A Cowgirl's Pride by Lorraine Nelson Page A

straying to the
handmade bear rug in front of the fire. She wondered what her grandfather would
say if he was privy to her thoughts.
    He’d shot the grizzly and cured the pelt himself
when it attacked the herd one spring. She’d only been a little girl then, maybe
six or seven, but could remember being equally fascinated and terrified whenever she came in and saw the rug lying on the
floor. These days it served to remind her of his caring and patience when
answering her thousand and one questions. She could always count on her Grandpa
Manning for an honest answer and talked to him about everything under the sun…well,
almost. When he died of cancer during her senior year of high school, she’d
been devastated, yet relieved that his suffering was over. Oftentimes she still
ached for his loving support, wishing he was alive, none more so than right
now.
    She allowed the book to close as she rested her
head against the chair’s back. What would he think of
Cal
? Gramps would probably admire him for
his work ethics, but would he approve of
Cal
as a life partner for his only granddaughter? Yeah, he would. Gramps always
said you could tell a man’s worth by the way he treated his horse. There was
none better than
Cal
.
The man loved horses. Whether he was riding them or mucking out stalls, he’d
always been content.
    And boy, could he ride! He took to it as if he’d
been born in the saddle. They used to race across the fields after the chores
were seen to, her thrilled just to watch him. He sat so straight in the saddle,
his hands firm but gentle on the reins as the slight pressure from his knees
guided the horse. His beloved Stetson, given to him by her father at the end of
that first day, added to the allure. He was her cowboy, and she loved him then. Did she still?
    She set the book aside and rose to place another
stick of hardwood on the fire, then stood there watching the flames jump and dance.
Her gaze lifted to the portrait hanging above the mantle—her grandfather. A
simple man, he’d carved an existence out of the barren landscape; a wise man
with intelligence and merriment shining from his eyes, captured forever by the
artist.
    Oh, Grandpa!
I’ve made such a mess of my life and brought trouble home. What should I do?
What can I do to make things right? I treated
Cal
badly when I left and it seems I’m still
doing that again, but how can I expect him to pay for my mistakes? If I’d
stayed home, it could be his child inside me, not Roddy’s. That changes
everything. Maybe I should have stayed gone.
    “No, girlie. You did right in coming home.”
    “Grandpa?” Was
she hearing things? Had he really spoken to her?
    “Home is where your heart is…where it’s always
been…where you need to be.”
    The fire crackled and popped, drawing her out of
her muse. She looked around at the empty room, thinking someone was playing
tricks on her, but she was the sole occupant. Her eyes focused on the portrait
once again, and she could’ve sworn he smiled at her. Did she need reassurance
so badly that she’d conjured it out of nowhere?
    Suddenly, she felt her grandfather’s presence,
smelled the Old Spice cologne he used to wear combined with the smell of saddle
leather. Warmth settled on her shoulders, as if he’d placed an arm around her
in comfort. Tears filled her vision. “Thank you, Grandpa. Now I know I did
right in coming back. Whatever troubles have followed me, I’ll deal with them
and make you proud. I love you, Gramps, and I’ve missed you so much.”
    She was afraid to move, afraid of losing contact,
but sensed a guiding hand lead her to the armchair. She sat, waiting, for what
she didn’t know. Warmth invaded her body, removing the last vestiges of
mind-numbing fear and replacing it with calm acceptance. She was home,
surrounded by people she loved and who loved her in return. Everything would be
all right. With Gramps on her side, how could it be anything else?
    * * * *
    The overhead light flicked