Much to her surprise, she found a picture of a very young Winona waving a flag. Mel felt her throat clutching and a tear trailing down her cheek, just to see the pretty, vibrant woman Winona had once been. The photo was taken on Main Street during the annual Fourth of July Parade more than seventy years ago. The caption read “Miss Winona Cobbs waves the red, white and blue.”
Mel visited Winona that afternoon. She found the old woman resting on the couch in her small living room. The network of wrinkles on her pale cheeks deepening with her welcoming smile, Winona sat up and reached for a hug. She let Mel brew them both some tea. They sipped and chatted about inconsequential things while Mel tried to find the right moment to bring up the story she’d read the night before.
She’d yet to find a way to broach the strange and difficult subject when Winona set her teacup and saucer aside. She had that look, the one she got when she knew something was bothering Mel.
For a moment, Mel felt eerily certain that her friend was about to announce that she, Winona, was the “W” of the journal, that she’d once loved Josiah Abernathy and ended up in the hospital when her baby was lost to her.
But then, very gently, Winona asked, “How’s Todd?”
And Mel realized that Winona had picked up on the other thing that was bothering her. “You don’t really want to hear.”
“Yes, Mellie. I want to hear.”
“Well, I don’t want to go into detail about all that went wrong.”
“That’s all right, too. I just want you to know I’m here and ready to listen if you need to talk it over.”
“Thank you. The downstroke is that Todd and I are over. I moved out of his house and I’m never going back to him.”
“Where are you living?” Winona frowned. “Somehow, I don’t see you moving back home to stay...”
Mel had lived in Bozeman for the past eight years, coming home in the summers and for holidays the first two years when her parents were still alive and less frequently after that. “No, I’m just in town for a few days. I’ve left Bozeman behind for good, though. In fact, I’ve got a temporary job waiting for me in Bronco. I start next week.”
“Bronco,” Winona echoed teasingly. “Aren’t you the fancy one?”
In the heart of Montana, Bronco was a five-hour drive southeast from Rust Creek Falls. The town was well known as home to some of the wealthiest people in the state. “I’ll be managing a new restaurant for DJ Traub.”
“DJ Traub of DJ’s Rib Shacks?”
“That’s him.”
“You worked in a Bozeman Rib Shack all through college, didn’t you?”
“I did, yes. The Bronco DJ’s is more upscale, though. It’s called DJ’s Deluxe and it’s in Bronco Heights.”
“Where all those rich people live.”
“Yes, Winona,” Mel said with a grin. “In the posh part of town.”
“And you said the job in Bronco is temporary?”
“That’s right. At the end of the year, I’m moving to Austin. I’ve already got something good lined up there. A company that tried to hire me more than once while I was in Bozeman is expanding into Texas. I’ll be their finance and insurance manager. I have to tell you, I’m more than ready for a real change.”
“You are such a go-getter.” Winona gave her that strange little smile—the one that always had Mel thinking the old woman knew a lot more than she was saying. “But as for your move to Texas, we’ll see, won’t we?”
“It’s happening, Winona. I’ll be back now and then to visit you, and to look after the house.” Though she had no plans to live in her hometown again, Mel had never been able to bring herself to sell her parents’ house, so she rented it. Her last tenant had moved out a month ago—which meant it had been waiting for her when she’d left Todd. The property manager she used had a new tenant moving in on August 1st. In the meantime, Mel had scheduled painters to freshen up a couple of the rooms and a handyman to take care of a couple of necessary repairs over the next few weeks.
“You won’t move back to Rust Creek Falls and I understand that. I can see you’re ready for something new. But Montana is your home,” Winona insisted with a challenging gleam in her eyes. “I don’t really believe Texas is where you’re meant to be.”
There was little point in arguing with Winona when she’d made up her mind. Mel settled for giving her friend a noncommittal smile. “As you said, we’ll see...”
“You belong here in Big Sky Country, dear,” Winona said gently. “You’ll figure that out, I think.” And then she seemed to sag a little. “Oh, I do get tired these days.”
“Lie down, then. Get comfortable.”
With a weary little sigh, Winona slipped off her shoes again and slowly stretched out. Mel got up and settled the afghan over her. As she leaned close, Winona reached out and brushed a hand, light as a moth’s wing, against Mel’s cheek. “You’re a sweet girl, Mellie.”
The diary, Mel thought. She still hadn’t managed to bring it up to Winona—but really, where to even begin? So many questions had backed themselves up in her throat.
And Winona looked so frail. If the story Josiah Abernathy had written in the journal was true and Winona was his beloved “W,” how would she respond to the startling news that the baby she’d believed had died so long ago might have lived, after all?
Wilder Crawford was probably right. Dumping something like that on a weakened woman in her nineties could cause a stroke or a heart attack.
And what good, really, would dredging up a tragic past do for Winona now?
* * *
Mel left Winona’s little house without revealing what she knew.
First thing the next morning, she packed up her Audi Q7. The U-Haul she’d rented in Bozeman was already full of the few pieces of furniture and necessary household goods she’d taken from the house she’d shared with Todd. By 9:00 a.m., she was on her way to Bronco, where her interim job at DJ Traub’s new restaurant was waiting, along with a studio apartment in a great building in Bronco Heights.
She took the old journal and its hidden letter with her—and no, she had no plans to pursue the mystery of Winona and Josiah and the lost baby Beatrix any further. But Wilder Crawford wouldn’t take it back, so what else could she do?
Chapter One
Gabe Abernathy loved his family. But sometimes they made him a little bit crazy. Especially his dad. George Abernathy knew how a ranch should be run: his way. He didn’t like anybody suggesting anything new or different—and “anybody” included his own 32-year-old son.
Mostly, Gabe let his dad run the ranch. He pitched in when needed and put his focus on his investments and property deals. Abernathy was an important name in Bronco and Gabe knew all the heavy hitters in the area. Luckily for his bank account, there were a lot of rich men—and women—in Gabe’s hometown. And Gabe was on a first-name basis with most of them.
He still lived on the family ranch, though. He’d built his own place in a beautiful spot not far from the main house. Proximity to his parents had its benefits. It kept their family bond strong and he was there if they needed him. But living a few hundred yards from their front door also meant it was pretty much a given that now and then, he and his dad would lock horns. Gabe tried to pick his battles, but sometimes a man had to say what he thought.
Today had been one of those times. He and his dad had had words, an argument about overgrazing that went nowhere, as usual.
In the end, Gabe had tacked up Custard, his palomino gelding, and ridden out on the land to cool off.
The ride helped. The day was warm and breezy with a few cottony clouds floating around up there in the endless Montana sky, the kind of day that made a man count his blessings. Gabe was strong and smart and rich. His dad got on his last nerve now and then, but Gabe had nothing to complain about, really.
He clicked his tongue at Custard, stirring him to a canter and then to a g
allop as they climbed the next rise. “Whoa, boy...” He drew the horse to a stop at the crest and leaned on the saddle horn.
Someone was trespassing.
Below, on the side of one of the winding dirt roads that crisscrossed the ranch, sat a silver SUV. It looked empty from Gabe’s vantage point.
He clicked his tongue again and Custard took him down the other side of the hill to the vehicle.
He dismounted and circled the car, peering in the windows as he went. A yellow sweater was draped over the back of the passenger seat—a woman’s sweater, soft-looking, with little pearl buttons. Through the passenger window, he spotted what looked like a zebra-patterned pouch in the side compartment of the driver’s door. Makeup essentials, most likely.
Girlfriends on an adventure across private land? A definite possibility. They were probably harmless, but it never hurt to let tourists know that cattle could be dangerous and a working ranch was not a public park.
Right away, he found the footprints. There was only one set of them, after all. Leading Custard by the reins, his loaded rifle in his free hand, just in case, he followed the tracks of a pair of female-sized boots up over the next rise.
On the other side, the land sloped gently down to a copse of cottonwoods and the banks of Little Big Bear Creek, a narrow, swift-running stream that wound its way over a good portion of the Abernathy spread.
Maybe ten feet from the creek, a small blonde woman in jeans and a silky shirt the color of a ripe apricot sat on a blanket with a picnic basket at her side. She had her head in her hands. Her slim shoulders shook. Gabe could hear her sad little sobs.
As a rule, crying women made Gabe as uncomfortable as the next guy. He considered turning around and going back the way he’d come. But she looked so pitiful, her shoulders all hunched over in misery, her pretty wheat-colored hair falling in thick waves down her slender back. He had the strangest urge to comfort her at the same time as he felt he had no place intruding on a total stranger’s private misery.
Then Custard let out a nervous snort.
The woman jumped up and whirled to face him, her streaming eyes widening at the sight of his rifle. Slowly, she put up her hands.
“Hey,” he said gently, trying on a sheepish smile. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
“You know what?” She dropped her hands with a forlorn little sigh. “Go ahead and shoot.”
“Aw, now. You don’t mean that...”
For a long moment, they simply regarded each other. Finally, she sniffed. “So you’re not gonna shoot me?”
He engaged the safety and stuck the rifle back in the scabbard. “There. Just being cautious, that’s all.”
She tipped her head to the side as she regarded him. “Who are you?”
“I’m Gabe. I live here.”
That brought a sad little laugh. “Just a lonesome cowboy, huh?”
“Pretty much.” Yeah, okay. He was a long way from a poor cowpoke, but the woman was upset. The last thing she needed right now was some rich guy bragging about how much money he had. “Is it all right if I come down there?” When she gave him a slow nod, he led Custard on down to her, stopping a few yards from the blanket. “Mind if I join you?”
A tiny crease drew down between her sleek gold-kissed eyebrows. “Why?”
“You look like you could maybe use some company.”
With a sniffle, she swiped tear tracks from her cheeks. “I came out here to be alone.”
“Ah.” The silence stretched out as they stared at each other. Even with her eyes and nose red from crying, she was gorgeous. He considered informing her that she was trespassing on private property. But really, it was obvious she only wanted to sit by the creek and cry in peace. “All right then, you be safe.” He started back the way he’d come, Custard following placidly after him.
“Wait!” she called. When he paused and glanced back at her, she said, “On second thought, yeah.”
“Yeah, I should join you?”
“Well, I mean, if you still want to.”
“All right, then.” He led his horse down to the creekside. It took only a minute to hitch Custard to a cottonwood. When he glanced at the woman again, she had dropped to the blanket. With a brave little smile, she patted the space next to her.
Not wanting to spook her any more than he already had, he approached her slowly and took the spot she’d indicated, setting his hat on the blanket between them.
A little smile tugged on the corners of her soft mouth. Kind of devilish, that smile. She could get up to trouble, this one. And she had a look in those tear-damp blue eyes that said she wouldn’t be putting up with any man’s crap. He might have caught her in a weak moment, but if he thought he could get one over on her, he had another think coming.
He glanced up at the sky. “Pretty day.”
She gave a little snort-laugh. “That the best you can do?”
He doubled down. “It’s a beautiful day.” And it was. That gentle breeze was still blowing, and the cottonwoods were kind of whispering together. The creek burbled in a cheerful way, glittering in the sun. A few clouds had gathered, creating dappled shadow on the ground as they drifted by overhead.
“I’m Melanie Driscoll. Call me Mel.”
He looked at her again. It was a pure pleasure to do so. “Good to meet you, Mel.”
“I’ll bet you want to know why I’ve been bawling my eyes out, don’t you?”
“I do want to hear, if you want to tell me.”
That brought a small laugh and a long sigh. “I have to admit, there’s something oddly safe about telling a stranger the things you don’t have the heart to say to people you’ve known most of your life.”
“I’m listening.”
She blew out her cheeks with a hard breath. “It’s nothing new or different. In fact, it’s the oldest story in the book. A couple of weeks ago, I came home at lunch to find my fiancé, Todd, in bed with another woman.”
“A cheater. Tell me you dumped his sorry ass.”
“You bet I did. I threw his ostentatious diamond ring in his cheating face, packed a bag and left. He followed me out the door, swearing it was nothing, promising that it would never happen again.”
“You didn’t believe him.” It wasn’t a question.
“No, I did not. There had been others. I’d seen the signs, but I’d been kidding myself. Long story short, a few days later I went back to collect what few belongings I had. But I was definitely done with Todd. I quit my job with his family’s company—because, yeah. Todd was the heir to the business where I’d been working my butt off since I graduated from Montana State. It was a job I loved, by the way. I’d made it to the top of the finance and insurance department.” She pulled her knees up to her chest, rested her chin on them and stared off toward the creek. “Our plan, Cheating Todd’s and mine, was to buy out his parents and run the place together. It was a tractor dealership. Spurlock’s Farm Machinery.”
Gabe knew of Spurlock’s. A family business, a successful one, in Bozeman. “So then, you’re from Bozeman?”
She shook her head. “Born and raised in Rust Creek Falls.”
“Pretty country up there—and I’m sorry,” he said. “At least about the job. Sounds like getting rid of Todd was a damn good move.”
“Thank you, Gabe. I couldn’t agree with you more.” She stretched out her slim denim-clad legs, leaned back on her hands and spent several seconds regarding the thickening clouds overhead. “I went home to Rust Creek Falls for a few days. It’s never been the same there for me, though. My folks were killed six years ago in a head-on collision with a long-haul trucker who fell asleep at the wheel.”
“That’s rough.” He really did want to comfort her and had to remind himself not to reach out and touch her—maybe stroke her silky-looking hair or wrap an arm around her. He felt powerfully drawn to her, but he needed to
remember that he didn’t really know her and he had a responsibility to respect her space.
She shrugged, her face still tipped up to the sky. “Thus, the crying jag. And now, I’m in Bronco till the first of the year, here to temporarily manage the new DJ’s Deluxe restaurant in Bronco Heights—and put A-hole Todd firmly in my poor, broken heart’s rearview mirror.” Finally, she glanced his way.
He returned her wobbly smile with a relaxed one of his own. “What happens at the first of the year?”
“I’m moving to Austin, taking a job as F&I manager for a company similar to Spurlock’s. Getting a whole new start in Texas, if you know what I mean.”
Was it crazy that he was already thinking he didn’t want her to go? “Maybe you’ll discover how much you like it here, decide that Bronco is the right place for you.”
“Not likely, Gabe. I’m ready for a major change.”
“You’ll miss Montana. The winters won’t be long enough and the summers in Austin—way too hot and sticky.”
They were looking at each other and they both kept on looking. It felt easy to him, not awkward or strange. It felt like they were sharing secrets with their eyes.
She broke the extended silence. “I have a picnic.”
“I noticed the basket.”
Those jewel-blue eyes glinted with humor. And invitation. “I’m willing to share.”
“I would like that.”
“All right, then.” She pulled the basket closer and turned so she was sitting facing him. Moving the basket between them, she set out cheese and crackers, apple slices and grapes. She had a bottle of white wine and a corkscrew. “Do the honors?” she asked.
He opened the wine and poured it into the plastic Solo cups she’d brought.
They shared a toast to new beginnings. He was having a great time, his frustration with his father all but forgotten in the pleasure of just being with her. This was one of those great things that happen now and then in life—a magical encounter with a complete stranger.
She nibbled on a cracker and said what he was thinking. “This is kind of magical, Gabe. I don’t really even know you, but you’ve made me feel so much better about everything without really saying much of anything.” She laughed, the sound soft and sweetly self-deprecating. “So far, I’ve done way more than my share of the talking.”
In Search of the Long-Lost Maverick Page 2
