Free Return to Oak Valley by Shirlee Busbee Page B

the Granger Cattle Company—the family's sole source of income. Unlike the Ballingers, the Grangers weren't wealthy in money; their wealth lay in the thousands of acres of land that they owned—and the fat cattle that roamed it. These days, the herd of registered Angus was decimated, the cattle either sold off or too old to breed. All that remained of a once huge and profitable herd was a twelve-year-old bull, Granger's Ideal Beau. It was depressing.
    After lunch that day, Shelly stood up from the oak table, and, putting her plate on the counter, said casually, “I thought I'd drive into town today. Is there anything you need?”
    Maria stopped her industrious scrubbing of the sparkling sink and looked at her. The expression in her brown eyes troubled, she asked, “Are you ready for all the questions? Everyone is going to want to talk to you about Josh's suicide. And your return. And your plans.”
    Shelly grimaced. “I know. I'm ready. I think.”
    It had been dark when she had first arrived, and she took her time driving down the steep crooked road that led to the valley floor, glancing around, trying to reacquaint herself with her surroundings. The shale-based road had been widened over the years and some of the worst curves taken out. Thickets of brush, manzanita, scrubby madrone, buck-brush, red-bud, already gowned in magenta blossoms, and wild white and purple lilac pressed close to the edges of the road, brushing the sides of the Bronco in some of the narrowest places. Seeing those impenetrable patches of tangled limbs and twisted trunks, she automatically thought of the fire danger they represented. Not even the wildlife could use some areas, they were so choked with brush, and if a fire ever started…. She shuddered. Everyone who lived in the country feared fire—especially in the summer months, when the entire area was nothing more than mountain after mountain, hill after hill of flourishing tinder just waiting for flame to strike.
    When she hit the valley floor, she was pleased to see that there were few changes. The airport still looked the same; maybe a few more airplane hangars were there these days, but it still more resembled an open field with a strip of pavement running through it than an airport. It looked beautiful today, the golden poppies and blue lupine blooming their hearts out at this time of year. The grammar school, she noticed as she turned onto Soward Street, now had an attractive black iron fence around it—though there was no denying that the fence gave the appearance of a fortress. The high school was no longer painted a putrid green and the mural of a primitively drawn pinto mustang no longer hung over the entrance of the gym that she remembered from her youth. As she drove down the street toward the state highway, she realized that most of the houses had been painted or fixed up. There were still some weedy overgrown lots, and very few of the ramshackle places that had been around seventeen years ago remained, but she noted that there was still nothing ritzy or cottage-perfect about the street, and she was grateful for it. She would have hated to find herself driving down a street that looked Carmel-cute. None of the houses were alike, and since all had been built at different times, each was its own unique style, from the few small Victorian-style homes, to the more modern ranch-style and everything in between. The area looked like what it was, a street where average, hardworking families lived. Families who made every penny count—and then some. Some people might even find it a bit shabby, but to Shelly it was home, and it looked beautiful.
    She had determined that her first stop would be Heather-Mary-Marie's. A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. Heather-Mary-Marie's had been named for three sisters whose father had first opened the store around the turn of the century, and from things Josh had told her over the years, was still a fixture in the community.
    In the beginning