The Art of Healing

Chapter 6

Lane rode quietly beside Tyson as the two men rode the fence line of the pasture they had just moved the cattle in. A soft, cooling breeze was blowing down off the mountains and it felt refreshing after the stifling heat of the summer. Lane took in the scenery as they rode, the flat meadows lined with pine trees and filled with green grass, and everything sheltered by the nearby mountain ranges. This pasture was a higher elevation than the ranch or the town was, as the ranch was situated right in the foothills of the mountains and had pastures stretching up into them. The air seemed crisper up here and Lane breathed it in fully, feeling more at peace than he had in a long time. He was feeling more talkative than usual too, and looked over at Tyson who was studying the fence line beside him.

"Have you always lived here?" The question seemed to surprise the other man and he looked at Lane with his eyebrows raised. Lane had never initiated conversations before, especially not to ask about anyone's personal life.

"Nah. I came here from Montana, a couple years ago. I was working on several ranches, just kind of travelling the country, but this one felt the most like home. I guess I kind of fell in love it." The other man shrugged, and seeming to open up with Lane's single question, he babbled on about growing up in Montana, and leaving there when the small town had felt stifling. He'd been back a couple times since then, but never decided to move back home.

"So since you've been here a while, do you know Grace? Like the woman who works at the Homestead?" Lane posed his next question in the lull of silence they fell into after Tyson had talked himself out about his childhood.

"Grace Atkins? Yeah. Everyone knows Grace around here. She owns the homestead. Why do you ask?" Tyson looked at him with curiosity burning in his eyes. Lane shrugged one shoulder, but decided to voice what had been on his mind since the last trip to town, the one where he had met Willow's daughter.

"Last time I was in town I swung in there, and something she said to me just caught me by surprise. It's like she knew something of what I was feeling before I even realized I was feeling it and she made a comment on it. I still don't even know if her comment was accurate to what I was feeling or not." Lane had the uncomfortable feeling that Grace wasn't too far off with her observation of him being captivated by Willow, but he didn't want to face that yet. Tyson laughed, drawing Lane out of his ponderings.

"That's Grace all right. She's bright and never misses anything. She opened that restaurant but honestly I think she should've been the town's therapist. Talking to folks about their problems and figuring out their problems even before they do is what she does best." The laughter fell away from Tyson's face and he looked serious again. "You know, sometimes I think she knew exactly what she was doing when she opened that restaurant. People come in there and talk, and she watches them, serves them good food and then sits down with someone. Soon they are confessing their darkest secrets and she's comforting them with advice and that soft smile she has." Lane pondered the words for a minute and then gave a dark chuckle.

"Corners people over their cup of coffee I guess?" Tyson let out a snort and looked at him with laughing eyes.

"Yup. Heaven only knows that's the only way to get us stubborn cowboys to talk about anything. Besides the way she gets you talking isn't intrusive. It's like you're just waiting for her to mention something so you can spill it to her. I don't think anyone ever has, or ever would begrudge her for getting you to talk." Lane watched Tyson as he talked, but the other man was looking directly at the fence line as if it held all the secrets of the world.

"Speaking from experience?" He questioned, and Tyson finally looked at him and flashed a smile.

"Yup. She talked me through a time that might have killed me instead." The two men grew really quiet and rode in silence for a long way. Subconsciously, Lane reached for his pack of cigarettes from his pocket, drawing one out and lighting it. He didn't smoke often, but it was a habit he had picked up in his younger teen years that he never quite kicked. Now, he always had a pack on him, but only smoked when he was stressed, or thinking something through really hard.