Chapter 32
“WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME you weren’t a farmhand?”
Dodge looked down beside himself as he and Mrs. Dunham walked from the barn, lantern light casting a soft glow over her features.
It was a sight he could too easily grow used to—though the thought was inappropriate, her being another man’s wife.
If she was. His gaze drifted to her bare left hand.
He couldn’t pinpoint why, but the more he was around her, the less certain of that he became.
“I suppose because you never asked,” he finally said.
She huffed. “You could have corrected me.”
“Yes, ma’am, I could have.”
“But?”
Her expression held challenge, and he smiled at the I’d-like-to-nail-you-to-the-wall look she gave him.
“A man who has to make sure everybody knows what he does for a living doesn’t rank high in my book.
A job might tell you something about a person, but it doesn’t tell you who they are.
That takes time. And experience.” He paused.
“And for what it’s worth, I was a farmhand here for years. ”
“Before you became foreman. Is that even your correct title?”
“You’ll find I’m not much for titles either, Mrs. Dunham. But yes, I oversee the distillery’s cattle farm, and I’m grateful for the work.”
He set the lantern and a piece of soap on the rock ledge of the well, lowered the bucket, then hauled it up, water sloshing over the rim. He poured the fresh, cool water into a second bucket for her to wash in.
“You did good back there, ma’am. Real good. I was proud of you.”
She scrubbed her hands and arms briskly, then laughed. A sound he liked. A lot.
“Could you tell I didn’t know what I was doing?”
“There might’ve been a clue or two.”
She rolled her eyes. “Bethie’s an astute little thing, isn’t she?”
“She doesn’t miss much, that’s for sure.” He sent the bucket down again, hauled it up and started washing.
“I admire how forthright she is.”
“Why does that not surprise me?”
She laughed again, softer this time, her movements efficient and precise—and decidedly feminine. In the lantern light, the wounds on her face were barely visible, though he noticed how she sometimes turned away or dipped her head, as if self-conscious about them.
Then again, he could be at fault for looking overlong. Wounds or not, she was a beautiful woman. And though he didn’t agree with all her stances and causes, he admired her strength and confidence. Whoever had done this to her . . . Just five minutes. That’s all he’d need.
“Does Bethie come by that naturally?” she asked.
His thoughts wandering, Dodge quickly backtracked. “The forthrightness, you mean?”
She nodded, then splashed her face with water and gently patted it dry with the freshest towel he’d been able to find.
“She absolutely does. Her mama, my sister Kathleen, was the same way.”
She paused. “I’m sorry about your sister, Mr. Coburn. That must still be so terribly hard. On you both.”
The sincerity in her voice caught him off guard. Maybe it was the strain of past weeks, the loss of cattle—and of dreams—or the grief he’d tried to outrun, but something shook loose inside him. “Thank you, Mrs. Dunham. I appreciate that.”
She hesitated. “I know it’s not within the boundaries of proper etiquette for us to . . .”
He arched a brow. “I’m going to need you to finish that sentence, ma’am.”
She laughed again, color creeping into her cheeks. “What I was going to say is that I know some might find it improper for us to be . . . more informal. But given that we’re working together, and considering what we just went through . . .”
“You’re suggesting we bend the rules a little? Go by first names?”
She stood a tad straighter. “Yes. I am . . . Dodge. And I would appreciate it if you would call me Josephine.”
She offered her hand. He wiped his own and accepted—briefly. Too briefly. Appreciating the feel of her skin against his a little too much.
“How long have you been foreman here?”
“A good ten years. I began working here when I was twelve. Helped in the barn after school. I watched and learned. Our homestead was a couple miles from town.”
“So you’ve never been anywhere else?”
“I didn’t say that.” He smiled. “I’ve traveled some. Mainly for Uncle Jack on business. New York City, Chicago, Washington, DC.”
Her eyes widened. “You’ve been to all those places?”
“None of them had what I wanted.”
“Really?” Her gaze held surprise. “I’d love to travel, to see those cities.
The buildings, the architecture. Think of the history you’d experience in a place like Washington, DC.
Before coming here, I’d never traveled outside of At—” She stopped short.
“Outside of a twenty-mile radius surrounding Chattanooga,” she finished, her smile downright stiff compared to those previous.
Dodge nodded, knowing the woman no more hailed from Chattanooga, Tennessee, than he did. But the question was, did he call her on it now? Or wait. Instinct told him to bide his time.
“You must have an inkling of wanderlust in you,” she continued. “You were planning on going to Wyoming, after all.”
He went along with the shift in subject. “I wouldn’t call that wander-lust so much as the pursuit of a dream.”
She stared for a moment, and he would have given much to know her thoughts.
“And may I ask what that dream is? Or . . . was?”
“To own my own ranch.”
She frowned. “But can’t you do that here? Surely there’s land and—”
He shook his head. “It’s not just owning cattle or land. It was the opportunity to build something special and to own a piece of that wild, breathtaking place before it’s all settled and changed forever.”
“And you decided not to go . . . because of Kathleen’s passing.”
“It was going to be the three of us. But it’s a hard land—beautiful, but not at all forgiving—and while Kathleen never backed down from anything and wanted to go with everything in her .
. . Me taking Bethie out there, just the two of us?
That wouldn’t be fair to her and would be completely selfish and wrong of me.
” He finished washing and tossed both of their towels into the bucket.
“The acreage has a river flowing through it so cold and crystal clear, with water coming straight down from snowcapped mountains, you can see all the way to the bottom. And mountains so high they look like cathedrals. When the sun hits them, they sparkle like diamonds.”
“So . . . you have land. You’ve been out there.”
“Yes, ma’am. Last summer. The mountains and rivers, the rolling prairies, and the blue sky that stretches out forever get inside you. It’s like a living, breathing thing that—” He caught himself, and laughed.
“What is it?” she asked gently.
“I don’t know why I’m going on like this. My apologies . . . Josephine.”
“No. No apology needed. I’m enjoying hearing about it. Is Bethie disappointed you’re not going?”
He sighed. “That was the worst of it, having to tell her. She was heartbroken, and is still holding a grudge. If she had her druthers, we’d already be on our way.”
“Uncle Dodge?” Bethie called as she walked from the barn.
He gave Josephine a look. “Please don’t say anything to her about—”
“I won’t. To anyone. I give you my word.”
Despite his doubts about her, he fully believed her to keep her word about this. “Thank you,” he whispered, then turned at Bethie’s approach. “How’s the calf doing? Still taking to the bottle all right?”
Bethie nodded, yawning as Dodge sent the bucket down again.
“Jake says he and the boys will watch her for me until morning. I can already tell she’s going to be sweet just like Maple.”
Bethie gave them a full report as she washed up, and Dodge appreciated the questions Josephine asked her, not a hint of pretense among them. And Bethie—apparently so tired she forgot she didn’t like this woman—answered at length.
“Give me ten minutes to get Bethie situated, and I’ll walk you back to the boarding house.”
“That’s not necessary, Dodge. I can—”
“It’s nonnegotiable. Come and wait on the porch. Please.”
By the time he got Bethie tucked into bed with Jessie lying by her door, it was closer to fifteen minutes than ten, so he was both pleased and relieved to find Josephine still sitting on the top step, waiting as agreed.
She rose and pointed. “Don’t forget your basket over there.”
He turned, not having seen it in the dark.
“Miss Gibbs delivered it earlier. She came looking for you.”
Hearing the teasing in her voice, he decided to ignore it—and the basket. Especially when remembering the looks she and Calla had given him when Rowena and her mother cornered him for lunch last Sunday. Even in the dark, he could tell she was waiting for more.
“So tell me,” he said as he picked up the lantern he’d left with her and started down the porch steps. “How are things at Miss Mary’s? Have y’all reached a truce yet?”
Same as he’d done with her, she went along with the change in subject, and they talked all the way back to Miss Mary’s.
She opened the front door of the boarding house. “Thank you again for walking with me, and for letting me help tonight. It was—”
“Scarring for life?”
She laughed softly. “Special in a way I could never have imagined. I’m sorry you lost Maple though.”
“It’s never easy, but it’s all part of raising animals. But seeing new life come into the world? That never gets old. Every time’s a miracle.”
“I can see that,” she said softly, holding his gaze.
“Well, good night, Josephine, and thank you again for helping.”
“Good night, Dodge.”
Almost to the street, he heard her call his name and turned back.
“I meant to ask you . . . You said straight shooter to Bethie tonight, and she said it back . . .”
Her question hung in the silence.
“That’s something we started years ago. Even as a little thing, Bethie never wanted to be treated like a child, didn’t want anything honey coated.
Tell me straight, she used to say, unless it turned out to be something she didn’t want to hear, then she’d be mad as a hornet for days.
So, when there’s something I think she needs to know, yet I know it’s going to cause her a lot of hurt, I give her the choice. ”
“Interesting . . .” Her voice floated toward him in the dark. “Has she ever chosen not to hear what you had to say?”
“A handful of times, but that was a while back.”
“Brave girl.”
“She is that. But—” He only hesitated for a second. “I think it’s more because she’s learned that it’s not so much a choice of her knowing the truth as it is her choosing when she knows it. Because truth will always make itself known. It’s usually just a matter of time.”
The brief distance between the street and porch seemed to expand in the silence, and her barely audible whisper, “Good night, Dodge,” stayed with him long after he’d crawled into bed.