No Place Like Home. Debbie Macomber

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СКАЧАТЬ have been obvious. “She’s finally come to her senses and sold what she could, packed everything else in a U-Haul and she’s driving on out. Should be here week after next.”

      Sam lowered himself slowly into a chair. This was something he hadn’t expected. He folded his hands, resting them on the scarred pine table, as the old man’s words sank in.

      “The ranch is hers,” Walt announced cheerfully. “There’s no one else. I just pray she’ll be strong enough to hold on to the place when I’m gone.”

      Sam had done some thinking about the ranch and what would become of it after Walt died. He’d always known Molly would inherit the Broken Arrow. He’d even toyed with the idea of forming a partnership with her, running the ranch himself and sharing the profits. He’d make sure the arrangement was lucrative for them both, even if it meant working twenty-four hours a day. Eventually he could, maybe, save up enough to buy the spread himself.

      His plans were still vague, but this was the first thought he’d given to the future in a hell of a long time. All that would change now. The last thing Walt’s granddaughter would want was an ex-con hanging around the place. In light of this news, it’d be best if he sought other employment. He’d write a letter or two that night, send out a few feelers now his confidence was back. He’d enjoyed working the Broken Arrow Ranch almost as much as he’d enjoyed the feisty old man who’d given him a chance.

      “Don’t you have something to say?” Walt asked, glaring at him. Then he laughed, and the sound was like a sick calf choking.

      This was probably the first time Sam had heard Walt laugh. “What’s so funny?”

      “You.” Walt’s mirth died slowly. “I wish you could’ve seen your face when I said Molly was coming. Just wait till you see her in person. If she’s anything like her grandmother—and she is—you’ll be walking around with your tongue hangin’ out. That photo on the television doesn’t do her justice. She’s a real beauty.”

      “Don’t get any ideas,” Sam warned. Walt had misread the look, but Sam wasn’t inclined to correct him. He’d let the old coot have his fun.

      “Ideas about what?” Walt was obviously playing dumb.

      “Me getting together with your granddaughter.”

      “You should be so lucky.”

      Sam didn’t want to be rude, but he wasn’t up to this conversation. “It isn’t going to happen.”

      Walt’s smile faded and he narrowed his pale eyes on Sam with an intensity that would have made a lesser man squirm. “I doubt she’d have you.”

      Sam couldn’t fault him there. “I doubt she would, either,” he agreed. Grabbing his hat from the peg on the porch, he headed out the kitchen door.

      * * *

      The sun broke over the horizon like the golden arm of God, ushering in another perfect California morning. Tom sulked in the bucket seat beside Molly, his arms folded defiantly across his chest. His posture told her that nothing she said or did would placate him for the grave injustice of moving him away from his friends.

      Clay, on the other hand, bounced like a rubber ball in the back seat, unable to sit still. His excitement, however, did not appear to be contagious.

      Because she wasn’t able to see out her rearview mirror, Molly checked the side one to make sure the trailer was all right. She wasn’t accustomed to hauling anything and the U-Haul was packed tight. Everything she’d managed to accumulate in the past thirty-four years—everything she hadn’t sold, donated to charity or given to friends—was jammed in it.

      Although she was deeply concerned about her grandfather, Molly hoped the drive to Sweetgrass would be something the three of them could enjoy. A trip that would “make a memory,” as her grandmother used to say. She thought about her childhood summer visits and how her grandmother had let her name the calves and explore the ranch and gather eggs....

      The last year had precious few happy memories for her and the boys. This was a new beginning for them all. A challenge, too—building a new life, a new home. Few people were given this kind of opportunity. Molly fully intended to make the best of it.

      “Are we there yet?” Clay asked, his head bobbing in the rearview mirror.

      “Clay,” his brother groaned. “We haven’t even left California.”

      “We haven’t?”

      “Unfortunately, no,” Molly concurred.

      Clay’s head disappeared as he sank down on the seat. His small shoulders slumped forward. “How long’s it going to take?”

      “Days,” Tom said grimly.

      Molly resisted the urge to jab him. From the first, her older son’s attitude about the move had been less than enthusiastic—although he’d approved of visiting Montana to go and see Gramps. But not to stay there forever, as he’d told her repeatedly this past week. He’d barely uttered a word from the time they started out a couple of hours earlier. As far as she could tell, he continued to blame her for making him repaint the gym wall. Molly didn’t know why she should feel guilty when he was the one who’d sprayed it with gang symbols.

      If she needed confirmation that she’d made the right decision, Tom had provided it. The mere thought of her son involved in a gang turned her blood cold. She was terrified of the attraction a gang might hold for him—for any confused angry fatherless boy. Gangs weren’t an issue in Sweetgrass. The people were decent and hardworking, and she wouldn’t need to worry about big-city influences.

      “Did I tell you about the Broken Arrow?” she asked in an attempt at conversation. If she displayed a positive attitude, perhaps Tom would start to think that way himself.

      “About a thousand times,” he muttered, his face turned away from her as he stared out the side window. The scenery rolled past, huge redwoods and lush green forests, so unlike the fertile river valley of Montana.

      “There’s horses, too,” Molly added. As she recalled, Gramps always had a number on hand. These were strong sturdy horses, kept for work, not pleasure or show.

      Tom yawned. “How many?”

      Molly lifted one shoulder, her gaze trained on the road. Interest. Even this little bit was more than Tom had shown from the moment she’d announced her plans.

      “What about my report card?” Clay asked, launching himself against the front seat, thrusting his head between Molly and Tom.

      “The school promised to mail it.” Molly decided not to remind her son that she’d answered the same question no less than ten times. They’d miss the last couple of weeks of school, but had finished all their assignments beforehand. Molly had feared even a two-week delay might be too long, considering her grandfather’s condition.

      “You could’ve asked if I wanted to move.” Tom leaned his head against the back of the seat and glared at her. Apparently holding his head up demanded more energy than he could muster.

      “Yes,” Molly admitted reluctantly, “you’re right, I should have.” This was a sore point with Tom. A transgression he seemed unwilling to forgive.

      “But СКАЧАТЬ