Hazelanne (Widows of Wildcat Ridge Book 15)

by Linda Carroll-Bradd

  He glanced up at the sun and figured she’d probably be hungry for something about now. After washing in the lean-to, he entered the house.

  She sat on the settee, with the quilt he used each night wrapped around her shoulders.

  The sun picked out the gold in her hair that she still wore loose. He moved a chair in front of her and studied her face. “How are you feeling?”

  A sigh escaped then she turned to meet his gaze. “Do you realize that’s the same question you ask me every time you see me? I’m fine, and the fever is gone.” She brushed a hand through the hair over her shoulder. “I’m just weak.”

  “Good. I came in to see if you were hungry.” The dark circles under her eyes had faded, and her eyes sparkled again.

  “Maybe some bread and cheese?”

  “Sorry, I finished both last night. We need to make a trip to town.” He’d been amazed at the ample stock of canned vegetables, but she kept very little meat. “How about some fried potatoes and eggs?”

  “I’d like to ride with you to town.” She shrugged off the quilt then held out a hand. “Help me to the kitchen, please, so I can be close while you cook.”

  He shot her a questioning glance but extended his hand. By the time he set plates on the table, they’d discussed their families, upbringings, named their siblings—easy for him with only one brother, and discussed favorite subjects in school.

  “So, have you always worked for Wells Fargo?”

  After swallowing a bite of crispy potato, he recited the list of his other jobs, watching with growing dread as her eyes widened until he thought they’d pop.

  “How old are you?” Her eyebrows rose.

  “Twenty-four.”

  “But you’ve had so many jobs. You must only work each for a very short time.”

  “True. I don’t like being tied down.”

  A frown clouded her expression. With only half her portion eaten, she pushed away the plate. “I’m full.”

  “You’ve got to get back your strength.” Frowning, he jerked a chin in her direction. “Wait a minute or so then eat a few more bites.”

  “What’s the hurry about getting better when I have you to tend me?” Tilting her head, she grinned.

  The sunlight shone through the thick curtain of her hair, and he wished he could run his fingers through its length. He leaned back in his chair. Now they’d have to get serious, and she might not like what he had to say. “Because this leave from working a job is only temporary. What kind of man would I be if I ignored the fact you didn’t show up for our visits. I had to find out why.”

  “Oh.” She planted an elbow on the table and propped up her head.

  “You thought I’d come to live here and run the ranch?” He searched her expression, but her face was averted.

  “I’d hoped.”

  Pain oozed from her words, but he couldn’t help that she’d misunderstood. “I know with our unconventional relationship, we never had the chance to really discuss the matter.” Could he say the words while looking at her? How would he react to seeing disappointment fill her eyes?

  The fork clattered to the plate, and she stared at it. “I don’t like the sound of your voice.”

  “I’m a born wanderer who is always seeking the next job. Being stuck in one place would make me break out in hives.”

  “Stuck?” Her lower lip trembled.

  “Poor choice of word.” He scooted his chair to place it next to hers and reached for her hand, waiting until she closed the distance and clasped his. Words came easier when he could touch her. “This marriage was meant to give you a name and the semblance of protection. Those words I spoke were so the judge would finish the ceremony. They weren’t for real.” As he waited for an answer, he thought back to the funeral and how he’d worded the proposal. Dread dropped into his gut. “You understood that fact from the very beginning, didn’t you?”

  “Of course, I know that’s how the arrangement started but…” She sighed and leaned until her temple rested on his shoulder. “With all your care and these last two days together…”

  “Maybe you should consider selling the place and going back to Evanston.”

  She straightened. “What?”

  “Hazelanne, you almost killed yourself working this place on your own.” Why couldn’t she see the danger of being alone out here?

  “Everyone gets sick.” A slender shoulder lifted and dropped.

  “And when they do, they seek out a doctor. They don’t treat themselves and keep going.” Frustration tightened his muscles. He stood and paced a few steps away from the table. “I don’t even want to think about what would have happened if I—” He clamped his lips tight, unwilling to express what he’d held close to his heart.

  “I’m all right, and I’ll regain my strength.”

  “You have a loving family who will take you back.” He stopped at the opposite side of the table and leaned his palms flat.

  “What if I don’t want to go back to being someone’s daughter?” She balled her hands tight. “What if I like the fact my opinion has more weight since I became a widow?” She winced. “Or that no one frets about me needing a chaperone to go to town and run errands?”

  For that, he had no answer because he’d never realized those facts. So many things existed they still didn’t understand about each other.

  Bracing her hands on the table, she pushed herself up and held tight to the edge until she was steady. “Or if I like the idea of…” She walked around the end of the table, skimming her fingers along the top. “…doing this whenever I want?” Grabbing fistfuls of the front of his shirt, she rose on tiptoes and pressed her lips against his.

  At the first whisper of warmth, Brice stilled, not sure she hadn’t relapsed and taken leave of her senses. When the pressure increased and she nibbled, he slipped an arm around her shoulders. Just to keep her steady. Or so he thought. Then the concern and worry of the past two days hit, and he recognized how she offered him a special part of herself. Wrapping his other arm around her back, he eased her close and moved his mouth over hers, drinking in the sweetness of her innocent kiss.

  Blood pounded in his ears, and he loosened his embrace enough to tuck her head under his chin. “You’ve got a good idea there.”

  She nestled against his chest, a palm resting over his heart. “I have to make this ranch work. Giving up and returning home is not an option. Will you just listen to what I need to say and not offer solutions?”

  Is that how she saw his attempts to help? He rubbed a hand up and down her back, feeling each bone in her spine. “I’m listening.” Although that task was tough with her curvy body pressed against his.

  “This ranch is my chance to create my own life. I screwed up all my courage to leave home and become Clay’s bride. I’ll admit the method might not have been the best and the man was flawed, but I moved out of the protection of my family. All the skills I learned, all the work I did to feed, clothe, and support them can and will be applied to this place. I have lots of abilities, and I can learn more.” She tilted back her head and looked into his eyes. “I’m stronger than I look.”

  Oh, sweetheart, you’re not as strong as you think you are. Not for what you’re facing. Within his arms, she felt too fragile to lift an axe to chop wood or shovel snow from the steps. He still hated the idea of her here alone and couldn’t lie. “But what if you’re not?”

  She wiggled against his hold. “You just don’t know me well enough. I’ll show you.”

  Immediately, he dropped his arms. “Are you afraid your parents won’t forgive you for leaving them in the first place?”

  “You’re not listening, Brice. Of course, they’ll make a place in their house. But I--“ She slapped a hand against her chest. “I don’t want to return.”

  He shook his head. “I’m listening, Hazelanne, I am. But I don’t understand why you’re willing to be alone.”

  “What if I’m risking that I won’t be?”

  “Now, you’ve los
t me.”

  “No, I’ve lost you.” She slumped and wrapped her arms around her middle. “Why would I want to return to my hometown? I’d have to face the gossips who would never let me forget I was incapable of making two marriages work.”

  Her broken voice hit him in the gut. He was responsible for putting her in this position and he didn’t know how to fix the problem. “They can’t blame you for a husband being killed.”

  “Says the man who hasn’t lived in one spot for more than what…five or six months at the most?” Shaking her head, she waved a hand in the air. “You have no idea about small-minded people and their cruelty. I’d rather fight the elements and Mortimer Crane to hold onto my land.”

  With all the worry over her health, he’d forgotten about the mortgage. “What did the judge say?”

  “That, based on what I told him, the mortgage sounds legal. If I can’t get the money to pay it off, I have to sell and clear the debt before I can spend whatever is left on anything else.” She squared her shoulders and jerked up her chin. “I’ve already written to my parents, asking for a loan.”

  By her pinched expression, he could tell that request had taken its toll. “I’m sure that letter was hard to write.”

  “Wait.” She shook her head. “You haven’t heard it all. I knew they wouldn’t understand about our”—she waved a hand between them—“unconventional marriage so I used my previous name.”

  “What the dickens, Hazelanne?” He grabbed the back of the closest chair. “Taking my name was so you didn’t have to be associated with him anymore.” The pain in his chest couldn’t be emotional pain. He wasn’t supposed to care more than about her physical well-being.

  Blinking fast, she met his gaze, tears pooling in her eyes. “I can’t help that my parents will understand more me having a dead husband than an absent one.”

  Dropping his jaw, he just stared. The rejection hurt more than it should, and he needed to work through the feeling. Without responding, he strode stiff-legged out the front door. An hour later, after he’d added a two-foot by five-foot row to the woodpile, he stepped into the lean-to to wash up. No sound came from the house. When he found Hazelanne sound asleep, he left her a note and headed to town for supplies. An apology could wait.

  On the return trip, he enjoyed the shifting shadows on the prairie from the sun filtering through the firs. Riding a horse again felt good. His last job working with cattle where he had to ride daily was at least a year ago. Maybe that’s what he’d do next. He’d thought about returning to Wells Fargo but that job could be obtained at any office. Ranches would now be hiring extra hands to move cattle to summer grazing pastures. He trotted Blackie into the yard, making the chickens do their panicked fly-hop.

  “So, you didn’t leave.”

  Looking over his shoulder, he spotted her standing in the lean-to doorway, wide-eyed. “Only so far as town.” He patted a hand on the closest bulging saddlebag. “For supplies.” When he looked up again, the doorway was empty. Now, what’s that behavior about? Ten minutes later, he walked into the kitchen and stopped at the sight of Hazelanne, dressed and her hair pinned up, standing at the end of the table with her arms crossed. “What’s wrong?”

  “What do you think?”

  “Don’t make me guess. Talk to me, Hazelanne.” He dumped both saddlebags on the table.

  “I woke up and couldn’t find you. I looked everywhere, and I thought you’d left.” She swung an arm toward the window. “You know, for good.”

  Crooking a finger, he indicated she should follow him as he walked across the room. He pointed to a note he left in the middle of the desk.

  She bent over. “Oh. I didn’t see it there.”

  Resting his hands on her shoulders, he dipped his knees to look her straight in the eye. “Hear this, sweetheart. When I leave, I will say goodbye.

  She bit her lower lip. “You promise?”

  Tightness grabbed his throat, and he swallowed past it. “That’s a promise I will keep.”

  Chapter Nine

  H

  azelanne tossed out the last few grains of corn for the chickens and lifted her face to the sun. Two more days of solid rest and healthy meals had restored her body and soul. At the back of her mind, she knew Brice wasn’t here for much longer. But she’d take every moment in his company she could so she’d have those memories for when he wasn’t here.

  This morning was the first one she’d tried doing some chores, and she’d been surprised at not having to drag the barn door. After she spotted Brice’s first repair, she looked for more and was grateful for all the small things he’d handled. She swung the empty metal pan at her side and turned toward the barn.

  Down the lane came someone driving a one-horse gig. Widow Schumacher had one and Hazelanne thought the small carriage was very sporty. But who was visiting her? She raised a hand to shade her eyes then stiffened when she recognized the loud suit the driver wore. The pan slipped from her fingers and thudded in the dirt.

  The man stopped the horse so the small carriage was only a few feet away. He yanked back on the reins and the horse reared. “Morning, Missus Oliphant. Lovely day, isn’t it?”

  Covering the distance, she reached for the bridle with one hand and rubbed the chestnut’s nose with the other. “Shh, you beauty, you’re all right.”

  The springs squeaked, and the pudgy man stepped away from the gig. “I expect a greeting when I speak to a person.”

  “I’m settling your horse so it doesn’t take off and leave you stranded, Mister Crane. I’m sure your horse would appreciate a gentler touch.”

  “Is a gentle touch what you prefer?” Crane sauntered close and eyed her up and down.

  Hazelanne focused on the horse but caught his leer and did her best not to show her obvious disgust. “Horses’ mouths are actually softer than most people realize.”

  “Soft is not my preference.” Leaning on his cane, he walked around her right side and disappeared behind her.

  At the innuendo in his words, goose flesh climbed her back. Where’s Brice? “Do you have a reason for your visit?” She inched sideways several times to keep him in her peripheral vision. A breeze brushed against her calf, and she grabbed her skirts. “Keep your cane to yourself, sir.”

  He leaned close on her left side. “I’m here to remind you about the mortgage deadline that is fast approaching.”

  “I’m aware.”

  “But are you aware this apron does nothing to highlight the fit of your dress? Or are you wearing a shirtwaist and skirt?”

  A tug at her waist indicated he’d had the audacity to loosen her ties. “My attire is not your concern.” Pulse racing, she reached behind her waist and refastened her apron ties.

  “Oh, but I disagree.” His smile stretched across fleshy lips “I assume that come May fifteenth when you can’t clear your late husband’s debt, I’ll have quite a lot to say about what you wear.” He rocked back and forth on his shiny shoes. “I am always willing to consider generous negotiation terms when a beautiful, young woman is involved.”

  The man has a lot of nerve. His rudeness meant she no longer needed to make subtle her moves to keep him within sight. She treated him the same way as she would a sidewinder she came upon in the prairie grass. “I wasn’t given a chance to inspect the document you hold. How would I know what negotiation you speak of.” From his tone, she could guess the terms were not in her favor.

  Crane reached up and touched the plait over her ear. “You hair color is lovely, but when you work for me, you’ll wear it loose and flowing.”

  “Sir, do not touch me.” Hazelanne swatted at the offending hand and stepped back.

  “Come on, Missus Oliphant.” He scooted forward and slipped an arm around her waist. “Your husband’s been gone more than a month now. I bet you miss a man’s touch.”

  “Crane, take your hand off my wife.” Brice strode from the barn with a pitchfork swinging at his side with each long step. “Hazelanne, are you all right?”

>   Mortimer’s eyes widened, and he glanced between her and the approaching man. “Who is that man?”

  “I’m fine.” At the sound of Brice’s voice, Hazelanne took a long stride and stooped to reclaim the chicken feed pan. She took her first full breath since the odious man appeared. “Mortimer Crane, meet my husband, Brice MacAndrew.”

  Brice stopped at her side and nudged her arm. “Sorry, Crane, but I don’t shake hands with reptiles.”

  That simple touch soothed her more than he could ever understand.

  His head snapped up. “Do you know who I am, MacAndrew? I own this town and most of the surrounding properties. Whatever you do, I could buy and sell you ten times over.” He glared at her and tapped his cane in the dirt. “Why didn’t you correct me when I used the name Oliphant?”

  “I wanted to see how far you’d go to intimidate a widow you think you have leverage on.” Now that Brice stood at her side, she felt tremors of relief building. “Mister Crane, the deadline is days away, and I’ll thank you to leave the property while it is still mine. Right now.”

  Crane put his hands on his waist, which poked out his belly even farther.

  Brice took one step forward and lifted the pitchfork to hold it across his torso.

  Crane’s eyes widened, and he scrambled for the gig and slapped the reins. “Giddy up, you old nag.”

  When the man was almost out of sight, Brice turned, grinning. “Well, we got rid of him.”

  Irritation at his attitude flooded her body, and she stared. “Yeah, because a man bigger and stronger than him scared him off. If you heard any of the conversation, I was not doing so well. He wouldn’t leave me alone.”

  “Sorry, I was in the tack room and only heard the last bit.”

  “I need to learn to shoot a gun.”

  “No.”

  The snap in his voice stiffened her resolve. “What do you have to say about the issue?” She crossed her arms over her breasts, trying to keep her heart from pounding right out of her chest. “If you’re not staying, then you’ll have no say about how I solve my problems.”