It was beautiful, the thick whirling white flakes.
Thank goodness Troy Sheenan was comfortable behind the wheel. It was obvious he’d grown up driving in snow and ice, too.
“Have family in Marietta?” he asked, a few minutes later.
She pictured her brother, remembering how they’d moved to Marietta together, or how he’d moved with her after she’d gotten hired by the library. Doug was able to get a job, too, as an apprentice to a Marietta electrician but within weeks of arriving in Marietta, he got in trouble and it’d been difficult ever since.
“Not in town, but in Paradise Valley,” Taylor said. “My little brother lives—” she broke off, frowning, uncertain how to explain Doug’s situation. She was protective of her brother’s illness. Not everyone understood mood disorders. Not everyone wanted to understand. She gave her head a small shake, squared her shoulders. “---out there.”
“I was raised in Paradise Valley. That’s where our family ranch is.”
Jane had told her about the big Sheenan spread in Paradise Valley, one of the larger ranches in the area, and it bordered the Carrigan property, the other big ranch. Taylor knew Sage Carrigan as Sage was on the Great Wedding Giveaway committee, and was donating all the chocolates and truffles for Friday’s Valentine Ball.
The Ball.
Right.
Taylor prayed Troy had no idea that she was the one Jane had volunteered to be his date. But then, Taylor doubted Troy had a clue. Men listened to women as little as possible. “Beautiful land,” she said.
“Your brother’s a cowboy?” Troy asked.
“He’s... working on a ranch now, yes,” Taylor answered, thinking this was exactly what she didn’t want to discuss. She was so private about Doug’s situation, and so protective of him personally. He was doing better than he had in a long time, but there were still struggles and days his medicine didn’t seem to help, days when his fears and anxiety and depression overwhelmed him.
“You sound unsure,” Troy said.
Her lips pursed. Troy was perhaps more perceptive then she’d imagined. “The ranch life is new to him,” she said after a slight hesitation. “It’s an adjustment.”
“Ranching is hard work.”
Doug was never supposed to be a ranch hand. He’d gone to school to be an electrician. He was smart and he could work hard but he did have... problems. But people didn’t want to hire young adults with problems. People didn’t want to be troubled by other people’s problems. Taylor worried about the future. She worried about Doug being able to have the future he wanted and deserved.
“The physical work isn’t the issue,” she said after a moment, when she could trust herself to speak. “It’s the... environment. It’s not the best place for him.”
“What would be better for him?”
“He wanted to be an electrician. He took all the courses and passed all these tests. He just needs to be given a chance... and it’ll happen. It will.”
“So the ranch is just a stepping stone to the next job,” Troy said.
“Yes.” She smiled, wanting to believe it. Needing to believe it.
She loved her little brother so much. He would be fine. He’d get through this. “That’s right.”
They lapsed again into silence but this time neither of them tried to fill it.
Troy’s powerful four wheel drive made quick work of the mountain pass.
“Almost there,” Troy said a little bit later, putting on his turn signal, as they approached the exit for Marietta. It was still snowing, but the flurries were lighter and the snow plows had been working all evening, keeping the city roads clear. “Which part of town do you live?”
“Near downtown, four blocks north of the library on Bramble Lane.”
“Know that street well. I had a girlfriend in high school that lived on Bramble,” he said, smiling crookedly, “and one of my best friends, Mason Jones, lived there, too.”
“I’m renting a room from the Jones’.”
“Then I know right where to go.”
Minutes later he was pulling up in front of the one and a half story Victorian home, the pale yellow paint contrasted with lots of creamy white trim, and snow. Mounds of snow. The snow clung to the big evergreen in the corner of the yard and blanketed the shrubs and hedges lining the front walk.
“So his parents rented you a room,” Troy said, shifting into park.
“His sister, Kara, did. She bought the house from her parents when they wanted to move to Florida.”
“Kara was just a pipsqueak when I knew her.”
“She’s not a pipsqueak anymore.” Taylor leaned forward and reached for her leather satchel. “She’s a Crawford County district attorney.”