Epilogue
Jack Randall was returning today.
Shea was in the ranch house, changing Sara’s dress for the third time. Sara, at three, was always into something. Her latest adventure had been in the chicken yard, where an angry hen had knocked her into the mud.
Rafe had had to grin at the mud-caked little girl with the mischievous eyes and big, sheepish smile. Nothing daunted Sara. Particularly not the prospect of meeting her one-and-only grandparent.
Rafe wished he could regard the upcoming meeting with as cavalier an attitude.
He had not seen Randall in five years. Rafe had taken Shea to the Colorado prison for visits four times a year, but he’d always waited outside, and Shea had never questioned it.
She knew it wasn’t her father as much as the idea of being back inside stone walls.
To this day he kept the windows in their room wide open and still occasionally went up to the valley and stayed overnight.
Shea sensed when those spells of restlessness were coming and, until the babies came, she went with him.
Sometimes now they would take the children, all three of them.
They would sit on the rock above the pool and watch, just as they had in the beginning.
For three years the she-bear and cub had come to the pool, and then the she-bear stopped coming.
Shea had worried and wondered and worried some more, but they never saw it again.
Deer would come, the fawns growing into adults, and then one day the cub brought another bear, a young female, with him. Seasons. Everything had a season.
Just as he had. Now he was a father with three active youngsters: young Clint, who was four; Sara who was three; and the baby, Megan, who was eight months old.
They were Rafe’s season, just as Shea was.
He loved them all desperately, too much sometimes, he feared.
He didn’t want to crush them with it, but he had waited so long and found he had so much love and tenderness stored in some hidden place.
And now Jack Randall was coming back. Rafe had offered to meet him, but Randall said he wanted to come alone. He wanted to savor freedom, and no one understood that as much as Rafe did.
Little Clint came running out of the house. “Papa, I want to go riding.”
Rafe caught him and lifted him up. He was such joy, a bolt of energy and curiosity. “We have to wait on your grandpa,” he said.
“Why?”
“Because he’s been waiting a long time to see you.”
“Why hasn’t he come before?”
Rafe had known the question was coming. He and Shea had discussed it and decided not to he, never again if they could avoid it. “He couldn’t, Clint. He was in prison.”
“What’s prison?”
Rafe lifted his son up on the railing of the corral, which held a dozen horses. The Circle R was fast becoming known for its fine horses.
“You know when you do something wrong, I punish you,” Rafe said carefully. “Like going too near the horses without your mother or me with you.”
Clint nodded. That was his greatest sin. He loved the horses.
“Well, prison is how adults are punished.”
“Did Grandfather go too close to the horses?”
Rafe had to smile. “No. He made a mistake many, many years ago, but he owned up to it, and now he’s coming to meet you.”
“To stay?”
“I don’t know,” Rafe said. Jack Randall’s future had never been discussed. And truth be told, Rafe didn’t know how he felt about living in the same house with the man he’d hated for so long. Yet without Jack Randall, there would be no Shea. No little Clint, or Megan, or Sara.
The thought was excruciating.
Clint was still trying to understand, his small face screwed up into a frown, and Rafe knew that the child sensed something of his mixed emotions. But then Clint had always been instinctive, more so than the girls. “Do you want him to stay?” the boy asked.
“I’m not sure,” Rafe answered truthfully.
“You always fo’give me when I’m bad,” Clint said.
Rafe grinned. Smiles came so easily now. And Clint with his serious, solemn probing usually brought one. “So I do,” he said.
“Then why not Grandfather?” he asked.
“You always ask too many questions,” Rafe said, deflecting that particular one.
“Will I like him?”
“I suspect so,” Rafe said. “You look a little like him, you know.” It was the first time he’d acknowledged that. Just then, Shea came out of the house, holding Megan in one arm. Sara danced alongside her.
Motherhood had made her lovelier than ever. He had always thought her beautiful, but now she had a glow about her, and there was an excitement in her eyes. Excitement and trepidation as she glanced quickly at Rafe and smiled.
“Shouldn’t be long,” he said.
Shea handed him Megan and tipped her head as she studied him.
He had come so far in the past five years.
He never wore gloves anymore, never felt awkward about the mark.
He had been completely accepted in Rushton and Casey Springs.
The Circle R had grown prosperous under his management, and his horses brought the top prices.
He was often consulted by other ranchers about horse stock, training, and breeding, and was respected for all those qualities of leadership she had always known were there.
Clint, who had married Kate, was his closest friend and had a spread of his own now, as well as twin boys.
Ben had grown restless and had moved on, as had two others of the original group. The other two worked for Rafe.
But Rafe had seldom talked about Jack Randall, and she wasn’t sure about the homecoming.
Nor, she knew, was her father. He had already told her he would probably move on after seeing his grandchildren.
He’d said it without self-pity, but in the stark, bleak visiting room of the prison, Shea had sensed his loneliness.
Still, she couldn’t force Rafe, not when he was finally getting over his own ghosts.
Young Clint was looking out toward the drive into the ranch, and now he announced, “Is that Grandfather?” Rafe could hear the excitement in his voice, even if the boy wasn’t quite sure what a grandfather was.
He knew only that his friends Tim and Taylor Edwards had a fine grandfather who always brought them presents and took them fishing.
Rafe stiffened and turned, watching the lone rider approach slowly to where they were standing. He saw the uncertain smile on Shea’s face and put his arm around her. “It’s all right,” he said.
Jack Randall rode to where they were standing and dismounted.
Rafe thought he had aged considerably. His hair was white now, and the lines around his eyes deep.
The face had character now, a dignity it didn’t have before.
Shea went to him, reached up and kissed his cheek.
His arms went around her for a brief moment, and then he stooped to greet the children, his blue eyes suddenly sparking with the charisma he’d always had.
They swarmed around him, accepting his tentative hug, asking him a dozen questions. He finally stood and walked over to Rafe.
“Thank you,” he said. “Thank you for my grandchildren. Thank you for letting me come.”
Rafe found himself holding out his hand and taking Jack Randall’s. The grip was strong.
“Welcome home, Jack,” he said. And he found he meant it.
He felt Shea’s hand replace Randall’s and saw the sheen of tears in her eyes. He gripped her hand tightly.
“Come inside,” he added. “We find ourselves in special need of a grandfather.”
He saw a hint of tears in Randall’s eyes, heard the excitement of the children, and felt the love in Shea’s fingers, which had tightened around his.
And he had never been so free.