Hearts Aflame Read online

  Another smile overtook her and then vanished into the wind.

  That was before the accident.

  Absently, she reached up and touched her temple, fingering the scar. The ball in her throat began to burn like fire. Krista did her best to swallow against it and drove on.

  The little Z kicked up dust as she took in the sights and smells, climbing a bit and then rounding a large turn. From there the road opened up into the vastness of the ranch property, and she couldn’t help but smile at its simple beauty. Miles and miles of grasslands and fences were nestled in the center of the surrounding desert terrain. The Wylers owned two thousand acres, and they’d settled their house, and the stables and pens, right in the middle of the property.

  To Krista’s surprise, there were no cowboys on horses whistling at cattle, sorting them in the pens. She blinked. There were no cattle. She looked to the surrounding stables and bunkhouses. There were no cowhands moving about the ranch, doing their daily chores. There was nobody and nothing.

  Jesus Christ, have I been away so long that everything has changed? Pangs of regret expanded within her chest. She used to love this land. Worship this land. So why have I stayed away? She could’ve come back anytime she wanted. The invitation was always there. Again she touched the scar and her foot ached. It had just been easier to stay away.

  “And now, some fifteen years later, I’m back.” She wiped angrily at a stray tear as she pulled up to the ranch house. “Fifteen years,” she whispered.

  The house didn’t look anywhere near as big as she remembered. It looked just like an average ranch home, wide and single-storied with an ample stone front porch and wide windows. Only now, the 3,500-square-foot house looked every bit its age. The stucco needed painting near the bottom, there were tiles missing on the roof, the grass in the front was overgrown, and the hanging flower pots that were once her aunt’s pride and joy now held dead, dried plants. Some of the sun screens were missing from the windows, giving the house a “toothless” appearance. The large rocking chairs on the porch were faded and worn. There was no food in the bird feeders, and chimes were missing on the homemade wooden wind chimes her uncle had made years ago. The wood on the remaining chimes was weathered and bleached out by the sun. She could remember the day her aunt hung the one in the center, grinning from ear to ear, loving when her husband made things for her.

  That had been the last summer Krista had been here. June. She remembered because the chimes had been a birthday present for her aunt. She studied the house in silence, the sadness of it all weighing her down. Even though she’d been away from the ranch for many years, it pained her to see the current state of disrepair. It was as if the house mirrored what was happening within its walls. Just like a sick body—trouble on the inside would eventually show on the outside.

  The ball of fire was now burning, a liquid lava of raw emotion in Krista’s throat. Tears formed as she cursed herself for her long absence. She’d been selfish all these years, making excuses for failing to come during the holidays and any other time she’d been invited. It had taken her aunt’s falling ill to bring her back. Facing that fact made her almost sick at herself.

  The car crunched onto the gravel drive as she swallowed back more tears. She slammed into park and killed the engine, forcing herself to look into the rearview mirror. She plucked off her sunglasses and stared into the cool green eyes. They were large and liquid, framed by moist mascara marks. She hated herself at that moment. Hated the hurt from the past, hated the hurt here and now, and hated the hurt that was sure to come.

  Angry, she straightened her hair and gritted her teeth. There was no sense in crying. Not now anyway. Her family needed her and she was determined to be there for them.

  The squeaking of the screen door made her refocus her attention on the house. Squinting into the sun, she opened her door and stepped out to stand alongside the car, shading her brow with her hand.

  A little red rooster came running at her from her left. He angled his wings like a fighter jet on the attack and then slowed to peck around her feet, sizing her up.

  “Mija, is that you? Is that my Krista?” Uncle Clinton’s voice came out of the dark doorway before he did.

  Krista at once smiled, her heart swelling at hearing his voice. “It’s me, tío, it’s me.” She had always called him tío. Spanish for “uncle.” Half Hispanic, Clinton often spoke his mother’s, and Krista’s grandmother’s, native language.

  Laughing, he stepped out onto the porch, placed his Stetson on his head, and said, “Well, git over here and give me a hug.”

  Krista hesitated, searching him for the signs of deteriorating health her aunt had told her about. She’d been a little worried about him after their conversation a couple of weeks ago, but he seemed fine. Relief rushed through her.

  He held out his arms in welcome, and as she walked toward him she noticed he had hardly changed. Worn, scuffed boots led up denim Wranglers that hugged his long, lean legs and ended at one of his numerous rodeo belt buckles from his days riding wild broncos back in his youth. Clinton always reminded Krista of her father, who’d passed away when she was very young. Her memory of him was mostly based on old photos, so seeing Clinton always brought him to life somehow. Something she cherished.

  Smiling, her face flushed with warm heat, she stepped up onto the creaking porch and fell into his arms. His denim shirt was ironed and creased down the arms and she could smell his Stetson cologne. Something he’d always worn because “It drives your aunt Judy wild.” And he would always wink at her after saying this. She sighed in his arms and felt the hot tears flow down her cheeks where they dropped onto the denim of his shirt, leaving dark splotches. Despite his seventy-plus years, he felt strong and safe and soothing. It was like being enveloped by home, a place you may leave but never really go far from.

  She held him tighter, the sound of the wind chimes and the curious rooster behind them. She could hear clawed feet clicking on the stone porch. It was strangely comforting.

  “I’m sorry I’ve been away so long.” The words floated out, followed closely by chest-ripping sobs. All the courage, all the success, all the bravado in the world seemed to crumble at the old cowboy’s feet. She must’ve been crazy to think that she could put on a brave face.

  “It’s okay. It’s okay. Shh.” He patted the back of her head.

  They pulled apart and she wiped at her tears, upset and a little embarrassed at having lost control. But Clinton merely smiled down at her, his brown eyes alive and vibrant and his hair a thick, stark white. He stroked her cheek, wiping at the wetness. “Come inside and see your aunt.”

  Krista straightened herself up and then followed, unsure as to whether she was ready to face what the house held, but knowing she had to. They stepped inside the front door and the first thing Krista noticed was the familiar smell. Warm spice, pipe tobacco, and freshly cut wood. She closed her eyes and imagined she was ten years old and just arriving for the summer. She felt warm all over, and as she opened her eyes, she noted the same varnished vaulted ceiling, the same dark wood floors, along with the familiar colors of the Navajo rugs. The worn leather furniture sat where it always had. Her favorite painting still hung above the large stone fireplace. The white buffalo. Sacred and immortal as the timeless setting it still inhabited.

  So much had changed, yet so little. The last time she had stood here the fireplace had been roaring and crackling, and the smell of fresh cornbread had hovered in the air. Her fingers had ached from their intense grip on the cane at her side.

  Blinking back from the past, she held up her hand and stretched out her fingers.

  “Clinton? Clinton, is that you?” a weak voice beckoned.

  Krista glanced behind her but her uncle had disappeared. She refocused on the living room, searching for the source of the soft voice. Around her she began to notice the same neglect that marked the outside of the house. A thick layer of dust covered the furniture, and the rugs needed vacuuming. Stacks and stacks of mail s
at on every end table, most unopened. Krista fumbled with a lamp, hoping to brighten up the dim room, but the bulb was dead.

  Blinking, she stared at the back of her aunt’s favorite recliner. The chair appeared to be empty, but slowly, a figure rose and turned, piercing Krista with blue eyes.

  “Aunt Judith.” The words came out on a shocked breath. Krista tried to regain her composure but failed miserably. Her aunt stood with one hand resting on the back of the recliner, a soft, knowing smile on her face. Her once-strong body was painfully thin and hidden poorly under a baggy pair of sweats. “I’m sorry, I…” Krista tried to explain why she had not come sooner but her voice shook.

  “I look like an anorexic old cow, don’t I?” The smile was etched into her aunt’s sunken cheeks, yet her eyes seemed to dance with her wit.

  Krista laughed, shaky and emotional, unable to form words for an answer.

  “I thought so,” Judith spoke for her. “Someone needs to go on ahead and shoot me but your uncle won’t hear of it.” She waved Krista over hurriedly. “Come hug me before I up and croak.”

  Krista wrapped her arms carefully around the older woman, afraid of hurting her, but Judith responded by squeezing her tightly and kissing her roughly on the cheek.

  “How are you, Krissy?” She stepped back to get a good look at her only niece. “You look well.”

  “I’m fine.” Krista searched the bright eyes and felt the cool, soft skin of the hands on her arms. She’s skin and bones. My God, she’s just skin and bones. My aunt Judith. What happened? “I’m sorry.” She began to choke up again.

  “Nonsense.” Judith waved her off. “No need wasting anyone’s time with what’s already happened. I’m sick and dying and you’re here. That’s all that matters.” Judith maneuvered herself back into the recliner. “Forgive me, but I can’t stand for very long.” She rested her head and took several deep breaths. “Sonja’s gonna let me have it any minute now anyway.”

  Puzzled, Krista asked, “Who’s Sonja?”

  As if on cue, a middle-aged woman with skin as dark and as smooth as morning coffee entered from the hallway. “Mrs. Wyler, where did you get to?”

  Judith laughed. “That’s Sonja.” Turning in her direction, she said, “My niece is here. I had to come out to welcome her.”

  Sonja approached them and smiled worriedly. “I understand that, but you know you can’t be off your IV.”

  “I’m dying, Sonja. Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do.”

  Sonja rolled her eyes and then offered her hand to Krista. The other held a fresh lightbulb. “I’m Sonja Jonas.”

  “Krista Wyler.” Krista noted Sonja’s colorful scrubs. “You’re a nurse, then?”

  “She’s a goddamn drill sergeant is what she is!” Judith shouted, winning herself a light slap on her upper arm from the larger woman.

  “That’s right,” Sonja responded, crossing the room to switch out the lightbulbs and turn on the lamp. “So you better get your butt back into that bedroom of yours. You can’t be off that IV.” She wiped her hands on her scrubs and went back to Judith. Carefully, she helped her stand. Krista immediately went to her aunt’s other side, but Judith wouldn’t have it.

  “I can do it. I can do it.” Krista stepped back but Sonja continued to hold on to her, walking with her toward the hallway. “I said I can do it.”

  “I know you can do it, but you’re just going to have to do it with me.”

  “If I wasn’t sick I’d kick your tail.”

  Sonja laughed. “I know you would, Mrs. Wyler. Believe me, I know you would.”

  As the two neared the hallway, Clinton entered, meeting them head-on. His hat was gone, showing off his distinguished white hair and tanned skin. He held his pipe in his hand, probably getting ready to stuff it with tobacco. Upon seeing Krista, his face lit up like a child’s.

  “Judy, Judy, did you see?”

  Krista smiled, glad he was so happy to have her there.

  “It’s Becky! She’s come to see us.”

  Again he looked to Krista and then back to his wife, completely serious.

  Krista felt her stomach turn to cold steel. What? He thinks I’m my mother. She was the spitting image of her mother, who’d been gone for years. “Tio, it’s me, it’s Krista.”

  He blinked. “Krista?” Then he smiled. “When did you get here?”

  Krista reached out for the recliner. Suddenly the conversation she’d had previously with her aunt sank in and nearly caused her to faint with dizziness. Her uncle might look fine, but he wasn’t well.

  “Krista’s going to be staying with us for a while,” Judith said, touching his arm.

  “She is?”

  “Yes,” Sonja said. “Why don’t you help her bring in her things?”

  Clinton nodded and headed for the door, his pipe sticking out of his pocket. As he stepped out Judith said, “I’m glad you’re here, Krissy. We need you.”

  Krista nodded and lowered her head as Sonja led her aunt down the hallway to the bedroom. She looked around and felt a chill sweep over her body. As warm and familiar as the ranch home felt, there was nothing warm and inviting about what lay ahead.

  Chapter Three

  Two days later, Krista was sitting slumped at her aunt Judith’s antique rolltop desk up to her eyeballs in bills. The sound of the vacuum cleaner buzzed in her head, making it damn near impossible to concentrate. Dropping her pencil, she leaned back and massaged her temples as the cleaners she’d hired moved about the house. Her aunt had had a hissy fit at the idea of someone else cleaning her house, but Krista had little choice. Sonja had been doing what she could, but Krista wanted her to focus on caring for Judith, not worry about the house. And her uncle Clinton—a sigh escaped her at the thought of him. He would start to clean, but then something else would get his attention and off he would go to chop more wood. He lost his concentration incessantly. Lighting a fire every night, even though it was now too warm to do so, and then chopping and stacking more wood the next day. He did the same with the ironing. For hours he would stand in the spare bedroom ironing creases into every piece of clothing he could find. His state was much worse than she could’ve imagined.

  His inability to think clearly and remember was very evident in the Wylers’ finances. Krista glanced down at the stack of papers before her. It was going to take at least another couple of hours to get the majority of the paperwork straightened out and more than a few thousand from her own bank account to cover all the bills. She didn’t mind, of course; she had plenty of money and was glad she could help. But just realizing how close her aunt and uncle were to going under frightened her.

  Since Judith had fallen ill, the ranch had nearly ceased working. Clinton’s memory problems had started the year before, and he did what he could just to take care of his wife. Things were a mess. Hell, they were a nightmare.

  Needing to escape the noisy confines of the house, Krista rose and took a short stack of paid and stamped bills with her. She stepped outside into the afternoon sun and breathed in the scent of the ranch. Instead of walking the near half mile out to the mailbox, she headed over to the large stock pens, where she leaned on the barred fence and stared off toward the quiet stables. Like the gate at the entrance, the welded pipes of the pens were rusting and in need of paint. The stables and bunkhouses also needed tending to, the wood worn and weathered. She blinked toward the chicken coop as the red rooster she’d seen before came running out to her. He seemed to be the only one and he was very protective of the property. She let him inspect her feet as she stared back toward the stables. At the very least, the ranch and its current state of disarray left her little time to think about her own life and its shortcomings.

  She listened to the distant sounds of the horses, enjoying the peace and comfort of the ranch when her cell phone rang. It was Suzanne. She sounded chipper as always.

  “Hey you. How are things?”

  “Not good.”

  “Is it as bad as you thought?”


  “Worse,” Krista said. Suzanne knew she’d had to drop everything and head off for the ranch. Something that before then would have been damn near impossible to get her to do.

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Is there anything I can do?”

  Krista laughed. “Oh sure. Can you continue to run my business while I take care of things here?” It had only been two days and she was already way behind on her own work.

  “You know I would if I could. How much longer do you think you’ll be needed?”

  “Another couple of weeks at least.” An image of her aunt came to Krista’s mind, followed by the screen door banging and her uncle attempting to carry in more firewood, dropping some in the process. “Maybe longer.”

  “Are you gonna be able to work from the ranch?”

  Krista grimaced at the thought. She now had her workload plus the ranch to look after. Not to mention her aunt and uncle. “I’m going to have to.”

  “Well, let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

  “I will.”

  “Promise.” It was a demand, not a request. Suzanne knew her all too well.

  “Promise.”

  They hung up and Krista felt worse than before.

  “Krista Wyler. Is that you?”

  Surprised, she turned and looked into the sun-weathered face of Dwight Tanner, the Wylers’ oldest friend and employee. Krista had known him and his father Douglas since her very first visit to the ranch. Smiling, she stepped up to give the large man a hug. The strong scent of chewing tobacco tickled her nose and his gray stubble tickled her cheek. He blushed at the contact and kept his hands in his back pockets.

  “Dwight, it’s good to see you.” Krista studied his dark eyes, which were nestled beneath thick webs of wrinkles. She noted a sadness there, a silent defeat to his aura.

  “It’s damn near great to see you,” he said with the ball of chewing tobacco kept to the side of his cheek. “This ranch, it’s dying.” The words struck home, and an anxiety at hearing them aloud knotted her insides.