Chapter 1

There is a Reason

I've seen hard times and I've been told ... There isn't any wonder that I fall

Why do we suffer ... crossing off the years ... there must be a reason for it all...

I've trusted in you Jesus to save me from my sin ... heaven is the place I call my home ... but I keep on getting caught up in this world I'm in livin' in, and your voice sometimes fades before I know.

I watched the setting autumn sun silhouette the nearby eastern slope of the snow-covered Rockies as the words to my wife's favorite song played in my head.

On this mid November day, a warm wind had crept in from the south and given western Montana some welcome unseasonable warmth, holding hard winter at bay for a few days.

I brushed tears from my cheeks as I sat in the old wooden rocker on the wide porch of our ranch house as I rocked my sleeping four year-old daughter, Amelia.

I had loved my wife Abigail with all my heart and now she was gone. I was a widower and a father at twenty-three. It wasn't supposed to be this way. We were going to spend many years together, raising our children, working our ranch, being together, sharing each day ... sharing our love. I looked at Amelia, with her angel face, as she snuggled in my arms. The tears came again.

"We miss you so much Abigail ... I'll always love you." I whispered.

On a late autumn day five years ago, Abigail rescued me as I walked down a freezing snow-blown Montana road as a blizzard threatened. In turn, I rescued her from grief and loss. Together we became whole and we produced the most beautiful child in the world. We were happy.

Abigail was ten years older but that hadn't made a difference. I loved her without reservation within days of our first meeting. Her joy of living and the way she embraced life — the life she shared with me for five years, was an example to everyone she met. Early on she had dragged me to church. She said there was something more than the here and now and I needed to hear about that. Like most things I found out she was right.

Even though my parents had taken me to church every Sunday most of my life, there was no meaning to it. I had dismissed church and God as something for people who couldn't think for themselves. Abigail, our daughter Amelia, and our land, all wrapped in the beauty of this place, made it real and connected me to faith that transcended religion

Pastor Smith embraced us, and the small congregation in Choteau Montana, made me welcome. Perhaps there was small town gossip but no one really seemed to care about a twenty-eight year old woman taking on an eighteen year old boy to help her run her ranch. Most of the town turned out for our wedding eight months later when I wed the most beautiful woman in Montana, and maybe the world, although I hadn't seen much of the world at the time. She was four months pregnant with our child.

I had to learn to be a man, and in the high plains of western Montana you had to grow up quick when you had a cattle ranch to run. We worked hard from before sunrise to well after sunset Abigail most often beside me as we tended cattle, maintained miles of fence, and did all the hundreds of things you had to do each day to keep things going. Hands that had been destined to do no more work than throw a football became callused and my skin sported a constant mahogany farmer's tan. I even learned to be an accomplished rider, as comfortable on a horse as I had been driving my truck.

It wasn't all work though, Abigail made sure we took the time needed to just be together, whether it was a Saturday night dance at the grange hall, or just sitting on the porch in our favorite rockers sipping a beer and watching the sun play on the mountains as the day ended. The front range of the Rockies was amazing. Growing up in Georgia, I had never seen such a thing. Suddenly they jutted from the high plains rising thousands of feet, pointing their sharp peaks toward the "Big Sky". Their beauty was hard to describe and I often found myself stopping whatever I was doing to stare at them. I couldn't get enough of their grandeur. They never became just part of the scenery. What must Lewis and Clark have thought when they journeyed this way and came to these mountains? They had to have been in awe. I was.

Abigail introduced me to those mountains, which jutted from the plains less than ten miles away. She showed me the beauty of the high meadows in the summer. From horseback, we watched the raptors circle overhead, deer and elk and mountain goats foraging, and the black bears in the distance showing their cubs the ways of survival.

When Amelia was old enough we took her along. We would often picnic in a mountain meadow, riot with purple lupine and other flowers of every color and description, our horses grazing on their summer floral candy. It was amazing to watch our daughter toddle amidst the flowers, under the unwavering eyes of her dog Jack, as Abigail napped in my arms. I would tell myself I was the luckiest man in the world, surrounded by love with a backdrop of these fantastic mountains.

Now Abigail was gone and were it not for Amelia, I might have followed her. I didn't know why God had done this to me, to us. We were happy; we had a beautiful child and had become a successful cattle operation. I hadn't cared about the hard work, as long as I could wake up next to her, and spend my days working side by side with her to build our future, and our daughter's future, and spend my evenings sitting next to her, watching her, loving her, enjoying our togetherness, whether it was on the porch or in front of the fire making love on the sheepskin rug. On warm summer evenings we would take a blanket and lie out in the hammock on the porch and count the stars.

Most winters were harsh but it was all part of the life we had chosen. We were surrounded by friends who helped each other and despite the constant work required to run a ranch, the pace of life here in western Montana was much slower.

There was more time to just stop and look at things, to enjoy Sunday breakfast at the café after church, snuggle by the fire or spend a long snowy day in our big bed, our daughter snuggled between us. All that came to a stop for me.

The cancer had taken her so quickly that it felt like we had no time to say goodbye, and now I was sat watching the sunset as I prepared us to say farewell to our home, at least for a little while, as I fulfilled a promise to Abigail as she slipped away.

Pastor Smith and his wife Sarah had just left. They assured me things would be well taken care of while were gone. I had spent a lot of time with them the last couple of months. I was so lost and hurt and angry. Pastor Smith had listened, and heard me rail against God for the unfairness of it all. He gently moved me away from the hurt to focus on what we had — a short life of love that had given others joy and produced a wonderful child. He couldn't explain why these things happen to good people, but reminded me that God had reasons. Life was like that. I wondered how anything good could come from Abigail's death.

As I rocked, I watched my sleeping daughter. She still couldn't grasp the fact that mommy was never coming back. She hadn't left my side in the two months, since we said our farewell to Abigail on that knoll in that quiet cemetery outside Choteau, on that blustery September day. Amelia was a dark-haired beauty like her mother, with dark green eyes that could melt me with a glance.

Jack, the mutt, wandered up onto the porch and sat next to me, his large black head pushing over the arm of the rocker. I absently stroked his head. He was a muscular dog - some kind of Sheppard with brown and black fur. There was some Lab thrown in along with maybe some Bull Mastiff for good measure. Jack had limped up Abigail's long drive five years ago, the remnants of a rope still around his neck. He was dirty, emaciated, and covered with sores. Abigail joked that she liked to pick up strays and that Jack had showed up about two months before I did. He joined the family menagerie and became Abigail's devoted dog. Once Amelia was a toddler he gradually transferred his primary allegiance to her. She never went anywhere without Jack and he slept on the floor next to her bed. Like most dogs in this part of the country, he loved riding in the truck, head out the window, sniffing the air and sneezing as his ears flopped in the wind. Just about everything he did made Amelia giggle and he bore her toddler enthusiasm with much patience. He particularly loved the trail rides to the mountains where the smells could keep a dog in ecstasy for the entire day.

Yesterday, Jack had looked uncertain as I packed the truck for our trip to Indiana, and then to my boyhood home in Georgia, but he seemed to understand once I assured him he wouldn't be left behind.

Georgia. Yes Douglas Georgia, population eleven thousand, a farm community, biggest employer Wal-Mart, and the place where I was born and grew up, in the big Victorian on West Elm. It was a metropolis next to Choteau, Montana, but still just one of thousands of small towns in America. Douglas wasn't my home any longer. I belonged here, on this Montana soil, close by where Abigail rested in the shady plot in the small cemetery that overlooked Choteau, with her mountains as a backdrop.

I kept asking myself, why did this happen? How could God be so cruel? Me? Well I knew I was a sinner who hurt people, but I tried my best to make up for it, but why take Amelia's mother? I had no answers. Somehow I just couldn't understand that God had a reason for all this. Without Abigail, I was lost.

As I rocked, I stroked Amelia's sleeping face and wished I could put aside my feelings of loss and anger for a just a bit to be able to sleep the sleep of innocents.

What would it be like back in Douglas? How much had things changed in the last five years? Suddenly Becky's face came to mind. I had the same reaction as always - sadness. I had loved her and lost her, and like a coward I fled. No it was more than that.

I thought about my odyssey from Georgia to Montana at eighteen. How I had come here and been rescued by this remarkable woman who became my wife ... the love of my life. I frowned as I thought back five and a half years.

I fled my home for more reasons than a broken heart. It was also because I hated football. No, that wasn't exactly right. I didn't hate football, just hated playing football. I started playing to make my father happy, and when I discovered I had a talent for throwing accurate spirals, I kept at it. It was a way to be popular and eventually it was a way to meet girls. Unfortunately the dark cloud over all this was my father's obsession that I was good enough to make the pros. I never wanted anything of the kind, but I had been afraid to tell him. He was always on me to practice more and to keep focused.

But, in high school I was focused on Becky, my girlfriend. My mother loved her almost as much as I did, my father barely tolerated her. He felt she was a distraction, and my mind should be on getting that full-ride scholarship to some football powerhouse like Miami, Southern Cal or Ohio. What I really wanted to do was go to the University of Georgia in Athens with Becky and study business administration and computer science.

Becky wanted to be a veterinarian and we talked about our future together, someplace like Atlanta. She was beautiful - tall and blonde with amazing blue eyes. We had grown up neighbors and seemed destined to be together. We had dated since our junior year. I was the quarterback of our high school team but I was never tempted by the other girls who made it plain that they would be happy to take Becky's place, even for a couple of hours. She and I had discovered sex together as our love blossomed. I never wanted to be with anyone else and we planned to get married after college.

Unfortunately I screwed it all up at the graduation party when I drank too much, although looking back I hadn't remembered drinking that much. Anyway, I winced as I thought about that time. It was the only time I had been unfaithful to Becky, and she caught me. Somehow I was in big bathroom off the master bedroom at Lisa Banning's parent's home fucking Lisa as she bent over the vanity, her short denim skirt pulled up as I thrust into her. I really had no recollection how that came to be. I had gone there to piss and the next thing I know I'm fucking Lisa. She was a dark-haired cheerleader who made it clear that she wanted me. I never encouraged her but there we were. Just as I shot my load into her I watched Becky come into the bathroom closely followed by Todd Andrews. Becky's look of horror was only surpassed by Todd's look of smug triumph.

Becky turned and ran down the hall as I called after her. I tried to follow but Lisa held me and did everything she could to convince me we should go another round. I struggled to get my jeans back up. I felt woozy but somehow managed even with Lisa clinging to me.

"Lisa ... let go ... damn ... don't feel too good ... I've got to find Becky ... explain." I slurred.

"Come on Bret ... let her go ... she'll get over it in a few days ... why don't you bring that big cock back here and shove it back in Lisa's tight little pussy?" She pulled her skirt to her waist and displayed her shaven pussy. My cum dripped down her thighs.

I was aghast. How could I do this to Becky?

"No ... no ... no ... I've got to find Becky!"

I pushed her away as she tried to unzip me.

She gave me an evil look then laughed.

"I think Todd is consoling her now."

"What?"

Todd was the backup quarterback. I thought we were friends. He wasn't a natural but I worked hard with him to hone his skills in case I was ever injured, but I was lucky and coach knew I was his key to the team's success. I never thought Todd might be jealous. Maybe he was just being a good guy and talking to Becky. Something was very wrong about this whole situation. I could feel it in my clenched gut and even in my fuzzy head. Something was definitely wrong.

I moved down the stairs as if in a fog, pushing my way through the throng asking after Becky, having to shout over the booming music and the boisterous crowd. Eventually I was directed to the kitchen where someone said he had seen a crying Becky going out the side door with Todd. Someone tried to push a beer into my hand, but I pushed outside into the relative calm of the side yard.

In the dark I scanned the line of cars and trucks. Finally I spotted Todd's silver 4-Runner and headed that way.

Even in the darkness I could see two people in the back seat. One looked to be on the other's lap. I had a terrible feeling as I walked up and yanked open the back door.

A wave of nausea hit me as the light came on and I saw Becky, skirt around her waist, riding Todd's cock, eyes closed and moaning...

"Oh ... oh, oh ... ohhhhhhhhhh ... fuck me!"

Startled he looked at me, fear on his face.

"Becky ... what the hell are you doing?" I yelled as I reached into the SUV and roughly pulled her off Todd. At that point he came, spraying cum onto her skirt and legs as I pulled her from the car.

She looked at me for a few moments, seemingly confused as she leaned against the 4-Runner. Suddenly she snarled,"

"Get away from me you bastard. I'll do what I want ... fuck anyone I want ... just like you ... you don't own me ... you bastard."

Then she said those final words, the last words, I ever heard from Becky.

"I never want to see you again!"

Todd got out the door on the other side and had come around the back of his SUV. He looked a little apprehensive; knowing my six-two, one hundred ninety pounds could kick his ass in a moment. When I didn't immediately attack him he did something that sealed the fate of my relationship with Becky.

He put his letterman's jacket around her shoulders as she shivered and cried. I had done that hundreds of times before. Sometimes I figured she left home without a jacket or sweater just so we could walk along with her snug and warm in my wool and leather high school jacket.

I now watched her accept that bit of intimacy from another man and maybe that act, more than the fucking, sealed our fate. I unclenched my fists and looked at Becky for the last time and slowly walked away, my life in tatters, tears running down my cheeks.

As I walked I tried to figure out what had happened. We had been so happy that night and had gone to the party together in love and now there was nothing but a big hole where my heart used to be. I had screwed up royally. I had destroyed our relationship. I had fucked Lisa and with that moment of weakness I had lost Becky. I kept seeing the hatred in her eyes as she said she never wanted to see me again. I walked through the silent small town darkness and finally found myself at my front door, with no recollection of how I got there.

I didn't sleep much that night and eventually I heard my mother calling me for breakfast. I took a quick shower and headed downstairs, my head throbbed. I swore I'd never drink again. Everything looked so normal. It was a typical June sunny Saturday morning with the family gathered around the big oak kitchen table. My father hardly looked up from his paper; my sixteen year-old sister, Taylor was dressed for shopping with her girlfriends, and my mother at the stove. The kitchen smelled of my favorite smells, frying bacon, homemade grits, scrambled eggs, warm maple syrup, and stacks of griddle cakes. This morning those smells only made me queasy.

I sat, hoping no one would talk to me, but my mother noticed right away something was wrong as she put the plate of steaming food in front of me. I just sat and stared at the food my stomach clenched in pain.

"What's the matter honey?"

Just then my father spoke with a laugh.

"Bret, you look like you were rode hard and put up wet. Little too much medicine at the graduation party last night?"

My mother sensed something more and stood next to me her arm on my shoulder, looking at me with concern.

"Becky and I..." Even my sister stopped her chatter on her cell phone.

"Becky and I broke up last night."

My mother hugged me and said,

"Oh no ... I'm so sorry Bret ... so sorry..."

She started to say something more, but my father interrupted her and started the conversation that ended our relationship.

"Son ... maybe it's for the best..."

I jerked my head up, but he was oblivious to my pain. My mother's hand tightened on my shoulder. My father ploughed on.

"Bret ... she, like most women, is a distraction at this time in your life. You've got football camp starting next week and in the next few weeks there are some scouts who want to look at you. Football is your future son ... right now you need to focus on one thing and that's to secure a spot on the list of "A" football schools. Your whole future depends on it. For you to get a shot at the pros you really have to buckle down and not be distracted by some little..."

"I'm done with football."

I just blurted it out. Somehow I had gotten the courage to tell my father what I thought.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Carl..." my mother tried to interject.

His eyes blazed. I could tell it was his future I was talking about ... his son the football star. He was the president of a small bank in a small town in Georgia but he wanted more. Did he think I was going to rescue him from obscurity?

"I decided I'm gong to take a year off ... get a job ... maybe travel."

He looked so furious he couldn't speak.

"I'm tired to death of football ... I don't love it like you do ... I don't want to end up some washed up football player trying to live his life through his son."

I knew I had wounded him. Dad had played ball in college and played semi-pro for a couple of years before a knee injury forced him out. I was immediately sorry, but I was so confused and hurt from the events of last night that I lashed without thought of the consequences. I had never been disrespectful to my father, but I couldn't bring myself to apologize.

My mother stood next to the table between us, tears streaming. My sister just closed her phone and gaped.

My father, visibly shaken, struggled for control. He had never hit me but I knew it was a close thing that day.

"Well then ... if that's what you want ... then here are the ground rules ... until you get your head out of your ass..."

I head my mother gasp. My father never spoke to her or anyone in the tone he was using.

"You will not live in this house."

My mother covered her face with her hands,

"You will make your own way, no free ride here, and don't even think about taking your truck ... my name's on the title. You're eighteen and I'm telling you you're officially emancipated from this house."

I didn't say anything. I had no idea that he would respond this way, but I had pushed him right over a cliff. I was not about to apologize.

"I think you should go upstairs and think about all of this and we can discuss it this evening."

He got up from the table. I knew he was off to his Saturday eighteen holes with his buddies at the Douglas Golf and Country Club.

Quietly I said,

"I've already decided."

My mother looked on in fear, the tears tracking her cheeks.

I pulled the keys to my beautiful black F-150 out of the pocket of my jeans and quietly laid them on the table. The key ring held my house key also. There was also a silly little Shamrock good luck charm that Becky gave me. During football season I wore it around my neck.

"The truck's at Lisa Banning's house."

I turned and walked out of the kitchen. I think everyone was so stunned they couldn't move.

Grabbing my high school letter jacket off the peg on the hall tree by the front door I walked out, closing the door quietly behind me.

As it closed, I head my mother call out to me and my father say,

"Don't worry ... he'll be back once he gets hungry." He tried to make a joke of it but I noticed he didn't sound all that confident, just angry.