.
He couldn’t disagree. His mother worked tirelessly for several fine charities, and he gladly turned over the financial end of the park’s development to her. Rumor Park, as he thought of it—though he would really like someone to come up with a more meaningful name—was going to belong to the people of Rumor. Once completed, it would be ceremoniously presented to the town. In the meantime, Carolyn was seeking the approval and assistance of state and national environmental groups and, to arouse further local interest and enthusiasm for the project, was planning a Christmas ball. It would be a swank affair—the likes of which had never before been seen in Rumor—and would be held in enormous, heated tents set up on a good-size area of MonMart’s parking lot. The decorations were going to be spectacular, and tickets were already sold out.
Reed grinned when he pulled into MonMart’s busy parking lot and envisioned the glamorous event, which was scheduled for the second week of December. The bank account that had been opened for park funds contained a large sum of money, and by spring, Rumor Park would be finished. Just thinking about it delivered a thrill to his system. He loved being involved in community affairs, and he sometimes wondered if he shouldn’t run for public office.
But then he would be tied to one job, and ever since high school he’d been happiest when juggling a dozen different duties and responsibilities.
After parking in the employees’ lot to the right of the store, he went in, whistling between his teeth. He felt so good it had to be a crime, he thought, grinning at the first person he saw. The young woman smiled back and said, “Good morning, Mr. Kingsley.”
“’Morning, Lois.” He went upstairs to the administration offices and stopped in at the video room, where a security officer kept an eye on a dozen monitors, the output of the surveillance cameras placed around the store. It was too bad that retailers had to guard against theft, but shoplifting was a national scandal, and even in a nice little town like Rumor some people couldn’t resist the temptation of sneaking goods into a pocket or handbag.
“How’s it going this morning?” Reed jauntily asked Homer, the computer whiz manning the equipment today.
“Same as always,” Homer replied with a big grin. “Busy downstairs. Looks like folks are getting an early start on Christmas shopping this year.”
Reed glanced at the monitors and nodded. “It does, doesn’t it? Goods have been pouring in and going out so fast it’s a race to keep the shelves stocked.”
“Well, you can’t knock success,” Homer drawled.
“Nope, sure can’t.” Reed made a move to leave, but then stopped short. He narrowed his eyes on a screen and bent closer to it. Was that woman in aisle twelve Valerie Fairchild? It was! His pulse quickened. Went a little bit wild, actually. Just the sight of her shopping made his blood run faster. He remembered his vow to leave her be, to never put himself in the position