“Yes,” Miranda replied. “If you’ll let me. I really do want to make this my home.”
“Then you better know up front that I refuse to live on Jell-O, applesauce, and instant potatoes in my old age.”
“I promise to make you pureed roast beef and gravy at least twice a week,” Miranda teased.
Jo-Jo grinned back. “Then I’d best teach you how to cook!”
Chapter 18
Keith was growing edgier by the mile. After transporting the horses he’d picked up in Nevada, he was finally headed home. As he pulled through the gate leading to Two Rivers Ranch, Keith’s mind exploded with memories. Suddenly he was thirteen again, fighting the urge to squirm under his grandfather’s penetrating, hawk-like eyes.
They’d picked him up in Cheyenne, his grandmother standing silently in the background while his grandfather silently scrutinized him. “You have the look of your father.” The terse statement, accompanied by a curt nod, was Keith’s only sign of acceptance.
“Where is my father?” Keith asked. “Why isn’t he here?” His grandparents exchanged a look he couldn’t decipher. His grandmother’s lips quivered. For a moment, she appeared as if she might cry.
“He could not come,” his grandfather had said without any elaboration. Days later, Keith learned from his cousins that his father had been accused of murder and taken back to prison. The news had shocked him. Was he predestined for the same fate? His family in New York had believed so.
He recalled climbing into the beat-up ranch truck, the silent four-hour drive leading to the ranch. Now, his palms were sweating as he drove slowly up the long gravel drive. He parked his truck, wondering if he should knock or just walk into the house as he always had. He’d never given it a thought until now, but he’d also never been so uncertain of his welcome.
It was afternoon. Chances were good that his grandmother would be in the kitchen. Figuring his best strategy was to go around to the back, he knocked at the kitchen door. Huttsi was his best way back. If he caught her alone, she wouldn’t turn him away.
Tonya answered, “Hey, Cuz.”
“Hey, Ton. How are you?”
“Busy as usual, but staying out of trouble.” She flashed a toothy grin. “Mostly, anyway. C’mon in.”
Wiping his boots on the mat, Keith stepped into the kitchen, instantly inhaling the wonderful, memory-inducing smell of fry bread. His grandmother stood in her usual place, with flour up to her elbows. Some things never changed.
“Huttsi, look who’s back,” Tonya prompted.
He waited with bated breath for her to acknowledge him.
“Two Wolves? You’ve returned?”
His grandmother’s tone was neutral, but her gaze was reassuringly soft. He slowly exhaled in relief. “Yes,” he replied. “Just got back from Nevada. I was gathering mustangs for the BLM.”
“How did it go?” Tonya asked.
“Well enough.” He gave a dismissive shrug.
Huttsi snorted. “We know all too well how the government ‘manages’ these things. Have you seen your grandfather yet?”
“No. I just arrived. But I brought a gift for him. A horse.”
“A horse?” Her smile began in her black eyes and moved slowly to twitch the corners of her mouth. “That was a wise decision.” They both knew that horses were his grandfather’s weakness. “If you wish to find him, he’s in the sweat lodge. He spends much time there, I think in prayer for you, Two Wolves. You see? All is not lost.”
“Thank you, Huttsi.” He stooped to plant a kiss on the tiny woman’s weathered cheek.
She winked. “Come back in an hour if you want some fry bread.”
He grinned. “I’d love some.”
Tonya accompanied him outside. “That didn’t go badly. Then again, she’s always had a soft spot for you.”
“What of Kenu?” Keith asked, still apprehensive of his reception from his grandfather. Would he welcome Keith back or send him packing?
“He hasn’t spoken of you. But that doesn’t mean anything when she said he prays for you. That does mean something,” Tonya reassured him. “Now what’s this about a horse?”
“Come,” Keith said. “I’ll show him to you.”
He led her to his parked trailer. She peered inside through the aluminum slats where the horse was pacing and snorting. She gave a low whistle. “He’s a looker all right.”
“Is there a vacant corral where I can put him? I’ll need six-foot-high panels.” He answered her questioning look. “He’s an outlaw.”
Tonya regarded him with open skepticism. “And you’re giving him as a gift? What’s grandfather going to do with a horse like that? He doesn’t break them anymore.”
“I thought maybe you—”
Tonya stopped him with a glare. “Don’t even go there, Cuz! I’m not about to get on some crazy mustang when we have a couple dozen nice, docile, hand-raised two-and three-year-olds in our own pastures.”