Chapter Thirty-Two
The table was cool against Alexandra’s forehead as she laid her head down. Her arms were stretched out in front of her, her hands folded together. With her face nestled in the dark like this, all her problems seemed more remote; the only sound was her own breathing.
The entire world seemed subdued. The day had dawned gray and misty, unusual for Nevada.
Idly, Alexandra wondered if this meant that summer was nearing an end.
In the desert heat, she’d lost all sense of time passing, as each day looked largely like the last. In Philadelphia, the trees would already be starting to turn their colors.
The ladies, too, would be moving to autumn fashions and planning their seasonal menus.
This isn’t helping anything, she told herself.
What was helping still less was the sentence, which had been going round and round inside her since somewhere near two in the morning, like a moth at a lamp.
I’d take you in trade and call the whole business square.
It wasn’t the sentence itself that did the damage.
Kevin Black could say whatever he liked; she had known within a minute what sort of article he was.
It was that Aidan had heard it a week ago, standing in his own corral, and had walked into this house afterward, sat down in his chair, and told her about the money.
And she had watched him not say the rest of it. She had seen the thing go down inside him like a stone into a well, and she had let it go, and had been rather pleased with herself at the time for being so patient about it.
That was the part she could not get comfortable with. Not that he had kept it from her. That she had helped him do it.
She sighed, folding her arms so that her hands rested on the back of her head. The house was still, the children still in bed. Danny was the only one who had witnessed the scene at the end of the night, and he’d thus far kept to himself about it. Alexandra sighed again; that wasn’t likely to last.
I ought to start breakfast, she thought, but she remained where she was. The idea of getting up, moving beyond her own little space in the world felt as insurmountable as the mountains in the distance.
The front door opened with a quiet but unmistakable click and creak.
Alexandra’s head shot up, her heart pounding.
Aidan hadn’t come into the house last night—she had no idea where he was.
When she rose after a few hours of tossing and turning, the door to his room had still been open, the quilt neatly tucked in. Hope tickled her chest.
Alexandra tensed; whoever it was, they didn’t walk with Aidan’s heavy steps that shook the floorboards.
This person walked lightly, creeping through the house.
Alexandra didn’t dare to move, not wanting to give herself away.
Her eyes went to the counter to her left, where the wash basin was.
Her kitchen knife was lying there, glinting dully in the low light.
The only problem was that she couldn’t reach it without moving her chair.
I’ll have to take my chances, she thought.
She glanced up at the ceiling, where the children still slept peacefully.
Anger rose up in her, hot and mercurial, making her hands curl into fists.
Whoever it was, if they meant her family harm, she wouldn’t let them pass unscathed.
Though she was diminutive in stature, her urge to protect made her into a bear.
She chuckled silently at herself. If the ladies back home could see me now, she mused, ready to do bodily harm to an intruder.
And then Antony came into the kitchen, his rifle loosely held in his hand at his side. Alexandra nearly fainted with surprise and relief, and just stared at him, her mouth working like a trout.
“Oh! Sorry there, Missus,” he said, pulling his hat off with his free hand. “I didn’t think anyone would be up and about. I’m sure I scared the life out of you.”
“It’s fine,” Alexandra managed, her voice breaking from equal parts sleep and shock. “Is Aidan with you?”
Antony shook his head, leaning his rifle against the wall. “I was sort of hoping that he was here,” he admitted.
A fist of worry curled in Alexandra’s stomach. She stared at Antony for a long moment before rising slowly. She turned to the range and began stacking wood. “I need some coffee,” she said over her shoulder. “Do you need some coffee? I’m going to make coffee.”
She winced at herself, but she couldn’t stop. It was an inane thing to say, punctuated by a more inane action. Her husband was missing, and here she was worrying about offering refreshments.
“That’d be quite welcome, actually,” Antony said. She could hear him pull one of the other chairs out and settle into it, groaning lightly.
Alexandra bustled about the kitchen quietly, glad to have something for her hands to do. The ceramic cups rattled in her hand as she pulled them from the cabinet. The lid from the tin of ground coffee clattered to the range as she pried it off.
“He’ll be fine,” Antony said. “He’s a good lad, and he knows what he’s about.”
“I’m sure people said the same thing about his brother, too,” Alexandra retorted, and instantly regretted it. She stared down at the pot of coffee, her reflection warping as she stirred. “I just wish that I knew where he was.”
“He has a bit of the wanderer in him, always has,” Antony answered. “He’ll go on a walk or a long ride, and come home a new man. You’ll see.”
Alexandra was sure that he meant that to be reassuring, but it only made her stomach churn.
She looked out the window above the wash basin to where the chopping block stood abandoned, the axe leaned against it.
Beyond that, the chicken coop was still shut up tightly, fuzzy-looking in the mist. The ranch was quiet, as if even the animals knew that something had shifted.
Shaking herself, Alexandra turned back to the coffee. She poured the dark liquid into the waiting cups and carried them carefully back to the table. Her hand was still trembling as she passed Antony his. He didn’t comment, but gave her a sympathetic look.
She couldn’t bear that small kindness right now. So she turned away quickly under the guise of retrieving the sugar bowl and spoon. She placed them on the table without looking at Antony.
“There’s no milk yet,” she said.
“Don’t worry on my account,” Antony said, taking an appreciative sniff of his coffee as he lifted it. “Might you have any butter by chance?”
“Butter?” Alexandra repeated, her brows rising. “I’ll… see what I can do.” She stepped into the cold larder, found the butter, and brought it to the table with a knife.
Everything else was forgotten for a moment as Antony scraped a pat off and plopped it into his coffee.
Alexandra could only stare at him, unsure of what she was watching.
She’d never seen someone take coffee like that before; the very idea of dolloping butter into coffee in Philadelphia was as alien as a dog walking a person.
Antony swirled his cup and smacked his lips. “Ambrosia, that is,” he said. He glanced up at Alexandra, who took her seat slowly. “You ever tried it?”
Alexandra shook her head firmly.
“Go on,” Antony encouraged, scooting the butter dish toward her with the tips of his fingers. “Trust me.”
Reluctantly, Alexandra followed his lead, placing a dollop of butter into her own cup. The butter sank and began to melt. She lifted the cup, sniffed, and pulled back.
Nothing for it, Alexandra thought. Resisting the urge to grimace, she took a sip.
The flavor that washed over her tongue was both strange and familiar.
There was the hot bitterness of the coffee, yes, but there was also a smooth, savory quality underneath it.
She jerked back in surprise—it was good, better than she thought it would be.
“See?” Antony said smugly.
“Hmm,” Alexandra hummed, still unconvinced. She reached for the sugar dish, dropped a spoonful into her cup, and stirred vigorously. She took another sip, and, finding that the sugar made all the difference, settled deeper into her chair, her hands wrapped around her cup.
They sat in companionable silence for a moment. Alexandra glanced at Antony and saw him stifle a yawn.
“Did you sleep at all?” she asked.
“No,” he admitted. “I wanted to keep an eye on things. Don’t fret over me—it’s not the first time I’ve gone without sleep. During foaling season, we’re lucky to sleep an hour the whole week through.” He smiled at Alexandra, and she returned it tiredly.
They sat together in silence again, the mantel clock ticking the seconds by. Antony held his cup in one hand, leaning back in his chair. His fingers traced the grain of the wood on the table, looping this way and that. Beneath his mustache, his mouth worked, like he was chewing on words.
Alexandra raised a brow at him.
“So… the ranch is in a bit of trouble, then,” he said. He didn’t insult her by making it a question, and she was grateful. After last night, there was no way to keep the truth of it from anyone.
“Seems so,” Alexandra said. She put her cup down near the edge of the table and scooted it backward with her fingertips.
“Brendan was a good boy, but after his wife died… Well, it’s like his sense dried up with her,” Antony said. He frowned, his mustache drooping. “I suppose I shouldn’t speak ill of him. Still, it’s a hard thing to see Aidan struggling so mightily, and you along with him, if I can be so impertinent.”
“I’m not sure it matters now,” Alexandra said quietly. “I guess we’re all trying to live with the decisions we’ve made.”
Antony grunted at that and sipped his coffee again. “You think he’ll sell the ranch, then?”
“I don’t know,” Alexandra admitted. “The more I get to know him, the more I feel like I don’t know him, if that makes any kind of sense.”
“Well, I won’t deny that you’ve come into his life at a changeable time,” Antony acknowledged. “Having parenthood thrust upon him, and a wife and aunt now, too.”
“There’s a lot of us to consider,” Alexandra agreed. “I imagine we’ll have to weigh our options carefully.” She drummed her fingers on the table, a horse galloping and getting nowhere.
Antony shifted in his chair. His broad-fingered hand covered hers. “You’re not alone in this,” he said softly, his face kind.
This small bit of compassion nearly unwound Alexandra’s careful composure.
She could feel herself coming undone, tears threatening her eyes.
She didn’t want to be seen as a silly, sentimental woman at all in a landscape that demanded such hardness, but she especially didn’t want to be seen as such right now.
This wasn’t the time to be falling to pieces, but here she was, her eyes in great danger of spilling over.
Antony’s hand was still covering hers when the back door was flung open without ceremony. Alexandra tensed, but Antony remained still, so she imagined she was safe. Her back was to the door, however, and she had to twist awkwardly to see who was standing there.
It was Aidan, framed by the growing light from outside.
His clothes were dusty, his pants spattered with mud, clear up to his thigh.
Relief went through her, and directly behind it, so close on its heels that she could scarcely tell them apart, came the sentence again.
I’d take you in trade. She stood to greet him anyway.
The look on his face stopped her in her tracks—it was hard and barren as a stone wash.