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“A woman on her own...it just doesn’t seem right or safe. Let me find a fellow to ride out with you. For the life of me, I can’t picture where your ranch is.”
“You and Auntie June are of a mind. And I thank you, but I’d rather do this on my own.” If she decided to weep for joy or dance around the parlor like a mad woman, she would rather do it privately. “At any rate, it appears I’m not on my own after all. I’ve been adopted by that big dog on the hay pile.”
She scooped up the fabric and walked toward the door because she really could not wait another moment.
Mr. Rawlings followed, carrying the crate of baking pans she had purchased. “You going to be warm enough in that coat? Nights turn cold this time of year.”
If Laura Lee hadn’t just met Mr. Rawlings, she would hug him. His concern for her seemed fatherly in a way she had never known.
Her own father might be alive and well somewhere in the vast world but she had no way of knowing since she hadn’t heard from him since she was twelve years old. He’d left her at the Lucky Clover Ranch because she had begged him to. He’d waved her goodbye and ridden away with a great smile on his face.
Same as Johnny had. The thought left her feeling uneasy.
George Quinn did love her in his own way. Just not as much as he loved his adventuresome way of life. Every once in a while, he had looked at her as though he was surprised to see her.
Oh, Laura Lee, he would say, as if she had just returned from a distant place. But really, the only place she had been was out of the sphere of his attention.
“I have a warmer one, Mr. Rawlings. In case it’s not enough, I’ll snuggle up to my hairy new companion.”
The storekeeper gave her a hand up into the wagon seat. Not that she needed the help. My word, she’d been climbing in and out of wagons on her own for as long as she could remember. Back on the Lucky Clover, she’d often driven wagons like this one for miles across open land, delivering food to the chuck wagons.
Even though it wasn’t needed, the helpful gesture did make her feel at home in Forget-Me-Not.
“Thank you,” she said, her smile down at him springing from a joyful heart. “I’ll see you on market day.”
Two hours later, Laura Lee was riding toward the sunset. On her right was a farmhouse with children playing in the yard. A woman stood on the porch of her white two-story home. When she saw Laura Lee, she waved her arm. A breeze snatched hundreds of fall leaves off the trees behind the house and blew them into the yard. The fading sunlight caught them, giving the appearance of golden rain drifting to the yard.
From what she understood, her own ranch was no more than an hour past this pretty place. Laura Lee waved back, certain that she would become fast friends with her neighbor.
With the sun setting and the land darkened, the earth seemed hushed, except for an occasional breeze that stirred the grass. It whispered through the trees growing in small groves on hillsides rolling away from both sides of the trail.
It was a clear night, so the stars shone as bright as a million candles. She breathed in a deep lungful of cold air, grateful that the moon also shone down to light her way home.
As fast as the temperature had fallen, she might have been shivering had Hey...Dog not come to sit beside her on the bench.
She hadn’t intended to have a dog. Would have refused him if she could have.
But now? She could not deny that he gave off a great deal of warmth, that his solid, hulking presence made her feel safer.
She leaned into him. The chill in her cheek melted when she snuggled against the fur on his shoulder. It was interesting that for such a huge fellow he did not have the unpleasant odor that some dogs had. She had to glance up to look into his face as he sat so tall beside her. He woofed softly and set his chin on top of her head. It was a relief to discover that his breath smelled as fresh as his fur.
Since sundown, she’d noticed coyotes standing on distant hilltops. They lifted their noses, sniffed the air, then vanished back among the trees. She could only guess that they scented a dog and hoped to find an easy dinner. One glance at Hey...Dog must have made them think again about who was going to be a meal.
As long as she did not cross paths with thousands of migrating wolves, she ought to pass the boundary of her land before much longer. There was no way of knowing where the house was. There were a lot of acres; it could be on any one of them. She might spot it in half an hour or two hours.
Forty minutes rolled past before she came upon a split rail fence that looked in good repair. She pulled the team to a halt.
“Here we are,” she said to the dog. “Home! I don’t know about you, but I’ve never had one of my very own.”
She stood up, stretched, then stepped up on the wagon bench to get a better view of the land. Acres stretched before her, sloping slightly downhill, which gave her an excellent view of large meadows surrounded by trees that, with sunrise, would be flushed with fall color.
Moonlight glinted off what she thought must be water, possibly a large stream gouging the shape of a question mark across her property.
This piece of paradise could not possibly be hers. And yet, thanks to a man who was devoted to her, it was. He’d borne the pain of separation to make sure the mortgage would be paid, so that no one could ever take her home from her.
For probably the fourth time today, her throat tightened with emotion. Joyful tears pricked at her eyes. Hey...Dog looked at her and whined, nudged her hip with his nose.
In the darkness, she still could not spot a house and she knew that the horses must need a rest.
“Come on, boy.” She ruffled the dusky colored fur growing between the pointed brown ears. It was odd that such a fierce-looking creature would have fur that felt like down feathers. “Let’s go for a stroll about.”
Now that the horses’ hooves were not plodding the dirt and the new wood of the wagon not creaking, she heard the sound of running water. So it had been a stream she spotted running through her land.
Climbing on the load at the back of the wagon, she rummaged through her spanking new goods until she found a water bucket.
“You thirsty, big fella? I reckon the horses could use a drink, too.”
Climbing down the spokes of the rear wheel, she realized she could use a drink as well. She followed the gurgling noise of the stream. Come summer, she would hear the soothing song of crickets and frogs, but now there was only the rush of water running icy cold.
“Here it is.”
She stooped and drew her coat tighter against the night. The air wasn’t freezing, but it might be before morning.
Glancing about at bushes that cast shifting shadows in the night breeze, she remembered how Mr. Rawlings thought it was dangerous for her to be out alone.
All at once, she was not sure he was wrong. Any kind of predator might have come to drink at the stream. As if to confirm that fear, a large shrub to her left rustled, and not with the wind.
The dog lifted his face from the water. Icy drops dripped from the fur on his chin. His growl was a low rumble in his deep chest.
The shrubbery went still. Suddenly a large shape burst from it, flying over the water in one graceful leap.
Hey...Dog bent his head and lapped once again, not bothering to watch the big cat race over the ridge of the hill.
She would be well and truly grateful to be within the safety of her own walls.
Some creatures owned the night. She was not of one of them.
Chapter Three (#u54907f5a-ad88-5151-8fe0-865f6a52e870)
Jesse lay on the lumpy hotel bed, arms cradling his head on a pillow while he stared at the wood ceiling. Moonlight streamed inside the window, giving enough light to expose a network of spiderwebs in the rafters. Given a choice, he would have slept under the stars, but even the extra blanket from Bingham’s father would not have kept the boy warm enough.
It was only the first night away from his ranch and already Jesse felt a yearning to be home. Even though he’d only owned the place for a month, was still a stranger to some of the folks in town, he felt a strong sense of belonging.
He’d only ever known that sense of kinship to a place once before. On the rainy afternoon that a welfare agency dragged him from the whorehouse where he had been born and raised, he’d truly felt like the six-year-old orphan he was.
Living on a ranch for the next ten years, along with four other orphans, hadn’t been horrible. Hadn’t been home either. His adopted parents raised workers, not sons.
Bedsprings creaked near the opposite wall. Footsteps padded lightly across the rug. The door handle turned.
“Where are you going, Bingham?”
“To get a breath of fresh air, is all.”
“I’ll go with you.” Jesse sat up. He’d bet his new herd that fresh air wasn’t all the kid wanted.
“You don’t need to, Mr. Creed. I’ve been breathing on my own since I was born.”
“You walk around in this town with that smart mouth and someone will shoot you as soon as answer.”
“The Underwood brothers come to Black Creek all the time. No one’s shot them yet.”
“Not yet. Put on your coat.” Jesse could lecture the boy all night and not teach him as much as a walk through the streets of this sordid town would.
Once outside, Jesse regretted the need to teach the kid this way. The air was bitter cold. A breeze twirled puffs of dust down the road. He shrugged closer into his coat, hugged the lapels across his throat.
If Bingham was cold, he didn’t show it. All he seemed to notice were two women waving to him from the upper balcony of the saloon.
Jesse resisted the urge to wave back. These were not the women who raised him. Those ladies had doted upon him, loved him freely. He’d come to find out later in life that most soiled doves were not like the ones who had brought him up. With most of those adrift souls, nothing was given for free.
“How about we go inside, have a drink?” Bingham stepped toward the open front door where bawdy sounds spilled into the night.
No doubt it all sounded like a fine time to the boy. Jesse had thought the same at his age. Cold crept through the soles of his boots. It wouldn’t be long before his toes went numb.
Jesse grabbed Bingham’s collar and yanked him back.
“I’m of an age.” The kid gazed longingly at the saloon door.
“When you’re old enough to know better, you’ll be of an age.”
“You sound like my pa.”
The scent of jasmine wafted past Jesse’s nose. Odd to smell that this time of year. He glanced about and didn’t see the plant growing nearby.
“I hope I do.” Once they walked past the saloon, the night grew quieter. It wouldn’t stay that way because there was another saloon on the next block. “Your father is a fine man.”
“I know, and I love him. But the thing is, he’s happy just being at work or home. And that’s all right for him because he’s old. I’m ready to experience everything out there!”
“It’s fine to want that.”
How did he tell the boy what he’d learned without sounding like a Sunday morning preacher? Not that Jesse had anything against Sunday morning preachers; it’s just that he figured the boy didn’t pay much attention to them.
He sure hadn’t. He’d learned about life the hard way. Made some grave mistakes that other folks paid the price for. If he could keep Bingham from doing the same, it would be worth more than the herd of horses he was going to fetch. And they meant the world to him.
“You too cold to keep walking, boy?”
“I ain’t a bit cold, sir.” His red nose said otherwise but he didn’t appear to be shivering.
“I’m glad. I’ve got some things to say to you.”
“I did come along to learn everything you know.”
“Everything you think I know.”
Bingham slapped his hands on his forearms as though he could ward off the frigid air. “I reckon you’ve had more adventures than even than Hoodoo Underwood.”
Many more. Although calling them adventures was giving his experiences glamour when they didn’t deserve it.
The one and only thing he wanted now was to settle on his property, breed horses and raise children. Wake up every morning with their mother in his bed.
Out of the blue—or the dark—a vision flashed in his mind of the woman he had met earlier today. The one who was going to end up brokenhearted because she chose the wrong sort of man.
Hmm... She lay in his bed, hair the color of shimmering cream splayed about the pillow. A playful smile on her face. In his mind, he allowed himself to brush a feathered kiss across her lips because what was the harm? A pair of blue eyes gazed up at him in love, even though she knew his every secret.
Odd how something he only imagined left his heart half shaken. Slightly bereft.
“I’ve lived life, and I think maybe you envy that. The thing is, Bingham, I’d have traded every last adventure to have parents like yours.”
“What was it you did, when you were living life before you settled in Forget-Hoping-Anything-Interesting-Will-Happen?”
“I was a bounty hunter.” A robber of freedom. A maker of widows and orphans. He’d taken a life...and worse.
Bingham halted midstride. His mouth hung open, making him look like a fledgling bird expecting a worm to be stuffed into its beak.
“That’s enough talk for now. It’s cold. Let’s go back.”
“But I want to see—”
“Adventure? Look around, boy!” Jesse nodded toward a man who had just stumbled out of the saloon.
Even in the dark, he recognized the fellow who held the heart of the lady on the boardwalk back in Forget-Me-Not. The very lady he had just been fantasizing about. Although, the strange thing was, the vision seemed more solid than fantasy. The oddest part being, he was not a man who indulged in fantasy.
“What do you see?” he asked Bingham.
“A fellow having a high old time. Could be he just won money at cards.”
“The truth is more like he’s so drunk he’s going to vomit at the hitching post. He lost money because his mind couldn’t think a straight thought. He’ll wake up in the morning feeling sick to death, then he’ll do the same damn thing tomorrow night. And he’ll keep on until he’s out of money. I’ve seen it over and over, son. Haggard and hungry isn’t adventurous.”
“But you were a bounty hunter!”
What he wouldn’t give to forget that. To live on his sweet little ranch and wake up next to a blue-eyed, blond-haired woman who forgave and forgot.
Yes, one who made him forget.
* * *
Within moments of passing the split-rail fence, Laura Lee drove the team over the rise of a hill. And there it was...
Home.
