Mirroring his younger brother’s stance, Scott leaned against the surrey with watchful eyes - awaiting the showdown about to unfold. No denying it. Johnny had every right to be angry and his brother’s brooding expression signaled the fuse of his powder keg had been lit.
On the other hand, Kinsey’s jaunty step was one of a happy traveler returning home from a relaxing holiday. It was the determined grip she’d placed on her travel bag that forecast to Scott her impending thunderstorm. A thunderstorm capable of producing lightning strikes without warning.
Murdoch joined his oldest. “They need to sort it out. Clear the air.”
Scott nodded.
“The little billy goat off to meet the bridge’s troll.”
Murdoch's reference to Three Billy Goats Gruff was so out of character for the man, Scott let out a snort fueled by surprise. A sideways glance not only captured his father’s profile but encompassed Teresa and Maria standing outside the kitchen doorway. Jelly, no doubt, lurked somewhere with a ringside seat. Yes, a curious audience had gathered.
“Hello, Johnny.” Kinsey’s sunny disposition predicted fair weather.
Scott raised an eyebrow. For a fleeting moment, it appeared the little goat would cross the bridge.
As Kinsey moved to sidestep forward, Johnny stooped, swung his arm out low and encircled her waist. Little effort was needed to bring her front and center. “Hello, Johnny?” The gatekeeper crossed his arms and glowered. “That’s all you got to say to me, half-pint? Hello, Johnny?”
Setting her bag down, Kinsey smoothed the front her skirt with her hands before folding them neatly together at her waist. “Hello, Johnny.” A pause suggested words were being carefully chosen. “It’s good to see you.”
“Well now.” Johnny looked up the sky while his harsh laugh rained down. “It’s good to see you too, darlin’.” Uncrossing his arms to place his hands on hips, he looked past Kinsey - avoiding eye contact - and nodded slightly. “Real good seein’ you.” Johnny’s sarcastic tone confirmed the fuse had sparked the keg. “Would have been better seein’ you at the breakfast table a few days ago. Would have been much better seein’ you at the Stockton train station that same mornin’. And now darlin’, it would be damn near great seein’ the seat of your britches gettin’ a good whippin’, but we all know that’s never gonna happen.”
“Johnny, I'm s-”
“No!” The younger brother leaned down to be eye level with the burr under his saddle. “Don't try and give me the bamboozle bull crap you gave Jelly and call it an apology. Wasn't one damn sincere word that came outta your mouth. Besides, girl, I don't want an apology from you - not just yet. Not until I say my piece.”
“Then I suggest you say it, John.” Kinsey’s inflection hinted at a dark cloud on the horizon.
Scott straightened his stance in time with his brother’s - anticipating the first bolt of lightning.
Johnny’s eyes glinted. “You’re a spoiled little brat, Kinsey Rose, and you’ve been trouble startin’ the day you stepped off that stagecoach in Green River. Since then, you’ve managed to turn this ranch upside down.”
Upside down? Scott’s quizzical expression produced a wrinkled brow and lopsided grin. What the hell does Johnny consider normal?
“A thoughtless little girl is what you are, half-pint. Doin’ what you please. Takin’ off like nobody cares. Well, I'm here to tell you people care and it's about time you changed your ways.” Cradling her chin in his hand, Johnny leaned in and delivered a soft kiss designed to coax a gentle spring rain from the thunder cloud. As his hand released its hold, he stepped back donning a sly grin. “Now, darlin’,” Johnny crossed his arms and shifted his weight to one side. “I'll listen to that apology of yours.”
A distant moo from the barn cow provided a calming finale.
Bending down in a half turn, Kinsey grabbed the travel bag’s handle with both hands. At the same moment, Scott’s brain saw the future. By the time the information reached his feet, it was too late. Coming up in a strong swing, his little cousin gathered enough momentum to turn her luggage into a roundhouse punch - connecting with Johnny’s upper arm Caught off balance, the younger brother took one staggering step backward before landing hard on his keister.
“Johnny, I'm sorry. Please accept my sincere apology.” Stepping over her opponent’s sprawled legs, Kinsey entered the hacienda.
The cow offered another pacifying moo, realizing her first attempt had fallen short.
Scott was the first to voice an opinion. “Sorted. Cleared.”
His father’s thoughts ringed of more importance. “Best get cleaned up, son. Supper’s on the table in an hour.”
Strolling over, Scott found Johnny still in a sitting position with his forearms resting on bent knees.
“Not one word, Boston.”
Scott’s extended hand offered assistance. “Agreed.” A grasp, a pull, and his younger brother stood on two feet. “Actually, my suggestion takes several words.” Before a protest could be uttered, Scott continued. “Next time, lead in with the kiss, reduce your reprimand by half and wait for the apology to come naturally. I guarantee better results.”
Shaking his head, Johnny focused on the direction of Kinsey’s exit. “Thought she’d deliver a kick to the shin. Shoulda known when she hauled that bag over here. Dammit. Never saw it comin’.”
“Well -” Scott shrugged his shoulders. “They say love is blind, little brother.” Seeing Johnny’s half-smile appear proved any remaining powder kegs were defused. One more piece of brotherly advice was given. “Better take time to dust the dirt off your backside. Supper’s at six...now that things are back to normal.”
*******
After the evening meal, Scott headed to his room for a quiet sanctuary. A long day, indeed. Out of place in the middle of his bed, it was the book which first caught his eye. The piece of paper lying beside the book raised his curiosity further. Taking one in each hand, Scott first read the note - not expecting to discover his father’s handwriting.
Your heavy sigh carries substantial weight.
Scott shifted his eyes to the book’s title - The Works of Anne Bradstreet. However, it wasn’t the edition he’d purchased for Kinsey. Under the front cover, the bookplate displayed delicate handwriting.
Catherine Garrett
Lancer
Scott smiled. It was obvious his mother had added Lancer at a later date. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he stared at the handwriting. Did he have the energy for a discussion? A Garrett attribute assisted in the decision.
Due to the pouring of a scotch, his father’s back greeted Scott as he stepped into the Great Room. “Care to join me, son?” The man didn’t turn around but selected another glass.
“How did you know it's not tequila you should be offering?” Scott continued into the room.
“Your stride is longer than your brother's.” Carrying two snifters, Murdoch nodded toward the sitting area.
Retrieving one of the drinks, Scott sat down opposite his father. “Thank you, sir - for the scotch...and the book.”
Murdoch settled back in his chair, stretching his long legs out in front of him. “I thought you’d like to keep it with your mother’s first edition of Emerson.”
Silently, father and son sipped their drinks for a few minutes, absorbed in their own thoughts, before the patriarch spoke. “I'm guessing Harlan told you his delusional tale of the Garretts and Bradstreets sailing together on the Arabella. I assume it provided the inspiration to buy the book.”
Scott grinned. “I knew Kinsey would find grandfather's story...extraordinary.”
“Your mother’s view was the same. Extraordinary.” A cloud of melancholy drifted across Murdoch’s face. “I'd forgotten about the book, your mother’s love for the poet...I'd forgotten it all...until Kinsey mentioned Anne Bradstreet.”
Scott only wished he had a supply of those memories which could fall victim to forgetfulness. “It’s understandable. The ranch demands your attention.”
“No excuse.” Murdoch stared at the amber liquid in his glass. “Your mother favored the poems which spoke of Bradstreet’s husband and children.”
It was Scott’s turn to gaze at his drink - remembering his cousin’s concern of being used and never marrying, never having a family. Looking up, his eyes met his father’s.
“What is it, Scott?”
Perhaps it was time say more.
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