by Dana Mentink
He was grateful his father did not pry further into his motivation, which he did not fully understand himself. He simply could not shake the sensation that she was about to step in a hole so deep she’d never get out. Something about her combination of earnest and stubborn attracted him like a bear to a beehive. Attracted? No, just friendly concern, right?
But why should he care, as Ella wondered? Because you’re supposed to care about your neighbors, even the ones that you have the most reason not to. God made that pretty clear. Barrett settled back on the seat, his mind more at ease until they reached Shep’s place.
His heart lurched to a halt along with the truck. Ken Arroyo’s vehicle was there all right, and so was Joe Hatcher’s.
“Be right back,” he called to his dad.
“I’m here if you need me.”
Barrett found no one in the office, so he jogged up the trail to the museum building. Throwing open the door, he ran inside.
“Shelby?” he yelled.
“Here,” she called back. His lungs started working again. Was it his imagination or was her voice tight with fear? He ran toward her, finding her jammed in the corner of a makeshift room with Hatcher next to her, a knife in his hand.
Barrett stopped short, hands loose and ready, as if he was approaching a treacherous horse, angling his body between Hatcher and Shelby. “Put down the knife.”
Hatcher gripped it tighter. “You tellin’ me what to do now, too?”
“Trying to save you from doing something stupid.”
“Stupid?” Hatcher’s eyebrows raised to his hairline. “All I’m doing is what Shep asked.” He pointed up to one of the flickering lightbulbs. “Needs to be changed but it’s rusted solid in the socket. He asked me to come jimmy it out on account of his bad back, and that’s what I’m here for.” He sneered. “What did you think I was gonna do, boy?”
Shelby’s face was dead white, her lips pressed tight together. “He put the knife to my throat, Barrett. He only stepped back when he heard you coming.”
“She’s lying.”
“No, she’s not,” Barrett said, rage gathering like floodwaters. “You’re going to jail.”
Hatcher lifted a shoulder. “Well, it’s her word against mine and the cops think she’s nothing but trouble already.”
Shelby touched Barrett’s arm. “Let’s go. I’ll tell the police. We’ll let them sort through it.”
Barrett looked at her, puzzled. The spirit seemed to have gone out of her. Had Hatcher scared her that badly?
Hatcher grinned and lowered his voice as if he was confiding a secret. “Anyway, if I was going to kill you, you wouldn’t even see it coming.”
Barrett shoved him in the chest. “Get out.”
Hatcher stumbled back, the knife still in his hand. “Watch yourself, Barrett. We ain’t enemies yet, but that can change.”
“I said get out,” Barrett repeated. “Now.”
Hatcher fingered the knife handle, and Barrett tensed, staying between him and Shelby.
Hatcher slid the knife back into the sheath on his belt and walked away without another word.
Barrett followed far enough to be sure the front door creaked shut behind Hatcher before he returned to Shelby. She was hugging herself, her curtain of hair gleaming like wet autumn leaves in the low light.
“We’ll go to the police right now,” Barrett said.
“He’ll just talk his way out of it. It won’t do any good.” She squinched her eyes shut for a moment.
“You okay?”
She nodded, but he saw a ripple of pain cross her face.
“He didn’t hurt you?” Barrett pressed.
“No, I’m getting a migraine headache.”
“Uh-oh. Have you eaten today?”
A flicker of surprise showed through her discomfort.
“My brother Jack gets migraines when he forgets to eat or hasn’t been sleeping well. It pretty much puts him down for the count if he doesn’t take steps early on.”
Her shoulders were sort of hunched, as if it hurt too much to stand up straight. “I’m okay.”
But she didn’t look okay, not by a long shot.
With a groan she bent to open the bottom drawer and let out a bitter yelp. “It’s empty. Hatcher and Shep never intended to let me see the maps anyway. All this for nothing.”
Hatcher had something to hide. Something big, big enough to draw Shep into the conspiracy, though Shep was probably doing his friend a favor without asking why. “They are putting a lot of thought into this.”
She squeezed her eyelids together and rubbed her temples. “I’ll figure out a way, but right now I can’t think straight.”
“Come on, we’ll drive back to the Gold Bar and get you something to eat. I’ll drive you in your truck back to the ranch.”
“I can drive myself home.”
“No offense, but no, you can’t.” She allowed him to take her around the shoulders. “Besides, you should come with me.”
“Why?”
“You need food and I want to show you something.”
He could feel the muscles of her neck, knotted like rope.
“Why are you here anyway?” she said.
“Dad and I were just passing through.”
“I don’t buy that, but my head is throbbing too much for me to grill you about it.”
“Excellent, it will be a much nicer drive then.”
He knew she must be feeling pretty bad since she did not even bother to fire off a retort as he led her to the truck and sent his father on ahead.
* * *
Shelby closed her eyes. Barrett was silent, which was a relief, since her head felt like someone had driven a spike through it, even though she’d taken a minute to swallow some of the migraine medicine she kept in her pack.
The feel of the knife pressed to her throat would not go away, leaving her muscles on high alert. She did not want to allow such a man to intimidate her, but she found her hands were shaking anyway, and not from the migraine.
Joe Hatcher may have intended to kill her right there in the museum. And he knew how to torture, too.
Hasn’t your family done enough to Barrett?
She tried not to lean against Barrett’s warm shoulder. It’s not like I’m asking him to take care of me. Yet there he was again at the museum, and she’d been profoundly grateful to see him. Things might have ended differently if he had not come to her rescue.
She had no idea what it was that Barrett had to show her at the ranch, but the agony in her skull would not permit any deep thought. In a few moments, she found her head resting against his hard shoulder as the truck and trailer bumped them to Gold Bar Ranch.
Barrett took her hand and led the way into the quiet kitchen, which smelled of coffee and bacon. “Mom’s run to the neighbor’s, but there’s always something to eat around here.”
“I’m not hungry, really.”
“Just a little bit in your stomach. Toast, maybe, with a slick of peanut butter.”
She wanted to ask him exactly how much a “slick” was, but instead she watched through a cloud of pain as he toasted the bread, spread on a layer of peanut butter and presented it on a plate with a glass of milk.
She looked at him through bleary eyes. “Are you going to sit there and watch me while I eat?”
“Yeah.”
“Can you at least eat something, too, so I don’t feel like a zoo animal at feeding time?”
“Okay.” He plucked an apple out of the bowl on the counter, took a big bite and sat down opposite her while she nibbled at the toast.
The bread was homemade and the peanut butter melted into a comforting ooze. She finished half before her stomach rebelled. “Thank you. That was great.” The food helped, but her med
s had not yet started to dull the agony.
He tossed his half-eaten apple into the bin and stepped behind her. His long fingers massaged her shoulders, gently kneading the tension away. Her head leaned back against his torso and she accepted his tender ministering.
“Does your brother get this kind of treatment?” she joked.
“Naw, but I take care of his chores for him when he’s got a migraine.”
Barrett was a gentle giant of a man, she mused. The kindhearted cowboy who would try to ease the pain of a woman whose family had devastated his own. Yet he couldn’t forgive... But who could? Nobody, as her uncle told her.
“I really should go home, Barrett.” She pushed away and tried to stand, clutching the edge of the table as sparks danced in front of her eyes. “I’m not good company.”
He stood and took her hand. “Come with me.”
Unable to resist, she allowed him to lead her to a small family room furnished with a worn sofa and a pair of rocking chairs.
“Sorry, we don’t have a guest room because it’s filled to the rafters with stuff for the Christmas Eve party, but you can lie down and sleep here until it passes,” he said.
“Oh, I don’t need...”
“Yes, you do.” He grabbed a quilt. She sat on the sofa, eyes closed, trying to summon up the courage to walk herself out of the Thorn house. He knelt and pulled off her boots. Before she knew it, she was lying on the sofa and he was covering her up to her chin with a quilt that smelled of fresh air, as if it had been dried on the line.
“I don’t want you to take care of me,” she tried to say. “I don’t want to need you, any of you.” Instead, the warm comfort washed over her, the darkness soothing as he pulled the curtains closed, the whinnies of the horses outside blending into a lullaby.
In the corner of the room was a small tree, covered with silver ornaments and a hand-stitched tree skirt. The faint scent of pine told her it was real, probably cut down right here on the Gold Bar property. He bent and connected a plug, and a sparkle of delicate lights shimmered.
“There now. That’s about right,” he said.
“Barrett,” she whispered, “thank you.” But he had already left the room.
TWELVE
Barrett ordered his noisy brothers to hush up on account of their sleeping visitor. His mother looked particularly pleased to have a guest to fuss over and promised to give her a proper meal when she awoke.
“Jackie always likes a grilled cheese and coffee when he shakes off his headaches. I’ll just see if there’s more bread in the freezer. And I’m sure I’ve got some of that extra sharp cheddar left over.”
Though Jack never corrected his mother, Barrett knew he did not enjoy her nickname for him. Still, it was good to see her smiling as he left her humming along to the ancient Christmas records she refused to part with. It reminded him how the ranch used to be a revolving door for visitors when Bree had been alive, especially during the holidays. His mother missed the bustle and the chance to exercise her gift of hospitality.
“I’m glad to see your smile, Mama,” he said. He dropped a kiss on the top of her head before he headed outside to leave a message for Larraby and then muck out the stalls.
Owen caught up with him in the stables. “What’s going on?”
“What do you mean, what’s going on?”
“I mean, you’re getting pretty tight with Shelby Arroyo.”
“Not tight,” he said. “Just being neighborly.” He grabbed a shovel and went to work on the closest stable, scooping up mounds of soiled hay.
“Uh-huh.”
Barrett stopped and faced his brother. “Uh-huh what?”
“Since Shelby blew into town, you two are together every time I turn around.”
“That’s an exaggeration.”
“Is it? First you fish her out of the ravine, then you both are stuck in Hatcher’s mine and now she’s actually bunked on the sofa.”
“Not bunked. She’s sick with a migraine. Did you want me to leave her on the street corner?”
“No, but it all seems weird to me that she’s suddenly welcome here, considering.”
His jaw tightened. “Considering?”
“Come on, Barrett. Let’s put it out there. Her cousin killed your wife and her uncle allowed it.”
Anger flashed through him like white-hot lightning. “I know it, Owen. I’m crystal clear on the facts. It was my wife, remember? I have more reason to know that than you. If memory serves, you weren’t even here when it happened.”
He shouldn’t have said that. It pained his brother that he had not been in the United States for the worst time in their family’s history. And then the injury had left him a virtual invalid. Owen was born a protector. Barrett felt shame that he’d struck at his brother’s vulnerability. He should apologize, but Owen was enraged.
His shoulders stiffened and he stood up to his full height, about an inch shorter than Barrett. “Yeah, I was somewhere else, wasn’t I? Well, you know what I learned in Afghanistan? Two things, brother.” He stabbed two fingers into the air. “One, never go anywhere without your body armor, and two—” his eyes blazed at Barrett “—know the enemies from the friendlies.”
“Shelby loves her uncle, but she’s not the enemy.” When had he decided on that, he wondered?
“Yeah? Somehow I think her loyalties lie with another family, Barrett.”
“Why is this your business?”
Owen folded his arms across his chest and looked down at his boots. “Maybe because I wasn’t here, and now that I am, I want to do my part for the family...and you.”
Barrett felt his ire drain away. His brother had fought his own battle and it followed him right back home to Gold Bar. “I get that.”
“I don’t want to see you hurt again,” Owen said quietly.
Barrett blew out a breath and nodded. “Thanks. I know what I’m doing.”
Owen looked at him long and hard before he nodded. “Okay. I’ll trust your instincts unless I have reason not to.” He turned and limped away.
Barrett put all his energy into mucking the stables, working until he was hot and sweaty in spite of the December temperatures. When the stalls were filled with sweet-smelling bedding, he checked on Swanny and tended to his other chores. By that time, it was well into the afternoon. He found Shelby and his mother on the porch, the Thorn family’s old hound, Grits, sprawled on the bench between them with his head in Shelby’s lap.
He laughed at the sight of Grits’s eyes rolling in pleasure while Shelby rubbed his ears. “I see you’ve made friends with Grits.”
“I miss having a dog.” Shelby paused. “We took in a stray after my dad left. My sister and I named him Filbert and we doted on that dog until we had to give it away. We moved around a lot and most rental places aren’t so dog friendly.” Her fingers were slender and delicate as she soothed the fur. Grits let out a sigh that billowed his fleshy lips.
“How are you feeling?” Barrett said.
Her cheeks flushed a rosy pink. “Much better, thank you. I’m sorry to have been such a bother.”
His mother waved a hand. “No, none of that. Happy to have you.” She looked her son over. “You missed lunch, honey. Want a grilled cheese?”
Shelby giggled, a small dimple he had not noticed before showing alongside her mouth. “Your mother is a champion grilled cheese maker.”
“You should see what she can do with a lasagna.” He shook his head. “Don’t need a sandwich, Mama, but thanks. I want to show Shelby some of Granddad’s old things. Is that okay?”
“Of course it is.” Her eyes danced. “You take your time and then she can stay for dinner.”
“No, Mrs. Thorn. Absolutely not. I’ve taken advantage of your hospitality long enough. Besides, my uncle...” She paused. “Well, any
way, he’s out of town and I need to keep an eye on things. Larraby is going to call and I want to have my thoughts together.”
His mother looked slightly downcast. “Oh, well, if you change your mind, there’s always plenty. I’m going to make chili and corn bread. The boys love it.”
Barrett shooed Grits off Shelby’s lap. “Let her up, boy.”
Shelby stood and Barrett led the way along a shaded trail behind the ranch house. The air was cold, but she was zipped to the chin in her jacket, hair loose and dancing on the breeze. The sun glazed her fair skin and he was struck by the beauty of her face. Not so much the features as the passion that illuminated her from the inside, a kind of wonder at the path under their feet and the oak trees that towered above them.
“This place is gorgeous,” she murmured, stumbling on a tree root because she had been eyeing a scrub jay. He reached out a steadying arm but she did not take it.
Message delivered. Jamming his hands into his pockets, he tried to clear his mind. The small cabin sported a coat of fresh ivory paint and deep burgundy trim. “Cheerful,” his mother had declared when she’d chosen the color. “Just like Granddad.”
He opened the door to the two-bedroom home where Granddad had lived for a decade after his wife had passed. They’d had talks about what it was like to lose your soul mate.
“Like when I lost my leg to the diabetes,” Granddad had said. “It’s gone but it still hurts like crazy.”
“Does the pain ever stop?” Barrett had asked.
Granddad had gone quiet then for a while. “No, son. It dulls down to a softer hurt, but it never goes away.”
Barrett’s loss had dulled down to a softer pain, too, but now it was twirled together with a strand of guilt. Guilt that he could not forgive Ken Arroyo, as he knew Bree would have wanted him to. Guilt that he was more than a little attracted and preoccupied by a new woman? He gritted his teeth and quickened his pace.
* * *
Shelby gazed at the photos on the top of a scarred upright piano. She laid one fingertip on the family shot of all four boys, each clutching a fish they had caught. Barrett was the tallest even then, gangly, in his midtwenties, she guessed. Next to that photo was a picture of Owen in his military uniform, tall and proud, without the hostility she’d recently detected in his eyes.
