“All right, tell me.”
Dabbing her mouth with a napkin, she swallowed the crumble of tangy sausage. “On my way here, Mortimer Crane first berated me about being hard to find. Then he informed me he holds a mortgage on the ranch. He wants full payment in less than a month, or he’s evicting me.” Now that she spoke the words, the enormity of the disaster washed over her. She wrapped her arms around her middle and rocked. “And my animals.”
“Blast.” A fist slammed on the table. “Did you see the paper?”
She jumped then let out a shaky breath. Brice’s harsh tone took her back to that awful night. Fear dried her mouth. “I did, and the document looked real. I’ve been through everything left in that cabin, and I recognized Clay’s signature.” She sipped at her coffee, wincing at the burn on her tongue. “Do you think he can come after me if the debt was incurred before I even heard of my late husband?”
“Don’t ask me.” His gaze narrowed. “I know nothing about banking or the law. My pa pulled me out of school when I was only eleven to go to work.” He chomped into a biscuit and chewed…hard.
“I don’t know what to do.” She tapped the knife against the tabletop. “I only glimpsed the loan amount, but my bank account balance is only half what is owed.”
Brice pressed a hand atop the knife. “I wish I could be here to help you figure out this mess. I hate that you had to face that man alone.” He jumped to his feet and crossed the room.
She speared a few beans and chewed them while she watched an animated discussion between Brice and the driver.
The older man started out shaking his head then he dug into his pocket, and money changed hands.
Brice returned and extended several crumpled bills. “Take this money, and consult with the lawyer judge. You saw how many important-looking books he had in his office. He’s the one who’ll know what you should do.”
Relief released a bit of tension from her stomach. She wrapped both hands around Brice’s flattened one and willed her fingers to absorb some of his strength. “Do you realize how much I look forward to this visit? I appreciate knowing you’ll listen and help me work out a solution.”
“Money’s not much of a solution.” He turned his wrist to solidify their grip. “But that’s all I can manage long distance.”
“It will help me work toward one.” On impulse, she leaned down and kissed the skin between his thumb and first finger. Beneath her lips, his muscle twitched. “I just can’t lose the ranch. I don’t know where I’d go.”
“Hazelanne, I have to leave.”
“So soon?” How had the time passed so quickly?
“You were late today.” He crouched at the side of the table until they were at eye level.
“That dratted Mortimer Crane.” She stared into his eyes, seeking reassurance. Under her fingers, his hand tugged but she clung tighter. These too-few minutes carved from the middle of a Saturday had become so important she couldn’t stand to have them end.
“I need my hand back.”
“I know.” Releasing her grip, she slid her hands into her lap and entwined her fingers, folding the bills inside, to keep from reaching for him again. She couldn’t explain how or why but his strong, warm hands calmed her.
Brice stood and cleared his throat. “Please eat some more before you go.”
Without looking up, she nodded.
“Tell Blackie from me to quit eating locoweed ’cuz his owner needs her rest.”
His faked gruffness didn’t fool her. He cared. Hot tears filled her eyes, and again, she nodded.
“Hazelanne.”
The command in his voice forced up her head.
“Rest well. See you next Saturday.”
“Travel safe, Brice.” Saying the words acknowledging his departure hurt. She stared at the far end of the room, unwilling to watch him leave.
He took slow steps away from the table.
A tug on her plait marked his passing. Warmth filled her chest. He’d given her a final, last touch. Then a thought snapped into place. She whirled in her chair and spied him near the door putting on his hat. “The books?”
He grinned and lifted a finger to tap his hat brim. “Check your mail box at the Ridge Hotel.”
“Thanks.” Happiness bubbled and she could eat only five more bites before she had to satisfy her curiosity. He hadn’t forgotten what would ease her load, even if he couldn’t remain close.
Chapter Seven
T
he walk to the Wells Fargo depot felt like it stretched a mile. Brice forced his legs to move forward, even though he didn’t want to leave. A few dollars and a couple of books hardly seemed like the right kind of help a husband should offer a wife faced with a claim against her land. He curled his fingers into his palm, wanting to hold close the silky feel of her hair for just a couple minutes more.
The marriage was meant to be in name only. Just so his name might protect her from unscrupulous men. How could he care so much and be sucked into her troubles after only two weeks? He scoffed. More like a month, because she’d been in his thoughts since their first meeting. Could he have been missing this connection in his life? He took two more steps and shook his head. Connections didn’t fit in a wanderer’s life.
Brice stomped into the depot office and glanced around. The messenger boy sat in the far corner, his nose buried in a dime novel.
Thomas Bridges looked up from his chair next to the telegraph machine. “Need something, Brice?”
“Yeah, to have my head examined.” As soon as he spoke, he realized the words weren’t fair.
Turning, Thomas stroked his chin and laughed. “Sounds like female trouble, if I had to guess.”
To avoid continuing that conversation, he feigned interest in a wanted poster for a trio of horse thieves. “Got your weekly report?”
“You weren’t here so I gave it to Harry.”
Carrying the status report was part of his duties. Jaw tight, Brice leaned over and lifted his rifle from its regular spot. “See ya next week.” Without waiting for a response, he stalked to the waiting coach past an empty passenger bench. Bodies inside the coach indicated Harry had performed another of Brice’s duties in getting them boarded. He swung up into his seat and dug his elbows into the tops of his knees.
“Ready?”
“Yup.”
Harry leaned to the side and spat a stream of brown tobacco juice. “Get a’movin’, you mules.” He snapped the reins.
The fresh team sprang forward then settled into an easy trot heading west.
As he watching the passing landscape, Brice brooded over the mortgage problem. Maybe the judge could file some kind of official paper than stated Hazelanne wasn’t responsible for the jerk’s debts. He wished he understood more about how loans and mortgages worked. To this point in his life, he’d never wanted to own more than a weapon, his clothes, and a favorite book or two. Not even a dog had tied him down.
“You saw I got them passengers loaded. Though being socialible isn’t my job.”
“I saw.” Guilt flashed but didn’t stick to his conscience. Brice had more important things to worry about than a crossover of duties. Harry bragged about being the one who drove the team around the clock. But almost every night, Brice handled the ribbons for an hour or three while the driver dozed.
“Got Bridges’ report, too.”
“I heard.” He shifted to glance left toward the north, hoping he’d spot buildings or a fence line that indicated a small ranch. But all he saw were prairie grass, scrub trees, and reddish rocks—a view that was common on the circuit they drove.
The rest of the route passed without a single memorable occurrence. Probably the next circuit would be the same and the one after that. Monotony had always been his most important downfall. The thought birthed a pain in his chest. When the rooftops of Park City came into view, he set the rifle butt on the wagon board and angled toward Harry. “Talk to Dan about hiring on a trainee.”
Harry raised an eyebrow. �
�Got itchy feet again?”
“Maybe.” A few weeks ago, he had been wondering about the next job. But now, his situation was altogether different. “Can’t put my finger on it, but I feel a change coming on.”
“Coulda told you this day was a’comin’ when you told me you’d married that blonde rancher. Women always want a man’s money.”
Brice straightened. “I told you I’d pay you back, and I will. Soon as we collect our week’s wages.”
“And they want to change a man.” Harry snorted. “That’s why I’m still single.”
Hazelanne hadn’t made any such demands. Brice shook his head. “Is that the reason? I figured your bachelorhood was because you’re downright cantankerous and avoid even the simplest conversation with the fairer sex.”
Tobacco juice flew over the side of the coach, and Harry swiped the back of his wrist over his chin. “If I found a woman who’d put up with me, I’d quit drivin’ coaches in a heartbeat.”
Not in a million years. Brice grinned at the old man’s boast. “Harry, I’m serious.”
“I know you are, son.” Harry gave a sharp nod and faced forward.
For now, his decision was the only one he could make to provide him with options.
A week later, the stagecoach rolled along the mountain trail a couple miles outside of Wildcat Ridge. Brice sat on the roof with his rifle cradled across his lap. He’d tried sitting next to the young trainee, but the youth’s constant questions got on his nerves. “Cougar in a tree ahead to the left.”
“Where?” The trainee, Sammy Wilkes, whipped his head around, his eyes wide and staring.
Leaning between Sammy and Harry, Brice pointed. “That horizontal branch over the trail about ten feet off the ground.”
Sammy slunk lower on the bench seat. “Should we shoot it?”
“Why? Is it threatening you?”
“Well, no.” The kid’s thin shoulders sagged. “I thought the critters were dangerous. Don’t they carry a bounty?”
“Only in those dime novels you read at every stage stop.”
In the first few hours of having this guy on board, Brice thought his ears would fall off with the number of questions he asked. Was I ever this green? He slipped a finger into his vest pocket to touch Hazelanne’s letter that Dan had handed him along with his wages.
Her penmanship was tidy, like he remembered his schoolteacher’s being. Hazelanne started off by thanking him for the marriage proposal then explained how she didn’t feel as alone as she had since the explosion. He’d re-read that part several times. Actually, he hadn’t done so much, except maybe when he’d signed that registry. Being married didn’t impact his daily life at all, and Harry was the only person he’d told. The letter must have been written a little each day, revealing the various activities. Then, she’d had to drive into town in time to post it so the other crew, the team who collected mail and passengers on Wednesdays, could deliver it.
“Why’d you do that, Harry?”
Sammy’s voice brought Brice back to the now. He glanced around at the trees and rocks to locate a familiar landmark to gauge their position. Less than five minutes. His pulse kicked up at the prospect of sitting at a meal and seeing Hazelanne across the table. Close enough to touch her soft hair. Close enough to breathe her fresh scent. Close enough to soak in her happy spirit.
“Applyin’ a bit of brake on the downhills keeps the coach from runnin’ down the wheelers.”
“Gee, we wouldn’t want that.”
During the team’s broad turn onto Chestnut Street, Brice focused on the entrance to the café but he didn’t see her standing outside. Probably she waited inside at a table. As soon as the brake was set, Brice untied the mailbags from the metal rails and tossed them into Sammy’s waiting arms. Then, he clambered down the short ladder to the platform. “Now, just watch what I do. I don’t have time for your questions.” His responses to both Bridges’ males were perfunctory as he performed his tasks, but his mind was elsewhere.
He jogged across the street and burst through the door into the Crystal Café, smoothing down his hair as he searched for Hazelanne. The only female in the place was Garnet. Now what? He jammed both hands on his hips. Had Crane waylaid her again? Was Blackie down with the colic? Or the other horse that he’d never asked its name. He headed toward the door and turned sideways to slide past Harry and Sammy as they entered.
“Not here?” Harry’s brows wrinkled.
“Not yet. She will be.” A couple long strides moved him off the planking, and he stood in the middle of the street, looking north. A few people walked along the boardwalk, but no buckboard or horse rider moved south toward him. He kicked at the street, sending dirt flying in a small cloud. A curse escaped under his breath. He’d been riding this circuit for months now. Why hadn’t he taken the time to learn the layout of the town better? If he knew where to find him, he’d seek out this Crane fellow.
The bell above the café door jangled.
“Come inside, son, and eat.”
Whooshing out a breath, he stared at the tips of his dusty boots. His thoughts jumped around so he couldn’t set them straight. His chest ached like a heavy weight pressed against it and wouldn’t let up. Where are you, Hazelanne?
“MacAndrew.”
“I’m coming, Harry.” After a final look at the empty street, he turned and dragged his boots toward the café, not caring about the dust he raised.
Sammy and Harry sat at a table, already eating their dinners.
A plate waited in front of an empty chair and he dropped into, doing his best not to look at the fourth chair tucked under the table edge. The meal could have been hot or cold, but he didn’t notice. The food might fill his empty stomach, so he could continue with the rest of his day. But what could he find that aid help the wave of loneliness that washed over him?
“Here you go, gents. Pie and a fresh cup of coffee.” Garnet set down three plates of apple pie and poured them each a fresh cup of coffee.
Brice leaned back and looked up at the slender woman, noting her ever-present smile that reminded him of Hazelanne’s sunny personality. “Have you seen Hazelanne in the past week?”
“Not since she sat here with you last week.” After flashing him a searching look, the woman spread a small towel on the table and set the coffeepot on top. “Brice, you gotta know the bulk of my customers are men like you and Harry, who are just passing through. Plus the occasional drifter or two.”
Hearing the way she spoke term, with an edge of derision, made his gut clench. From the café owner’s perspective, he’d guess she’d had a few who’d eaten and made their escape without paying. Being grouped in with drifters never bothered him before. Does Hazelanne think of me as a drifter moving through her life for a short period? Why does that idea bother me? “Okay, I get that your clientele isn’t of the same type of people as before the mine explosion.”
A sharp scoff filled the air, and she jammed a hand on her hip. “Nothing in this town’s like before the explosion. Sorry. On occasion, I get in some of Mortimer’s customers from his saloons.” She shook her shoulders and grimaced. “Those men I want to serve and move them on their way as fast as I can and hope they’ll return.” Frowning, she rested a hand on the table. “But the widows are all barely scraping by and don’t have money to be spending on restaurant meals.”
The door opened, jingling the bell.
Brice shot to his feet, his heart pounding. He stared at the entrance.
A man in a rumpled suit tripped over the threshold and slapped a hand against the wall. “No worries. I’m fine.”
“Dinky Moon, if you don’t have coins in your pocket, you can just turn around. No free meals.” Arm outstretched and finger pointing, she marched toward the entrance.
Sagging into the chair, Brice dug into his pie. Seeing the drunk pretend he wasn’t deep in his cups made Brice’s skin itch. Similar entrances by his father into the ranch house were how so many evenings started when he still lived at home.
These days, he couldn’t stand to be around anyone who’d over-imbibed.
Too many memories.
“Oh, Garnet Chandler, you’re a hard woman.” The man crushed his hat against his chest and flashed a wobbly smile.
“Just a practical businesswoman.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Even if my hearty food could sober you up, I can’t afford the largesse.”
Not willing to wait for the wheedling to start, he slugged back his coffee, heedless of the scalding liquid. “Meet you both at the depot.” Then he scooted past the two near the door, his throat closing on the alcohol stink wafting from the disheveled man. Once outside, he dragged in fresh air and jammed his hat on his head. Then he angled his body and walked backward down the street. His gaze always focused due north, hoping to see her galloping into sight.
Where are you, my Hazelanne?
With every clip-clop of the mules’ hooves, the stagecoach rolled away from the chance to learn an answer. His meal sloshed with every bump in the road, and he feared he’d embarrass himself by upchucking. No matter how many times he asked, he couldn’t discover a plausible reason for her absence. Brice glanced to the side. “Harry, why do you think she didn’t show?”
He shrugged. “Maybe she forgot.”
“She wouldn’t.” Not after what she’d said the previous week about how she looked forward to the visits.
“I know you don’t open up much and let folks get to know you.”
“Waste of time. They can either accept me as I am or to hell with them.”
“There you go, bitin’ off my head when I’m dispensin’ good advice here. Years of holdin’ people at arm’s length might not have made you the best husband candidate.”
True, but Hazelanne hadn’t had time to discover that fact about his personality. If Brice had his way, she never would. “Just what are you saying?”
“Since you make others keep their distance, then I figure you don’t know her very well. For instance, you would have no idea if she’s the type to tend a sick neighbor.” He spat.
Hazelanne (Widows of Wildcat Ridge Book 15) Page 8
