Chapter 9
DAWN EDGED OVER THE HEAVILY FORESTED HILLS in a glowing blaze of gold and indigo, colors that would forever remind Dodge of his sister—and of a similar sunrise some ten years ago.
Steam rose from his coffee cup and ghosted a pane of the front window that overlooked the lower pasture.
How blind he’d been to the plans Kathleen had been hatching.
He should have seen it coming. Should have figured that Kathleen—all of sixteen at the time, independent, stubborn as a mule with an adventuresome spirit to match, and eager to see the world—would trust far too easily.
Would believe enticing lies cloaked in citified charm and dripping with promises of all that could be.
That morning had been a chilly one, much like today, and it hadn’t taken him long to realize she’d sneaked off during the night with that slick-tongued devil of a man who lured her to Nashville, took what he wanted, then abandoned her there.
Dodge winced. He’d never wanted to kill a man so badly in his life. And he would have, too. If he could’ve found him.
He tossed the remaining corn cakes into the skillet with the scrambled eggs, then heard a gentle whine.
Jessie stared up at him, her head cocked to one side, ears pricked.
Her cattle-dog coloring—the customary blue-gray hide shot through with black specks and the warm tan markings on her cheeks, chest, and legs—fairly glowed in the twilight hours.
But his favorite was the black marking that haloed her right eye and trailed to her ear.
Looked like she was wearing an eye patch.
He tossed her a bite of eggs then leaned down and rubbed her behind the ears. “You’re a beauty, you know that? Now go on, sweet girl, and eat the food I already put out for you.”
Jessie eyed him as though making sure he meant business, then trotted obediently to the tin in the corner and did as asked.
Dodge cleaned the breakfast dishes, then quietly peered into Bethie’s bedroom.
She was still asleep, her blonde hair spilled across the pillow all wild and free like the mane of her sorrel mare when Bethie loosened the reins and gave Ginger Snap the lead.
That horse could fly. And the girl could ride, too.
Better than most of his farmhands. She was a natural.
In moments like this the thought that he needed to be not just an uncle to her, his niece, but a father now, threatened to overwhelm him.
“God, help me do right by her,” he whispered more in his heart than aloud.
Don’t let me fail her like I did my little sister.
He would not make that same mistake again.
He’d keep closer rein on Bethie. Wouldn’t allow her head to be filled with foolishness and nonsensical ideas that would only lead to heartache and ruin.
Of course, that was easier said than done.
The girl read everything within arm’s reach and had a thirst for learning that couldn’t be slaked.
But she came by it naturally. He’d forever be grateful to Dr. Salmon for letting him grow up in that library of his.
The same library that now belonged to Miss Mary in the boarding house.
Dr. Salmon’s wide variety of books had held such fascination for a boy of eight—and still provided enjoyment for a man of thirty-four.
The Wonderful Wizard of Oz lay open on Bethie’s bedside table.
Beneath that, The Time Machine and The Little Mermaid.
She’d already read those novels, same as him—the latter at her request so they could discuss it—and the stories had sparked some lively back-and-forth, especially when Kathleen was still alive.
He stared at the books, then at Bethie, aware of the common thread running through those stories.
Excitement. Adventure. Discovering different worlds and faraway lands.
She was so much like her mother, possessing that same indomitable spirit.
He could still hear the excitement in Kathleen’s voice when he’d first told his sister about Wyoming.
“Are you kidding me, Dodge?” Kathleen had grasped his upper arm and squeezed tight.
“Of course, I want to go. I want a fresh start. A place where people have no memory of what I did. A place where my daughter can grow up outside the shadow of my mistakes. Where I can help Bethie forge her own path and where she can be anything she wants to be.”
Then Kathleen had fallen ill, scarlet fever finally taking her, God rest her sweet spirit, and the dream of Wyoming had died with her.
She’d known it, too. He’d felt it in the last gentle squeeze of her hand.
Had seen it in her tear-filled eyes before she’d slipped away.
He hoped she’d heard his strained, repeated whispers of assurance there at the last. He hadn’t wanted her entering eternity with that regret.
Because he could never view Bethie as anything but a blessing.
A remarkable, unexpected gift he’d spend his life providing for and protecting.
He noiselessly closed the door, then paused.
Bethie had already lost the most important person in the world to her.
How did he take this dream away from her as well?
Yet, it was time he told her the change in plans.
No matter how much it hurt him to do it.
Maybe the gift he’d had special made for her would help make up for it in some small way.
The leatherworker at the tack shop in Tullahoma had sure given it his best.
He shrugged into his coat and grabbed his hat from the hook by the door, then carefully slid open the top left drawer of his desk. He reached to the very back—knowing Bethie’s tendency to snoop—and withdrew the envelope, its contents having robbed him of sleep for days now.
He unfolded the document and read the title across the top. The United States of America, Department of the Interior.
He scanned the legal verbiage again, having reviewed it thoroughly two nights earlier once Bethie was asleep.
His gaze slid to the signature of the land agent on the bottom left, then to the empty line adjacent to it on the right .
. . that awaited his own pen. Every one of those four hundred and twenty acres in Wyoming were his, for now.
Until he sold them. Which, according to the land agent in Cheyenne who brokered deals, could happen lightning fast or drag out for months.
All depended on price and interested buyers.
The thought of selling still made his stomach churn.
He’d saved for that land for nearly fifteen years.
Had put aside near everything he’d earned, after caring for Kathleen and Bethie’s needs, for that purchase.
But he knew it was the right thing to do, even if it meant possibly losing most of what he’d worked for all his adult life.
He retrieved his fountain pen, signed the document, and tucked the envelope into his coat pocket. Before mailing it, he’d talk to Uncle Jack to make sure they were on the same page, then he’d make it official.
The air outside hit him crisp and cool, and he latched the cabin door behind him and headed for the stables, Jessie trotting beside him.
How to break it to Bethie was the question.
Probably best to just state it outright.
That’s how he’d want it done, if it was him.
Quick and to the point. Don’t make him guess.
Yet he’d learned long ago that females were a different breed, and he’d all but given up on trying to figure them out.
But life was full of unforeseen switchbacks. He’d learned that young, and, unfortunately, Bethie was learning that too.
Angry shouts drifted toward him, and he slowed his steps. Curses punctuated the argument, and he turned in the direction of the distillery downhill. A gunshot rang out, and he broke into a run, Jessie easily outpacing him.
As Dodge drew closer, he thought he recognized one of the voices. He commanded Jessie to stay and didn’t hesitate as he burst through the side door.