Chapter 1 #2
“Yes, Mama. Who Crazy Jane is?”
The boy did not need to hear such stories. She shot their host a warning look. Though the term host hardly suited the situation.
“Son, it’s just a tall tale. Forget you heard it.”
Eddie’s raised eyebrows suggested she asked the impossible.
At the similar expression on the man’s face, she scowled. What made either of them react that way?
“You meeting your husband at Golden Valley?” He settled back, lazy and relaxed as if to hide his searching for information.
How much should she tell him? What difference did it make? It wouldn’t change her plans. All she had to do was go back to the way station and wait for the next stagecoach and continue her journey. The ax at her knee offered assurance he wouldn’t be able to stop her if he tried.
So far—to her faint comfort—he hadn’t made any threatening movement or spoken a word that gave her concern.
“I’m a widow.” The word always sent stiffening tension through her.
The man showed not one hint of a reaction.
Dianne hurried on. “I’m disembarking at Golden Valley but then going to a ranch to keep house for a friend of the family.” Thinking of her future brought a full-blown smile. “A friend of my father’s actually. They grew up together and stayed in touch over the years.”
“This man have a name? I might know him.”
Again, she considered her answer. “Chet Berch.”
The chair skidded back, squealing in protest as the man burst to his feet. Dianne pulled Eddie into her arm on one side, hoisted the ax with her other hand, and stood.
Jace Reynolds curled his fingers until his knuckles popped. Chet Berch. The last name he wanted to hear. He’d retreated to this hunting cabin so he could forget the man and all he meant.
The woman whose name he hadn’t bothered to ask because he intended to see the last of her real soon stared at him, her eyes narrowed, the ax before her like—well, like a deadly weapon.
He sucked in air… or at least he tried. His chest refused to obey his plan to relax.
“Chet Berch? He’s—” He gulped. “Was he…?” The words stuttered from his lips. With great effort, he tried again. “Was he expecting you?” Though what difference did that make now?
The log crackled, sparks flew up the chimney, and she darted a look in that direction before her dark eyes refocused on him. Her mouth settled into a hard line. “I wrote him, so yes, he’s expecting me.” Each word carried brittle defiance.
He understood her unspoken message. What business was it of his? “Fine. Good.” Two nods, two unnecessary words, and then nothing? No need for him to be so rattled, and yet he was. So much so, he couldn’t think what to say next. How to tell this woman there’d be a change of plans?
“I think it’s time for us to leave. Eddie, are you warmed up?” She spoke to her son but didn’t look at the youngster.
“Yes, Mama.” The faint whisper suggested the boy’s confusion and maybe even fear.
“Good.”
No one moved.
“I need to return to the way station.”
Jace nodded. Of course, she did. Didn’t she? But would she continue her plans if she knew the truth? Should he tell her? The skin on the back of his neck itched, but he ignored it. He could let her go to Golden Valley and discover the truth for herself.
Was that fair? Why not tell her himself? Except—
He lifted a hand, pointed a finger at her, saw her surprise, and lowered his hand again. “I take it you haven’t gotten the news?” Well, obviously. Unless—
The door and escape beckoned, but his feet did not move. He must deal with this.
“What news?” Warning and worry intermingled in her tone.
“Chet is—” A little boy with big blue eyes studied him. He modified the word he meant to say. “No longer with us.”
“He’s gone away? Where?”
He tipped his chin upward. “Pretty sure he’s up there.”
“Up—” Her gaze went in the same direction. Then, realizing he didn’t mean on the roof, she pulled her son closer. “He’s—?”
Seeing she understood, he nodded.
Her knees folded, and she sank to the floor, the boy held tightly in her arms, the ax falling to the wooden boards. Was she in shock? Should he offer her a drink of water? Wrap a blanket around her shoulders? But he stood uncertain and motionless.
Her shoulders heaved, and a gust of air from her set the flames dancing. “His ranch was to be my home.” Her back straightened, and she turned her desperate gaze to him. “Who owns it now?”
“I do.” Would she hear the sorrow and desperation that admission brought him?
“You?” Wide-eyed surprise. “Are you his son?” She shook her head. “I didn’t know he had one.”
“I’m only a—” Did he call himself a hired hand? He’d been much more than that. “Someone he took in.” Even that was inadequate to explain how Chet treated him. Befriended him. Provided shelter and family and home when his parents and sisters died on their journey west.
Silence fell between them as she digested the information, and he stood mired in regrets.
“Do you need a housekeeper? You and your wife?”
“I’m not married, and I don’t need a housekeeper. I plan to stay here.” He leaned back and let that soak in.
“Here? But Chet’s ranch— I recall he was very proud of it. Why won’t you be there?”
A shrug was his only answer.
She rubbed her son’s back and wrapped the blanket more tightly around him. “Why haven’t I heard of you?”
“Name’s Jace Reynolds.”
“Nope. Never heard your name before.”
“Is there some reason you should have? Were you in close contact with him?” Chet had a friend back in Ontario.
Someone he’d known since they were young men.
Jace had seen the return address on the occasional letters.
M. Munroe. Most letters were exchanged at Christmastime.
“By the way, I haven’t heard of you either.
” He squinted. “How do I know you’re who you say you are? ”
“My name is Dianne White, formerly Munroe.”
“Pleased to make your acquaintance.” Though there was little pleasure in it.
“I have no place to go except his ranch.” The color receded from her cheeks, leaving nothing but the cloudy brown of her eyes. She toyed with the ends of her brown braid.
“You can live there. In fact, you can have the whole place.” He didn’t mean for his voice to be so harsh, but he couldn’t seem to help it.
“What on earth are you talking about?” The definitive edge to her tone said she suspected him of some kind of trickery.
“Chet left the ranch to me.” Before she could respond, he strode to the window and stared out at the trees. Dark shadows drifted over the clearing. Evening was upon them. He jerked around. “I don’t want it.”
“Why not?”
Tightness gripped his chest. “I have my reasons.” None that he cared to share. “There’s a nice house there you can make your home.”
Her look intense and perhaps curious, she watched him. But if she hoped for more information, she’d be waiting a long time.
“It’s all yours, and welcome to it. The house and ranch and everything.”
Silence was her only answer. After several tense moments, she nodded. “I need a home.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “However, I know nothing about running a ranch. And I don’t need the responsibility.”
“Hired men do the work.”
She scoffed. “Yeah, I’m sure it’s that easy.”
Despite himself, he chuckled.
They considered each other.
“I need a home for me and the boy.” She shifted her son, who’d fallen asleep on her shoulder.
“So you’ve said.”
“Can I go to your ranch?”
“It’s yours.”
She adjusted the boy in her arms, leaving the ax at her feet, and stood to confront him.
“I don’t want anything but a house to live in.
I’ll proceed with my plans.” With a shake, she roused the boy.
“We need to go right away.” She stood the boy on his feet.
“Here, son. Put on your clothes.” She lifted a hand and slipped it into a sleeve of the little shirt that must still be damp.
“You won’t be leaving tonight.” The boy would freeze even if there was a hope of them finding their way back.
At his words, she jerked upright, her eyes wide and mouth slack.