Chapter 12
Chapter
Twelve
H e didn’t like the silent treatment. Not from Paisley, at least, though he could do with it from the rest of this bunch. They’d somehow made it through the evening. Harvey had led the kids in a few songs and a devotional around the campfire.
Weston hadn’t had a chance to get near Paisley to apologize. Yeah, he was going to do that. Once the red haze had lifted from his eyes, he could clearly see he’d been a jerk. It would be easier if she wasn’t avoiding him.
They’d packed up camp right after breakfast. He’d been in charge of breaking down the camp kitchen and loading the packhorses as everyone else took down tents and corralled misplaced articles.
Paisley readied the horses and helped the kids mount up. Harvey and Susanna managed a bit better today than they had on Tuesday. And then they’d all ridden out, leaving Weston on Ranger at the rear, leading the packhorses.
Hours later, home was just minutes away. Home? He hadn’t had one of those since Dad died and Mom lost the Circle K, but Sweet River Ranch wasn’t really home. He’d lived in his little duplex in staff housing for over a year, though. It was sparse, not that different from the day he’d moved in, still with the old furniture that had preceded him.
If he was going to stay here, he should pick up some of his own. A better bed. Maybe a comfy chair that didn’t dig broken springs into his backside. Huh, he could even frame a couple of his favorite photos and hang them on the wall like normal adults did.
Was he going to stay? Was this his future?
Tate had decided to. He’d married a local, built a house, and started a family. Now he was focused on running the guest ranch and didn’t have much to do with the larger hotel empire Sullivan Enterprises operated.
From what Weston had heard, Graham and Cadence were planning to stay, too. That was a bit of a shock, since Graham was the consummate city boy. Or, he had been. Guess not so much anymore.
Jude talked like he’d stay living here after getting his pilot’s license. Who knew about Bryce or Maxwell?
Weston shifted in his saddle as he glanced back at the packhorses plodding along behind Ranger. The others were out of sight in front of him, seemingly in a hurry to get back to civilization. He wouldn’t mind a shower, himself.
But would he stay at the ranch? If not, where? Would he still have an inheritance from Grandfather if he walked away now?
Mom was staying, no doubt. She’d even visited her father in Chicago a couple of times over the winter, totally making up for lost time in that department.
Did Weston care about that inheritance? He hated himself for realizing he did. The old man had more money than he knew what to do with, even after buying this ranch and sinking tons of cash into it. And that had nothing to do with the Sullivan hotel chain and the other chain they’d bought a majority in last summer.
But it wasn’t the money so much. He’d done without before and survived. It was the belonging. Jude had done better there than he had. He’d struck up a friendship with Maxwell, plus he seemed to get along with the other cousins. They’d been friendly to Weston, too — at least, after the initial shock — but his wait-and-see attitude had kept them at arm’s length.
He hated this feeling of awkwardness, but he’d caused it himself. Trust came hard. Maybe he needed to settle interior matters before he could make a final decision about remaining at Sweet River.
How did a guy go about reinventing himself? Oh, yeah, there was a verse about being a new creation in Christ. So, he didn’t need to do it alone. He had to ask Jesus to guide him and strengthen him.
Weston closed his eyes. He felt the warm sun on his back. Smelled the fragrance of the trees and the wildflowers along the trail. Heard a meadowlark singing sweetly. Creation was what had convinced him God was real. How anyone could believe this massively interdependent ecosystem had evolved from nothing was incomprehensible. Sure, it was hard to believe in an eternal God, but it was easy-peasy compared to believing this order came from chaos by chance.
It was the personal aspect of faith that tripped him up, over and over again. He’d been caught in a never-ending loop like a blind horse being lunged in circles in a corral. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe in Jesus’ death and resurrection. He did. It just somehow wasn’t… relevant?
Watching his cousins, though. Watching Paisley. Even Harvey and Susanna and some of the kids this past week… other people found it possible to dial in with God like He was a personal friend. How to do that had always escaped Weston, but maybe a cowboy his age should start figuring that out.
Beginning how?
Prayer, probably. That was something he could do even as Ranger picked up speed now that they traveled the well-worn trails near the stables.
Weston cleared his throat and glanced up at the blue sky where a few fluffy clouds floated above the treetops. “God? I don’t even know how to do this, but I’m kind of tired — no, actually, I’m sick of who I am. Repulsed, even. I don’t know how to take my negative attitude and turn it around, but I’m hoping You do. So, can You help me, please?”
Not surprisingly, there was no booming voice from above, just the creak of his saddle and the plodding of the horses’ hooves. How, exactly, God would answer that prayer might be interesting. Meanwhile, Weston would keep watch and try to do better.
The corrals came into view. Paisley already supervised dismounts as Darrell and a couple of the other hands led horses away for untacking and a good brushing. Harvey and Susanna gathered their charges together outside the corral as Ranger came up to the gate. Axel scuttled over to hold it for him.
Weston grinned at the boy. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome, sir. And thanks for a great excursion. It was fun.”
And here Weston had thought this kid too citified to care about being in nature. If his parents had never camped outside an RV before, it wasn’t likely Axel had. Did that make the trip a win?
Getting the kids to enjoy creation and see God’s hand in it had been the goal, so, yeah. Successful.
Weston dismounted, and Darrell was right there reaching for the reins. Weston shook his head. “I’ve got him.”
Darrell grinned. “My job, boss. I’ve messaged the kitchen crew to come for the remains of the food and related supplies. Have fun?”
Weston studied his right-hand man. “Sometimes.”
Darrell laughed. “I guess that’s more than I expected out of you.”
Ugh. Was he such a grouch that no one thought he could enjoy himself? He met Paisley’s gaze over Ranger’s back. She raised her eyebrows at him with no hint of a smile.
She was still ticked, and he deserved it. It wasn’t like she’d overheard his initial confrontation with Matthew. Weston closed the distance as she clasped her clipboard in front of her chest.
Now what? “You did a good job planning and leading this trip. Thanks.”
Paisley blinked and took a step back. “You’re welcome?” Then she cleared her throat. “Um, you, too, except for…”
“I may have over-reacted with Matthew.”
“You think?”
“And I may not have. Either way, I could have been nicer.”
“Whoa, cowboy. Who are you, and what have you done with Weston Kline?”
He couldn’t help the hint of a smile that twitched his lips. “Might have left him up the trail somewhere. He found it slow going with all that baggage.”
She searched his eyes. “For real?”
“Work in progress. I’m sorry for messing up with Matthew.”
“He’s talented at pushing buttons.”
“Everyone has their gifts.”
Two electric golf carts stopped beside them. Emma and Tina jumped off and reached for the kitchen packs.
“Here. Let me.” Weston helped them secure the load. By the time they rolled back toward the lodge, Paisley was gone.
He felt a tinge of disappointment then scoffed at himself. What, he’d been going to bare his soul even more? Doubtful. And yet… maybe. Sometime.
Paisley dumped her bags inside the door of the staff duplex she shared with Cadence. “Remind me not to volunteer for that every week.”
Cadence looked up from her computer desk in the corner of their tiny living room. “Hey, you’re back! Was it fun?”
“Fun is over-rated.” Paisley stretched. “I think I need a shower before anything else.” She headed toward her room.
“Don’t forget your stuff.”
“Oh. Yeah. Sorry.” It only took an extra minute to haul them the rest of the way. Then she rummaged in her cupboard for clean clothes. Man, she needed to do her laundry. A smarter, more organized person would have done it before they left for four days. Well, she’d do it after her shower, unless all the machines were in use. At least the homeschool crew didn’t have access to the staff facilities, so she wouldn’t have to fight them for machines.
She stood under the hot water until it ran out, which didn’t take that long, as the heaters in these units were tiny. But it was long enough to regain a little humanity. She wrapped a towel around her hair and another around her body and dashed back to her room to get dressed in the only clean clothes left — a pair of shorts and a tank top that revealed a little more flesh than was comfortable in this spring weather. Whatever. Her flannel shirts and hoodies all stank.
Paisley braided her wet hair and stuffed all her clothes into laundry baskets. Her phone was out of juice, thanks to no power up the mountain. Why had she even taken it along? Force of habit. She’d caught sight of Weston reading on his a few times, but not her. There wasn’t anything she’d needed it for up there, and now it was dead.
Didn’t that just figure?
It wasn’t like anyone would have tried to get ahold of her, so the phone could wait. She’d load up the washers then stop by the lodge to check in with Tate at the office. See what was on her docket for the next couple of days. She had this weekend off, if she remembered correctly. Going to church would be nice.
Paisley had loaded three washing machines when she heard the click of cowboy boots behind her. She whirled to see Weston entering with a couple of baskets of his own. “Hey.”
“Hey.” He cracked a sort of smile. “I’m not surprised to see you here.”
Was she that predictable? Or had he followed her? Oh, good grief, Paisley. He’s been on the same backcountry trip as you have. Of course, he has dirty clothes.
“I left you a couple of machines.” She gestured.
“Thanks.” He began stuffing his clothes into them.
Paisley added detergent, selected the cycles, and turned the knobs. Time to get out while the getting was good, but she was too late. Weston was beside the door, watching her, his washers already running.
This might be the first time she didn’t feel like getting in his face and trying to make him smile. She didn’t want to analyze her back-pedaling too deeply. It likely had to do with pushing the one guy who’d never break, and now it seemed like something had gotten through to him. What was she supposed to do with that? She had no clue.
“I, uh, need to report to Tate. ”
Weston nodded. “Me, too. I’ll head over with you.”
Paisley nearly cuffed herself on the side of the head. “Okay.” What else was she supposed to say? But she’d rarely walked beside this cowboy for more than two steps before. This felt strangely couple-ish, except that couples held hands. At least, Cadence and Graham did. And Stephanie and Tate, unless they had their hands full with Jamie and Simon.
She walked stiffly beside Weston down Hummingbird Lane to the lodge, where they entered the office wing by the staff door. Weston tapped on the office door then walked right in. Of course, he was a Sullivan. Paisley would have waited outside until summoned.
Tate and Graham looked up from their computers, and Tate surged to his feet with a big smile. “Hey, you two. I heard a rumor you were back. How’d it go?”
“Pretty well, all things considered.” Paisley shrugged. “I won’t be quite so quick to say yes another time, though.” Because she’d mostly done it to spend time with Weston. Look how that had turned out.
“Let’s head over to the conference room, and you guys can fill me in on all the details.” Tate punched Graham’s shoulder lightly on his way past. “Don’t want to disturb Mr. Number Cruncher here.”
Grinning, Graham shook his head and adjusted his glasses. “Whatever, boss man.”
Paisley turned toward the door, only to find that Weston held it open for her. He touched her lower back as she passed by and down the short corridor, Tate bringing up the rear.
If only she could relax into his touch, but he’d been right all along. There wasn’t really any chance for anything between them.