Chapter 8
“This place is a disaster,” Ronan said as he eased his way off his horse, his ribs screaming in protest.
The house in front of him was thankfully standing without a lean, but the door was hanging off its hinges, and all the windows were smashed. The barn in the distance had fallen over. Weeds and vines crawled over everything, almost like the land was trying to reclaim the property.
Ronan led the way into the house, the floorboards creaking beneath his weight. Some of them would need to be nailed down, but other than the thick layer of dust coating them, they were in fine condition.
The sitting room was another story. There was furniture, but it looked as if a creature had made its home in there, the couch torn to shreds, the books barely held together by their spines.
He heaved out a sigh, finding the bedrooms in much the same state of disrepair. Thankfully, the kitchen would just need a good scrub, and then it would be usable.
The dining room chairs were missing, but the table was still there.
“Well, it’s not as bad as it could be,” Tobin said as he followed him inside. “It’s going to take some work to fix up, and you’re going to need a new barn built, but if you wanted to bring animals on the land right away, we would just have to check the fenceline.”
“Do you think the barn is salvageable?” Ronan tucked his hands in his pockets, his heart hammering against his chest.
“I think so, but it’s going to require a lot of work. Probably going to take us the better part of three days.” Tobin scratched his jaw, looking around. “Your uncle sure didn’t leave this place in the best condition, did he?”
Maybe coming here was a mistake. Maybe he would have been better off finding his way to another town and living out of a boarding house until he could claim a piece of land.
Though if he did that, he would have to use his real name. Writing Ronan Thorne on paperwork would draw attention to himself that he didn’t need, but here he could be Ronan Wilcox.
“No.” Ronan sighed and took off his hat, tossing it on the dining table and running his hand through his hair. “I don’t suppose there’s a bar of soap in that basket, is there?”
Tobin chuckled and put the basket on the table, rummaging through it.
“Doesn’t look like it.”
“That’s fine.” Ronan raked a hand through his hair, pushing the long strands back from his face. “Come on, let’s look at the shed out back and see what we have and what we’re going to need. We can walk the fences too.”
“You think that’s a good idea with your ribs?” Tobin was already heading to the front door.
“I’m fine. You don’t need to worry like the women were.”
“I think they had a reason to be worried. You don’t seem to know your own limits.” Tobin glanced back over his shoulder at them as they stepped outside.
Ronan brushed by him, making his way down to where the fence for the corral started. “I’m fine. I know my limits, and nobody has to worry about me.”
Tobin chuckled but didn’t press the issue as they walked around the corral, then went to survey the barn. Once they were done looking at the remains—which were in far better condition than Ronan had originally thought—they went to the shed.
Opening it, Ronan batted away the cobwebs, looking at the light coming through the small window.
There were a bunch of tools inside, and most of them looked like they were in good condition.
There was a hammer or two that would need to be repaired, and they were certainly going to need a bunch of nails, but it wasn’t too much to buy.
And thankfully, the robbers didn’t find the money I stitched into my saddlebags.
“I’m going to send you to town.” Ronan walked with Tobin back to where the horses grazed at the front of the house. “And to be honest, I want you to be the face of the ranch.”
“Why?” Tobin’s eyes narrowed, but there was nothing except what seemed like curiosity in his eyes.
“I don’t like people much. Not one for the busyness of towns and the way rumors spread. I like a quiet life.”
“Well, they’re going to know something. I’m sure news has gotten around town of us staying with the sisters if only for a few days.”
“Let’s deal with that section of fence,” Ronan said, not wanting to think too much about how many people might know his name.
He had been careful, though. He hadn’t told Cressida his last name. Tobin didn’t know it either. Ronan was a common enough first name that someone who might be looking for him wouldn’t think twice about hearing the name.
Tobin sighed and followed him to the fence. Ronan took hold of the broken rail first, trying to pull it off, but it wouldn’t budge. Sweat broke on his forehead, and his ribs ached when he kept pulling. It only shifted a little, but the post beside it groaned like it was about to come loose, too.
“Let me,” Tobin said, stepping into the place where Ronan had stood. “You see these joints here? Your uncle took care when making this fence. Made it easy enough to replace pieces if he needed to, but made it sturdier than most of the fences going up these days.”
Tobin put some pressure on the rail, shifting it to the side slightly to push the post back before gripping it from below and giving it a slight wiggle.
The pieces holding the post and the rail together groaned, but they didn’t give.
“A little more and it should come loose.” Tobin stepped back and nodded to it. “You should try. If this is going to be your land, you need to know how to care for it.”
Ronan tried again, following the way Tobin worked, but the post started leaning once more, almost like the fence was fighting back to keep the piece of slowly rotting wood.
Tobin stepped forward to help, holding the post in place. The rail gave way freely. Ronan set it to the side, glancing at Tobin.
“Thank you. It would have broken if either of us had kept trying to force it alone.”
“Most things do.” Tobin’s gaze stayed on him, looking like he was trying to figure out a puzzle.
“Not everyone adjusts.” Ronan eyed the joint. He didn’t know how to make it, but he could use the old one as a guide and adjust from there.
Tobin shrugged, tucking his hands in his pockets. “Most people aren’t left trying to fix what breaks.”
Ronan’s stomach growled, his mind turning to the basket. “Do you suppose there’s something to eat in that basket?”
“I saw everything that’d be needed for a sandwich.”
Ronan nodded, turning for the house. “Let’s go make a couple then, and then I’d like you to go to town.”
Tobin gave a slight nod. They went back to the house, making sandwiches and eating them in silence. Ronan didn’t talk for fear of Tobin asking more questions about his past. He suspected Tobin didn’t speak much for the same reason.
Ronan finished his sandwich, grateful Cressida had cared enough to prepare a basket for men she hardly knew. In truth, he was appreciative of all she had done for him. There was no reason for her to take him in and keep him from dying, but she had, even at risk to her reputation.
He shook his head slightly, brushing the thoughts to the side. There was nothing good that would come of thinking of her in a fond light. Ronan was better off alone, and he had to remind himself of that. Even letting Tobin remain was to benefit him and his desire to remain hidden from others.
Tobin got up, dusting off his hands. “I’m going to walk the fenceline and see if there’s anything we missed on the list of things that need to be done before heading into town.”
After Ronan gave him a nod, Tobin went outside. Ronan watched him from the window, making sure Tobin was heading away from the horses. Once Ronan was sure he wasn’t going to turn back, he breathed a heavy sigh.
Ronan went outside, taking his saddlebags off his horse and bringing them inside. He set them over the dining table and pulled out a knife, cutting open the stitching on the backside. Coins and bills fell out, scattering on the table.
The hair on the back of Ronan’s neck stood up, but he counted enough money to buy the supplies they needed to clean and build the barn, as well as enough money for a third horse. They were going to need it with all the work to be done around the ranch.
He hid most of the money in an old box on the hutch in the kitchen, before taking his saddlebags to what would be his bedroom and tossing them inside, shutting the door. He would sew them back up once Tobin was asleep that night.
When Ronan went back out to the kitchen, Tobin was back, his hands tucked in his pockets, eyeing the small amount of money that had been left on the table.
“Supplies and a horse,” Ronan said, handing the money over to Tobin.
“You don’t want to come to town?” Tobin slipped the money into his pocket.
“Not supposed to ride that far.” Ronan was grateful for the excuse, but he needed to lay out how things were going to run if Tobin was going to stay. “Like I said, I want you to be the face of the ranch. Avoid all the questions you can, and if you can avoid mentioning me, do it.”
Tobin stared at him, not saying a word, but there was an intense look in his eyes that demanded more.
Ronan didn’t have more to give right then.
“I’ll explain more later.” Ronan nodded to the door. “You should head off before stores start to close for the evening.”
Ronan sighed and went to the couch as Tobin left, sitting down the moment he heard the door slam. He tipped his head back, closing his eyes, breathing deeply even though it hurt.
It was the first chance he’d had that day to relax, and he wasn’t sure how much harder he would be able to push himself, but at the very least, when Tobin got back, he would have to make up two places to sleep for the night and start a fire to stave off the chill of the night air.
He kept his eyes closed, listening to the sound of the wind coming through the broken windows, the chirping of the birds outside as evening set in.
Before he knew it, his breathing was evening out, and he fell asleep.
Cressida’s hands were soft on his skin as they brushed over his scars. She didn’t seem bothered by them at all as she moved to the big bruise on his ribs.
“What happened to you?” she asked, her voice soft.
His gaze met hers, and it felt like he could get lost in those green depths. He wanted to reach out and twirl the loose strand of her hair around his finger. Was it as soft and silky as it looked?
The door burst open, Cressida screaming and jumping up. Ronan threw himself in front of her, ready to protect her from whatever danger was coming their way, but it was too late. The robbers were in the house. They were in the house, and they were coming for him.
“Give us the watch,” one of the men said, pointing a gun at him.
Another man lunged around him and grabbed Cressida, pressing a gun to her head. “The watch, Ronan. You don’t want her to suffer for all your secrets, do you?”
“Ronan, what are they talking about?” Cressida asked, clawing at the arm wrapped around her throat, holding her tight.
“I’m sorry,” he said, right before a gunshot cracked through the room.
Ronan burst up from the couch, his ribs flaring with pain as he looked around. Sweat rolled down his forehead, and his blood rushed in his ears, but there was no threat in the room with him. Everything was fine, and he was going to be fine. There was no reason to worry.
The robbers were gone, and they wouldn’t know where he had settled.
Hopefully.
Did those robbers even know who he was? They couldn’t. They didn’t demand the watch. They didn’t even try to get it from him.
Still, though, there was a lingering feeling in the back of his mind that told him he couldn’t relax fully just yet.
Ronan reached into his pocket and pulled out the watch, running his thumb over the broken face, his mind drifting to Evander.