●
The crashing blow of metal on metal drowned out Sophie’s voice as she shouted a greeting to the blacksmith. Frustrated, she shot a quick look at Jenna, kneeling behind the bottom rail of the fence that surrounded a small paddock to one side of the smithy. Several horses wandered around the hard-packed earth and Jenna seemed completely entranced by them.
Which would give Sophie a minute or two to get directions to the schoolhouse. Supposing of course, she could get the blacksmith’s attention. True, she could have asked Hattie but she’d thought to simply find it on her own. Yet here she was, nearly at the end of the street, and there was no sign of it.
The smithy’s hammer slammed down again onto the red-hot horseshoe he had positioned on a massive anvil. Turning the iron shoe with a pair of tongs, he worked with a rhythm that throbbed in the air. Sound echoed around her and the heat pouring from the interior of the shop made her long for a breeze that didn’t come.
She watched and was quickly caught up in the almost graceful movements he made as he worked. A huge man, the smithy’s coffee-colored skin rippled with muscles beneath the leather apron he wore over a soiled blue shirt. His face and arms shone with perspiration as he toiled directly in front of the fully stoked forge. Firelight flickered against the back wall, and magnified the big man’s shadow into that of a giant.
Mesmerized, she watched, not even trying to catch his attention now as he walked from the anvil to the forge and back again until the horseshoe was just as he wanted it. When it was finished, he dropped it into a barrel of water and the red-hot metal hissed and sizzled angrily.
Only then did he look up and spot her just at the edge of the shop. Wiping his forehead on his shirtsleeve, he set his hammer carefully to one side, dipped his head and asked, “Can I help you, ma’am?”
The rumble of his voice echoed the size and strength of him and Sophie smiled to think how well suited this man was to his job. She glanced quickly around the smithy and noted that every tool had its place and that the floor was neatly swept. A man after her own heart, it seemed. Tidy. Organized.
“Yes,” she said and took a step closer, still keeping an eye on Jenna. Holding out her right hand, she said, “I’m Sophie Ryan.”
He glanced at her hand as if unsure what to do about it for a long minute. Then he smiled and his features eased into warmth. There was a gentleness in his deep brown eyes that belied his great size and obvious strength. Still watching her, he wiped his big hands on his apron front, then folded his fingers around hers carefully.
A moment later, he released her and said, “Toby Crow, Miz Ryan, but you just call me Toby.”
“Pleased to meet you, Toby,” she said. “I’m—”
“The new schoolteacher,” he said, smiling. “I know.”
“Really?” She hadn’t even made her way all the way down the street and the news had beaten her?
“Small town, ma’am,” he said, glancing briefly toward Jenna, where she was attempting to pet one of the horses. “Not got much else to do, ‘cept talk about each other.”
“I suppose so,” she said, and wondered how long it would be before the inevitable talk about Jenna would begin.
“What can I do for you?”
“Actually,” she said with another look at the child, “could you tell me where the school is?”
A brief frown scuttled across his wide face and it was like watching a wave slowly move toward shore. “Well...”
“Is there a problem?” she asked.
“No problem,” another voice piped up from directly behind her.
She knew that voice all too well and had to force herself to turn around and face Ridge Hawkins. It didn’t help matters to realize that the moment she looked into those too knowing blue eyes of his, something inside her jumped in recognition. And remembering what Jenna had told her only made it worse. He thought she had pretty eyes.
Of course, he’d also accused her of being a blackmailer, for heaven’s sake. He was only too ready to judge her a criminal. Her spine stiffened as she gave him one quick, dismissive look.
He smiled at her, grinned at Toby, then shifted his gaze back to her.
“Toby just doesn’t want to be the one to show you the schoolhouse.” He leaned one elbow on the top rail of the fence. “Apparently, no one else did either, or you’d have seen it by now.”
She inhaled sharply, lifted her chin and said, “If you don’t mind, Sheriff, I was speaking to Mr. Crow.”
“Don’t mind at all,” the man said. “Just trying to help, is all.”
She doubted that very much. “I don’t want your help,” she said tightly. “Or your conversation for that matter.”
“You don’t have to climb up on your high horse again.”
“I’m not climbing anything,” she said tightly, feeling the beginnings of another headache coming on. “And I’ll thank you to mind your own business.” Glaring at him, she asked, “Shouldn’t you be off arresting someone?”
“Who’d you have in mind?” he asked.
“You are the most insuff—”
“Ridge,” Toby interrupted, “you stop it now. Don’t you be givin’ Miz Ryan reason to regret comin’ here.”
“Me? It’s her. I only came over to—” he started to say.
Jenna’s yelp caught their attention and in an instant, Sophie was hurrying around the edge of the enclosure, berating herself for not paying closer attention. But the girl was all right. She’d only fallen through the bottom rung of the fence, and by the time the adults got to her side, she was already up and dusting off her behind.
“I slipped,” she said unnecessarily.
“So I see,” Sophie said as her heart slid back into her chest.
“That horse try to eat you, little miss?” Toby asked with a smile.
Jenna shook her head and very seriously said, “Oh no, sir. Misty wouldn’t do that. She likes me.”
“Is that a fact?” Scratching his chin, Toby looked back and forth between child and horse a few times.
“Uh-huh,” Jenna continued, tugging at her bedraggled hair ribbon. “She likes you too, though.”
“Hmmm...” The sound groaned from deep inside his chest and sounded like the steel wheels of a train rolling along the tracks.
Giving both men a forced smile and fighting past the headache trying to drag her down into pain, Sophie laughed tightly and said, “Children...” as if that explained why a horse was having a conversation with a little girl.
When neither of the men smiled back, she grabbed Jenna’s hand and, speaking up into the silence, said, “If one of you will please point me toward the schoolhouse, we’ll be going.”
Ridge tipped his hat back farther on his head and after a long moment answered quietly, “It’s just around the bend there.” He pointed to the end of the street. “A bit past Hurley’s Feed and Grain.”
Nodding, she said stiffly, “Thank you.” Then, turning her daughter around, marched off.
In the silence, both men heard the little girl as she walked by the horses gathered at the rail just as though the animals were saying goodbye to her. “Misty and Moonlight and Martha and Maverick and Fred.” She said the last name on a giggle that seemed to hang in the air long after they’d crossed the street and hurried on.
Ridge glanced at his friend and saw the same confusion in Toby’s eyes that he knew was in his own.
“Did you tell her the names of the horses?”
“Nope,” Toby said, reaching out to stroke Moonlight’s muzzle, while keeping his gaze fixed on the woman and child.
Ridge nodded thoughtfully. Somehow, he’d known Toby was going to say that. And being right about it didn’t make him feel a damn sight better. “Then how d’ya suppose she knew ‘em?”
CHAPTER Five
“Don’t see why we need no durn schoolteacher anyhow,�
� Travis McCoy grumbled. “Heckfire, this’s gonna ruin everything.”
Ever since that last teacher, Mr. Avery, left town, things had been real nice. Oh, sure, every once in a while, his ma made him read or do some ciphering, but she usually got too busy to pay much mind to schoolin’. He figured that wouldn’t be happenin’ now though. Not with the durn teacher livin’ in the same durn house as him.
He scowled to himself and looked up at the mountains towering over Tanglewood. Sunlight poked through a couple of lazy clouds and threw pieces of shadow on the mighty pretty tree-lined slopes. But not pretty enough to get his mind off what was goin’ on.
Yep. The days of a fella bein’ able to go fishin’ when he wanted was over. Seven years old and he was a beaten man.
“It surely is,” his best friend, Luke Jones, said, hurling a fist-sized stone at a small cairn of rocks they’d set up for target practice. He missed. “Shoot. Why, my ma’s already talkin’ ‘bout me getting a haircut and wearin’ socks.”
Travis jerked his head, tossing his too-long brown hair out of his eyes, and took his turn. His stone missed too, and disgusted, he kicked at the dirt, looking for new ammunition. “I ain’t getting no haircut,” he muttered darkly. “And ya don’t need socks if you’re wearin’ shoes. What’s the sense in coverin’ up your feet two times at once?”
Womenfolks had the durnedest notions sometimes. Seemed all they did was think up ways to make a man’s life miserable.
“My ma says the new teacher’s stayin’ at your place.”
“Yeah,” Travis said and pried a likely lookin’ stone loose of the dried earth it was stuck in. “Till she gets that schoolhouse and the rooms behind it all cleaned out, I guess.”
He threw his stone and when it smacked the stack of rocks he grinned. Looking at Luke, he saw his friend smiling too, and there was the same look in his eyes as there was the time they sneaked those cigars out of the mercantile and had them a nice, quiet smoke in the alley. Travis smiled in memory of that fine time... well, it was fine until they got sick and their mas took a strip of hide off of each of ‘em.
“What’re you thinkin’?” Travis asked.
“I’m thinkin’ we should figure a way to get rid of that new schoolteacher ‘fore she gets set.”
Hmm.
“You figure she’ll scare as easy as Mr. Avery?”
“Heckfire,” Luke said with a snort of laughter. “She’ll be easier’n he was. All womenfolks scare easy.”
Yeah, Travis thought, that was true. But there was her little girl to think about too. She’d followed him all over the kitchen this morning, asking him to play and what all. ‘Course, she was too young to play with and she was a girl on top of it, so he couldn’t, but still, he didn’t want to see her all scared and cryin’.
“All right,” he said, “but we don’t scare the little one. She’s just a baby.”
“Deal,” Luke said and the two of them wandered out to set up their target again.
●
Maybe she shouldn’t have spent so many years squashing her “gift.” If she’d had the ability to draw on visions at will, she might have been prepared. But the moment that thought popped into her head, she dismissed it. Nothing could have prepared her.
Not even the bedraggled state of Tanglewood itself compared to what the citizens laughingly referred to as a schoolhouse.
Sophie dropped Jenna’s hand, shook her head in disbelief, and simply stared at the monstrosity looming directly ahead of her. Small, it stood alone behind a short cluster of boulders as if trying to hide itself away. And she didn’t blame it one bit. The rough plank walls had at one time been whitewashed, but the wind and sand and rain and whatever else happened around here had taken its toll. Splotches of white paint freckled the building, making it look like a survivor of some horrible disease. The shutters hung at drunken angles alongside windows whose panes had been shattered. One of the two front steps was missing, and as she stared blankly, a tumbleweed rolled along in front of the place, topping off its abandoned look.
The ever-present wind kicked up, dragged several shingles from the drooping roof and plopped them onto the ground. And even from here, Sophie could see a bird’s nest in the top of the chimney.
“Well, perfect,” she muttered and walked forward as if drawn by some unseen hand.
Jenna skipped alongside her, oblivious to the shack in front of her. “No,” Sophie said aloud to herself, “it’s not even a shack. This is a disgrace.”
“I like it,” Jenna said “It’ll be pretty.”
“Perhaps,” Sophie answered, “if we set fire to it and start over.”
The little girl laughed, bent down and picked up a stick. Swinging it in a wide arc, she whirled around and around, singing to herself as she played.
Sophie, though, was in no mood for singing. How did the people of Tanglewood expect a teacher to actually teach in a building that looked as though it were being held together by the dirt caked on its walls?
A quick, sharp pain stabbed her forehead and Sophie gulped, closing her eyes against it, knowing what it meant and fighting desperately to turn the tide of a coming vision.
Honestly. She hadn’t had so much trouble stifling these blasted things in years. What was it about this place that stirred things up so? Squeezing her eyes more tightly shut, she told herself not to look. Not to notice what her mind was trying to show her.
She didn’t want these images. Didn’t want to see beyond the present. But despite her wants, despite her efforts, a wavering, fog-shrouded picture rose up in her mind of the schoolhouse, painted a soft yellow with dark green trim and a blue door. Flowers dotted the porch rails and a cluster of children played in the dirt in front.
Determined, she tried to close the vision off, to push it all aside, but before she could, she watched storm clouds descend on the schoolhouse and lightning crack in a dangerous sky. A man stepped out of the shadows and walked toward her. Lightning flashed and winked off the star on his chest. Face grim, tight, he reached for her…
A strong hand closed around her upper arm and she jumped, startled out of the vision.
“Red?” The voice came from right beside her. “Hey,” he said, his grip on her upper arm tightening. “Are you all right?”
Sophie staggered slightly, her mind still swimming with images that both fascinated and terrified her. She lifted one hand to her forehead as if somehow she might be able to force the pictures away. It was happening too often now. The visions, the images, crowding in one on top of the other. What had happened to her control?
“Red?” that voice came again and Sophie blinked, shook her head, and looked up into deep blue eyes as dark and mysterious as the waters of a still lake. This close to him, she noticed little things for the first time: the tiny squint lines at the corners of his eyes, the fact that his dark hair was too long, curling just at the edge of his frayed shirt collar. The scent of bay rum clung to him and she breathed it in, felt surrounded by it, calmed by it.
The steely grip he had on her upper arm tightened slightly as he looked at her with concern. And Sophie didn’t want to admit, even to herself, that she was grateful for both. The hold he had on her arm kept her trembling knees from giving out, and as to the other… well, it had been too long since anyone had worried about her.
An unexpected sheen of tears filled her eyes at the thought and she ducked her head to keep him from noticing the effect he had on her. She concentrated on the firm, warm grip of his hand on her arm. His touch was like a lifeline, an anchor to this world, and it had drawn her back from a place she tried never to go.
“You don’t look so good,” he said, then added, “maybe I should get you back to Hattie’s.”
“I’m fine,” she said and, to prove it, pulled free of his grip. Without the warmth of his touch, she felt shakier, more alone somehow, but she ignored that sensation, cast a quick g
lance at Jenna then turned back to him. “Thank you,” she said and told herself that her voice probably didn’t sound as trembly to him as it did to her.
“One look at the place and you keel over?” he asked, a tight smile on his face as he shifted his gaze briefly to the ramshackle schoolhouse.
“Do you blame me?” she asked, grateful to be on safe ground. At least while they talked about the school, she wouldn’t be thinking about the concern in his eyes or the strange heat that seemed to still simmer on the spot where he’d touched her.
“Guess not,” he said, shoving his hands into his pockets. Staring at the dilapidated building, he shook his head and muttered, “Looks pretty pitiful at that.”
“’Pitiful’ would be a step up, Sheriff,” she countered, waving one hand at the place. Good, she thought with an inward smile. Arguing would keep them both on solid footing. There was no reason to think about the deep, beautiful color of his eyes, the strength of his hands, or the odd effect he seemed to have on her. Life would be much easier all the way around if she kept the sheriff as a friendly adversary.
“Still,” he said, as if defending himself and his town for letting the place get into such sad shape. “Shouldn’t be too much trouble to fix it up.”
“Do you have a match with you?” she muttered, heading closer to the building.
He laughed shortly. “I heard that, and you should know, arson’s against the law.”
Last night’s argument leaped into the forefront of her mind and Sophie shot him a quick look. “You already think I’m a criminal. Why not an arsonist as well?”
“Now, I never said that—”
“You most certainly did,” she countered, whirling around to face him, keeping that hideous schoolhouse to her back. “You accused me of being a con...” She frowned, trying to remember, then gave up and said, “Something.”
“Artist,” he provided.
“Exactly.” She nodded at him as though he were a student who’d just gotten a spelling word correct.
Just West of Heaven Page 6
