High Mountain Drifter

by Jillian Hart

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  A bleak, pre-dawn hush settled over the hillside. Everything was so still, like a predator waiting. Zane's boots crunched and crackled on the frozen hard ground as he circled the buckboard and horses, checking rigging and wheels, making sure everything was secure for the long journey. He felt as iced up as the world around him.

  Don't look back, he thought firmly. That was the only way he could go. To make himself as cold as the darkness, not to think of her, to keep his feelings for her frozen. He climbed into the buckboard, shivering, and gathered the reins. In the bone-numbing cold, he gritted his teeth to keep them from chattering and chirruped to the horses.

  "Let's go," he said more to himself than them. Definitive. Sure. A man doing what he had to do.

  The buckboard jerked forward, rolling away from one of the barns. Winchester and Scout, heads up, walking briskly, carried him past the dark kitchen house, where no one was up yet, and down the curving lane to the county road below.

  Just keep going, he thought. He summoned up every scrap of willpower not to glance over his shoulder and search for the faint hint of a shadowy roofline through the trees near the crest of the hill, Verbena's home. Proof of how hopeless it was, him and his fierce longing for her. He gritted his teeth, kept his eyes on the road. Shivered against the bone-numbing cold and felt exhaustion settle in.

  He hadn't gotten more than a few winks of sleep last night. There had been no physical reason for it. His room in the bunkhouse had been quiet, the mattress comfortable with more than enough blankets, but he'd been fitful, not able to settle. Guess it was hard to drift away when your heart was broken. When you knew you'd hurt the love of your life by doing the right thing...telling the truth. If he hadn't told her, then one day it would come back to haunt him and it would hurt her more.

  Besides, he was a drifter. A man who had no ties, wouldn’t know what to do with them if he did. The good thing in all this was that the sunroom had been dark enough so that when he'd been honest with her, he couldn't clearly see what was on her face. He'd been smart to walk away before those loving looks she gave him died. At least he still had the memory of her gazing up at him raptly with high regard, and her smiles, her touches, those kisses. The only saving grace.

  The horses clopped along, brisk and dutiful. The fields and forests of the Rocking M whisked by in dark glory backlit by the first haze of lighter shadows from the east. A break in the trees came up on his left, a lane that led to Verbena's home. He steeled himself, hands fisting, jaw clenching, to keep from reining the horses up that driveway.

  Leaving her was the hardest thing he'd ever had to do. He snapped the reins, urging the horses faster. They broke into a trot, devotedly hauling him away from her. From the life he was never going to have with her.

  He wasn't the settling down type anyway, he told himself. The last real home he'd had was a shed. What did he know about relationships? About courting a woman? About settling down and sticking, or how to make a marriage work?

  Not one thing.

  But he wanted to. Not that it mattered. He wasn't worthy of a woman like Verbena. Now she knew it too. Likely she was counting her blessings that he'd left, that he hadn't been another Ernest stalking her, seeing her as something to possess and to serve him, or someone to prey on.

  The agony inside rose up, unbearable. Zane closed his eyes against it, stopped breathing to ride out the twist and turn of it. Nothing hurt as much as driving away from her. He loved her that much. Always would.

  That's why he did the best thing for her and kept driving toward those storm clouds gathering in the south. It killed him, but he could keep going as long as he didn't look back.

  * * *

  Aumaleigh scurried up the back steps to the kitchen house in the first rays of dawn, teeth chattering. Brr, it was freezing. It looked like it was going to be one of those bitter cold days, and worse, when she'd stabled Buttons, she noticed the two empty stalls where Zane's horses had been. He was gone, just like Verbena had said. Yes, it was going to be a tough day.

  That poor girl, heartbroken like that. Empathizing, Aumaleigh hurried across the porch and into the light and heat of the kitchen house. She stood shivering in the entry way, as if the cold still had a grip on her. Remembering last night and how dejected the girl had been, it broke her heart. She did not like seeing her nieces in pain. She hated being helpless to fix it.

  "Is it cold enough for you out there?" Josslyn asked, spatula in hand. She looked chipper today, her auburn hair pinned up, her brown eyes sparkling. "I near froze on the drive from town, I tell you. Came across Mr. Reed on the road, heading south. He was polite enough to thank us for the meals and to compliment my cooking. It took me a while, but I like him."

  "I'm not a fan these days." She unwound her scarf. "He broke her heart. Verbena is in love with him."

  "Oh, the poor girl. And he left anyway." Josslyn gave a few strips of bacon a flip in the big skillet, shaking her head. "Guess he's that type. It's interesting that she fell for a man like that. He's not what you'd think of as husband material, not at all, but he did have a steadiness about him."

  "Apparently it wasn't steady enough. I don't know." Aumaleigh shrugged out of her coat and hung it up. "If only there was a cure for a broken heart."

  "Time." Josslyn flipped a few more strips. "That's the only thing there is. The hurt gets better as the years go by, but it doesn't always go away."

  "No, it doesn't." Aumaleigh could attest to that. She marched into the kitchen just as Louisa, the sweet thing, tumbled out of the pantry with her arms wrapped around a heavy canister. At least the girl looked less pale and tired than when she'd first arrived, although they would need to do something about her clothes. Perhaps she could ask if Verbena had some dresses to hand down. They were about the same size. "Good morning, Louisa. Did you sleep well?"

  "Yes, thank you, Ma'am." Louisa set the canister on the central work table. "The room was very comfortable."

  "Good." At least Maebry's old room was getting some use, and Louisa looked as if she needed a safe place to stay for a while. Determined to fatten up the waif-like young woman, Aumaleigh reached for her apron to help out. "I think having you here is going to work out just fine. Would you like help mixing up those pancakes?"

  "No, ma'am, I'm happy to do it myself, being as how Josslyn said you work too much." Louisa bowed her head, prying off the canister's lid. "I told you I can do the work of two, and I mean to do just that. I'm ever so grateful for this job."

  "Well, we're grateful to have you." Aumaleigh noticed the agreeing look Josslyn was sending her. "So, how about I help at the stove?"

  "You leave my stove alone," Josslyn said bossily, with a wink. "We don't have a busy morning today. With Mr. Reed gone, and Tiernan staying with his folks this week, we have fewer men to feed. Orla's running a little late, but Louisa and I should be able to handle breakfast by ourselves."

  "Is that so?" Aumaleigh arched a brow, amused. Really, she was being kicked out of her own kitchen?

  "One of these days you are going to have to accept things have changed." Josslyn set down her spatula and grabbed a hot pad. She poured a cup of coffee. "You are the boss of this place, you don't need to work the long hours your mother used to insist on. Likely it's a habit, but it's a habit you ought to break. You deserve some mornings off. Why don't you go upstairs into the little sitting room and take it easy."

  "I wouldn’t know how to take it easy." Aumaleigh took the cup Josslyn thrust at her. Her silly, dear friend. "What would I do with leisure time? I'm clueless."

  "That's not my problem." Josslyn waved her away. "Now get out of here. It'll be good for you. Shoo."

  "Hmm, maybe I'm not the boss around here." She really didn't want to leave, but she knew Josslyn. There was no one more stubborn, so she took her coffee upstairs. Not to the sitting room, but to the little office in the gable, where she'd piled crates and boxes of her mother's old things from the manor's attic. She liked to be busy, an
d heaven knew this mess needed going through. It was a luxury to have the time and the energy to do it.

  She heaved one of the crates over to the desktop and began sorting through it. Old employee evaluations in Mother's strict script. Grocery lists. Instructions to a dressmaker in Deer Springs. Nothing noteworthy, so she grabbed an empty box and started to fill it. At least they would have plenty of paper for the winter fires. Always a silver lining.

  She paused to take a sip of Josslyn's rich coffee, savor the taste, and leaned back in her chair. The morning was glorious, the long yellow shafts of sun spearing across the solemn landscape. In one of the meadows below, horses huddled together for warmth, drowsing, while others had broken away to get a start on their breakfasts, tails swishing contentedly while they grazed.

  As she lifted her cup again, breathed in the comforting coffee aroma and took another satisfying sip, she wondered if it had been easy or difficult for Zane to ride away. Last night at supper she'd come to an opinion about the man. Sometime during the meal he'd started to seem more comfortable trapped in a room full of women. He'd opened up, laughed, and the way he looked at Verbena made Aumaleigh's heart melt. She remembered when a man had gazed at her that way, back in the day, with honest, true love.

  The memory hooked her, speared deep before pulling her back in time. To the whispering rustle of the wind through the May fields, where buttercups, daisies and butterweed bloomed. Birds sang with merry little chirps and melodies. The sun burned hot on her back as she sat on the top wooden rail of the fence, the temperate wind flapping her skirt around her ankles.

  Anticipation made her jittery and she kept glancing over her shoulder at the distant house, barely visible across the roll of meadows and the windrow of trees. Mother likely wouldn't be able to spot her, but with Mother you just never knew. Aumaleigh's greatest fear was that her formidable mother would come marching across the fields or down the road and haul her back into the house by the collar.

  With any luck, Josslyn had succeeded in keeping Mother busy in the kitchen, going over the shopping list for the week. Maybe this could work, Aumaleigh thought, swinging her feet. She really wanted it to. Her one meeting with Gabriel had made her feel breathless and alive, like someone she'd known forever.

  The faint clomp of horse hooves on the hard-packed road drew her attention. She gasped, her pulse drumming with a rapid thud-thud-thud in her ears. Her palms went damp, anticipation trilled through her like a song. Then his team rounded the corner and into sight and the world tipped on end. She drank in the sight of him, so perfect with his Stetson at an angle, the brim slashing across half his face. The amiable curve of his flawless smile. The wide set of his shoulders, sturdy and impressive beneath green muslin.

  "Hey, there." He pulled his horses to a stop with a light tug on the leather reins, drawing her gaze to his large, capable hands. "What are you doing here? I figured I'd be picking you up at your house."

  "I changed my mind." She hopped off the rail and landed in a patch of daisies. "Plus, I like to go for walks."

  "Then that falls in line with my plans." He knuckled back his hat to get a better look at her, his blue gaze studying her so intently, as if he found her fascinating and beautiful and too captivating to look away from.

  Her heart fluttered. Just rolled right over. No man had ever looked at her in that way before.

  "It's a nice afternoon for a drive," he said, leaning over to hold out his hand to help her in. Palm up, fingers relaxed, waiting for hers. "I thought we might stay in the buckboard for a bit. Then maybe take a walk around the lake."

  "I'd like that." She smiled up at him and placed her hand in his. It was like touching a lightning bolt. White, dazzling energy charged through her, pure beauty, zipping through her like fate. When her gaze met his, she saw her destiny.

  "Aumaleigh?" Josslyn clattered into the room, breaking the spell, shattering the memory.

  "Josslyn." Aumaleigh blinked, seeing once again the bright, cold morning through the window, the cluttered room piled high with boxes and crates and Josslyn setting down a plate on the edge of the desk. Breakfast. How thoughtful. She smiled. "That smells delicious."

  "It does." Josslyn produced a rolled napkin and silverware from her apron pocket. "I let Louisa make the omelets. She has skills in the kitchen, she was a good hire. Is there anything else you need? I'm about ready to call in the cowboys and things will get busy around here."

  "I'm good. Do you want any help?"

  "Not yours." Josslyn touched Aumaleigh's hand, smiling gently in the way of old friends. "You take it easy up here. What did I say about you working too hard?"

  "I'm not about to become my mother," Aumaleigh chided just as gently, calling over her shoulder as Josslyn left the room. "All leisure and no work."

  "Ha! I remember those days." Josslyn rushed down the stairs, busy with men to feed and food to serve.

  Well, back to sorting. Aumaleigh stole a strip of crispy bacon from the plate and took a nibble. She hauled up a yellowed scrap of paper and scanned it. Just another to-do list for one of the maids. She found a termination letter--and winced, remembering the poor, timid sixteen-year-old who'd been let go after a week for accidentally knocking an expensive vase to the floor while dusting. Mother had been livid. Aumaleigh reached into the box again and came up with a crumpled-up ball of parchment. Strange, since she hadn't found anything else crumpled up like this, as if in anger.

  It was a letter dated April 4, 1875. Over a year and half ago.

  Dear Grandmother,

  I found your address in the box of my mother's things after she died. My father was Eben McPhee, your son. I know there was a great falling out between you two, but I was wondering if you would have it in your heart to give me a moment of your time. I am in dire need of a job. Trust me when I say I would not bother you otherwise, but I've tried everything else and no luck. I am a hard worker, I wouldn't expect any special favor, and I am skilled as both a housemaid and a cook. I'd even do barn work, as I'm a fast learner. I have found myself homeless, and you are the only person I can turn to for help. There is no one else, I've tried everything. All I'm asking for is a job. It doesn't have to be a good one. Thank you so much.

  Annie

  #

  Annie? Aumaleigh dropped the strip of bacon, her jaw dropped in shock. She had another niece? Why, she didn't know Eben had lived long enough to have children. In fact, all Mother would say on the matter was that he'd died, gotten what he'd deserved for defying her. But now Eben had a daughter out there somewhere, a daughter in need. Clearly Mother had refused to help her, had crumpled up the letter instead.

  Aumaleigh blinked, fisted her hands, took a ragged breathe. Raging fury charged through her. Of all the injustices and selfishness she'd had to put up with from her mother over the decades, this was the worst. The most cruel. Angry tears burned behind her eyes as she dug frantically for the envelope. It was no where in sight. She started digging, flinging papers and useless lists and letters of reprimand right and left, searching for the envelope, for the return address, the only way to find Annie.

  There it was, sitting at the bottom of the box, with an old coffee stain spilled across one corner, but it was there. The return address intact, legible in the upper left-hand corner.

  Annie McPhee, it said, Landville, Wyoming. Not that far away at all. She'd send a letter immediately and hoped it wasn't too late.

  * * *

  The streets of Deer Springs were crisp and white, the world encased in an icy sheet. The morning's sun tried to melt it, but the temperatures stubbornly clung far below freezing.

  As Zane shifted one of the two buckets of grain he held for his horses, who were eating away, he didn't mind the cold. It kept him frozen, kept him from feeling. Right now, that was a good thing. Somehow he had to get back to the mountain-tough bounty hunter he'd been before Verbena, with a heart of stone. Right now what he needed was some breakfast and the chance to coffee up.

  Winchester lifted his muzzle o
ut of the bucket, chewing away on a mouthful of grain, ears pricked, glancing down the street. Scout did the same, both animals leaving a good inch of grain in the bottom of their feed buckets. Something sure caught their attention. Zane squinted, noticing a knot of activity gathering a good three blocks down. Hard to see with so many horses and wagons and people in the way.

  Not his business, he told himself, but he knew the sheriff's office was in that direction. Some kind of trouble had to be going on. He knew the sheriff, maybe he needed some help. The horses returned to their buckets, snarfing up every last kernel and crumb. Grim, Zane tossed the buckets in the back of his buckboard.

  "A terrible shame," a man said on the sidewalk, coming closer, his voice carried on the wind. "Just a shame."

  "What is the world coming to?" asked his friend, knuckling back his Stetson. "That's what I'd like to know. It's getting so a body can't walk around safe on the street."

  "And in broad daylight," the first fellow finished, stopping to open the diner's front door. Scents of sizzling sausages, of bitter black coffee and greasy eggs wafted out, rising in the air. "Those poor Marshals. Shot dead, execution style. Must have happened sometime early this morning."

  The diner door swung closed, cutting off the conversation.

  Zane didn't need to hear more. Two dead marshals? He went cold inside--mountain cold, mountain tough. The only two marshals he knew were in the area were the ones in charge of Craddock.

  Zane closed his eyes, questions overtaking him like panic. Exactly how long ago had the marshals been killed? How much time had Craddock been on the run? Could he have gotten far?

  Zane leaped to action. In less than a minute he'd unbuckled Winchester from his harness, grabbed his rifle and mounted up. Without saddle or bridle, he pushed his gelding hard, straight down the middle of the town street. He charged around the horses and vehicles stalled outside the sheriff's office, pushed through the busy streets of town and came out on the other side. In the wide-open country where he pushed Winchester into an all-out gallop.