The Cowboy's Family Christmas. Carolyne Aarsen

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СКАЧАТЬ nodded as he buttoned his denim jacket closed. The wind still held a chill. It was cooler than yesterday and as he walked down the street to his truck, he shivered as he thought of California, where he would be headquartered.

      It would be warm there. No snow and no winter. Just sun and warmth and work.

      Boyce and Cord said goodbye and left.

      Reuben watched them leave and felt a twinge of melancholy when they both laughed at something Cord had said. How often had he longed for a relationship like his cousin and uncle shared?

      He shook off the feelings, walked to his truck, drove down Main Street, then headed to the highway out of town.

      But as he drove away from Cedar Ridge, he tried not to think that he might not be back for a very, very long time.

      His father’s ranch was on his way out of town, and as he came nearer he was tempted to keep going. Drive on into his future and leave the past behind. But he knew guilt and second thoughts would follow him all the way back to Calgary, so he slowed as he came to the wooden and stone archway leading to the ranch. Hanging from the cross bar was the ranch’s brand, stamped on a metal disc. The Bar W. And with it hung the weight of the Walsh legacy and their prominence in the community of Cedar Ridge.

      This was driven home when he drove up to the imposing bulk of the ranch house once again. It was built to impress and easily fulfilled that promise. The house spread out and upward, two stories high. The main part of the house, directly in front of him, held the main living area. Kitchen, great room, family room, formal dining room, kitchen nook. Two wings stretched out from the main house. One wing held the master bedroom, a media room, an office and a guest bedroom. The other was where Reuben and Dirk had slept and also had an extra bedroom.

      Reuben’s mother had often said that the family rattled around in the large space. She was right, but the space also gave Reuben places to retreat to after his mother left. Away from George’s steady criticism.

      Reuben parked on the cement pad in front of the large, four-bay garage, guessing that Leanne and George’s vehicles were inside.

      He stayed in the truck a moment, taking a breath, readying himself to face them again. At least this time he was prepared.

      He got out of the truck and strode to the house. But when he rang the doorbell no one answered. He put his head inside and called out, but again, only silence.

      Puzzled he walked past the house and the gardens Dirk’s mother had started, surprised to see them all cleaned up and obviously cared for. His mother had never cared for them and they had been taken over by weeds and neglect.

      Leanne must have revived the garden. He remembered how she had often wished she could fix it up when she and Dirk were dating.

      He stopped again, listening for voices. Maybe they were all gone. He went a little farther and as he came over the rise separating the ranch house from the corrals, he heard the distinctive lowing of cattle and the bawl of baby calves.

      He walked around the grove of trees between the garden behind the house and the cow corrals lying in a hollow tucked against the hill the house stood on.

      The sound of shouting and the bellowing of cows grew louder as he got closer. Some cows stood in the pasture along the rugged fence, bawling for their calves, which had been separated from them in another large pen.

      The rest of the cows were on the other side, milling about, creating a cloud of dust as they waited to be processed.

      That’s when he saw her. Leanne was mounted on a large palomino, wearing a down vest, her hair tied back. Her hat was shoved on her head and she waved a coil of rope as she pushed the horse into a crush of bawling animals, cutting some away.

      What was she doing? That was dangerous work. She could be hurt. There were far too many cows in the pen. Why was she working with them?

      An unfamiliar man stood by a gate connected to another smaller pen. Clearly his job was to open the gate when enough cows were cut out of the herd. A younger man sat astride a horse, a ball cap clamped over his dark hair.

      “Devin, get over there,” he heard his father yelling. Big surprise. Dad’s default emotion was anger. “Stop being so ridiculously lazy and help out,” he bellowed again from his position on the raised walkway by the fenced-in alley adjacent the pen.

      He sounded so angry. If George wasn’t careful, he would have a heart attack someday. Reuben hurried his pace to see if he could help out. Leanne shouldn’t be doing what she was.

      She was on one edge of the milling cattle, keeping them moving; Devin was working his way through the herd.

      But when George yelled again, the young man pulled his horse to a stop, leaning on his saddle horn as if making a decision.

      “Get in there,” his father shouted, looking ready to climb over the fence and help out himself. “Get those cows moving.”

      The young man named Devin kept his horse where it was, then finally he made a move.

      Only it wasn’t into the cattle to help Leanne cut some out. It was in the other direction. Away from the cows.

      Toward the gate leading out of the pen.

      As he came closer, Reuben easily saw the angry set of the young man’s jaw, the determined way he urged his horse toward the large metal gate separating the cows from one of the pastures. He dismounted and unlatched the gate, ignoring Leanne’s cries and George’s fury. His movements were rushed and jerky, the chain clanking against the gate. It was as if he couldn’t contain himself any longer.

      He had Reuben’s complete sympathy. Reuben knew what it was like to be on the receiving end of George’s demands. Never feeling like the job you were doing was good enough. Always getting pushed to do more. He wondered how long this young man had worked for his father.

      “Devin. Where are you going?” Leanne called out, the concern in her voice evident from here.

      “Get back here, Devin,” George yelled. “Get back here or you’re fired.”

      “You can’t fire me,” Devin shouted back, his voice filled with rage as he shoved open the gate, “because I quit.”

      Then Devin led his horse through the open gate.

      But he hadn’t looked behind him. Reuben could easily see what the young man, in his fury, had missed.

      A group of cows and calves had followed Devin and his horse and were right behind him as he turned to close the gate.

      Too late he noticed the animals and struggled to shut the gate on them. But by then the cows were already pushing past him to freedom. Devin jumped back, pulling his horse back, the cows now streaming out of the gate.

      From what Reuben remembered, if the cows got away, they would run toward the open fields behind the ranch and from there up into the foothill pastures, which were spread out over hundreds and hundreds of acres. If they got too far out, it would take days to round them up again. Maybe even longer once the cows had gotten their taste of freedom.

      “Devin, close that gate,” George yelled, leaning over the fence, his face purple. “Close the gate, you useless twerp.”

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