31. Mama Bear

Chapter 31

Mama Bear

O akleigh observed the icy driveway as she parked the Jeep in front of the ranch house. Early that morning over coffee, Maeve had talked a big game about shoveling snow, but it appeared that very little had been accomplished. Remembering her mother’s seemingly pretentious suggestion, Oakleigh thumbed over her phone screen, curious as to what it would actually cost to install a heated driveway.

“Hmm, expensive,” she muttered.

Making a note on her phone, she intended to delve into the details when she had a free moment. It would take a persuasive case to convince Maeve of such a luxury.

Oakleigh had spent the afternoon checking up on the shop. She had promised herself that she would do better at supporting Audrey, although she could already feel her ambition pressing against it. She felt the nagging drive to focus her attention on expanding and improving the ranch business.

Climbing out of the Jeep, Oakleigh felt her boots sink into the deep snow. Thankful the weather was clear, the sun’s warmth left her feeling renewed after so many dark, cloudy days.

As she opened the front door, she immediately caught the aroma of smoldering wood in the fireplace and the earthy scent of freshly brewed coffee. Going through the house, she found Maeve in her usual corner of the kitchen.

Oakleigh paused in the doorway.

Not only was it odd for Maeve to take a break from her long list of mid-day responsibilities, but she seemed quiet and distracted.

Oakleigh announced her presence with a dose of levity. “You sure you don’t want a splash of cream in that?”

“It never gets old, Oakleigh,” Maeve smiled dryly as she went to work preparing her coffee just the way she liked it.

“So, I’m looking for my next project,” Oakleigh announced, taking her first sip of the perfectly amber colored brew.

“Oakleigh,” Maeve sighed, although clearly amused. “We just finished the church — can’t we let the dust settle for one day?”

“Yeah, that’s a no,” Oakleigh replied, taking another long drink of coffee before setting down her mug. “Here’s what I’m thinking.” She rattled off her notes, purposefully leaving out her plans for the driveway. Despite Maeve’s hesitation, Oakleigh noticed she was always a captive audience.

“And finally,” Oakleigh concluded with a touch of exasperation in her tone. “If Crew ever asks me to marry him —”

“He’s asked,” Maeve interjected, with a slight eye roll.

“You know what I mean,” Oakleigh responded. “I’d like to expand the upstairs just a tad,” she said, pinching her finger and thumb together to accentuate her point.

“A tad?” Maeve asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I want a bedroom like yours,” she clarified with a wince, knowing she was pushing her luck.

Maeve began to shake her head before Oakleigh had even finished her statement.

“Oh — come on, Maeve,” Oakleigh pleaded. “We have plenty of room.”

“You’re not wrong there, it’s just,” Maeve paused. “Sawyer gets first choice.”

Oakleigh scoffed, “You really think he’s going to get married?”

Maeve took a long drink of her coffee, stifling her amusement at her son’s expense. “I have a hunch that he will,” she said, thumbing the smooth handle of her mug. “I’ll talk to him.”

Oakleigh let silence fall between them.

“With the competition tomorrow, I’m short on ranch hands,” Maeve informed, pivoting into ranch business. “Colton and Wade will be packing up the Slims.”

“Okay, no problem,” Oakleigh shrugged, setting her mug down. “I’ll check fences.” Preparing to head upstairs, she began strategizing the long afternoon ride.

I need warmer clothes.

Saddle the horse.

Pack the radios and —

“And Oakleigh,” Maeve called out, catching her attention. “I’ll need you to take your mom.”

Oakleigh stopped and turned on her heels.

“Why?” she fired back, a little more aggressively than she had intended.

Maeve gave her the familiar glance that told her she wouldn’t be getting the explanation she desired.

“Because I asked you to.”

“You are being frustratingly vague today, Maeve,” Oakleigh scolded.

“Oh, am I?” Maeve asked, hiding her amused smile behind another long sip from her mug.

“More than usual,” Oakleigh replied, turning again to leave.

“And why don’t you bring your mom a cup of coffee,” Maeve casually tossed.

Oakleigh let out an aggravated exhale, “Now you’re just doing this on purpose.”

She snatched two steel travel mugs from the cabinet and banged them down on the marble countertop. Tipping the percolator, she filled one to the brim and left room in the other for a splash of cream and sugar. Pressing on the lids, she lifted the mugs and trudged up the stairs.

She considered how Maeve was so consistently gracious toward others. Oakleigh was already feeling the ache of old wounds returning, edging out the compassion she had found for her mother .

She went down the hall and arrived at Harper’s room. Knocking on the door, she waited impatiently for a response.

“Mom,” she called out. “It’s me.”

No response came, and Oakleigh felt pressed to fill in the silence.

“I was wondering if you’d like to ride out with me this afternoon?” she asked. “It’s nothing special, just checking fences.”

Her eyes flicked to the ceiling, feeling insecurity creep in.

“I totally get it if you don’t want to,” she sighed. “It’s just Maeve asked —”

“Sure,” Harper’s voice came muffled through the door. “Just give me a minute.”

“Okay,” Oakleigh replied, “I guess I’ll wait for you downstairs.”

Returning to the living room, she set the mugs on the coffee table and plopped down on the soft leather sofa. She took in the ambiance of the roaring fire while she waited for her mother to come downstairs. Before she could even pull out her phone and scroll her newsfeed, she heard the sound of creaking footsteps down the long staircase.

“Ready to go?” Oakleigh inquired, trying not to react as she locked onto her mother. Harper’s eyes looked red and weary, as though she had been upset for the better part of the morning.

“I must look terrible,” Harper remarked, her voice sounding weak. She pulled her beanie lower over her blonde hair, and ran her hands down the crinkles of her jacket .

Oakleigh felt a pang of guilt that her mother had obviously noticed her hesitation.

“You’re fine, Mom,” she reassured, with a casual sweep of her hand. “As Maeve loves to say, it’s a trail ride, not a beauty pageant .” She immediately second-guessed bringing up Maeve, hoping it wouldn’t trigger Harper’s annoyance.

Yet, she seemed to take the comment in stride.

Leading the way out to the porch, Oakleigh snapped a quick selfie before her nose and cheeks turned pink from the icy wind. She posted it quickly with a simple caption, enough to maintain the momentum she had gained over the last few days. She trudged through the snow to the barn, where she was not only surprised to see two horses already saddled but Sawyer back on his feet. Maeve stood nearby with Crew and Bethany while Sawyer tightened the last strap on the saddle.

“I thought he was injured,” Harper observed as she stepped beside Oakleigh.

“So did I,” Oakleigh replied, watching the ranch hands gather around.

Walking up to the group, she noticed Sawyer standing askew, showing just how tender and sore he still was.

“Well, son —” Maeve began.

“Don’t say it,” Sawyer grimaced.

“You ready to get back on that horse?” she grinned.

They had all endured Abel’s long-established tradition, whether fully recovered or not. Maeve was determined to continue the legacy in his honor .

“My ribs hurt,” Sawyer complained, although he must have known it wouldn’t make any difference.

“If you can lead worship,” Maeve chimed, stepping into her horse’s stirrups and swinging her leg over the saddle. “Then you can ride.”

Colton and Wade chortled in delight while Bethany looked on with a tight, concerned expression.

“That’s enough out of you two,” Sawyer barked, mounting his horse while holding his arm tightly across his ribs. His eyes radiated sheer aggravation as he pulled on the reins.

“I hate this,” Bethany fretted, chewing her lip with worry.

“Better him than me,” Oakleigh emphasized, knowing she was one slip off the saddle from being in Sawyer’s unfortunate shoes.

The barn door slid open again, and Colton led out two more horses that were saddled and ready to ride.

“Thanks, Colt,” Oakleigh acknowledged. “It’s good to have you boys back.”

“Okay,” Colton deadpanned, handing her the reins.

She still hadn’t won them over, no matter how hard she had tried.

“Hold up,” Wade called out. He spat a stream of tobacco, staining the white snow. “Sawyer made us promise we wouldn’t let you leave without this.” He tucked a rifle into the holster of the leather saddle bag.

“Forget about it,” Oakleigh refused, digging her heels in. “My horse, my rules. ”

“He said you’d say that,” Wade grunted as he swiped the stain of wet tobacco from his lips with the side of his fist. “And then he said, take it or you don’t ride at all .”

Oakleigh ran her tongue along her teeth as she considered.

“Fine,” she reluctantly conceded.

Mounting up, she patiently waited for her mother to put her feet in the stirrups and settle into the saddle.

“We’re checking fences on the East Pasture,” Oakleigh instructed, pointing out in the general direction. “Keep up, I’d like to be back before nightfall.” Putting her heels down, she prompted her horse from a quick trot to a slow gallop across the snow-covered fields. Harper stayed a few paces behind, but rode with the expertise of a well-seasoned rider. Arriving at the East Pasture, Harper brought her horse to a stop beside hers.

“You’re a decent rider, Oakleigh,” Harper observed.

Oakleigh bristled at the offhanded compliment.

“Let’s just get on with this,” she replied, shoring up her protective walls. Oakleigh had yearned for affirmation for so long that any attempt now felt inconsequential.

Riding around the property’s border, Oakleigh scanned the long stretch of fenceline. She brought her horse to a halt and pulled the travel mug from her saddle bag. Yanking her glove off with her teeth, she freed her fingers to pop open the lid. She took a long drink of the hot coffee, enjoying the quiet beauty of the sun setting behind the snow-dusted mountains. Pressing the top closed, she slipped the steel mug back into her bag .

“What’s this?” Harper chimed in, shattering the peaceful tenor of nature around them.

“What’s what?” Oakleigh replied, preparing to pull her glove back over her fingertips, which were stiffening in the plummeting temperatures.

“What’s this on your fingers?” Harper leaned over in the saddle and took her hand. Unfurling Oakleigh’s fingertips, she brushed over the old wounds.

Oakleigh yanked her hand back and stuffed it into her glove. She had already shown her those scars. Harper’s lack of recall revealed her typical uninterest in anything that didn’t revolve around her. What was more curious to Oakleigh was her willingness to offer even the slightest nurture, which she never did unless an audience was present. Entirely disregarding every skinned knee and scraped elbow, it was as though Harper lacked even the most basic maternal instincts.

“Well, it looks bad, Oakleigh,” Harper commented.

“There it is,” Oakleigh mumbled callously. “We wouldn’t want to look bad.” The harshness of her tone made her wince, knowing she shouldn’t have reacted so harshly. Old habits were hard to break, especially when fueled by such a long history of hurt.

Clicking her tongue against her cheek, Oakleigh prompted her horse down the trail.

Harper’s horse caught up beside hers.

“You’re a smart girl,” Harper bit back. “You know I didn’t mean it like that.” Even in her seemingly humbled frame of mind, it was clear that she wouldn’t accept disrespect, especially from Oakleigh. “So, how did you get those scars?”

“The ones on my hands or the emotional ones?” Oakleigh quipped.

Harper pursed her lips, offering a long, exasperated glance.

Although the scenery had changed, the battle was still the same.

“Fine,” Oakleigh reluctantly surrendered, still feeling the nag of self-preservation. “It happened right along here last spring,” she said, pointing down the fence line. “You were here, actually.”

Harper’s eyebrows raised. “I think I’d remember—“

Oakleigh gave her mother a knowing glance.

“Right.” Harper sucked her teeth.

“Paisley—” Oakleigh began, feeling her sister’s name catch in her throat, “got stuck down in the ravine, and the rope slipped,” she paused, the details still causing her stomach to tie in a knot. “If it hadn’t been for Mia — I suppose you’d have two less daughters to worry about.”

It wasn’t a kind way to say it, but she felt her temper rising. Harper’s cruelty had kept them apart, and now it felt incredibly unjust that she expected to hear all the gritty details of the night that irreconcilably fractured their relationship.

Harper gazed blankly down into the ravine below.

Oakleigh couldn’t be sure, but she thought she saw a crack in Harper’s usual, stern expression that was hidden behind her borrowed aviator sunglasses .

Veering off down a fork in the trail, there was a weighty silence between them, marked only by the clomping of hooves and the chilly breeze rustling through the frozen pine needles.

Harper cleared her throat, splintering the fragile peace between them.

“I know a little about scars,” Harper began, stumbling over words. She pressed her lips together as if debating whether to say what was weighing on her mind.

“Your grandfather, well —” her voice faded. “Never mind.”

No matter how much Oakleigh wanted to understand, she knew there was no prying the words from her even if she tried.

Harper and Maeve were strangely alike in that way.

She searched for a light response with frail hopes of breaking the quiet tension.

Before she could utter a word, her horse snorted and side-stepped on the icy trail.

“Woah, girl,” she reassured, patting the mare’s soft furry crest. The mare lifted her hooves off the ground, giving a high-pitched whinny. Scanning her eyes across the wooded trail, Oakleigh knew her horse was sensing danger. She had to take charge before it threw her and bolted toward safety.

Harper's horse was equally as frenzied, but she had noticeably better control over the frightened animal. Her eyes narrowed as she lifted her chin toward a dense grove of trees.

“There.”

Oakleigh leaned forward in her saddle, looking intently in the direction that her mother was pointing .

Her gaze landed on a dark brown bear frozen in place. Its glassy, emotionless black eyes were staring at them dangerously.

“Get the gun, Oakleigh,” Harper whispered sternly.

Oakleigh’s adrenaline coursed through her veins, causing her heartbeat to pound in her ears. Releasing her grip on the reins, she tightened her knees around her horse’s middle, praying her mare wouldn’t take the opportunity for a hasty escape. She reached back to the saddlebag, and pulled the long-barreled rifle from its place. The firearm felt heavy and clumsy in her hands.

Keep it together, Oaks.

Pressing out a long exhale, she raised the rifle and tucked it tightly into her shoulder, just as Crew had taught her.

Harper’s attention bounced from the bear to Oakleigh.

“What are you waiting for?” she exclaimed. “Pull the trigger.”

Oakleigh closed her left eye, steadying her tremoring hands.

The bear stood high on two legs, releasing a bone-chilling growl before pouncing back down on all fours.

She fumbled for the trigger.

“Shoot the bear, Oakleigh!” Harper shouted.

Oakleigh’s horse reared wildly, sending her scrambling for the reins. Fighting to stay in the saddle, she caught sight of the fierce predator charging at them through the snow.

We’re dead.

She felt the gun wrenched from her grasp .

Oakleigh swiveled to see her mother aiming the rifle with calm precision. She stared down the sight with her finger on the trigger.

The loud crack stopped the bear in its tracks, sending it careening across the icy slush. When it came to a stop, the animal appeared stunned. Coming to its senses, the bear ducked through the broken fence and made a hasty escape into the ravine.

“Did you miss?” Oakleigh heaved, attempting to fill her lungs and settle her heart. She sat high in the saddle as she steadied her frantic horse. “I think you missed.”

Harper brought the rifle down, studying where she had fired.

“I never miss.”

Through the thicket of trees, Oakleigh noticed a flurry of soft fur as dark brown baby bears dashed from the brush. They followed after their mother down the side of the hill, rolling and sliding clumsily as they went.

“I’ve never seen you fire a gun?” Oakleigh remarked, retrieving the rifle from her mother’s outstretched hand.

Harper casually ran her fingers down her winter coat, pulling a speck of dirt off the cuff. “And what did you think we do at the club all day?”

Oakleigh scoffed. “Drink.”

Her mother lifted an eyebrow, but her expression held a rare glimmer of amusement. “Well, we do that too. ”

Oakleigh took another deep breath to steady the quiver in her voice. Grabbing the radio from her saddle bag, she pulled it to her lips.

“We have a busted fence in the East Pasture,” she informed, “I repeat, a busted fence in the East Pasture — over.”

She listened to the hiss of the radio, feeling relieved when she heard Maeve’s voice loud and clear. “We heard the gunshot, everyone good?”

“We’re fine,” Oakleigh said, still trying to keep her voice from shaking. “It was a bear.”

There came a long pause.

“And what is the condition of the bear?” Maeve asked.

“Just a warning shot,” Oakleigh said. “All clear.”

Even through the loud crackle and hiss of static, Oakleigh could hear relief coat Maeve’s voice. “You just saved me a mountain of paperwork.”

“Mom did,” Oakleigh admitted, giving credit where it was due. “She took the shot.”

“Well done, Harp,” Maeve said. “Why don’t you all head back, and I’ll send the boys out for repairs.”

“You heard the boss lady,” Oakleigh said, taking one last glance into the ravine. Seeing no sign of the bear or the cubs, she pulled on the reins, directing her horse back down the trail.

The ride home went by quickly. Oakleigh couldn’t help but continue to replay the harrowing ordeal. Her thoughts wildly spun over what could have happened if Harper hadn’t taken charge .

Riding up to the barn, she didn’t spare a moment dismounting from her saddle. Her hand shook as she pushed her beanie cap off her brow, finding it damp with anxious sweat.

Harper leaned her palms on the fence beside her, gazing out across the long pasture.

“We almost died out there,” Oakleigh choked out. “Davenport Women Mauled by Wild Bear was not the viral post I had planned today.”

Harper laughed.

The lighthearted outburst caused Oakleigh’s head to swivel. It had been longer than she could remember since she had witnessed any true joy in her.

“This is what you find funny?” Oakleigh exclaimed.

“Oaks,” Harper replied, shaking her head. “The two of us together wouldn’t have been much of a snack — she was just protecting her babies.” She bit the side of her lip as she scuffed her boot across the icy ground. “It was all a big show, so we’d leave them alone.”

Oakleigh thought she recognized a flash of regret in her mother’s expression.

“I’d love to hear the rest of your story,” Oakleigh ventured. “The one about the scars?”

Harper ran her thumb across her lips as she appeared to consider her daughter’s sincere request.

“If you don’t mind, Oakleigh —” Harper exhaled with a quick shake of her head. “I don’t think I’m quite ready.”