Snow Melts in Spring - By Deborah Vogts Page 0,101
irises and pansies in a multitude of colors.
“Come on, talk to me. What’s troubling you? Does it have anything to do with the fight you had with that fellow of yours?”
“You could say that.” Mattie closed her eyes and prayed for the right words to tell her father. She wanted to share with him everything she’d been going through, but at the same time, she didn’t want to hurt him.
“Jenna seemed to think you might still be upset with us for moving to the city.” He lifted his arm from her neck and straightened in the metal glider. “Is that part of it?”
Mattie turned to him and noted the new wrinkles on his face, the lines at the corner of his gray eyes. “I wish you lived closer — that we were closer.”
Her father nodded. “I’ve blamed myself a hundred times for not trying harder to keep the home place or resettle there. Your mother has too. But we can’t undo our mistakes . . . I’m not sure we would if we had the chance. You have to understand that times were hard for us then.”
“I think I’m beginning to understand how complicated things can become,” she said. All her life, Mattie considered the Flint Hills her home, her destiny, especially after her parents lost their ranch. Owning property there — getting back the land they’d lost had become her obsession.
Now that she had the chance to make that dream a reality, the thought didn’t hold as much satisfaction as it once had. “I’m so confused,” she said, then proceeded to tell about Gil’s deception and proposal, and John’s offer to let her oversee the Lightning M.
“Sounds like you’ve got quite a predicament.” Her dad scratched his thinning hair. “You know I can’t tell you what to do. People make mistakes — some worse than others. I’m sure Gil regrets that he wasn’t upfront with you from the start. As for the land, your mom and I made a decision to leave Charris County. I won’t lie to you — there are days when my heart aches for the smooth feel of leather reins in my hands, or for the pungent smell of freshly mown prairie hay. But we’ve adjusted. We made ourselves a new home and life.” He offered her a reticent smile. “I traded my cowboy boots in for a pair of loafers.”
Mattie nudged his thick waist. “You still wear your boots to church. I’ve seen you.”
He shrugged. “True, but I’ve discovered loafers can fit comfortably too. Know what I mean, Mattie? The point is, your mom and I loved each other through all those hard years, and we made another life work for us. In the end, the land won’t keep you warm at night.”
His last statement rang inside Mattie’s head. She’d heard similar words from John. But still . . . to trade the simplicity of Kansas for California and give Gil her heart? She didn’t know if she could take such a leap of faith.
ON A MISSION TO PUT TO REST THE BAD MEMORIES AND REPLACE them with a few good ones, Gil drove past Miller’s pond where he and his buddies fished for crawdads and frogs. He revisited the rodeo grounds where Frank and he roped steers, and even spent some time at the football stadium. When he’d reminisced enough, he turned onto a winding dirt road through the Flint Hills, passing over several pasture guards until he finally arrived at the edge of Emporia.
Prompted to visit the Marshall boy again, to see if his recovery had been as good as Dusty’s, Gil pulled into the parking lot of the hospital and turned off the diesel engine. A receptionist at the front desk gave Gil directions to the rehabilitation unit where he’d heard Dillon was receiving further care. He headed for the elevators and eventually found the teen in the rehab dining hall sitting in a wheelchair. When he approached the boy’s table, the attendant stood to offer Gil his seat.
Dillon looked up, and his lips formed into a lopsided grin. “Didn’t think I’d see you again, Mr. McCray.”
Gil took the chair opposite the boy. “Me neither. And please call me Gil. Mr. McCray sounds so old,” he teased, then latched onto an extra straw on the table, trying not to notice the deep scars on the boy’s face. “How are you doing?”
Dillon looked down at his motionless legs. “I’m learning to get around. Me and another boy race the halls.”