6
From the diary of Eleanor Chance
August 15, 1990
WHEN YOUR CHILD MARRIES, you instantly become related to a whole lot more folks. Sometimes that’s a lovely thing and sometimes it’s not. But in the case of our only son, Jonathan, marrying Sarah Gillespie eight years ago, we lucked out. Judy and Bill are salt-of-the-earth.
When I told Judy that, she called it a supreme compliment. She’s lived in Shoshone for more than thirty years, but some locals still think of her as an uppity Easterner. I admit when she first arrived she caused quite a stir, and people around here have long memories.
She blew in from New York City, flush with money from her modeling career and wearing pricey designer outfits. She immediately bought a small ranch and hired one of Jackson Hole’s most eligible bachelors, Bill Gillespie, to help run it. We all predicted they’d get married, which they did, and within a year little Sarah was born.
But then Judy made the mistake of announcing she’d only have one child in order to keep her figure. That didn’t sit well with the town busybodies. Personally, I didn’t give a hoot. She had the right to make that decision for herself.
I liked her from the get-go. She was generous with her money, always willing to support local charity efforts, and she worked right alongside Bill as they turned their place into a cute little guest ranch. She worked hard to make the place cozy and profitable until they chose to sell and move into town.
Judy came over today so she, Sarah and I could have a confab about Jack’s twelfth birthday party next month. Judy keeps trying to get that boy to warm up to her, but Jack’s a funny one. He’s never quite recovered after his mother left when he was a toddler.
Consequently he got it into his head that because Sarah is not his “real” mother, he has no right to claim Judy as his grandmother. He thinks his brothers are the only ones who deserve that privilege. No amount of reasoning works with him. Next to the word stubborn in the dictionary is a picture of my grandson Jack.
But Judy keeps trying, and the birthday present she’s bought for Jack is a perfect example. She asked a rare book dealer in New York to track down an autographed copy of one of Jack’s favorite Louis L’Amour titles. I don’t even want to know what she paid for it, and Jack won’t realize the effort and expense involved, but I’m sure he’ll treasure the book. Maybe someday he’ll realize what a gift of love it is.
In any case, I’ll be forever grateful that Judy chose Wyoming as her landing spot after she left modeling. Besides giving birth to the amazing Sarah, she’s also been an asset to the community. In my opinion, we could use a few more Easterners blowing into town to shake things up and keep us from getting too set in our ways.
Last Chance Ranch
Present day
ON HIS KNEES inside an empty stall, Zach Powell concentrated on nailing a loose board in place. Except for one horse with medical issues, Zach was alone in the barn. Or so he thought until he stopped hammering and heard the echo of footsteps.
Whoever was wandering around wasn’t wearing cowboy boots, either. Boots made a distinctive clump-clump sound on the wooden barn floor, whereas this was a sharper click-click. After spending years in L.A. courtrooms, Zach was familiar with that noise.
For some reason, this woman was wearing stilettos in the barn. He’d only been working here a few weeks, but he hadn’t seen a woman in stilettos anywhere on the ranch, let alone in the barn. He was curious enough to stand up and take a look.
She was five stalls down and totally focused on Ink Spot, a black-and-white Paint who’d been kept in because of a recent sprain. Tall, slender and blond, the woman wore cream-colored dress pants and a lemon-yellow blouse, probably silk. The shoes that peeked out were also yellow and probably designer, judging from the rest of her ensemble—gold bangles on her wrists and gold hoop earrings. No doubt her short, sleek haircut was courtesy of a pricey salon.
She looked completely out of place here, except for the way she stroked the horse’s nose. Whoever she was, she knew horses, which made her outfit even more puzzling. She touched the horse with great affection, reaching up to scratch under his forelock as she murmured softly.
Something about the way she communed with Ink Spot told Zach that she wasn’t eager for company. He should just finish up his hammering and leave by the back door. On the other hand, she didn’t look very happy. Zach knew all about unhappiness.
She’d been so motivated to seek the comfort of horses that she’d risked her expensive outfit by coming out to the barn. That meant she must be really upset, and by speaking to her, he could be intruding on a private moment. Plus, they didn’t know each other.
He’d about decided to go back to his hammering when she turned toward him. “You’re probably wondering what the hell I’m doin’ here dressed like a Sunday school teacher.”
No Sunday school teacher he’d ever known had looked like that, but the Southern accent clued him in. This had to be Jeannette Trenton from Virginia. Everybody on the ranch knew her story, even a new hire like Zach.
Last year she’d been Regan O’Connelli’s fiancée,
