by Janet Dailey
“We’ll never find a parking place!” Ellie said, thinking of Clara and the distance her mother might have to walk.
“Not to worry. Being married to the owner has its perks.” Ben swung the truck around the PRIVATE DRIVEWAY sign and parked next to the house. “Jess has even saved a table for us.”
Dread congealed in the pit of Ellie’s stomach as Ben helped her out of the truck. Why had she agreed to come here this morning? She would choose a den of man-eating tigers over what she was about to face—people she’d left behind ten years ago, people who would stare at her and snicker behind her back. What a comedown for the girl who’d thought she was too good for Branding Iron.
“Come on, dear, it’ll be fine.” Clara took her arm as they mounted the steps. “It’s not as if you’ve done anything wrong.”
As if that would make any difference, Ellie thought as Ben held the door for them. Sucking in a last breath of wintry air, she stepped across the threshold, into the crowded, noisy space of the breakfast buffet.
Aromas of bacon and fresh coffee assailed her senses. Some of the townsfolk eating at the tables or lined up at the buffet looked familiar, but everyone had aged. The place was decorated for Christmas with an old-fashioned tree by the window, lights strung from the ceiling, and Christmas music drifting on the air. The atmosphere was warm and festive in a tacky sort of way, but if Ellie could’ve gotten away with it, she’d have turned around and fled out the door.
Ben pointed toward an empty table with a RESERVED sign on it. To Ellie’s dismay, it was on the far side of the room. To get there, they would have to weave their way between the tables. Lifting her chin, she followed her mother and brother. As she clutched her bag, she could feel Beau quivering, as if he sensed her anxiety.
Jess, wearing a cute ruffled apron over her sweater and jeans, bustled out of the kitchen, headed for the buffet table with a platter of flapjacks. She flashed her family a smile, as if to say, Catch you later. Ellie had met Ben’s wife only once, on the day of the wedding. There’d been little time for them to get acquainted, but now that she was back in Branding Iron, Ellie knew she was going to need a friend. Dare she hope that Jess might become that friend?
Reaching the table, which was covered with a red-checked oilcloth, Ellie chose the chair that faced the corner, then set her bag underneath and draped her jacket behind her. Ben seated his mother. “Let me fill your plates, ladies,” he said. “I’ll get you a little of everything. It’s all good. Somebody will bring you coffee.”
He vanished toward the buffet tables. Moments later, hands reached past Ellie to fill her coffee cup from a steaming carafe. “Nice to see you again, honey,” said a chatty voice at her ear. “Goodness, you do look ready to pop! How soon are you due?”
Ellie looked up to see Jess’s mother, Francine, smiling down at her. At the wedding, Francine had been dressed from head to toe in red. Even today, with her overdone makeup, bleached curls, and long fake nails, she looked like the town floozy. But Ben had insisted that the woman had a heart of pure gold, so Ellie resolved to give her the benefit of the doubt.
“Not until January,” she replied, reminding herself that in Branding Iron, personal questions were to be expected. “So, no popping yet.”
“Ben and Jess told me about your bad luck. But don’t you worry, honey. When that little baby gets here, she’ll have lots of folks to love her!”
“Thanks—and it’s nice to see you again, too.” As Francine moved to another table, Ellie turned her attention to the heaping plate Ben had set in front of her. The scrambled eggs, bacon, hash browns, and flapjacks looked and smelled delicious. But nerves had dulled her hunger. Every bite would be an act of will.
Determined to try, she speared a slice of crisp bacon. It crumbled on the plate. Picking up a lean sliver, she thought of Beau, safely tucked into her bag under the chair. She rarely gave treats to her dog, but she knew he loved bacon. Surely one little piece wouldn’t hurt him.
Bending, she caught the handle of her bag and pulled it out within reach. The bag felt curiously light. Ellie’s heart dropped as she realized why.
Beau was gone.
“What is it, sis?” Ben was staring at her face, which must’ve gone dead white.
“It’s Beau!” she whispered, not wanting to create a scene. “He’s not—”
From the far corner, a dreadful sound erupted—a hellish cacophony of hisses, yowls, barks, and high-pitched yelps.
“Oh, Lord!” Ben was on his feet, upending his chair. “Your dog’s found Francine’s cat!”
He lunged between the tables with Ellie on his heels. Beau would stand up to anything, but even a fair-sized cat would be capable of killing him. This one sounded like it had murder on its mind.
Even with people clambering out of the way, they made nightmarishly slow progress across the crowded dining room. Ben and Ellie were little more than halfway when the noise abruptly stopped.
The silence that fell over the room was broken only by the tinkling strains of “Silver Bells” from the speakers. Ellie plunged past her brother, heart in her throat as she braced to scoop up her bloodied little dog and rush him to a vet—if he was even alive.
Abruptly she stopped. Facing her was a small, pigtailed girl, about eight years old, dressed in jeans and a plaid jacket. Beau was huddled in her arms. He was shaking but didn’t appear hurt.
A scruffy-looking ginger cat, three times Beau’s size, crouched on the floor, glaring up at the dog. Fur bristling, it hissed and showed its fangs.
“Sergeant Pepper, you rascal!” Francine rushed out of the kitchen with a broom, which she used to scoot the cat away and send it scurrying off toward the rear of the house. “Sorry, honey,” she said to Ellie. “The sergeant doesn’t have much use for dogs, especially little mites like that one.”
She hurried back to the kitchen as her customers settled back into eating and visiting. Ben returned to his mother at their table. For now, at least, the drama was over.
The girl looked up at Ellie with a shy smile. “Is this your dog? He’s really cute. What’s his name?”
Ellie’s legs were threatening to give way. She sank onto a nearby chair, putting her gaze on a level with the girl’s. She was a pretty little thing, her braided hair a rich brown. Her eyes, framed by a sun-freckled face, were the striking hue of Texas bluebonnets.
“His name’s Beau,” Ellie said. “I’m thinking you must’ve saved him from that cat.”
“I was following my dad outside when your dog went after the cat,” she said. “They’d just started to fight when I grabbed him.” She snuggled Beau close. One small hand bore an ugly-looking red scratch. “Can I hold him just a little longer?” she asked.
“You can hold him as long as you want. Did you say Beau went for the cat?”
“Uh-huh.” The girl nodded. “Sergeant Pepper was eating a scrap of bacon off the floor. Maybe Beau just wanted the bacon. He was brave, but he wasn’t very smart.”
“Beau doesn’t understand how tiny he is,” Ellie said. “He thinks he’s as big and tough as any dog around. Thanks for saving him. But that looks like a nasty cat scratch on your hand.”
The girl glanced down. “It’s not too bad. The sergeant didn’t mean to hurt me. He was just upset.”
“Maybe so. But cat scratches can become infected. I’d feel better if you had it checked and cleaned at the emergency clinic. Please tell your dad—”
“Tell him what?” The gravelly baritone voice came from behind Ellie. “I’ve been waiting for you on the porch, Gracie. What’s the holdup?”
Slowly Ellie turned. A man stood with his back to the open doorway. Morning sunlight silhouetted a tall figure, ruggedly lean with broad shoulders and an unruly thatch of chestnut hair that wanted cutting. Only when he shifted did his face come into focus—the square jaw, the stubbornly set mouth. And the eyes—a deep, startling blue like his daughter’s.
Ellie’s breath caught in a gasp.
She was staring up at her te
enage love, Jubal McFarland.
Chapter 2
Jubal’s breath caught. He hadn’t recognized the woman talking to his daughter with her back toward him. But as she turned, he’d felt the same slammed-in-the-gut sensation as he had on the day when Ellie Marsden had loaded her beat-up Chevy and put Branding Iron—and him—in her rearview mirror.
Now, ten years later, here she was in the flesh—a little older but as beautiful as ever, her dark eyes skillfully made up, her ebony hair anchored in a sophisticated twist. It was really Ellie Marsden, or whatever her name was now. Elegant, citified, and—Jubal’s stomach lurched as his gaze moved downward—pregnant. Lord help him, she was as round and ripe as an October pumpkin!
“Hello, Jubal.” Her throaty voice had taken on a huskier, richer tone with the years. “I was just thanking your daughter for saving my dog.”
“That’s a dog?” He scowled at the little white fluffball in Gracie’s arms. He should have come up with something clever, Jubal thought. But nothing had come to mind. He was still the same country bumpkin she’d left behind ten years ago—and damned proud of it.
“He’s a miniature poodle—a teacup.” Gracie loved dogs and had read a lot about them. She’d begged him for a small dog, but Jubal didn’t have much use for anything that didn’t earn its keep. The two mutts that helped herd cattle on the ranch were friendly enough. If she wanted a pet, the girl could make do with them. He didn’t need the complications of another animal.
Especially now, when it seemed he was about to lose everything.
“His name’s Beau. I saved him from a fight with Francine’s cat,” Gracie added. Knowing she’d want him to be proud, Jubal patted her shoulder. The tiny dog sniffed his fingers with its button nose.
“She grabbed him away just in time,” Ellie said. “But I’m concerned about that scratch on her hand. It really should be checked and disinfected. Is the emergency clinic open on Saturdays?”
“Just in the mornings.” Jubal frowned at the scratch on his daughter’s hand. On the ranch, Gracie always seemed to be getting stuck by barbed wire, pecked by chickens, or stung by bees. This scratch didn’t look any worse than the usual. He had salve and Band-Aids in the truck. And Gracie had gotten a tetanus shot last year so that wasn’t a worry. But seeing Ellie’s concern put a new light on things. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to get his daughter checked out at the clinic.
“So it would be open right now,” Ellie said. “Please let me pay for her visit. I was about to offer when you showed up.”
“I can pay,” he said. “Go finish your breakfast, Ellie.”
With his hand still on Gracie’s shoulder, he pressed his daughter toward the exit. Still clasping that useless fluff of a dog, Gracie resisted as if her boots were glued to the floor. “I want Ellie to come with us,” she said.
“Ellie’s got other things to do,” Jubal told her.
“No, it’s fine. I was planning to come along, since Gracie got scratched saving my dog.” Ellie stood, giving him a full view of her belly bump, which was covered by a loose black cashmere sweater that had probably cost more than new tires on his truck would. “Just let me get my bag and my jacket, and I’ll be right behind you.”
“You’re sure your . . . husband won’t mind?” Jubal had noticed her bare finger; but if her hands were swollen from her pregnancy, she could have removed her wedding ring.
“No husband,” she said. “I’m—uh—recently divorced.”
Whatever recently meant. It was hard to believe any kind of man would leave a wife in Ellie’s condition. Maybe she’d had an affair and the baby was somebody else’s.
Jubal swore silently. Ellie’s life was none of his damned business. Speculating about her now would only distract him from his real problems. But if the way his daughter was clinging to that ridiculous bit of a dog was any sign, he hadn’t heard the last of Ellie Marsden.
* * *
Ellie made her way back to the table to get her things and let her mother and Ben know where she was going. Ben gave her a teasing grin. “See, I told you it was a good idea to come with us this morning. Now everybody knows you’re back in town and that you’re pregnant. No more hiding. Where’s the rat?”
Ellie resolved not to be baited. “Gracie has Beau. We’re taking her to the clinic to get the scratch on her hand looked at.”
“We? You and Jubal?” Ben’s grin broadened. “That didn’t take long.”
Ellie shot him a warning glare. “Don’t start any rumors, Ben. I’m not one bit interested in Jubal McFarland—especially since I know he’s married.”
“Oh, but he isn’t married,” Ben said. “Not anymore. Jubal lost his wife four years ago. It’s just him and that little girl, all alone on their ranch.”
Stunned into momentary silence, Ellie forced herself to speak and move. “That doesn’t make any difference. I came home to have this baby, not to troll for men. So give me a break, big brother!” She shrugged into her jacket and snatched up her purse. “Don’t wait for me. If you’re not here when I get back, I’ll walk home. I could use the exercise.”
“What about your breakfast, dear?” Clara asked. “You need to eat.”
“I’ll be fine. Why don’t you box it and take it home to Ethan? He’ll be hungry when he wakes up.”
Before Ben could needle her again, she turned and made her way to the door. The strains of “Let It Snow” muffled the buzz of conversation as she passed each table. She’d probably triggered some juicy gossip this morning, but that couldn’t be helped. Before long she’d be old news, Ellie told herself. And it couldn’t happen soon enough.
Jubal and his daughter were waiting on the porch. Gracie had tucked Beau under her jacket to keep him warm. “Can I hold him in the truck?” she asked.
Ellie studied her dog. Beau seemed to have taken to his young rescuer. Peeking out from under Gracie’s jacket, he yawned, a sign he was relaxed and contented. “Okay, you can hold him a little longer,” she said. “But when we get to the clinic, he goes back into my bag.”
“Come on.” Jubal led the way down the walk to where his pickup was parked. The breeze was cold, the air specked with lightly falling snow.
Ellie stifled a gasp as she recognized the red ’82 Ford Ranger they’d dated in. The truck had been old at the time. By now it was practically an antique. But it was freshly washed and appeared to be in good repair. Jubal, she remembered, had always believed in taking care of things and making them last.
“Up you go.” He opened the passenger door and gave Gracie a boost to the jump seat in the rear of the cab. Then he offered Ellie a careful arm-up to sit beside him. Memories swept over her as he closed the door and went around to the driver’s side. How many nights had their teenage lust steamed up the windows in this truck? Just thinking about it brought a flush to Ellie’s face. But the past was a closed door, and she knew better than to open it, especially with Gracie here. As far as Jubal’s daughter was concerned, she was just a friendly lady who’d shown up with her little dog.
As Jubal drove to the clinic, Ellie cast glances at father and daughter. Today she’d barely glimpsed the Jubal she remembered. Time and hardship had weathered him like a dry Texas wind. Creases framed the corners of his azure eyes, and his mouth had settled into a grim line. Did he ever smile? Did he ever laugh the way she remembered—laughter so deep and warm that she could feel it when he held her in his arms?
And there was Gracie. Anyone could see that Jubal loved his daughter. But she had the look of a little girl who’d grown up without a mother—the boyish clothes, the pigtails, which she’d likely braided herself, the ragged fingernails on her small, chapped hands. Ellie sensed an absence of soft, pretty things in her young life— things a man like Jubal was bound to overlook. Maybe that was one reason his daughter was so drawn to Beau.
Warm beneath Gracie’s coat, the tiny poodle had fallen asleep with his head resting on her sleeve. Gracie lifted her gaze and gave Ellie a smile. Her blue eyes sparkled with tenderness.
Ellie felt something soften in the region of her heart. This young girl, so appealing and so needy, would rouse all her motherly instincts if she allowed it. But Ellie couldn’t let that happen. She was here to have her baby, regain her bearings, and get on with her life—and that life didn’t include settling down in a place like Branding Iron. Bonding with this vulnerable child would only hurt her when the time came to leave.
And Jubal . . . Ellie studied his profile, her gaze lingering on the strands of gray that silvered his temples. He was barely thirty-one—she even remembered his birth date. But he looked older. Hard work and loss had taken their toll on the boy she’d left behind. Once he’d been her world. But there could be no going back. He was someone else now. So was she. All they could do was bury the past and move on with their separate lives.
* * *
The low brick building that housed the Branding Iron Clinic stood at the far end of Main Street. Staffed by a rotating doctor and nurse, the facility had saved many town residents the forty-mile drive to the hospital in Cottonwood Springs for treatment of cuts, sprains, fevers, and other minor ailments, as well as immunizations, prescriptions, and checkups. For life-threatening emergencies, the local fire engine, driven by volunteers with paramedic training, doubled as an ambulance. But some things couldn’t wait. Over the years, a surprising number of babies had been born in the clinic’s treatment rooms.
Jubal pulled the pickup into the empty parking lot. After coming around to the passenger door, he offered a hand to help Ellie to the ground. Her skin was baby soft, the contact brief against his work-roughened palm. As her boots touched the asphalt, the poodle, who’d been handed back to Ellie when they parked, poked its white head out of her purse to look around and sniff the air.
Gracie hopped out of the truck, closed the door, and followed them into the clinic. This was silly, Jubal thought. With a little antibiotic salve, her hand would be fine. Was he going through the motions just to impress Ellie?
