by B. J Daniels
Nearby were Nate’s Western boot tracks. Nate had to have seen where the man had looked in the window. No wonder he’d been so worried about her staying out here alone.
Inside the house, she locked the back door and stood for a moment leaning against it. Her heart was racing. She’d never felt afraid in all the years she’d lived in this isolated country.
But today she was running scared. The man had frightened her. As had the document the boys had signed with bloody fingerprints. She shuddered at the memory, although common sense told her that nothing had come of it.
She was just thankful that she’d had the good sense to ask Nate Dempsey to stay by the creek. It was still a good way from the house, but if she needed him, she could reach him a lot faster than getting anyone out here from Old Town or Whitehorse.
She reminded herself that Nate Dempsey wouldn’t always be around. If she was going to live here, she had to come to grips with the house’s past and the remoteness of the property. She refused to live in fear.
She started for the front door, when she realized she’d left her shoulder bag with the paper the boys had signed upstairs on the third floor. She’d dropped it after the man had left, to wave down at Nate in the front yard.
Climbing the stairs, she quickly retrieved her bag. While she’d pretty much convinced herself there was nothing to the document she’d found, she still wanted to show it to Sheriff Carter Jackson.
As she turned to go back downstairs, she caught sight of movement behind her. She let out a yelp before she realized it had only been a cat.
A black cat. Good thing she wasn’t superstitious. But how had it gotten into the house?
On seeing her, the cat turned and raced down the stairs. She followed. The moment she opened the front door the cat took off across the porch to disappear in the higher weeds along the side of the house.
It must have been Ellis Harper’s cat. She’d have to pick up some cat food in town for it. Or maybe it was Ethel Winthrop’s up the road. Just the thought of Ethel reminded her of the woman’s warning about buying this house.
ARLENE EVANS COULDN’T have been more excited to have a new client for her rural online dating service—and one her age, to boot. Not only that, Hank Monroe seemed to think Arlene was the cat’s pajamas—an expression her mother had used but one that fit.
Hank Monroe was something, that was for sure. It still amazed her how much respect he seemed to have for her as a woman—and as a businesswoman.
“This online rural dating thing you started, why, it’s brilliant,” Hank had said when they’d talked earlier on the phone.
He’d called to say he’d made reservations for dinner at Northern Lights restaurant at seven and that he’d pick her up at six so they could take a ride beforehand.
Her ex-husband Floyd hadn’t been the least bit impressed when she’d started the business. Nor had he ever taken her out to dinner at such a nice restaurant. Floyd always said it was cheaper to eat at home.
After dinner they were going to the movie. There was only one showing in Whitehorse at the old-time theater, and she didn’t even care what was showing. She felt like a girl again, all starry-eyed and giggly.
Hank hadn’t suggested that she make popcorn to sneak into the show to save money, the way Floyd would have. She was betting Hank Monroe wouldn’t be cheap about beverages or candy at the movie, either.
But even if Hank Monroe had been flat broke, she would have liked him. He made her laugh. He made her forget that most of her life had been dismal at best. He made her feel special.
Arlene knew she shouldn’t be thinking this way, but Hank Monroe gave her something she hadn’t had for a long, long time. Hope. Hope for the future—something she sorely needed given her disappointing offspring. Charlotte got more pregnant each day, her body grotesquely swollen, her once-pretty blond hair drab and lanky. Bo was either in front of the television or in his room, the stereo blaring.
Eventually Hank would want to meet her children.
Arlene Evans dreaded that day and planned to put it off as long as possible. She still held out hope that Charlotte would come to her senses and give the baby she was carrying up for adoption. Or at least give up the name of the married man who’d fathered the baby so he could be held responsible for child support if the fool girl decided to keep the infant once it was born.
Charlotte hadn’t taken any interest in the baby books Arlene had bought for her. Half the time Arlene suspected her youngest daughter ignored the pregnancy, refusing to think about the fact that it was inevitably going to end in a baby.
Not that Arlene didn’t know who would end up raising the baby if Charlotte insisted on keeping it. While it would be her first grandbaby, Arlene wasn’t sure she was up to the task of raising another child. Look how her other children had turned out.
Nor did she have the time or patience for her own grown children—let alone a baby. It frightened her to think of what would happen to the infant under Charlotte’s care. The girl wasn’t even able to take care of herself.
That’s why spending time with Hank Monroe was such a godsend. For a while Arlene could forget about her real life.
Unfortunately real life became realer by the day. Charlotte would be having her baby in less than a month. There was talk of Violet getting out of the mental institution. Bo was making no move toward leaving the nest.
Arlene had lived long enough to know that even a hint of happiness from her would attract disaster like a lightning rod in a storm.
It was only a matter of time before disaster struck. But in the meantime Arlene Evans was going to enjoy this fleeting feeling of being happy for the first time in her life.
NATE HADN’T RETURNED as far as McKenna knew, and she hated the worried feeling that gave her. She looked out the back window as she came downstairs, wondering where he’d gone—and if he’d even be back. He seemed a man who spurned ties. Or maybe he just wanted to keep his distance from her. Why did she care one way or the other?
She didn’t know the man, wasn’t sure she entirely trusted him…and yet she felt drawn to him. Just as she had at Harper House, she reminded herself. So why, since he seemed to have no real interest in her, was he planning to stay behind her house?
Because he was just a nice guy.
Or because his real interest was in her house?
Unable to stop herself, she went downstairs and stepped outside to see if he’d come back while she’d been upstairs working. It would be just like him to settle in back there without letting her know he’d returned.
But there was no pickup by the barn. No tent that she could see pitched beside the creek under the big cottonwoods.
As she started to go back into the house, she saw something that stopped her. That was odd. It almost looked as if someone had been digging up the hillside again. They’d clearly tried to cover it up, but the wind had blown off the weeds covering the spot.
She felt a chill. Who was doing this? Nate? Or someone else? Well, once he was staying back here, that should put an end to the digging, right? Maybe she should do some digging herself and see exactly what was back there.
Suddenly she didn’t want to work any more today. She was feeling antsy and out of sorts and hated the reason why. It had bugged her all afternoon. Earlier she’d thought Nate was going to ask her out. But he hadn’t.
He had made no effort to ask her out since he’d stood her up for their one and apparently only date. She told herself she didn’t want to go out with him anyway, but still it bothered her that he hadn’t even tried to make up for their date that never happened.
Because he wasn’t interested in her. He was interested in her property. For a place to camp and board his horse. Nothing more.
She locked up the house and headed for her pickup feeling lost. It was too early to go to the ranch house. Faith probably would be in town with friends. McKenna hated the thought of wandering around her family’s empty ranch house thinking about Nate Dempsey and this darned hous
e.
As she climbed into her truck, she remembered the black cat she’d seen. Maybe it did belong to Ethel Winthrop up the road. McKenna knew she was only using the cat as an excuse to visit the elderly couple.
What she really wanted to do was ask about Harper House. Ethel had indicated at the auction that she knew things about the house, things McKenna needed to know.
Maybe it was time she knew what those things were.
A few miles up the road to the north, McKenna pulled into the Winthrop ranch and cut the pickup’s engine. The breeze as she opened her truck door smelled of the thick stand of cottonwoods that ran along the creek behind the ranch house. The same creek that cut through her property.
Cows milled in a rich green pasture that ran as far as the eye could see. Only the blue-gray outline of the Little Rocky Mountains broke the long line of the horizon. The mountains and the badlands in the distance that marked the Missouri River gorge.
Ethel answered the door at McKenna’s knock with a look of confusion. “Yes?”
“Hi, we met the other day. I’m McKenna Bailey. I bought the house down the road.”
Ethel frowned, and McKenna was beginning to worry that this trip had been a waste of time when Ethel’s husband, Edgar, came out of the kitchen.
“Who’s here, Ethel?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” the elderly woman said vaguely.
“Why, it’s the woman who bought Harper House,” Edgar said. His wife started as if prodded with a cattle prod.
“You!” she said and stepped back, eyes widening with fear. “Have you heard the noises yet?”
“Ethel, let our guest come inside,” Edgar said. “It’s hot out there.”
McKenna stepped into the cool, dim house. “Actually, I came about a cat I saw. Do you have a black cat?”
Ethel crossed herself. “There’s no black cats on this ranch.”
“Then it must have belonged to Ellis Harper,” McKenna said quickly. “I’ll see that it gets fed. But I am interested in knowing more about Harper House.”
“A little late for that,” Ethel said with a shake of her head.
“Ethel, didn’t I see that you made some iced tea earlier?” her husband asked pointedly.
Ethel, distracted by the mention of the tea, padded off toward the kitchen.
“Won’t you sit down?” he offered McKenna as he drew her into the living room. “You’ll have to excuse my wife. She’s been upset ever since you bought the house, worried about you living there alone.”
“I haven’t actually moved in yet,” McKenna said as she took a seat on the flowered couch, moving one of a dozen pillows all adorned with yarn cross-stitch cat images.
“My wife likes cats,” he said unnecessarily. “Just not black ones. She’s superstitious that way.”
McKenna smiled.
“You sure you want to go digging into the past?” he asked, glancing toward the kitchen.
McKenna could hear the clink of glasses, then the refrigerator open and close.
“Yes, I’m sure,” she said, not sure at all. She owned the house. What did it matter now? Unless there was cause for concern because of the bloody document she’d found. Otherwise there was nothing to be done about the way the boys had been treated—or mistreated—at Harper House so many years ago.
Ethel called from the kitchen and Edgar rose to go help her. They both returned a few moments later with him carrying the tray. Ethel wrung her hands, winding them in the front of her apron as she looked nervously at McKenna.
“You sit there, Ethel,” he said, directing his wife into a rocker as he put the tray on the coffee table and poured her a glass of iced tea, then another for McKenna before pouring one for himself.
The glass was cold and wet—and she wondered if she would ever be warm again.
“Did he tell you about the first Harper who owned the house?” Ethel demanded.
“I haven’t told her anything,” he said patiently. “I was waiting until you could join us. As you know how it works around these parts, the house keeps the name of whoever lived there first, so it’s always been known as the Harper House.”
Ethel hadn’t touched her iced tea. “The first Harper? His wife died, and he died of a broken heart right after that. The house is unlucky.”
Edgar sighed. “I think she’s interested in the house’s more recent history.”
McKenna took a drink of her tea. It was cold and bitter.
“Those poor children who lived in that house?” Ethel touched the tiny cross she wore around her neck. “It was just horrible. When the wind blew out of the east we could hear them at night. The cries were unbearable.”
“I called the sheriff a few times, but when he drove out, he’d never find anything amiss.”
“Didn’t look very hard, did he?” Ethel leaned toward McKenna conspiratorially. “He was like a lot of people who weren’t concerned about what happened to those boys. Rough bunch. Most people were afraid of them and glad the people who ran Harper House kept the boys on the place.”
“Didn’t the boys tell the sheriff what was going on out there?” McKenna asked.
Edgar shook his head. “I would imagine they were afraid to say anything, swore everything was fine, poor things. A mismatched bunch they were, too. Orphans, strays, boys nobody wanted. It was a blessing when the state closed down the place.”
McKenna felt sick. “When was that?”
Edgar gave that some thought. “Place ran from the seventies to sometime in the late eighties. Closed in 1987.”
Twenty-one years ago, McKenna thought with a shudder.
“After that, Ellis Harper, a shirttail relative of the first Harper, came back and lived alone in the house until he died,” Edgar said.
“The place drove him insane,” Ethel said. “The ghosts of those boys. I stopped by to see him one day. He told me he’d seen two of them boys in the backyard. That old mutt he had kept barking and barking from the back steps as if he saw them, too, up on that hillside. But there wasn’t anybody out there.” She shook her head ruefully.
Edgar chuckled. “Hard to say what Ellis saw. He drank. That’s what killed him,” he said as if that explained seeing ghosts in the backyard.
“Did he ever mention any of the boys by name?” McKenna asked.
Ethel shook her head. “He just said ‘them two’ like they were the ones who haunted him. It gave me the shivers the way he said it, sounded as if he was half-afraid of them.”
“Any chance Ellis might have buried money in the backyard?” she asked, trying out one theory.
Edgar chuckled.
“That’s ridiculous,” Ethel said. “If there is anything buried in that backyard, it’s those boys.”
McKenna couldn’t suppress a shudder even though Edgar signaled with a shake of his head not to believe Ethel. “What did happen to the boys?”
“After the state closed the place, they took them,” he said. “The younger ones were probably adopted. The older ones…” He shrugged. “The state saw that they were taken care of, I assume.”
“Couldn’t have come to any good, not after what they’d been through,” Ethel said.
McKenna shared the woman’s fear. “Would you recognize any of them if you saw them?”
Both Edgar and Ethel shook their heads. “Never got a good look at any of them, and after all these years…” Edgar sighed. “I wouldn’t worry about them. They’re men now. They either put their pasts behind them or they didn’t.”
“Well, thank you for the tea and the information,” she said, putting her glass down on the coffee table to leave even though she’d barely touched her tea.
“That house is evil. You’d be wise to strike a match to it,” Ethel said.
“I don’t believe houses are evil—just people,” McKenna said.
Ethel gave her a we’ll-see-about-that look as McKenna left. She was still disturbed by what she’d learned about the house but somewhat relieved. If the state had stepped in, the boys
would have been saved and could have gone on to lead normal lives—she hoped. At any rate, the boys had apparently put Harper House and the blood oath and their plans for revenge behind them.
It was near dark by the time she reached the road to her house. She would make a point of bringing what she needed tomorrow so she could start staying in the house. She wasn’t going to let anyone scare her off her own property. Especially ghosts.
But as she started to drive by her new house she remembered that she’d forgotten her paint samples upstairs in the third-floor bedroom. How foolish of her not to have gotten the paint samples at the same time she’d grabbed her purse. She’d also apparently left the light on when she’d gone back up to get her shoulder bag.
Or maybe Nate had turned on the light.
As she pulled into the drive, though, she was disappointed to see that Nate’s pickup was nowhere in sight. Was it possible he’d changed his mind about staying out here? She tried to remember turning on the light upstairs.
Earlier, with everyone in the house working, she’d felt safe and excited. She’d thrown off her worry about the house being a mistake for a while. Cleaned, the rooms had taken on new life. She couldn’t wait to see paint on the walls—starting with that front bedroom on the third floor. That would be her office.
She’d picked a nice sunny yellow to cover the drab faded blue in the room. A boy’s room, she thought as she got out of her pickup.
The house loomed up out of the darkness, a black silhouette of jagged corners and cornices—except for the dim yellow light coming from the third-floor bedroom.
She hesitated for a moment, overwhelmed by everything the Winthrops had told her, finding the bloody document, being frightened by the man who’d called himself Hal Turner.
Reassuring herself that he was long gone—just like all the bad things that had happened here—she headed for the house, keys in hand, trying to remember if she’d locked the front door or not.
She hated being afraid. In order to live out here by herself and raise horses, she had to overcome these fears.
