by Laura Drake
This place is haunted, but I’m not claiming its ghosts.
And I didn’t see any of this until I spent time in that ramshackle farmhouse held together by not much more than the love of the people who live there.
I get up and pace. This isn’t like me. I’m in my element—alone and unencumbered. I have the means to buy anything I desire. But what if what I desire can’t be bought? It never occurred to me before.
I glance at my phone. I wanted to talk Lorelei in person, but she’s left me no choice. I pull up a text. It’s early, but I know she’ll be at work, opening the diner.
R: Do you think I’ll go away if you ignore me long enough?
Less than a minute later, my phone pings.
L: I hoped.
R: You know me better than that by now.
L: But denial worked for a whole week.
R: I really want to talk. You got the wrong impression. I wasn’t playing games.
Nothing, for five minutes.
R: Besides, you have my jacket.
L: Yeah, I was feeling bad about that. Sorry.
R: I think sorry is probably the word we’ve both said the most to each other.
L: Yeah, sorry.
R: Wait, was that a joke?
L: :/ Maybe?
A grin stretches my lips. I should have tried texting days ago. It feels safer somehow—more removed.
R: I’m not trying to take Sawyer from you. It’s just that she has a legacy here, too. I want to show her that.
L: You do know she’s six months old, right?
R: Yeah, but I’ve been reading books about babies. The latest studies show that babies can imprint, like ducks do, so—
L: Seriously? You bought books?
R: Well, how am I supposed to learn about stuff otherwise?
L: Babies aren’t a college course. You just do it.
R: Kinda hard when she’s there and I’m here.
Silence. I carry my dishes to the sink, rinse them, and put them in the dishwasher. The housekeeper will take care of them later.
L: I have to get to work. Moss is first in line and banging on the door.
R: Tell the old fart I say hi. We’ll talk later.
I hope.
I’m halfway up the Tara-style staircase when it hits me; I don’t have to be here. At least, not full time. The Cessna can get me there in…I don’t know. I take the rest of the stairs two at a time, jog to my room, and pull up the flight software on my tablet. The closest small airport to Unforgiven is—there isn’t one. The closest airport of any kind is Albuquerque, fifty miles away. Doable, but a pain in the ass. Dammit.
Hours later, I’m on horseback, checking the range conditions. The cross-breeding range study I was discussing with the professor at A&M has challenges out here. Pure genes are hard to maintain, due to the fact that bulls respect cows, not boundaries. I know we could achieve a higher yield, but if I can’t keep the herds apart, I have no way of knowing which combination throws the best calves, and without that—
The image of a rusted Realtor’s sign flashes in my mind. Wait a minute. If I bought acreage in Unforgiven, I could start the experiment there. And since the range is poorer, it would be an even better test. Along with better yields, range cattle have to be hardy. It wouldn’t be hard to grub out a landing strip; the Cessna doesn’t need much.
The sun seems brighter all of a sudden. Colors leach into the black-and-white existence I’ve been living the past week. I could spend time with my niece and help the business. Given enough money, most things are possible.
The exception to the rule is Lorelei West. My spirits rise on the helium of hope. Lorelei’s feisty and she doesn’t trust me yet, but I am drawn to her good heart. She’ll fight to the death for her town, her friends, her family—even stray dogs. You have to respect that.
Then there’s that pink bra that I can’t get out of my mind.
When I get back to the house, I’m going to look up the Realtor in charge of the land out near Lorelei’s property. Can’t be too hard to find. If there are more than two Realtors in Unforgiven, they’d starve.
* * *
Lorelei
I walk out to Einstein one morning to see a big Cat grader at work a hundred yards behind the barn, on the land that used to be ours. Old Man Duggar’s kids put it up for sale when he passed away, and that was five—no seven—years ago. Someone must’ve finally bought it. A wave of melancholy stops my feet, and my hand covers my heart, as if to shield it.
Oh, who am I kidding? I can’t even replace our roof, much less amass the fortune it would take to buy three hundred acres. Jerking the door open, I toss my bag into the seat and fall in. Time to go to work.
Around nine, I give our waitress a break and go on refill patrol. Conversation flows around me like a river.
“If we don’t get rain soon, I’m gonna have to start hauling water…”
“And I told him, that danged truck ain’t worth half…”
“Did’ja hear the old Duggar place sold?”
I stop, midpour. “What do you know?”
Floyd, the big-bellied owner of Floyd’s Super Clean Used Cars, looks up from his double order of chili-cheese fries. “Huh?”
“Do you know who bought it?”
“Thought you’d know.” He winks. “It’s that rich Texan relative of yours.”
My stomach drops and the tea pitcher has gotten so heavy I set it on the table. “No.”
“Yeah.” He shovels a forkful of the gooey, colorful mess into his maw.
I’m not asking more. I walk away. The only thing worse than seeing him shovel it in would be watching him talk and eat at the same time.
Something this big needs verification, and I know where to find the horse’s mouth. I walk back to my office and call the Patriot.
“Unforgiven’s home for news.”
“Is Ann in?”
“Hold on.”
“Ann Miner.” Her voice is as clipped as her manners.
“Ann, this is Lorelei, over at the diner. I was just wondering if you know who bought the Duggar place.”
“The sale is registered at city hall.” She sniffs. “It’s hardly a secret. You could go down there and—”
“Just tell me, will you?” God save us from snotty busybodies.
“It’s that Texas oilman. Reese something…I have it right here.” Papers rustle.
“Thanks. I know his last name.” I hang up. I’m seething, but there’s nothing I can do. It’s a free country, and God knows he has the money. A wave of awareness swamps me, pulling me under. He will be there for Sawyer’s milestones…Oh my God, he’ll probably want to walk her down the aisle. I am never going to be free of the man. I plop my forehead on my desk. Denial works, but only for so long. My reaction is about Sawyer, my jealousy, and the fear that he could give her more. She could like him more.
But it’s also about him. He sees through me. I’ve been searching for weeks and still haven’t found a dark corner deep inside where that knowledge fits. It’s odd-shaped and uncomfortable, like a shoe on the wrong foot. You can’t ignore it. Well, I’m going to have to find out how, because this is not going away. I wish I could pare down this fact as easily as a hunk of maple. But reality is a much harder wood.
I jump when my phone rings. I look at the screen and am relieved to see Carly’s photo.
Her honeyed voice is welcome. “Hey, girlfriend. I’m going stir crazy out here. Let’s have a playdate, just you, me, and the kids.”
I hear a dryer door slam. “Aren’t you supposed to be taking it easy?” Carly has difficult deliveries; her first nearly took her down. Though both little Austin and Carly are fine, the doctor isn’t taking chances.
“Hello, I have a cowboy husband, a one-and-a-half-year-old, and a newborn. Do you have any idea of how many loads a day that equates to? I should buy stock in detergent.”
I hear the smile in her voice. “Yeah, and you hate every minute.”
“We’re giving it a c
ouple of months and trying for another. I’m Fertile Myrtle, so I’ll probably catch first time around.”
“At this rate, you’re going to get that baseball team that Austin wants.”
“And at this rate, I’ll be stepping on my boobs in two years. Come and listen to me complain awhile, will you? Besides, I want to see Sawyer.”
“Except Mrs. Wheelwright’s only day off is Sunday, and you know I can’t leave Momma alone. Why don’t you come to my place? We’ll put the babies down and give ourselves a spa treatment.”
“That sounds like heaven. If I bring the box, will you do my hair? Dark roots are for trees.”
“I will if you bring your Wicked Woman red nail polish.”
“Deal. I can’t wait. If I have to spend much more time with Mr. Testosterone, I will not be held responsible for my actions.”
I smile, stupidly grateful for some girl time. “Consider it a date.” I hang up. It’ll be nice to talk out my feelings about Reese. No, that didn’t sound right. Talk to another mother about my Reese problem.
Chapter 8
Reese
I study the drawings on the architect’s table, a sense of rightness falling over me. Compared to Bo’s house, the cabin is modest, only twenty-five hundred square feet, but it’s beautiful, with huge windows and a wraparound porch. “You’ve captured my idea perfectly, Dan. When can you start building, and when can you be done?”
The thin-faced, bearded man taps a mechanical pencil against the renderings. “Since I have a source for seasoned logs, it cuts wait time. Say three weeks for the foundation and a few months to build…I can have it ready to move in, say, end of October?”
“I know that’s fast, and I appreciate it. But can you shave a week or two off that for a bonus for finishing early?”
The side of his mouth thins out in preparation for a polite no.
“Done by end of September for, say, a twenty percent bonus?”
His eyes widen. “Um. Yes.” He clears his throat. “I think that could be arranged, but it’s going to cost you lots of overtime.”
“It’s a deal, then.” I hold out my hand and he shakes it. Enthusiastically. “I want to show you the site. I have the location of the house picked out. Are you free to fly out tomorrow?”
“I can clear my schedule.”
“Good. Can you meet me out at the airport at seven?”
“Yes, Mr. St. James.”
I stride for the door, an excitement rising in me like tree sap in the spring. I haven’t felt that in forever.
After I bought the land, brought the fences up to bull standards, and grubbed out the runway, I thought about where I’d live part-time. I could have rented one of those dusty apartments over a shuttered store on the square, but town felt too far away from the Wests. I considered a manufactured home, but I want something more permanent.
I spent hours scanning photos and floor plans on the Internet. I knew what I didn’t want—a showy albatross like this one. The more I looked, the more overwhelmed I was: Tudor? Italian? Bungalow? I had never considered what fit me—I was always too busy trying to fit where I was. But when I saw the log homes, the soaring walls of windows, oak floors, and cozy fireplaces, I knew what my style was. It touched a chord in me. It said, home.
Oh, I know, a log cabin is more suited to the mountains than the desert terrain of Unforgiven, but I don’t care. What matters is that Sawyer will be close and I’ll have a roof that suits me over my head.
I’ll split my time between here and Unforgiven, but I have a feeling I’ll leave my heart there, along with my spare clothes.
And I’ll be there tomorrow. I have business to do, but maybe I can wrangle a visit with Sawyer. My heart gives a few heavy thuds. The best part would be getting to see Lorelei, but I won’t have a way to get to town. I make a mental note to buy a car to keep there, because I’m not going to Unforgiven and missing her blue-suede eyes and sweet smile.
I walk out of the Dallas skyscraper, grinning like a fool.
* * *
Lorelei
Carly sits on the closed toilet in my bathroom, a towel on her shoulders, her hair glopped up with dye and covered in a shower cap. I set the timer on my phone and place it on the sink. “You’ve got fifteen minutes to cook, and we’ll get that stuff off you.”
“Thank you, hon. You have no idea how much I’ve needed this. Now, give me those claws.”
“I needed this as much as you.” I sit on the edge of the tub and hold out my hand.
She inspects my ragged nails and shakes her head. “Jeez, woman, have you taken a part-time job at the car wash? Your nails are a disaster.”
“No, but if they had a midnight shift, I’d think about it. Fish checked out the roof, and the news wasn’t good. The whole thing has to be replaced from the support beams out. Where the money is going to come for that, I have no idea.”
Carly squeezes my hand. “You know I’d float you a loan, but Austin just bought another bull, and with the new baby, we’re kinda short.”
I jerk my fingers from hers. “Carly Davis, whatever made you think I’d take money from you?”
She snatches my hand back and picks up a nail file. “Well, I don’t have it to offer, so it’s not an argument we need to have, right?”
“Right.” I’ve been over the budget, and even in my sleep, the numbers didn’t change.
Carly starts filing. “Okay, let’s get to it, because I don’t know how long Mary and the babies will nap, and when they wake up, there’ll be pandemonium.” There’s a predatory gleam in her eyes. “Tell me about Sawyer’s uncle.”
“Ugh.” I roll my eyes. “He’s the most aggravating, presumptuous, pushy—”
“Cute.”
“Know-it-all—”
“Charming.”
“Domineering—”
“Kind.” A smug cat smile plays around the corners of her mouth. “Oh yes, and fabulously rich.”
“Have you not been listening?”
“Yep. And I’m hearing all those words you’re not saying.”
“Carly Beauchamp Davis, you do not want to go there.” My words cut through her soft tone like a shark through chum.
“What?” She looks up.
“Don’t give me that rodeo-queen eyelash flutter. You and Mrs. Wheelwright. I swear—”
“Mrs. Wheelwright sees potential, too?”
“I love her, but not as a matchmaker.”
Carly sighs and drops my hand but doesn’t let go. “Lorelei, why won’t you even consider the thought that this guy—”
“Men just let you down. Oh, and I almost forgot the worst thing of all. He’s a liar.”
“Look, I get it. When you fall in love, you fall hard. There was no way you could have known that danged produce salesman was married.”
“God, Carly, don’t bring him up, I was mooning over wedding dresses in bridal magazines.” Shame burns up my throat and onto my cheeks. “The whole town pitied me.”
“Yeah, that sucked.” She moves on to the next nail. “But like Nana says, ‘One butthole doesn’t spoil the whole tote sack.’ I know you, girlfriend. You act all aloof and above falling in love, but you’d kill to have what Austin and I have, and don’t you try to deny it.” She points at me. “You gave up too soon. Maybe it was because it was intimidating, living in Patsy’s shadow. Maybe you were afraid of looking the fool again. But guess what? No one ever died from looking a fool. It’s time to jump back into the human race, Lorelei. You are denying yourself the best of life. And this Reese—”
“Oh my God, what is wrong with everyone?” I throw my hands in the air. “Even if Reese St. James weren’t all the things I just told you—which he is—even if he weren’t five years younger than me—which he is—even if he were interested—which he isn’t…Can’t you see? All he wants is Sawyer.”
“Oh, okay.” She nods, but I know this girl; she’s just putting it down. For now. “What’s he going to do with all that land he bought?” She takes back my hand
and continues filing.
I snort. “How would I know? I’m not his financial consultant.”
“Don’t you talk to him?”
“Only when we need to coordinate about Sawyer. Mostly through texts.”
“Oh, you’re texting.” She sounds like we’re in high school, talking about passing notes with the cute senior.
“We were before I found out I’m going to be surrounded by him. Forever.”
Her shower cap crinkles when she tips her head and sighs. “But, hon, Sawyer having another relative around is a good thing, isn’t it?”
Bull’s-eye. My phone beeps. “Time to rinse out your hair.”
“It can wait one minute.” She leans into my personal space. “Sorry, girlfriend. Not buying your logic. You have custody, and no judge in the state would find a reason to turn Sawyer over to him. You have to know that. So what is really bugging you about this guy?”
“I already explained all this.” I stand with a sigh, turn on the water and wait for it to heat.
“You want to know what I think?” she whispers.
“No, I really don’t.” I pull the shower cap off her head. “Let’s get that goo off, or the color is going to be more Bozo than”—I read the label on the box—“Fiery Siren.”
She bends over the sink and puts her head under the water. “I think you’re afraid of liking him.”
I twist the cold faucet all the way open, smiling at her squeal.
* * *
Reese
“Are you sure you can land on this thing?” From his spastic grip on the Cessna’s dash, Dan is trying to hold the plane together by sheer will.
I lower the flaps to the last notch and cut the speed to sixty, and the plane dips down within a hundred feet of the grubbed-out airstrip. “Piece of cake. Good thing about the land in Unforgiven is that it’s flat.”
“I just hope it’s forgiving,” he mutters, closing his eyes.
I’m not judging. The tan scar in the grass rises to meet the landing gear. “Down in three, two, one…”
He starts at the slight bump of a three-point landing.
“You can open your eyes now.”
I taxi, then turn back, shut the plane down behind Lorelei’s ramshackle barn, and unbuckle my belt. “Come on, I need to know where you recommend putting the house.”