Standing between him and the door, she moved toward him hesitantly with open arms, warning, “I’m a hugger.”
He scowled, offering a swift, mechanical pat to her back, grumbling, “I’m typically not.”
It took less than thirty minutes for her to feel like she’d known Bee her entire life. She bore a gentle easiness about her that Ember found comforting. The home was a sprawling five thousand feet with three additional homes on the property, one of which Bee and Mr. Montgomery resided in, another housed several young, single ranch hands, and the last was a cozy painting studio tucked into the tree line on the far edge of the property.
The spry elderly woman offered to whip her up something to eat no less than half a dozen times. Ember couldn’t decide if Bee thought she needed to gain a few pounds or if it was simply the chef inside prompting the offers, but at some point, it became easier to accept the gracious offer, even though she wasn’t hungry. It turned out to be one of the best roast beef sandwiches she’d ever tasted.
It was late in the day when they made their way to the door of her father’s office. Bee seemed to be saving the personal workspace until the end of her tour.
“I’ll leave you to it. Best get to bed early. Your day begins at sunrise,” Bee warned, leaving her in the privacy of her father’s office.
The cold lever warmed in her hand as she worked up the courage to walk through the door.
Entering the room, she was hit with earthy scents, a sweet concoction of tall grass in meadow, heated under a noonday sun. The space felt more like a gentleman’s study than an office with two built-in bookcases, one on each side of a large wet bar, filled with books and a dozen black and white photographs spanning several generations. A five-point buck hung on the wall behind a large wooden desk staring down at her with dark eyes, watching her every move.
Fingers feathering over the dark wooden frames, she wondered how many meetings took place in the leather chairs surrounding the imposing desk. How many deals had been brokered over the whiskey filled crystal decanter on the bar?
Spotting a familiar face amidst the pictures, her pulse began to race, tapping in a frantic rhythm along the pressure points of her wrists and throat.
Ember reached for the photo of her father.
He was recklessly handsome, wearing a black Stetson and a charming wide smile. The salt and pepper hair peeking out beneath the broad brim indicated he might be in his forties. She instantly understood why her mother would’ve been attracted to him. Ember wondered if the picture had been taken around the same time he’d met her mother.
The strength she’d been grasping to all day flowed from her body like water running down a drain. Thickness in her throat signaled the onset of tears.
All her life, she’d convinced herself she didn’t need a father, always justifying her curiosity as just that…curiosity, but deep down, Ember knew she missed out on all the things a father’s love would’ve brought to her life.
Holding onto the photo, she maneuvered around the large desk, easing into the tufted, high-back chair. The weight of her body sagged against the cool leather. Gazing down at the image, she brushed her thumb across the glass. Ember didn’t see many similarities between them, however Bee was right, she bore the same smile as the one staring back at her from beneath the frame.
Swiveling in the seat, she rolled the chair closer to the edge of his desk. Her heart nearly stopped beating seeing several color photos of herself, stair stepped in size, topping the corner of his desk. One was taken at the beach when she was about five years old, another in her cap and gown at high school graduation, and one standing in front of her Toyota proudly showing off the keys her mother had just handed her.
Ember’s eyes narrowed, homing in on a photograph she’d sent to her mother after arriving in California. The picturesque photo was taken while she was teaching her first yoga class on the beach.
Her jaw set tight, clenching her teeth against the wave of confusion taking up residence in her heart.
“What the hell?” Scraping the wetness from her cheeks with the back of her hand, Ember grumbled, “You’ve got some explaining to do June Thompson.”
Ember had already learned her mother had been in contact with her father after that day they ran into him, but she didn’t realize to what extent. Frustration and anger broke over her skin in a film of perspiration.
“Wouldn’t it have been easier to grow some balls and just see me? You’re supposed to be some great man.” Her anger splintered, whooshing from her lungs in heavy pants. She glared at her father’s picture. “The two of you have been sneaking around behind my back! Talking on the phone and sending pictures. Why didn’t you just fucking call me? Why didn’t you just ask to see me?” Casting a finger, she bit, “You’re nothing but a chickenshit old man, that’s why!”
Blind fury and hurt feelings pushed her heartache to a new low.
Tears blurred her vision, and her hands shook, yanking open the desk drawers one at a time, tearing through their contents.
Pushing away from the desk, she tugged on the narrow drawer underneath the center of the desk. Her face crumpled, and chin quivered seeing a hand addressed envelope with her name on it resting atop a hand-tooled leather book.
Her entire body quaked as she ripped open the letter.
Dear Ember,
That day we met, as soon as you said you were celebrating your twenty-first birthday, I knew right then and there that you were mine. Your long legs and dimples were a dead giveaway.
That day was the best and worst day of my life. I found out I’d been blessed with a beautiful daughter and got diagnosed with terminal cancer all within a few hours of each other.
I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you growing up. Had I known you existed, I would’ve been a father to you. Not sure how good I would’ve been at taking on that role, but I would’ve done my best. From what I can gather, your mama has done a fine job raising you right.
I’m sure you have more than a handful of questions, and I’ve done my best to answer them in this here book. Other than a warm, fatherly hug when you wanted it and a good swift kick in the butt when you needed it, these are all the things I would’ve liked to have taught you myself.
I want you to understand that it tore me up inside, not reaching out to you sooner. I’ve done a lot of difficult things in my life, but this has been the hardest.
It may seem selfish, but there are some things in life that a child shouldn’t have to witness. I’m not much on pity, and in those few moments we talked I could tell you were so much like your mother, kind and spirited with a big heart. You would’ve wanted to be here.
I’ve got my limits and having my only daughter give up years of her good life to sit and watch the worst of mine, was not something I was willing to subject you to. No matter what the cost.
I manage to get to my knees every night to pray that you’ll forgive me someday.
I’m leaving this world with the two best parts of me, you and this ranch, in the capable hands of Mr. Montgomery. He won’t ever steer you wrong. You can trust him with your life.
This ranch has been in our family for over a hundred years. Try not to let the daily workings of it intimidate you. Though, you may not have been raised one, you’re a Walker through and through, and ranching is in your blood.