“Chase!” She glanced at Sarah, who was still playing with her chalk and slate. When he didn’t seem to catch her meaning or pointed look, she aimed the biscuit she was holding and threw it playfully at his head. He snatched it out of the air before it hit him.
He smiled and took an exaggerated bite. “It’s true,” he went on, not missing a beat. “Why, I found Jake in the saloon the other day talking with Daisy and Philomena.”
“You did?” Sadness for the two young women who worked at the Bright Nugget surfaced. She had once faced the possibility of saloon work. Thank goodness Nathan had taken pity all those years ago and married her. Whoring was a bad business—for the girls and for the men who used them. “That worries me, considering the life he left behind in Valley Springs and all he suffered before he moved to Logan Meadows with us. I know his mother had a hard life, but she treated him very badly. I witnessed her screaming from the saloon balcony, half-dressed, calling him every sort of horrible name as he walked down the street. If it weren’t for Mrs. Hollyhock…” She stopped and pulled herself together. “Why do you think he was in the saloon?”
Chase swallowed. “It’s obvious—and surely not a crime. He wanted to talk to some pretty girls. Don’t worry so much, Jessie. It’s part of life, and you can’t change it—as much as I know you’d like to.”
“I hope he doesn’t take to drinking and gambling.”
Chase took another bite and said while he chewed, “I never said anything about drinking and gambling.” He tossed Jessie a look that said he had everything under control and for her to butt out.
A loud knock at the front door reverberated to the kitchen, followed by a cry from Shane’s room.
“Oh, no. He won’t go back to sleep now.”
“I’ll see who it is,” Chase said as he wiped his mouth and stood.
While he went to the door, Jessie hurried to the baby’s room. Two-year-old Shane sat in his pinewood crib rubbing his watery eyes. His soft light-brown hair, sprinkled with Jessie’s golden highlights, curled over his forehead and down his neck, moist from his nap. His bottom lip protruded unhappily. When he saw her, he lifted his arms, then released a smile identical to his father’s. Jessie laughed and picked him up, patting his back. “Come on, you little charmer,” she said, heading toward the kitchen.
Chase was back in his seat finishing his meal. “Who was it?” Jessie asked. She sat, and Chase leaned forward to rub the baby’s head.
“One of the hands. Wanted to tell me the new heifers have settled in fine with our herd and that he’s going into town after he eats. Talk of the railroad has everyone keyed up.”
Shane gurgled and looked around happily. “It’s exciting that the train might actually come to Logan Meadows,” Jessie said. “It was only last year that we got a daily stage coming through, and now this.” She kissed Shane’s cheek and bounced him on her knee. But it will put us so much closer to New Mexico, too. And Mrs. Hobbs. And whoever that person is who’s looking for Sarah. “Do you think it will actually happen?”
Chase chuckled. “It will if Frank Lloyd has anything to say about it. He’s dreaming about all the money the newcomers will be depositing into his bank. Plus, he’s making loans right and left to business owners fixing up their places in hopes the Union Pacific will pick Logan Meadows.”
“What if the railroad decides in favor of New Meringue instead of Logan Meadows?” Jessie sat forward and brushed a few wisps of hair from Sarah’s face, not wanting her to feel left out. The child had stopped playing when the conversation had taken on a more serious tone, and she was listening to every word. “Everyone will be so disappointed. I love our small town, Chase. Logan Meadows is the place our children will grow up and raise families of their own. Just doesn’t feel right that the railroad is pitting us into competition with our neighbors. One thing is for sure…one of us is going to lose.”
Chase pushed his plate away and sat back, a sated grin on his face. “But—one town is going to win. I’m in favor of the railroad and all the life it’s brought to our town already. The demand for our beef and horses has doubled in the last three months and has been a boon for this ranch. New immigrants could double or even triple that number. And, let’s not forget, our hefty investment on the herd we’ve contracted for next year depends on Logan Meadows winning.”
Jessie nodded. “I know, I know—I’m not complaining. I hope it comes, too.” But did she? It was getting harder by the day to pretend nothing was worrying her. As it was, Logan Meadows was cocooned away from the rest of the world. If this all turned out to be Mrs. Hobbs’s idea of a prank, Sarah’s real parents could still be out there looking for her, regretting their decision to give her away. Jessie forced herself to relax the frown pulling at her brows. She should be counting her many blessings and not looking for trouble behind every rock. “Well, I’m sure the meeting tomorrow will tell us more,” she said, purposely using a cheery tone.
At the excitement in Jessie’s voice, Sarah scooted over to Chase and climbed into his lap. She smoothed back his hair, a tender action she often did, then patted his shoulder. “I hope it comes, too, Pa,” she said. “I’ve never been on a train before. Gabe said he’d make sure I rode on the eggnog ride!”
Chase chuckled softly. “You mean the inaugural ride, sugarfoot?” He glanced at Jessie, an expression of love and amusement on his face. “Although eggnog sounds pretty darn good right about now.”
Sarah shivered with anticipation. “I’m going to take Patches with me. She’ll be the first cat to ride the train.”
Jessie gave Chase another knowing look. “See what I mean? Everyone is counting on the Union Pacific. Even little children!”
CHAPTER FOUR
Thom rode beside Sheriff Preston on the way from town to his family’s old farm. As he surveyed the land, awe at actually being there filled his soul. All those years locked behind grimy walls, crushed in with dirty, filthy men—himself one of them—washed away. He took a deep breath of fresh country air and held it. Such a simple thing and yet so dear. The feel of the saddle and motion of the horse fed his hopeful mood. “It was kind of your brother to lend me this horse,” he said, unable to pull his gaze away from the country he had missed so much. “He didn’t have to do it.”
A noisy cloud of sparrows raced from one tree to the next, following the men’s progress.
Sheriff Preston laughed. “Well, if it’s one thing Winthrop has a lot of, it’s horses. You’re most likely doing him a favor relieving a small portion of his responsibility.” He glanced over and smiled. “You’ll like working for Win. He’s a good man.”
The smell of the land was exactly as Thom remembered, as was the blueness of the sky. He’d missed the sky—and its sapphire shade that seemed to reach into eternity. All those hours staring up at the ceiling of his cell, he’d imagined he was right here, on this very road, going home.
They stopped on the crest overlooking the land that had once been the Donovan farm. The sheriff rested his palms, one on top of the other, on his saddle horn and stretched up to get a good look.
“There she is.”
It was hard for Thom to look. The farm, one of the finest pieces of land in all of the Wyoming Territory, sat dry and fallow. The front field, which had once produced an abundance of wheat, corn, and barley, was overrun in a blanket of weeds. The dirt blew on the breeze and seemed to cry out to him with a haunted voice, admonishing him for the poor treatment it had suffered. Thom knew its potential, and the sight rocked him to his core.
“I was the son that inherited the love of the land,” he said. “Roland and Anne Marie had no interest at all. They did only the chores they had to. Strange that I was the one to run off and leave it behind.” The house looked small now. Run-down. Lonely.
A dog barked. Thom watched as a German shepherd crawled from beneath the front porch and glanced about.
“Ivan! He’s still alive.” The desperate loneliness that had enveloped him since being released dissolved at the sight
of his dog.
Ivan looked to the barn and then to the corral that held two horses, not yet catching the humans’ scent. He took the stairs stiffly, gave a halfhearted woof, then lay down on the porch.
“He’s old,” Thom said under his breath. He nudged his mount down the road.
This time, Ivan spotted them and began barking in earnest. His glossy black-and-tan coat was dull, and his muzzle sported white hair, like an old man’s beard.
“Ivan. Here, boy,” Thom called, dismounting. The dog tipped his head and his barking stopped. “Ivan, come.”
The dog hurried down the steps as best he could, and Thom met him halfway. Bending to one knee, he wrapped his arms around the old dog’s neck as Ivan whined happily, his warm tongue licking Thom’s face.
“Well, I’ll be. I think he remembers me,” Thom said, barely getting the words past the stiffness of his throat. He hugged Ivan close to his heart and then buried his face in the thick fur, wishing it were possible to be transported back in time eight years and one day.
Time ticked by. Albert cleared his throat. “He wouldn’t leave the place when your mother passed on. Hannah tried to take him to her house in town so she could care for him, but he kept running away and coming back here. Soon after, the new owners moved in and they have been seeing to his needs.”
Thom nodded, the only response he could manage.
Ivan’s dark eyes gazed lovingly into his. It was good to know that someone was glad he was home; someone had missed him. He thought about his mother and father and Roland, buried in the graveyard. About Anne Marie, somewhere far up north. Tears prickled behind his eyes. Taking a firm hold of his emotions, he rocked back on his heels and stared across Ivan’s back in the direction of Hannah’s old farm. He assumed Hannah’s mother had sold it at some point, maybe when Hannah married Caleb, and they’d all moved into the house in town.
Eight years felt like a lifetime. He’d left for the shame he’d caused his family, but only later, when he was traveling alone on the road, did he realize how much more he’d lost. He’d taken with him a handkerchief Hannah had left behind on one of her visits—Hannah, who had held his happiness in the palm of her hand for as long as he could remember. Seeing her again today had brought all those feelings rushing back with force. For several fleeting seconds, time had melted away and he felt fifteen again, in love, lost in her eyes. Somewhere along the way he’d misplaced the handkerchief, maybe during the arrest or the time he’d spent recuperating, he didn’t know. But he’d pictured it many times over the years, drawing from it strength to go on. He used to think prison was the worst thing in the world that could happen to him; now he knew better.
Thom stood and took one last gut-wrenching look at his childhood home. “Come on, Ivan,” he said without taking his gaze off the place. “I’m not leaving you behind again.”
“Markus, I’m home.” Hannah stopped in the entry of the two-story, gingerbread-trimmed Victorian home and untied the sashes under her chin. She was tired. Thank goodness the restaurant wasn’t far from her home on the west side of town—just over the small bridge that crossed Shady Creek and down Main Street. She hung her bonnet over the banister as she crossed the room, a drawn-out sigh escaping her lips. She collapsed into a chair. When she closed her eyes, Thom popped into her mind.
“Mommy!” Markus’s voice rang out from somewhere upstairs. A door slammed. Footfalls raced across the floor.
Hannah sat up and quickly unlaced her boots. She pulled them off one by one and, as unladylike as usual, pulled her left foot into her lap, massaging out the kinks.
“I thought I heard you come in.” Her mother descended the long staircase with a firm grip on Markus’s little hand. His face shone with excitement as he struggled to get free.
“Hi, Mommy!” His high-pitched voice practically echoed around the room.
“My goodness.” Hannah laughed. “You do have a healthy set of lungs. Come here and give your tired ole ma a hug.”
He tried, but his grandmother kept a tight hold on him. “He mustn’t run in the house, Hannah. When will you teach him some manners?”
“You are not old, Mommy.” Markus glanced up innocently into Roberta Brown’s face. “Grammy is old.” Hannah had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. Her mother, thirty-eight and a widow for six years, hardly considered herself past her prime.
Hannah set her left foot down, picked up her right, and began massaging its aches and pains.
Her mother wrinkled her nose. “Really, Hannah. Must you?”
“Yes, Mother, I must. I’m sorry if it offends your delicate sensibilities, but my old boots are ready to be thrown out. They’re paper-thin, and I feel the tiniest of pebbles each time I take a step.”
Almost down the staircase, Markus pulled free and leaped down the last step. He ran the last few feet to Hannah, wriggling into her lap. Shiny brown hair tickled her face, and she had to draw back quickly and rub her nose to squelch a sneeze. “So what did you do today, little man? Did you get into any trouble?”
He shook his head. “No, ma’am. I was a very good boy.”
“Of course you were.” She kissed one cheek and then the other, relishing the feel of her son in her arms. Markus was the center of her universe. Her reason for living.
“Young man? Are you telling a fib?” Roberta asked sternly.
Hannah kissed him again and rubbed his small back, holding back her sharp retort. A five-year-old does not intentionally lie. Hannah had already had that conversation with her mother several times. She hated to get off on the wrong foot again tonight. She was worn out.
Her mother seated herself opposite Hannah, her expression pulled tight like a drum. “I can see you’ve been told.”
“Told what?”
“Don’t play games with me, Hannah. News travels fast in a town this size. Your face is all rosy because of it. That Irishman is out of prison. I sincerely hope you’re not considering picking up where you left off.”
Hannah set Markus on the floor and touched the end of his nose, making him smile despite the crinkle of worry between his expressive eyebrows. Even at his tender age, he was quite astute at picking up on the unsettling undertones of a conversation.
“Where’s your toy puppy?” she asked Markus. “Go find him for me, will you? I’d like to give him a pat on the head.”
After Markus had gone, Hannah turned, looking her mother square in the eye. “If you remember, I was twelve when Thom left town. Hardly old enough to have something to pick up, don’t you think? His sister, Anne Marie, was my best friend and our neighbor. So, yes, it’s true. I did see Thom often when I visited her. Avoiding him would have been impossible.”
Roberta’s brows arched in disbelief, and her eyes glittered dangerously. “If that’s what you want to believe, go right ahead—but I know better. All those nights weeping in your room after he left just confirmed my suspicions. You were always a-blush whenever he was around. A mother can see these things easily. You fancied yourself in love.”
Hannah flushed. “Mother! I was just a girl.”
“Remember, you have your son to consider. And your standing in this community. Not to mention my brother’s. Frank has worked very hard to make something of this town, and his bank has played a big part in doing so. I don’t want you casting any undesirable light on him by associating with trash.”
Hannah stood, hardly holding her temper in check, but her mother, oblivious, continued. “You should be thankful Caleb left you with a means of support for yourself when he died.”
At the mention of the restaurant, Hannah deflated. Now would be a good time to tell her mother about their lack of customers so that Roberta could consider tightening her spending habits. Her mother had run through the money from the sale of the farm long ago, to Hannah’s dismay. But bringing that up would create a bigger fight, and Hannah didn’t want Markus to come into the room while angry words were being exchanged. She’d save the money talk for another time soon.
<
br /> Roberta sniffed and pulled her handkerchief from her sleeve. “Think good and hard before you throw away your future on someone like Mr. Donovan. You could be a prize for some gentleman. Just look at what that hooligan did when he was only a boy—he was a criminal even before he was arrested for rustling. Believe you me—that Irish thug is no gentleman!”
“Mother!”
“Don’t ‘Mother’ me.” Roberta dabbed her cheeks and neck. “Why won’t you consider Dwight?” Her tone had turned pleading. “He’s handsome and has a good name and—”
“Because I don’t even like Dwight. I’ve told you that before.” Hannah picked up her boots and walked over to place them on the bottom stair to later take up to her room.
Her mother looked down her nose knowingly. “Markus wet his bed again today during his nap. He needs the strong hand of a father or you’ll turn him into a sissy. Who better than his loving uncle Dwight?” Roberta rose and headed for the door. “And that’s the last word I’ll say on the matter.” She took her shawl from a peg. “Now that you’re home, I think I’ll go for a walk,” she said. “Do you need anything at the mercantile?”
You’re not going for a walk, but out to gossip. And it’s not hard for me to guess just who you’ll be talking about. “No,” she said and watched Roberta leave.
Her mother’s narrow-mindedness against Thom’s heritage was still alive and well. It was enough to make Hannah sick. Thom’s mother, Katherine Donovan, had been the most giving person Hannah had ever met. Charitable to a fault. And yet some of the townsfolk had still looked down on her until her dying day. Especially Hannah’s own mother—who for years had lived right next door and had been the recipient of countless kind deeds and a Christmas Eve pie each December.
Hannah padded quickly to the door, opened it, and leaned out. “Don’t be gossiping about Thom!” she called. “I mean it. He’ll have a hard enough time making his way in this town as it is.”
Before the Larkspur Blooms Page 3
