MONTANA  CROSSWINDS

PART NINE:

“There’s one thing I forgot to show you the other day,” Arlee said to Rachel as they

climbed out of the jeep and handed the keys to Floyd.  It was still dark in the morning

with only a hint of the sun beginning to fade out the line of sky above the mountain

peaks.  Friday had been spent in a flutter of activity of cleanup and phone-calls as they

ended their stay at the Silver Forest Inn and looked forward to their ‘new home.’ 

Margaret and Wilfred had treated them to one last grand supper and their last night

in the Turret room equally as grand, a particularly fiery sunset tucking them both in. 

Rachel rubbed her eyes as she obeyed Arlee’s directions to follow her and made her

way through the house, brightly lit in the dim morning, and back out onto the deck. 

Arlee didn’t turn left, however, but pointed their way to a gate at the far end of the

yard, a gate that Rachel knew led to the creek and fields beyond.  They had spent so

much time going over the care and maintenance of the greens and herbs and the books

for the business, there had been little thought to anything else, with the understanding

that Rachel would have plenty of time afterwards to explore and get to know the place

better.  She followed the woman through the gate, a simple wooden structure that fit

the plainness of the rest of the grounds, and down a path that Rachel saw was paved

with rock and flagstone.  It dipped down and followed the creek some yards, and then

veered off to cross a wooden footbridge, where it led into a small grove of trees.  It was

here Rachel could see that Arlee had tucked away a small patio, also paved with flagstone

and almost rounded about by asymmetrical raised beds of flowers and foliage.  Patio

furniture faced a small fountain that sat inactive for the moment.

“It's my own little secret garden, when I get tired of looking at the same four walls,”

Arlee told her proudly as she walked behind one of the flower beds and bent to flip a

switch.  Water spurted from the base of a small statue of a girl running with a wide metal

ribbon flowing around her and bubbled down, dripping from the edges of the pedestal,

into a pebble-lined basin.  “I like to come out with my favorite trashy novel and pretend

I’m not in the real world once in a while.  Floyd let me indulge myself out here…even

built the fountain for me.  He’ll join me sometimes, but I think he likes his quiet moments

out at the barn.  I thought you’d like to know about it, too.  I’m sure you’d have found it eventually, but I wanted to show you.”

“It's beautiful,” Rachel murmured, sitting down in one of the chairs.  The morning light

was growing a lighter shade of purple by the moment, and as it did, the colors of the plants

grew in shade as well.  Rhododendrons revealed a readiness to pop with flowers, and

various ferns and hostas and lilies showed signs of spring. 

“Yeah, I’m gonna miss it,” Arlee sighed, sitting in the chair next to her. 

“I’ll take good care of it,” Rachel promised.  In her weaker moments, ones she tossed away

from her thinking as soon as she came up, she had wondered if the upkeep of the green-

house and business was all that was going to be to her new life, if there wasn’t going to be

the space she had so often enjoyed before in zoning out of the real world for a while.  It was

what her fencing had been about, but it didn’t look as if she would be able to get back into

it any time soon, and movies had become something of a minefield for her and Cort both. 

She had not lied about her potted garden at home, but it was so much more controlled than

the rambling space they would now be responsible for.  In her weaker moments, she had wondered if she was going to like being out on a farm.

She reached over to grab Arlee’s hand, grateful to see that the older woman was

something of a kindred spirit after all.  “I’m so glad you showed it to me,” she added. 

“I’ve always dreamed of spending time in a spot like this.  It’ll be like heaven.”

“You can add plants, if you like,” Arlee went on, squeezing her hand.  Rachel thought she

might be fighting back tears.  “I think some of the perennials need trimming back and

replacing, and I always bring in some annuals to brighten up the place.  Just have fun with

it!”  She stood up and brushed her hands off on her pants legs, as though she had been

playing in the dirt.  “Well, c’mon, Rachel, I guess Floyd’s itching to get on the road.”

“Right behind you,” Rachel replied, feeling a bit of Arlee’s sadness herself.  She

couldn’t imagine separating herself from a place she had spent so much time nurturing

and living in, even if it was temporary. 

Cort and Floyd had been in the barn. "I keep a daily record book," Floyd was saying.  "Is

in the desk drawer.  More of a journal, actually, I guess.  Give it a look see. I think you'll

find it helpful, 'specially with the animals."  He ran his hand lovingly down the buckskin's

neck.  "Goin' to miss you, Sagebrush," he whispered.

"Damn, this is harder'n I thought."  He looked at Cort, standing in the stable entrance,

backlit by the rising sun.  "There's something 'bout you, Cort," he said.  "Can't quite put

my finger on what it is.  More of a feelin', I guess.  But my gut tells me I can trust you with Peacefield."  He clapped his hand firmly on Cort's shoulder."  But, damn, it's a blasted

hard thing to leave."

"I understand," Cort said softly.  "I've had to leave places."  He turned his head, squinting

his eyes at the sun, a wry, sad smile curving his lips.  "I just want you to know...I understand.  And I'll do right by you."

The screen door made its scratchy twanging sound and Floyd began to walk back to the

house, Cort at his side.  Floyd kept his hand on the younger man's shoulder as they walked,

in a complicated expression both of the fondness he'd developed for him in the last few days,

and in some vague way of simply wanting physically to communicate to him all he knew of

this land and the lives that were connected to it.  There was one last handshake by the jeep,

one long last look back at Peacefield from the older couple in the car as the wheels began

to roll down the drive.  Then Arlee leaned her salt and pepper hair into Floyd's shoulder

and they were gone.

Cort pulled Rachel to him as they stood near the house watching the jeep climb toward the

hills.  "I really like them," he said.  "Fine folks, really fine."

When the jeep had disappeared, they turned toward the house.  It was up to them now...all

of it.  Cort inhaled a lungful of air.  "You want to settle into the house?  I think I'll ride out

and check on the herd.  A couple of heifers are among the cows that haven't calved yet. 

Want to keep my eye on 'em."  He smiled at her.  "Heifers can take 72 hours to do what a

cow can do in 3."  He looked back at where the jeep had gone from view.  "Need to be sure they're ok for Floyd."

He kissed her thoroughly then headed to the barn to saddle Sagebrush.  Talking softly, he

ran his hands down the buckskin's neck.  "I know you're going to miss Floyd, but you and

I are going to become good friends."  He led Sagebrush out of the stable and swung himself lightly into the saddle, sitting there a moment, eyes closed, just letting all the familiar

feelings of a horse between his thighs wash over him.

"Welcome back...killer."  It was Herod's voice, invading his memory.

"No," he said aloud. "You have no place here.  Not here."  A shudder went through him.

He was happy.  But all his experience had taught him that happiness came only to be

brutally snatched away.  He looked back at the house where he knew Rachel was unpacking.  "No," he said aloud again, firmly  "Not here."

Arlee left plenty in the refrigerator to take care of groceries for the next several days;

indeed, had shown her the large freezer in the back room full of cuts of meat, as they

had recently benefited from the butcher of a cow.  She brewed some coffee and set about

tucking their clothes away in the empty drawers in the bedroom, writing out a menu, and wandered out to the greenhouse again.  She had met Paul and Grace when they came to

the Holcombs on Thursday to gather the weekend’s batch of greens; they wouldn’t be

back until Monday to collect the next round.  She found herself sitting at the little desk

in the tiny office set next to the greenhouse, staring at the computer screen as it loaded up. 

The coffee had done its work in waking her up, but she still felt slow, as though her blood

had thickened.  More than likely stress, excitement, and feeling a bit overwhelmed, she

told herself.  However, the only way she could get a handle on her new life was to get to

work with what she had, so she pulled herself up straight and began going over the notes

Arlee left her to plan out her schedule.

Cort rode slowly in a large circle around the small herd, sizing the cattle up one by one. 

Two of the cows and one of the heifers looked really close to calving. The heifer was

standing a bit off to herself and he decided he'd rather keep her in the large pen just to

the side of the barn. There was something small and delicate about her despite her greatly swollen belly and he didn't want her going into labor so far out in the pasture.

Possibly because she seemed alone and great with 'child', he found himself calling her

Mary as he got her settled in the pen.  He stood for a while watching her, one boot resting

on the lower bar of the fence.  She was a pretty thing, with large brown eyes and long

black lashes that gave a soft, rather gentle look to her face.  Sagebrush had been nibbling

a bit of grass immediately behind him and lifted his head, giving a loud snort near Cort's

ear.  Laughing, Cort turned.  "Jealous, are you?"  He remounted and rode the fence lines

for a while, making mental notes of where repair was needed.  Stopping on a rise at the far

end of Peacefield, he looked back at the house, a sense of pleasure and belonging growing

in him just from knowing his wife was there.  He didn't think he'd ever be able to look back

at it and not feel that way.  His wife.  The word itself was still a wonder to him. During the

years he'd ridden with Herod, a wife was out of the question.  Then had come his training

and more years at the mission.  Having a wife was not a thing that was on his horizon.  He

shook his head. So much had happened.  If he thought of the day when he was shooting rattlesnakes and John Herod had come into his life...if he thought of that day as point A

and today as point B, the path he'd traveled between the two was truly unthinkable.

He leaned forward with his palms on the saddle horn, looking across the land, letting his

eyes travel up the slopes of the mountains then back across to the house.  "Thank You,"

he breathed.  Sitting there a while longer, he watched the winds blow puffy clouds across

the sky, then turned Sagebrush's head back toward the house.  "You hungry?" he said. 

"I sure am."

She was sitting at the table with a washcloth to her face, soaking up the cool dampness of

it, smelling well water combined with fabric softener, when Cort walked in.  She’d been

hoping he’d make it in for lunchtime, so she had pulled out cold cuts and bread for

sandwiches and found herself retching into the kitchen sink because the smell of sauerkraut

had hit her as she stood in the open door of the refrigerator.  Now she sat, still a bit stunned

by her reaction, fuming over the thought that she was getting sick at the worst possible time.

She didn’t remove the washcloth from her face, even though she heard Cort open the door. 

She knew being sick wasn’t going to help him at all.

"Ra...," he began, opening the screen door, a smile on his face in anticipation of their

first official meal on the ranch.  He stopped in his tracks, eyes widening at the sight of her

at the table.  "Rachel?"  Crossing the room quickly, he squatted by her chair, putting

his hand on her arm.  "Rachel?  What's wrong?"

“I got sick,” she mumbled, and lowered the facecloth when Cort asked her to repeat what

she said.  “I opened the refrigerator door and was standing there and I felt this horrible

wave of nausea…and I threw up…in the sink.  I don’t wanna get sick,” she ended her spiel

with a tiny wail.  “We’re just getting started…and I can’t think where I might have picked

up a virus, unless its just a change of venue.”  She laid her cheek on the table, feeling that

it was cooler than the face cloth.  The nausea was dying away, but she felt more tired than

ever.

Good Lord!  What had he done?  Brought her way out here and the first day she got sick. 

He had no idea where the nearest doctor might be.  Standing, he gently gathered her out

of the chair and carried her to the bedroom, lying her atop the covers.  A quilt was folded

on a trunk at the foot of the bed and, spreading that over her, he sat beside her, taking her

hand, his worried eyes latched onto her pale face.  Leaning forward a bit, he lay his other

palm on her forehead.  Her skin was clammy, but she didn't seem feverish.  When she

opened her eyes, looking up at him tiredly, he forced a grin. "Isn't that supposed to be me

lying there and you holding my hand?"

“I’m glad it's not,” she told him, brushing his cheek with her hand.  He hadn’t shaved yet,

and the stubble felt soft and fine.  “I’ll be all right.  Just let me have a little nap.  I’ll be

fine.”  The blanket was soft and warm.  He had tucked her in nicely.  “There’s food on the counter in there…if you’re hungry…”

He waited until she fell asleep then wandered into the kitchen.  Making himself a plate of

food, he carried it back to the bedroom, sitting in a rocker near the bed, watching her

sleep while he ate.  Rachel was never sick.  In everything they'd been through together,

her strength had carried her through, had, indeed, carried both of them through.  Seeing

her like this concerned him terribly.  Taking his plate back to the kitchen, he cleaned the

sink then washed the dishes.  He remembered Floyd saying the vet's number was on the

wall board.  Checking it, he was pleased to find the number of a local doctor as well. If she

didn't feel better soon, he'd put in a call.

He popped his head back in the bedroom and seeing that she was still asleep, hurried out

to the pen by the barn for a quick check on Mary.  A brief inspection told him that she was

just starting into labor and he breathed a sigh of relief that he'd penned her.  Running his

palm down her side he turned to leave, promising he'd be back soon.  Feeding the horses as

fast as he could, he ran back to the house, arriving in the bedroom just as Rachel woke.

The clock said nearly two o’clock when she opened her eyes, but she lay very still for a few moments, wondering if she should chance movement.  She heard Cort come in and decided

to try and sit up.  The poor man looked so worried as he hurried in the bedroom. 

“Thanks for letting me sleep some,” she told him.  “I think I needed that nap.  Really, I’m

okay!  Probably my body rebelling against getting back to a regular routine,” she surmised, grinning up at Cort as he bent over her. “Doesn’t like going back to work after so many

days of pleasure.”

She swung her legs out onto the floor to stand up.  Good.  No desire to lose it all over the

floor, but she still felt kind of heavy and slow. 

He took hold of her arm to steady her, not sure at all she might not topple over.  What

she was saying about why she thought she'd been sick didn't sit right with him.  Not

after all they'd been through together.  She was tougher than that.  He knew that, knew

it with everything in him.

Facing her, he put both hands on her upper arms, looking down at her seriously.  "Rachel,

I don't like this.  Something's just not...right...about it."  He walked her into the living room

and sat on the couch, pulling her onto his lap.  "Talk to me.  Tell me what's going on with

you."

“Honestly, sweetheart, I really think it's just stress and excitement and not being on a

steady schedule,” she replied.  He smelled of sweat and leather and grass and sunshine

and that somehow comforted her.  “Think about it.  We’ve stayed up late, slept late, slept

at odd hours of the day, and now all of a sudden, we’re rising before dawn and working

harder than we have in weeks.  I’m okay,” she told him emphatically.  “Did you enjoy

lunch?  I think I’m getting my appetite back…did you leave me anything?”

"I don't remember what I ate," he said truthfully.  "Was too concerned about you.  You

want me to see what I can rustle up?"

“That would be fine, yes.”

He stood in the kitchen a minute, not knowing where anything really was.  What would be

good for someone just getting over an upset stomach?  He opened the refrigerator.  Not

milk.  He sniffed the sauerkraut.  No.  Not that.  He saw a bottle of Coke.  That was one

modern thing he'd learned about.  He poured her a glass of that, spread peanut butter on saltines, plopped a big scoop of cherry jello in a bowl.

Balancing all three, he came back to the couch. "Thought I'd start you off easy-like," he

said, almost dropping the bowl of jello he had balanced between his forearm and chest.

She listened to him clatter about in the kitchen, lounging on the couch while she did,

and was on the verge of getting up to see what he was about when he came in, juggling

dishes, saltines nearly sliding off the plate in one swoop, and the Coke sloshing a bit in

the glass.  She managed to suppress a giggle at the sight, for he was earnest and endearing

in his desire to nurse her the way she had when he was ill.  She took the plate of saltines

first and he was able to sit down next to her on the couch, ready to spoon-feed her, if she

let him.

“What did you do when you were out there?” she asked as she ate, watching him attend

her every move.  “Did the heifer give birth?  What is a heifer anyway and how is it different

than a cow?”

"She'll probably have her calf tonight or in the morning," he said, looking toward the

door and thinking he should check on her again soon.  "A heifer is a young cow, sort of

what you today might call a teenager.  The first time they calve, they often get in trouble. 

If nothing else, it takes them many hours longer, but the calf can be turned wrong, too. 

Things like that.  I want to be there if she gets in trouble.  You think you'd like to watch,

maybe help some?  That is, if you feel up for it."

Rachel chewed her food thoughtfully, weighing the option of curling up in the bedroom

and pretending to be feeling low again, and proving to Cort she was every bit as ready

to take on farm life as she said she was.  Breaking a heifer into motherhood was not how

she had imagined it to happen, though.  Still, if she didn’t go and the heifer got in trouble,

Cort would be there by himself. 

“I’m up for it, now that I have something in my stomach,” she told him, finishing the dregs

of the Coke.  “What do you want me to do?”

"There may not be all that much to do. Have to take it as it comes...or doesn't come.  You

just never know.  If we're lucky, there won't be a thing to do."  He ran his fingers through

his hair, thinking.  "Here, let me take the dishes for you."  Washing them quickly, he came

back to the living room.  "I'd like to check on Mary again.  We could walk down to the

barn together.  You need to meet the horses anyway."

Hand in hand they walked slowly past the outbuildings to the barn.  He checked quickly

on Mary, who was still standing in a corner of the pen, making soft lowing sounds. 

"She's coming more rapidly than I'd thought," Cort explained.  "Looks like the calf will

be here before dark."

Then he took her to the stable section, stopping first by the gelding's stall.  "Mrs. Wells,

I'd like you to meet Sagebrush."  He'd pocketed a chunk of apple and showed her how to

hold it out for him on her flat palm.  Next he took her by the two mares, a dappled grey

named Misty and a chestnut called Puddin'.  "You make friends with those two and you

can decide which you prefer to ride."

Rachel liked the dapple-gray, for it reminded her of the horse she rode in Gladiator, but

the chestnut seemed to have been the one who chose her, for she got curious about what

was in her pockets.  Cort handed her another apple chunk and she fed it to Puddin’, remembering to stroke the neck, not the long line of its head. 

“I think it’s been decided for me,” she told Cort, as Misty decided there was a more

interesting bit of something in the corner of her stall and Puddin’ kept turning her head

toward Rachel as though expecting her to produce more from her pockets.  She was near

the door of the barn and could see the valley as it lay spread in the late afternoon.  The

fresh green of springtime prairie grasses was brushed here and there with a white light

as the rays reflected off the lines of new growth, giving the fields a silvery cast as the

grasses  waved in the  constant winds that blew  down from the mountains.   She was

forgetting the stress of the morning now, thinking of how many times she and Cort had

talked of horse-riding since their one adventure at the Flaming Arrow ranch.  “Can you

show me how to saddle Puddin’ up?  Or is this a bad time for a ride?”

"I think we can manage a short ride. Don't want to leave Mary for too long but, yes, I'd

like to show you around Peacefield some."

He picked up Puddin's saddle and let her hold it just so she could get a sense of the weight

of it. Then step by step he led her through the process of saddling a horse.  He was saddling Sagebrush at the same time, letting her see what he did, then watching as she copied it with Puddin'.  As she had mounted a horse before, he merely held Puddin's head and let her do

that on her own. Coming up beside her afterward, he explained that the first thing they

needed to do was make sure the stirrups were adjusted properly.  "With a western saddle,"

he said, "you ride with a slight bend in your knee."  When he was satisfied, he checked that

she had the balls of her feet resting on the irons.  "Try to keep them just like that. If you

don't put them in far enough, they might fall out.  But if you put them in too far, your

ankle might catch if you fall."  He looked up at her.  "No falling allowed.  You got that?" 

He grinned affectionately and gave her thigh a slight squeeze.  "You remember what

Maximus said about what he would tell his son?  'Keep your heels down."  Well, that was

good advice, so listen to the General.  It keeps you secure in the saddle."

He stepped back, studying the line of her body, as she sat in the saddle, that her toes

were pointed straight ahead.  "Good," he pronounced.  "The horses you rode in Gladiator

were outfitted according to the way the producers wanted the Roman cavalry to be.

Western is a bit different."  He talked to her then about the reins which were tied in a

knot forming a loop, showing her where and how to hold them and to rest her left hand comfortably on her thigh.  He talked about how western horses are trained to neck rein. 

When he felt she had the hang of it, he mounted Sagebrush and they rode companionably,

side by side, through the tall grass toward the base of the mountains.

They made their way into an adjoining field, keeping in direct line to the barn, and up

the rise of a crest that gave them a lookout vantage point of the rest of the valley.  It was

utterly quiet here, with only the sound of the wind and the cry of a falcon as it swooped for

a kill in a field below.  But what really caught her eye was the way Cort sat in his own

saddle and looked about.  The same silvery limning that frosted the grasses turned his

features soft and happy.  It was the only way she could describe the view.  He looked so

happy. 

“You take good care of me,” she said to him, reaching out to rub his shoulder.  “I’m glad

we’re here.”

He put his hand atop hers and leaned his cheek over that.  "You make me happy," he

said softly.  "Being here, like this, with you beside me.  There's nothing more I can ask."

They sat like that for long moments.  He thought of the times of pain and loss and how all

of it only served to make him appreciate a moment such as this to its fullest. Mikol was

dead, Sid gone off on some unexplained journey and possibly out of their lives for good. 

Henri had come into his life along with people like Wilfred and Floyd. There was

Rachel's family he'd met in Hromada.  And there were the men, like him, whom he'd

come to regard as brothers.  But most of all there was...her. And now the two of them

were here, together, in this place that made him feel so at peace, so at home. He belonged. 

For the first time in so very long, he belonged.

He blew out a long, slow, contented breath, then looked directly at his wife.  "I love you." 

That was it.  That said everything.

Back at the stables, Cort got Sagebrush and Puddin' settled in and checked on Mary again. 

She was struggling more than he liked.  Going back to the barn, he cleaned his hands and

arms thoroughly.  Rachel had gone to the house after the ride, but came back out to the

barn just as he was squatting behind Mary.

"One of the calf's legs is tucked back," he said, explaining that a calf was generally born

with both legs extended in front of its head.  He saw her eyes widen when she realized he

was going to reach inside the heifer.  "Hope this works," he grunted, concentrating on

what he wanted to do.  It took him a few minutes to maneuver the leg into the correct

position, but when he'd gotten it, the calf was born fairly quickly, sliding out, black and

wet, into the world. Cort beamed.  "Look at her!  She's beautiful!"  He turned shining eyes

to the watching Rachel.  "It's a girl," he announced.  "You want to name her?  Our first day

at Peacefield and here she came...brand new."

“Brandi, because she’s sweet,” Rachel said, kneeling down beside him, watching the calf

as Mary began thoroughly licking it.  All her earlier nausea forgotten in the glow of new

life. 

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