Page 26 of For Him

“Charlie! It’s Tenley,” my mom shouted away from the receiver before returning to me. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I was at the Duke ranch checking a bull when the storm hit. I’ll be here until it clears, but I’m safe. Inside,” I replied. “How are you and Daddy?”

“You’re at the Duke Ranch? I thought after the disaster dinner date you wouldn’t want to see Cassidy again.”

“So, it was a date!” I hissed in annoyance, and she sighed.

“Tenley, I can’t have you end up alone.”

I gripped the cord tighter and took a deep breath. Now was not the time to be upset at her, she loved me and cared about me. The conversation about all of that could come later. So, I ignored her comment and changed the subject.

“Are you and Dad alright? How’s Dad doing?”

“Today is a better day for him. We are safe and all hunkered down. It’s not that bad down here at all, and the plows will have the roads cleared easily once the storm ends,” she answered, her voice light and calm.

“Love you, and give Daddy my love, too. I’ll be home as soon as possible,” I said.

“Love you, too, sweetie. Be safe!”

We said our goodbyes, and I hung up the phone. Turning around, I found Weston and Keaton cooking up what looked like a delicious cowboy stew and chatting comfortably. It was endearing watching someone who came off a little hard to be so soft with his nephew. As I neared the two of them, I paused, shocked with what I overheard.

“Why is Doctor Mayn here with you and not Cassidy?” Keaton asked.

“Why would she be with Cassidy?” Weston stirred the pot that steam escaped from, allowing the most delicious aroma to fill the air.

“Because of the date I heard him and Grandma talking about.” Keaton dropped some onions into the stew.

“Date?”

“Yeah. Grandma and Grandpa went to Doc Mayn’s parents’ house with Cassidy last night for dinner. I’d wondered why Cassidy had dressed up all fancy,” Keaton answered.

Weston gripped the ladle a little tighter, but he didn’t answer. Silence fell between the two for a moment, and I stepped into the kitchen.

My offer to help was denied, not by Weston, but by Keaton. Weston refused to look at me, but I was confused as to why he was so upset. Being friends didn’t mean he had any right to me, if we could even call each other friends. It hadn’t ever really been discussed, he’d just ended up one of those people I felt comfortable around and wanted to be around. One of the few people I’d been able to meet, despite my insane schedule and everything happening with my father, that made me feel less alone.

It was Keaton and Weston who spoke during dinner. I thanked them both for the delicious meal and complimented them, but Weston barely looked at me. The blanket white snow falling outside didn’t let up as the evening wore on, and the two boys began cleaning up the dishes from dinner. I felt so out of place and slunk away to the living room, plopping myself and my now dry but stiff clothes into the recliner to stare at the pictures on the mantle.

Not a single one had Weston in them. I found a few of Keaton, his parents, tons of Cassidy and another man who looked like a mix of the two brothers I’d met. Even some of a girl I assumed to be Pearl since she looked a lot like Nancy. But not one had Weston.

There was a large family portrait hung upon the rock above the mantle. Standing up, I crept closer, trying to sort through the people in the frame to find him. It took me a minute, but there he was, hidden slightly in the back. He stood a hair taller than everyone else, but not by much, and he had his typical cowboy hat on.

You could see the piercing blue eyes, but a soft shadow fell over the left side of his face. It masked the scar, though it was still slightly discernible. I wished you could see it better; it gave Weston a rugged look of power and strength. In this picture though, his beard was as thick as his mustache, which covered the end of the scar that ran along his jawline. When I leaned in even closer however, I could see that there was still a thinner patch of hair where the scar was.

It was the only picture of him, and yet it wasn’t the man that stood by the sink, laughing with his nephew. The man in this portrait was hidden away, barely smiling with a dark sweater tucked up around his neck. The man in the picture didn’t want to be seen, much like the man that seemed to still want to remain invisible in town.

So different from the man who had so clearly laughed at a joke I made that wasn’t really that funny. Not the man that had literally carried me through a blizzard and hadn’t winced as I sewed up a nasty wound without any anesthetic.

The sink turned off, and the two boys dried their hands. “Go take a shower or something and find some warm, dry clothes in the dresser downstairs,” Weston said to Keaton.

Keaton nodded. “Then could we play a game before bed?”

“Bring one up with you,” Weston answered, and Keaton grinned before racing down the stairs. Cold, midnight eyes turned towards me, but he didn’t walk my way. Instead, he took a deep breath and shoved his hands in his pockets.

“Are you going to tell me why you suddenly won’t talk to me?” I snapped at him.

He shook his head, clearly frustrated. “You lied.” His face had gone blank.

“About what?” I threw my hands into the air.

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