Page 27 of Wannabe in Wyoming
Nathan took several steps to his left and then to the right. “Holy shit—you’re right. His eyes do follow you. Ugh, that gives me the chills.” He shook his arms and shoulders in an exaggerated move before gesturing to the group of boxes. “All right. Grab one of those and let’s get this done.”
Two trips later, they sat on the floor of the living room, dust floating around them as they began sorting papers.
“What are you looking for exactly?” Nathan asked, setting aside what appeared to be copies of property taxes from almost thirty years ago.
“I don’t really know—just anything that looks different. Not records or receipts. I mean, I get cattle operations need to keep logs of births and everything, but all the cattle are gone. I don’t need any of that. I’m hoping to find something more personal. Something that tells me more about who my father was.”
“Okay, I’ll just put aside anything I think you need to look at and throw out the stuff I know is junk.”
“Thanks.” Craning her neck to the left, she shouted, “Alexa, play eighties rock!”
“The station, eighties rock, on Amazon Music,” the electronic voice replied before the opening cords for “Welcome to the Jungle” filled the air.
“Just another thing I really like about you, Willow,” Nathan said as he put aside more papers for the trash after determining they were logs from the 1995 calving season. “You have excellent taste in music.”
“Hmm. What else do you like about me?” she asked, with a smirk on her lips and a twinkle in her eye.
“I’m not going to tell you—what fun would that be? I’d much rather show you.” Winking, he sifted through another stack of calving logs in the box in front of him, and his hand bumped against something hard near the bottom. “Hang on a second, I think I’ve got something.” Pulling the papers out, he found a small wooden chest beneath them. It was made from rich dark wood, mahogany perhaps, and inlaid with cherry blossoms. It was about an inch or two longer than the length of a legal-size envelope and maybe four inches thick. Lifting it from the cardboard box, he handed it over to Willow’s eager hands.
“What the?” she mumbled to herself, turning it over in her hands. Her eyes narrowed. “How does it open? I don’t see a latch.”
“Let me see it a sec.” She gave the chest back to him, and he examined each of the six sides from every angle. Something inside rattled and shifted, but it didn’t sound broken. He ran his fingertips across the inlaid flowers, noticing they weren’t perfectly smooth. “Hmm.”
“What?” Willow scooted closer to him—her thigh pressed tightly against his as she watched him fiddle with the box.
“I think . . . hang on.” He pushed down firmly on the largest of the flowers, surprised when a soft click sounded and the lid popped open. “It’s a puzzle box.” Not opening it any further, he passed it to Willow.
She studied it in awe. “That is so cool. What was so important to him that he had to keep it in a puzzle box?” Her fingers gripped the lid, but then she paused, as if almost afraid to look inside.
“Open it and see,” he encouraged her. “If I had secrets to keep, this looks like a good place to stash them.” He was nervous for her. She’d been searching for answers, and it looked like she might find them within the keepsake. Would they be everything she’d hoped for? He didn’t know, but he was willing to be by her side while she figured it out.
* * *
Willow staredat the gorgeous but mysterious box as her heart pounded and her hands shook. “I don’t know why I’m so afraid.”
Nathan set a reassuring hand on her trembling arm. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. It’s okay to feel what you’re feeling.”
Nodding, she took a deep breath then lifted the lid the rest of the way. Inside she found a stack of letters tied together with a simple piece of baling twine. Trust a rancher to use whatever was practical. That more than anything told her these were left there by her father. A woman would never use baling twine to tie something important together like that. She pulled the packet of letters free and handed the box to Nathan without even looking at him. Her eyes were glued to the front of the top letter.
Cheryl Crawford.
No address, just her mother’s name, handwritten in black ink.
“Is that your mom?” Nathan wrapped his arm around her, pulling her fully against his side.
“Y-yeah.” She swallowed what felt like a lump the size of a boulder. Scraping her nail down the twine, she looked up at him. “Will you think it terrible of me if I said I wanted to look at these alone?”
“Of course not, baby. How about I go start some lunch for us? Come find me when you’re ready.” He kissed her softly and put the box beside her knee before rising and leaving the room.
Slipping the twine free, she selected the top envelope and put the rest of the stack back into the box. When she pulled out the letter, a photo fluttered out, landing softly on her lap. It was small and faded with age. A tall, young man stood behind her even younger looking mother, holding her flush against his body. A black Flyers ball cap shaded his face, but his grin was a mile wide and was matched by the bright smile on her mom’s face. Willow knew that cap—had even worn it several times since moving there and finding it in the hall closet.
Her mother couldn’t have been more than sixteen in the picture. Thinking back, Willow realized she’d never seen any pictures of her mom from when she’d been a pregnant teen. There’d only been photos of her mother when she’d been much younger or after Willow had been born. There certainly had never been pictures of her with this man—Jason.
After gently putting the picture with the other letters, she unfolded the pages in her hand. She took a deep breath, feeling as if she was balanced on a precipice. She knew, intrinsically, that everything she ever knew about her mother, and everything shedidn’tknow about her father, was about to change.
May 29
My Beloved Cherry,
