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Second Chances (True Cover) (Volume 3)

By Ruth Kyser

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The sun hung low on the horizon before Sam Morgan finally closed the door to his office, said goodnight to his two on-duty deputies, and headed out the door toward home. Pulling on his winter coat and plopping his Stetson on top of his head, he pushed open the glass door of the sheriff’s office and walked through the crisp, cold evening air to the area back of the building where he’d parked his pickup truck. Walking across the empty parking lot, his eyes carefully scanned the area. It was a habit from his many years in law enforcement to always be aware of his surroundings.
With the sound of the snow crunching beneath his feet sounding more like a squeak than the normal crunching noise, he knew without looking at a thermometer that the temps had dropped during the afternoon. Winter was definitely here.
It had been an extremely long day, and right now he had one goal in mind; he wanted to go home to his family. Most days he enjoyed his job as the sheriff of the small town of Denning, Montana. But days like today reminded him too much of the stress he’d gone through when he was still a Special Agent with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. He’d taken over the job of sheriff a little over a year earlier when the previous sheriff retired due to health reasons and the Town Council had appointed Sam as temporary sheriff. As of yet, he hadn’t made the decision as to whether he would run for the job next year or not, and even though he’d been praying about it, hadn’t yet received a firm answer. He enjoyed what he did most of the time, but if there were too many more days like today, he might have to re-think it.
Sam’s work day began with a twelve year old boy thinking it would be fun to take his parents’ brand new Jeep for a ride. Unfortunately, young Mark hadn’t grown up on a ranch or a farm knowing how to drive a tractor as soon as he could walk. Before Sam and his deputy, Chad Wilson, were able to convince him to pull over the vehicle, Mark and the Jeep took out three mailboxes on a residential street, and two decorative flower boxes in front of the town’s library. Fortunately, the young man wasn’t injured—but was more than a little mouthy when Sam had pulled him out of the Jeep by his coat collar. He’d had to use all of his patience to refrain from paddling him for his stupidity. Instead, he’d hauled Mark to the Sheriff’s Office and phoned the boy’s parents to come and get him. The parents were embarrassed by his behavior and made the necessary arrangements to pay for damages done, and Sam was more than happy to turn the boy over to them for whatever punishment they felt he deserved. By the fury on the father’s face, Sam guessed young Mark was going to have a difficult time sitting down for a time.
Then things went from bad to worse when Willy Burleson, the town drunk, threatened his ex-wife with a gun. Pam Burleson put a call through to the Sheriff’s Office in a panic, shouting that Willy was pounding on the flimsy door of her trailer, and threatening to bust down the door and shoot her. By the time Sam and Deputy Wilson arrived at the trailer, Willy had already put two bullets through the door in an attempt to shoot open the lock. Fortunately, Pam took cover in a rear bedroom closet, and because Willy’s aim wasn’t very good when inebriated, he’d never hit the lock mechanism. Sam smiled a little as he recalled another time when someone tried to shoot open a door with a steel lock installed. The bullet had hit the steel and ricocheted off it, hitting the perpetrator in the shooting arm, injuring him. In his case, Willy had been lucky.
They arrested Willy and contacted the County Sheriff to come pick him up. He faced charges which would have him behind bars for a time, and hopefully when he sobered up and faced the judge in the courtroom, he would have come to his senses and be ready to apologize to his ex.
The rest of the day consisted of normal shoplifting episodes at the local grocery store and complaints from neighbors about a barking dog. By the time Sam got back to the office and wrote up all the necessary reports and answered the multitude of phone messages stuck on his desk blotter, the day was over. The only good thing was, it was Friday—which meant his two part-time deputies were on duty for the next two days and he could concentrate on spending his weekend at the ranch with his family. Unless something major happened, he wouldn’t have to worry about the Sheriff’s Office.
Heading out of town, Sam drove the miles of snow packed country and dirt roads until he came to the familiar entry gate which marked the entrance to his family home, Bluecreek Ranch. Relieved his trip was almost over, he slowly drove his pickup across the cattle gate and down the lane leading to the ranch.
There had been a time in his life when he had thought he didn’t want to live on the ranch on a full-time basis. But life’s experiences and circumstances had changed his mind, and now he was more than content driving down the narrow lane with the knowledge that his wife, Julie, and their children, Samantha and C.J., were waiting for him—along with his dad and uncle and all the other residents of the ranch. Driving the pickup over the last rise and seeing the ranch buildings in front of him, Sam felt a sense of peace sweep over him as the tension brought on by the day’s happenings fell off his shoulders.
The two-story farmhouse where his father and grandfather were born, sat on a little rise surrounded by barns and outbuildings. Running in all directions from the center of the ranch, the barb wire fences kept the horses and cattle corralled. Operating a ranch this size was a lot of work, and whenever Sam had the opportunity, he tried to help out. At the end of a day spent on the back of a horse, Sam always felt he’d accomplished much more than when he sat behind his desk at the Sheriff’s Office, and it made him feel good to know he was helping. His dad and uncle weren’t getting any younger and Sam had noticed recently how much they had both slowed down.
As he climbed out of the cab of his truck, the red strands in the sky from a setting sun had completely disappearing behind the western mountains on the horizon. He stood next to his pickup for a moment and allowed the absolute silence of the evening to surround him, and with it came some measure of peace. Here on the ranch he always felt so much closer to God than he ever had in the city, and he prayed a short thank you for arriving home safely after completing another day’s work.
Then the cold air blowing on his face reminded him how frigid it was outside. Shaking off the worries of the day, he clumped up the steps to the back door of the ranch house, taking the time to knock the snow off his boots before he went inside.
Sam was late arriving home, and he knew he’d missed the evening meal; but he also knew his wife well enough to know she and Mary Byrd, the Morgan’s cook and housekeeper, would have plenty of food saved for him. He closed the back door behind him and turned to hang his tan colored Stetson on the hook to the right of the door, then removed his coat while his eyes took in the warm and welcoming atmosphere of the room in front of him. The great room of the old house boasted a vaulted ceiling and tall windows that looked out over the ranch yard and outbuildings. A welcoming fire burned in the huge stone fireplace situated at one end of the room, with an area consisting of a long sofa, two leather chairs, a smaller love seat, and several ottomans. A multi-colored rug, faded and worn from many years of footsteps, covered the hardwood floor beneath the furniture.
A large spruce tree in a stand also sat at that end of the room, decorated for the Christmas season with hundreds of tiny white lights and a multitude of little decorations. With Thanksgiving just having been the week earlier, it was hard for him to believe it was Christmastime again. He hadn’t taken part in the decorating of the tree but he knew Mary, Julie and Samantha had greatly enjoyed putting up the tree, and he had to admit it made the room feel very festive. Julie had laughingly commented the trick this year was going to be keeping C.J.’s ten month old little hands off the ornaments. Since C.J. had begun crawling, life was a little more exciting in the Morgan household. Just thinking about his son brought a grin to Sam’s face.
His eyes were immediately drawn to the large wooden trestle table sitting in the center of the room with benches on each side. If he’d arrived on time for the evening meal, the table would have been loaded with food, and all his family would have been seated around it. But tonight the wooden tabletop was empty. There were just two wooden candlesticks situated in the center of the table that Julie always kept there when it wasn’t being used for a meal.
As if sensing his thoughts had turned to her, the light of his life walked into the room from the adjoining kitchen, a wide smile on her face as she caught his eye. Julie wore her customary blue jeans and long sleeved blouse, and those little loafers on her feet she seemed to prefer to boots—when she wasn’t riding, that is.
“You’re finally home.”
She hurried over and gave him a quick kiss and hug, her lips feeling soft and warm on his. Sam pulled Julie closer, relishing the aroma of the floral shampoo she used and another familiar smell he recognized as baby powder. He grinned and kissed her again. Julie was a good mom to their children, and having her in his arms helped him release some of the tension of the day.
“Hungry?” she asked as she looked up at him with her beautiful blue-green eyes.
“Famished,” he growled, then released her and followed as she turned in the direction of the kitchen.
Watching Julie move around the familiar room, Sam was once again struck with how lovely his wife was and how healthy she looked. Living in the country was good for her, and he was thankful for that. God truly blessed him the day Julie Henderson came into his life. Who would have thought the circumstances of their initial meeting would have led to a life spent together. He just hoped she now felt safe living on the ranch. There had been a brief time when they had first moved here, she hadn’t been so safe.
Sam leaned back against one of the dark green granite countertops, rested his booted feet on the flagstone floor, and watched his wife buzz around the room preparing his food. The rustic ranch kitchen looked anything but modern, but he knew it housed the latest in stainless steel appliances from the large side-by-side freezer/refrigerator to the huge gas kitchen range in the corner. All the ranch meals came out of this kitchen, cooked by either Julie or Mary Byrd, the half Crow Native American Indian who was as much a fixture in this kitchen as the rustic wooden cupboards. Mary and her husband, Jack, a full-blooded Crow, had worked for the Morgan family for many years, and were an important part of the ranch and more like family members than employees. Sam didn’t even want to think about what life on Bluecreek Ranch would be without them.
He watched Julie pull two small pans of food out of the oven and put them on the stove top. Then she opened a cupboard door and reached in to get a plate and glass for him. While she dished the steaming food onto the plate, he poured ice tea into the glass from a pitcher he found in the refrigerator.
“Bad day, Sam?”
He grimaced and then smiled across the room at her. “Not the worst I’ve ever had, but it was a long one. Thank goodness they aren’t all that way. I’m getting too old for all the drama. Reminds me of the days back at the Bureau—and I sure don’t want to go back there.”
Sam picked up the glass of tea and followed Julie from the kitchen as she carried his plateful of food to the table. He sat down and Julie pulled a chair out to the right of him and sat down. It was a part of their evening ritual—those evenings when he was late getting home—to have her keep him company while he ate his meal. Sam bowed his head for a brief moment of prayer in thanks for the food, and then picked up his silverware to dig in. Grilled chicken breast and rice, buttered green beans, and warm pureed fruit salad awaited him, and his stomach growled in appreciation at the aroma of what he knew would be delicious.
“So,” he mumbled around bites of the hot food. “What’s going on here?”
“Well, let’s see,” Julie said, her eyes twinkling at him. “Samantha is upstairs in her room. She talked Uncle Fred into reading her a bedtime story…or two or three. You know how that goes. I’m thinking though it won’t be long and she’ll be able to read to him. She’s doing really well at learning to read.”
Sam joined her in laughter. His Uncle Fred, a whiskered and burly, old-fashioned cowboy with more than a few rough edges, was totally smitten with their little girl.
“And the master of the house, Clayton Frederick Morgan Junior, is upstairs in his crib, fast asleep.” She pulled a small baby monitor out of her smock pocket and placed it on the wooden table in front of her. “I tried to keep him awake until Daddy got home from work, but he played so hard today, his little eyes went shut and that was that.”
He sighed and reached over with his left hand to caress her soft arm. “That’s okay. I’ll have all weekend to spoil the little rascal.” He took another bite of his rice. “So, where’s everyone else?”
“Well, Mary and Jack went home a little while ago after we finished the dishes.”
Sam nodded. Jack and Mary Byrd lived on the ranch in a small cabin. Along with the work Mary did here at the ranch house, Jack was the ranch’s wrangler and took care of the horses.
“What about Pops?”
He watched as a little smile crept across his wife’s face and her eyes twinkled as if she knew a secret. “He wasn’t here for dinner…again. It seems there’s a Christmas party tonight at the church for the Senior Citizens group, and at the last minute, he decided to go. He came down the stairs all spiffed up and smelling real good.” She chuckled. “He acted almost embarrassed to be seen all dressed up. I sure hope he has a good time,” she added wistfully.
Sam arched his eyebrow in surprise. “Pops went to a party?”
That was a shock. Clayton Morgan, his sixty-something year old father, wasn’t the type who normally attended those type of social events. If Fred Morgan could be considered to be a crusty old cowboy, his brother, Clay, was equally set in his bachelor ways. Sam had to wonder about his dad. Something was definitely going on lately with Clay Morgan, but so far Sam hadn’t been able to figure out what was different.
“What about Zeke?”
Julie shook her head and he watched as the smile left her face and the light left her eyes.
“He never showed up for dinner...again.”
Sam read the worry on her face and knew she was thinking the same thing he was. Isaac/Zeke Mosher, the ranch’s foreman and one of Sam’s dearest friends, was a regular at the Morgan dinner table; at least he had been during the previous year. With the presence of the beautiful Jessica Thorne at the ranch, and particularly after Zeke’s and Jess’ engagement announcement, Zeke had become a full-time fixture at the ranch house. Since the disappearance of Jess from his life though, Zeke was now making himself scarce at the Morgan dinner table.
Sam sighed as he pushed his now empty plate away from him. That was another thing he didn’t understand; what caused his two best friends to break up right before their wedding? Sometimes he just didn’t understand people. How could they throw away the chance to have a loving marriage with the person obviously meant for them? He sure didn’t know what he’d do without his Julie.
“Great meal, sweetheart; as always.” He reached across and took her soft hand in his. “I feel a little better about life now that my stomach isn’t complaining.”
Julie squeezed his hand gently, then let go of it and stood to clear his dirty dishes from the table. Leaning over as she came near him, she kissed him lightly on the forehead.
“Why don’t you go on upstairs and get out of that uniform, Sam? Then we can spend some quality time together getting Princess Samantha into bed.” She grinned at him. “That’s always a challenge.”

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