Three #2
Beckett crouched and skimmed his fingers lightly along the edge of one track.
“Truck pulled in from the road,” he said. “Sat right here.”
From the gap in the branches, the burned pasture was clearly visible in the distance—the blackened strip where the fire had torn through the grass, leaving behind a charred smell that hadn’t yet dissipated.
Two ignition points lay twenty yards apart along the dry strip near the creek bed. Both too neat. Both too deliberate.
Her gaze lifted to sweep the area. No cattle nearby. No visible gate. No water barrel, either. Beckett was right. No one from the Archer outfit had a reason to be out here.
“He just sat here and watched the whole thing,” she breathed.
“Afraid so.” Beckett rose slowly, brushing dirt from his hands. “Whoever parked here had a clear view of the fire.” His voice stayed calm, but there was no mistaking the edge beneath it. “And the fire was no accident.”
By the time Beckett turned the Ford pickup into Jackie’s yard, the afternoon had settled into a somber stillness. Neither of them had said much since leaving the timber. The tire tracks and broken branch had answered too many questions and stirred up even more.
He cut the engine. For a moment, neither of them moved. Jackie wasn’t quite sure why. Maybe it was the quiet companionship that had formed between them—unexpected, considering everything she now knew about him.
Jackie reached for the door handle but didn’t open it right away.
It would be simple enough to step out, thank him for the ride, and watch him drive away. Wiser, too, than lingering beside the one man whose name had tortured her thoughts so often since Korea.
Instead, she found herself remaining in the quiet cab, reluctant to see him drive away.
Beckett’s gaze drifted across the yard, staying a moment on the windmill and the ladder still propped against the tower.
“You planning to leave that there?” he asked.
Jackie groaned softly. “I forgot all about it.”
He opened the truck’s door and got out with the quiet agility she was beginning to associate with him. By the time she scrambled out, too, he was already walking toward the windmill.
“I’ll get it,” he said.
“You don’t have to,” Jackie said, hurrying after him. “I can carry it.”
Beckett glanced back at her with a faint, amused look.
“You just climbed a windmill today,” he said. “I think you’ve done enough ladder work for one afternoon.” He lifted the ladder, balancing it easily against his broad shoulder. “The barn, I assume?”
Jackie reached for the other end anyway. “I can help. And yes, the barn.”
They crossed the yard past the airstrip and headed toward the open barn doors Jackie hadn’t had time to close.
Her tan Willys Jeep sat just inside, still coated with the road dust she could never avoid.
The barn carried the familiar scent of dry hay, aged wood, and the faint oily smell of tools that Roy Kincaid had likely used and put away a hundred times.
Inside, Beck leaned the ladder against the wall beside a stack of boards. His appraising glance took in the Jeep, which earned his approving nod. “Spent plenty of time around those in the Army. Hard to beat a Willys on pasture roads. They’ll climb places most trucks won’t.”
Jackie kept her expression steady. Army. He’d said it easily, but it would always be a reminder of when everything had gone wrong—for both of them.
She pushed herself away from the thought. “She’s not much to look at, but at least her color helps hide the dirt, and she’ll go anywhere I ask her to.”
He studied the barn’s doorway, too, frowning. He studied so long, she did his talking for him.
“The opening won’t clear the wings,” she said.
He grunted agreement. “Needs to be widened, for sure.”
“The threshold has to come down, too, or I’ll jar the landing gear every time I roll her out. Got some serious reconstruction to do before I turn this into a hangar, I’m afraid.”
He tipped his Stetson back, narrowed an eye, his expression calculating. Assessing. “Couple days’ work, and we could get it done.”
His offer held her riveted from the unexpectedness of it. He barely knew her. He had his own chores to do, too. Ranch work that never ended for a big ranch like the Archers’. And he’d give her a couple of days?
She should jump at his offer. Grab at it and run. Anyone could see how much needed to be done around the place, and she couldn’t do it all herself.
The trouble was, she wasn’t sure spending that much time with Beckett J. Archer was a good idea.
Jackie studied the barn’s doorway, too, avoiding him. Hiding her thoughts. “That’s a generous offer. I’ll think about it.”
A moment passed. She could feel him watching her, likely wondering why she hadn’t accepted. Any woman in her right mind would have.
“Offer stands,” he said finally.
Seconds ticked by in her head. Jackie knew it was time for him to leave. Beckett J. Archer had stepped back into her life after years she’d believed him lost, and suddenly the idea of watching him drive away felt harder than it should.
“Would you like a slice of sourdough and jam to eat on the way home?” she asked abruptly.
The hard line of his mouth curved. “Can’t refuse that. Leastways if you’re willing to share.”
“Of course I am. It’ll only take a minute to cut you a slice.”
After they crossed the yard and reached the porch, Jackie stepped onto the bottom stair. The board dipped beneath her boot with a hollow creak, a sound she’d gotten so used to she barely noticed it anymore.
But Beckett did. He stopped. “Hold on.” He tested the step with his boot, and the wood shifted again. “You’ve got a loose tread here.”
Jackie glanced down at it, then back up at him. “Afraid so.”
“Only going to get worse if it’s not fixed. The nail is pretty loose.” He stepped back down and crouched, pressing a palm against the board. It rocked under his hand. “You got a hammer?”
Jackie pulled open the screen door. “I think so. Be right back.”
Hurrying, she found what she was looking for in one of the kitchen drawers that held an assortment of items Roy Kincaid had accumulated. Adding a bread knife from another drawer, she returned to the porch. Beckett accepted the hammer and a handful of nails with murmured thanks and went to work.
Jackie opened the towel his mother had sent and sliced the sourdough, one slice for each of them. By the time she slathered them with plum jam, Beckett’s hammering ended.
He tested the step with his weight. It held firm.
“No more creaking,” he said.
Gratitude swarmed through her. She settled on the top step and drew up her knees. “I’m impressed. You’re fast.”
“Easy enough to do.” He set the hammer and the remaining nails on the porch and accepted the bread she handed him.
“Gosh, this is good,” she said, taking a bite.
“Told you.” He took one, too.
“Please give her my thanks, Beckett. Maybe I’ll meet her one day soon.”
“You will. You’re practically living on Archer land.”
Instead of heading for the Ford, he made no move to leave but finished his bread and jam in leisure, looking out over the pasture and at the windmill that didn’t squeal anymore.
Jackie had the quiet sense he wasn’t quite ready to leave yet, making her wonder if he felt the same strange reluctance she did about bringing the day to an end.
Finally, the sourdough finished, he touched a finger to the Stetson’s brim. “I’d best be going. Thanks for the intel on the timber. Appreciate it.”
“Of course.”
“One more thing.”
She quit chewing, her breath half held expectantly.
“Call me Beck.” He smiled and winked, so charmingly her stomach made a funny curl. “Everyone does.”
Archer, Beckett J.
Could she, after all these years of his dog tag imprinted into her memory?
It felt too familiar. Too easy. Too wrong. And his name remained lodged in her throat.
The engine turned over a moment later, and the truck rolled away from her yard, back to the Archer ranch. Jackie remained on the top step with her knees hugged to her chest, her bread eaten, unsettled by the warmth his quiet kindness left behind.
Beckett Archer made her feel cared for, protected, when years ago she hadn’t been able to do the same for him. Another thought came, too—unbidden, unfair, hopeful—of how long it would be before she’d see him again.
A thought she didn’t deserve to have.