Chapter Fifteen
The following afternoon brought a welcome break from the relentless heat.
A thin veil of clouds drifted across the Texas sky, softening the sun and stirring a gentle breeze through the tall grasses surrounding the ranch.
The pastures shimmered in shades of green and gold, and wildflowers dotted the meadow beyond the house—Indian paintbrush, prairie clover, and yellow daisies nodding lazily in the wind.
Henry stood near the corral repairing a loose section of fencing. It was the sort of task that occupied his hands while leaving his mind free to wander. Not that he particularly wanted his mind wandering these days. Unfortunately, it seemed determined to do so.
The sound of laughter carried across the pasture and Henry glanced up. A short distance from the house, Lola raced through the meadow with a butterfly net nearly as tall as she was.
The sight alone would have been unusual enough. The child had spent so much of the past two years withdrawn into herself that spontaneous laughter still caught him by surprise.
Yet it was not Lola alone. Nora was with her.
She had abandoned her bonnet for the afternoon, and the breeze tugged loose strands of chestnut hair from her braid as she crossed the grass.
Her skirts brushed against the tops of the wildflowers while she pursued a particularly determined butterfly alongside the little girl.
Lola laughed again as a bright yellow butterfly escaped the net at the last moment and Nora laughed too.
The sound drifted clearly across the distance separating them and, for reasons Henry could not entirely explain, the sight held his attention.
The meadow itself seemed transformed by their presence.
The ranch had always been beautiful in its own rugged way.
The rolling pastureland stretched toward the horizon beneath enormous Texas skies, while cottonwoods lined the creek that wound through the property.
Red-tailed hawks circled lazily overhead, and somewhere beyond the barn a mockingbird sang from the fence line.
Yet, lately, the place felt different, less empty and more alive.
His gaze settled on Lola. She was talking animatedly now, gesturing toward something hidden among the flowers while Nora listened with complete attention. Listening as though whatever Lola had to say genuinely mattered.
For a long moment he watched the two figures moving through the meadow. Lola’s dark hair gleamed in the sunlight. Nora’s skirt brushed against the wildflowers. Their laughter mingled with the wind. A quiet sense of contentment settled over him before he could stop it.
“Something catch your attention?”
Henry nearly dropped the hammer to find James leaned casually against the fence post beside him, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
“No.”
“Liar,” James smirked.
“I was watching Lola.”
James’s grin widened. “Of course you were.”
Henry returned his attention to the fence, but unfortunately, his cousin remained where he was.
“She’s happier,” James observed
Henry drove a nail into the wood. “She is.”
James folded his arms. “And so are you.” Henry snorted. James glanced toward the meadow. “Nora’s been good for both of you.”
Henry said nothing, because arguing would only encourage him. Unfortunately, silence seemed to encourage him, too.
“I knew this would happen,” James said smugly.
“You knew what would happen?”
“You’re growing attached,” he said. “And who could blame you?”
Henry immediately straightened. “No, I’m not.” The denial came so quickly that even he recognized how unconvincing it sounded.
James certainly did. His smile broadened. “Henry—”
“No,” he insisted, setting down the hammer. “She is a capable housekeeper. She works hard and she’s good with Lola.”
His cousin nodded solemnly. “Anything else?”
“No.” The answer came perhaps a little too forcefully.
“You enjoy having her here.”
“I didn’t say that.”
James sighed dramatically. “Why can’t you just admit that you like her?”
Henry returned to the fence. Unfortunately, James was not willing to leave well enough alone.
“You know,” he said quietly, “there’s nothing wrong with caring about people.”
Henry’s hands stilled as the breeze rustled through the grass between them and nearby, a horse flicked its tail against flies. James watched Lola for a moment before continuing. “You’ve spent two years carrying this ranch on your shoulders.”
Henry stared at the fence.
“You’ve raised Lola.”
“You help.”
“A little,” he agreed. “But you’re the one who’s here every day.
” James’s expression softened. “You act like wanting something for yourself is some kind of failure.” The distant sound of Lola’s laughter drifted across the meadow as James looked toward the child.
“Sam wouldn’t have wanted this, you know. ”
The mention of his sister immediately made something inside Henry go still as his cousin continued carefully.
“She wouldn’t have wanted you to spend the rest of your life alone and miserable.”
The words struck a nerve, a painful one and Henry turned away. His gaze settled on the horizon, on the endless Texas prairie stretching beneath the clouds. For a moment, he saw Samantha as clearly as if she stood before him.
“Being happy isn’t disloyal to the people you’ve lost,” James said softly. “You know that, don’t you?”
Henry swallowed. The lump in his throat surprised him, and for a brief moment he considered answering honestly.
Instead, he reached for the hammer again, the familiar weight felt reassuring in his hand.
Practical and solid. Far easier than examining emotions he preferred to avoid.
“I don’t have time for this conversation. ”
James sighed. “I suspected you’d say that.”
“The ranch needs work.”
“There will always be work.”
Henry ignored him. “What we have now works,” he said. “So why fix what isn’t broken?”
James shook his head. “You keep acting like happiness is some sort of luxury you can’t afford.”
Henry drove another nail into the fence. “Maybe it is.”
The words escaped before he could stop them and for a moment neither man spoke. The breeze carried the scent of sun-warmed grass across the pasture. In the distance, Nora and Lola continued their pursuit of butterflies. Completely unaware of the conversation taking place.
Finally, James rested a hand on the fence. “You deserve more than survival, Henry.”
Henry stared at the weathered boards and then shook his head. “No.” His voice was quiet. “People get what they’re given.”
The sadness in James’s expression deepened, but he did not argue further. They had known each other long enough for him to recognize when Henry’s mind was made up.
A few moments later, James pushed away from the fence. “Well.” His tone lightened. “I suppose I’ll leave you to your fence.”
“Good idea.”
James smiled. “Just try not to stare too obviously.”
Henry glared as his cousin laughed and headed toward the house.
Left alone, Henry returned to his work. Yet despite his efforts, his gaze drifted once more toward the meadow. Toward Lola’s laughter, Nora’s smile, and the strange warmth that seemed to follow both wherever they went.
***
By late afternoon, the heat had become oppressive. Sweat darkened the collar of Henry’s shirt and dust clung stubbornly to his boots. Deciding he’d earned a few minutes indoors before tackling the next task, he headed toward the house.
The ranch was unusually quiet. Lola was likely with her pony and Nora was nowhere in sight. The stillness felt pleasant after a day spent beneath the sun.
Henry stepped into the sitting room and removed his hat, intending to pour himself a cup of water before returning outside. As he crossed the room, his knee brushed the edge of a side table and caught a book.
Instinctively, he reached for it, but it was too late.
The Bible struck the floor with a dull thump.
Bending down, Henry picked it up. The worn leather cover was familiar.
He had seen Nora carrying it countless times.
It seemed to accompany her everywhere—church, the kitchen, the porch in the evenings.
She had told him that the Bible had belonged to her mother.
As he lifted it, several loose pages shifted and the Bible fell open. His eyes landed on the inside cover and stopped. For a moment, he simply stared. Written in elegant, faded script was the name Sarah Turner.
Henry frowned as he read the name again.
It was not any name he recognized. A strange sensation crept through him as his gaze remained fixed on the page.
Perhaps Sarah Turner was a friend, a relative, someone who had once owned the Bible.
But Henry distinctly remembered Nora telling her how much the Bible meant to her because it had been her mother’s.
That didn’t make sense because Nora had spoken often of her mother in the letters. The woman had apparently been a great influence in her life and Henry remembered reading her name. It was Lillian, not Sarah.
His stomach tightened, and the unease that he’d been carrying and trying to ignore for days abruptly sharpened.
The strange conversation about Dickens, the moments where Nora seemed uncertain about details from the letters, the vague feeling that something wasn’t adding up.
One by one, the pieces began resurfacing. Not answers, but questions.
Slowly, Henry stood, the Bible remained in his hands. His gaze drifted toward the study and toward the desk drawer where he had left the letters. A minute later, he was sitting behind the desk and the stack of correspondence lay before him.
The late afternoon sunlight streamed through the study window as he worked through the collection. He found mention of Nora’s mother again and again. Her name was Lilian Smith, not Sarah Turner.
Henry sat back in his chair, staring at the pile of letters and then at the bible, then back again but the two facts refused to fit together. Unless…
His jaw tightened. No, surely not.
Yet, the possibility had already taken root. The Bible belonged to someone named Turner. Not Smith. So if Sarah Turner wasn’t Nora’s mother… Then who was she?
The question hung heavily in the silence. A floorboard creaked somewhere in the house, but Henry barely heard it. His attention remained fixed on the name that suddenly seemed capable of unraveling everything.
His gaze dropped once more to the page and for a long moment, Henry sat motionless in the gathering shadows. The letters lay spread across the desk and Bible beside them.