West of Heaven

by Victoria Bylin

  The clatter of the wagon was louder now, so she went to the stove and stirred their supper. In spite of his meager supplies, she’d managed a batch of biscuits and a hearty stew from tinned meat and vegetables. It smelled good, and she wondered if the rancher liked to eat his food piping hot or if he preferred to let it cool a bit.

  His wife would have known. Jayne could almost feel her fingerprints on the worn handle of the frying pan. The heart-shaped mirror must have been hers, too, but the rest of the cabin was untouched by a woman’s hands. Had Mrs. Trent died in childbirth or from an illness? Or perhaps she’d lost her life in an accident.

  Jayne was certain that she hadn’t left her husband willingly. The woman had drawn stars next to the love sonnets in a well-thumbed volume of poetry. The Bible on the shelf held a mystery as well. Someone had written dates and initials by the simple verses taught in a child’s Sunday School class.

  As the wagon rattled to a stop, Jayne picked up the lantern and opened the door. Light spilled into the yard, circling the rancher as he climbed down from the seat. Her gaze traveled from his muddy boots to his thighs to the hard line of his whiskered jaw. He was spattered with mud from head to foot.

  Peering through the golden light, she said, “It must have been a terrible trip.”

  “I got stuck a few times, but that’s the way of it.” He gave the horse a quick scratch on the neck. “Old Buck’s even dirtier than I am.”

  She hung the lantern on a nail and walked to the back of the wagon. “I’ll help you unload. You must be starved.”

  “I am.”

  “I’ve got stew and—” Her fingers grazed varnished wood. “My trunk! How did you get it?” Her mother’s scissors. Her clothing. Letters and keepsakes. Trailing her fingers across the dark walnut, she said, “I can’t thank you enough, Mr. Trent.”

  “There’s no need. You can look through it while I get the horse settled.”

  He hoisted it from the wagon and headed for the door. Jayne grabbed a sack of cornmeal and followed him into the cabin. “I can’t believe you brought my things. Did you go to the hotel?”

  The rancher set the trunk down and stepped back. Her gaze narrowed to the broken latch and then shot to a dress sleeve dangling over the side. Someone had searched her belongings. “What happened?” she asked.

  He rocked back on his heels and stared straight into her eyes. “Jayne, we have to talk.”

  He had used her given name, and she wondered why. “Yes, we do. You’re entitled to the truth.”

  “So are you.” Using the toe of his muddy boot, he nudged the trunk closer to the bed. “We’ll talk when I’m done with chores.”

  Together they carried in cans and packages, stacking everything on the counter until she was worried it would tumble to the floor. He’d bought enough flour to last six months and enough milk for an entire family.

  As soon as he left for the barn, she knelt in front of the trunk and opened the lid. Everything from her best dresses to her unmentionables had been jumbled together, and someone had rabbit-eared all of Hank’s pockets.

  Who had riffled through her things and why? Shivering at the implications, she lifted the tangled clothing from the trunk and set it on the bed. Her mother’s scissors clattered to the floor. Bending low, she scooped them up and slipped her fingers through the loops.

  You’re strong, Jayne. As long as you can sew, you can earn a living.

  She heard Louisa McKinney’s voice in her heart and knew the words were true. She’d find a way to start over, but first she had to tell the rancher the truth. If LeFarge had found her, Ethan Trent was in more danger than she thought.

  Leaving the clothing on the bed, she went to the kitchen to dish up his supper. Just as she ladled stew onto a plate, he opened the door. For the first time in a month, he left his muddy boots on the porch. Glancing at her, he stepped inside, reached into the pocket of his coat and handed her a small brown bag.

  “These are for you,” he said.

  His rough fingers brushed her palm as she took it. She peeked inside and then arched her eyebrows at him. “Lemon drops?”

  “Sour things might settle your stomach.”

  “That would be a blessed relief,” she said with heartfelt gratitude.

  “I have some other things for you, too.” He picked up the new trousers and shirt she’d thought were his, a bolt of fabric and a plain wooden hairbrush. He shoved it all into her arms and stepped back.

  “What’s all this?” she asked.

  “I bought it before I got the trunk. I figured you could make do with the trousers and the shirt, and the bolt of cotton is for woman stuff.”

  Jayne bit her lip. She didn’t want the rancher taking care of her, especially not if it led to thoughts of “woman stuff.” Frowning, she said, “I owe you money.”

  “Consider it a gift. An apology for the way I treated you that first day.”

  The lemon drops were a taste of heaven and the clothing was purely practical. She could accept all of it with a gracious smile, except the brush. It meant he’d been watching her, that he’d noticed her hair and probably more.

  “I accept your apology, but I want to pay you back,” she insisted. “A gift is too personal.”

  The rancher scowled. “So is emptying your chamber pot.”

  He had a point. A humbling one. “All right,” she said, setting everything on the bed. “I accept. Thank you.”

  He skimmed by her and reached for an almost-clean shirt hanging on the wall as she walked to the stove to dish up their meal.

  “What’s for supper?” he said. “It smells good.”

  “I made a—” She turned around and nearly dropped the plate. Ethan Trent was naked from the waist up. Until now he’d been careful to change clothes in private, and she wasn’t prepared for the sight of his chest, well-muscled and covered with a smattering of dark silken hair.

  “I made a stew,” she finished lamely.

  “Supper sounds good. Do I smell biscuits?”

  With his shaggy hair and unshaven face, he reminded her of a bear waking up from a long winter’s nap. He looked ravenous, and she put another dollop of meat and gravy on his plate. “I took a chance on the yeast, but I baked bread today.”

  He tucked his shirt into his trousers, strode to the table and pulled up a chair just as she set down his plate. She sat across from him, unwrapped the fresh bread and cut two slices for him and one for herself. Her stomach wouldn’t tolerate a heavy meal, but the bread tasted good.

  Judging by the rancher’s appetite, the stew tasted even better. He downed the first serving, helped himself to seconds and wiped the plate clean with two more slices of bread. When they’d finished eating, he carried their dishes to the scrub bucket, poured coffee for them both and returned to the table.

  Jayne took the letter out of her pocket and slid it across the table. “I have to tell you the truth about my husband. This explains everything.”

  “I already know what it says. I read it this morning.”

  “You read my letter?”

  “It fell on the floor, and it’s a good thing it did. LeFarge is in Midas. I met him at the sheriff’s office today.”

  Jayne sat straighter in the chair. “Does he know where I am?”

  “I told him you were dead.” In slow sentences he described LeFarge’s masquerade as a detective, his search of the trunk and the sheriff’s tip that Hank Dawson had been headed for California. Leaning back in the chair, he said, “I think it’s most likely he’ll head for Los Angeles.”

  “And if he doesn’t? Mr. Trent, I—”

  His eyes burned into hers. “Call me Ethan.”

  Every instinct told her to stick to the formalities, but how could she? She was living in his house and she had nowhere else to go.

  “Ethan it is,” she said, breathing his name. “I can’t endanger you any more than I already have. I need to get word to the authorities, and then I’ll go home to Lexington.”

  “What about mo
ney?”

  “I wouldn’t touch a dime of what Hank stole, even if my life depended on it.” She thought of the heavy coins sewn into the hem of her traveling suit. “I’ve got ten dollars and a bit of cash in my reticule. I’ll get by.”

  He shook his head. “That won’t pay for a train ticket to Kentucky.”

  “No, but it’ll pay for a ticket to Raton and a room in a boardinghouse. The city’s getting bigger every day. I’ll find work.”

  “What about the baby? It’ll change things for you.”

  “My mother managed just fine, and so will I. I’m not even going to use Hank’s last name.”

  Ethan looked mad enough to spit. “You don’t even know what it is.”

  “That’s true, but it doesn’t matter.”

  “It might someday. Your son might want to know who his father was.”

  The statement hit a nerve. Mama, where’s my daddy? Her child was entitled to the same answers Jayne had wanted when she saw little girls with big men they called “papa.” Clutching her coffee cup, she said, “You’re right. Tell me everything.”

  “His real name was Jesse Fowler. According to LeFarge, he robbed banks in Wyoming and killed at least two people, including a woman.”

  Jayne knotted her hands in her lap. “I don’t know if that’s true or not, but I do know that Hank had changed. He had a good heart.” And secrets, she reminded herself.

  “You can believe what you want about your husband, but the fact is that he left you flat broke and with child.” He huffed with disgust. “My cattle take better care of their young.”

  “I’ll manage just fine,” she said evenly. “I’m a good seamstress. I’ll reopen my mother’s shop.”

  He arched one eyebrow. “What will you do for rent and materials?”

  “I’ll borrow.”

  He huffed at her. “Believe me. Bankers are heartless. People who need loans can’t get them.”

  Jayne looked down her nose. She had no time for doubt. “Do you have a better idea? If you do, I’d like to hear it, but frankly, you’re not one to talk. You live like an animal, your ranch is falling apart and you’re ill-tempered.”

  Ethan’s eyes narrowed to slits, but he wasn’t the only person who knew how to stare. Jayne glared back until he blinked, then she spoke her mind. “I can see that you’ve suffered from a tragedy. I can understand the pain, but I can’t quit living the way you have.”

  Flecks of gold burned in his irises, but the flames died as quickly as a match in the darkness. Looking away, he said, “Don’t let anyone take away your hope, Jayne. Especially not someone like me.”

  “Someone like you? That’s ridiculous.” She huffed, then softened the criticism with a smile. “You haven’t been particularly friendly, and you could use a bath—”

  He glared at her.

  “Yes, a bath,” she said pointedly. “But other than that, you’ve taken good care of me.”

  He shook his head. “No, I haven’t. I’ve been a selfish son of a bitch. I should never have left you in the barn. You had a right to a little respect.”

  “So did you. I came back uninvited, and the storm was worse than I thought.”

  Rising from her chair, she walked to the hearth and jabbed at the fire with the charred broom handle. A log shifted with a clunk and sparks shot up the chimney as she spoke. “I think we both proved our points, for better or for worse.”

  For richer, for poorer,

  In sickness and in health…

  She hadn’t meant to imitate the wedding vows, but they both knew them by heart.

  He looked at her with glassy eyes, and his lips had parted as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. She understood how that felt, to have feelings trapped inside. She didn’t want to care about this man, but she did.

  Still, it was a dangerous mistake. As she stared into his eyes, she glimpsed the mirrored heart just over his shoulder and imagined his pretty wife brushing her hair. Louisa McKinney had taught her daughter that true love came just once in a woman’s life and that a wise woman trusted herself and no one else. Jayne had to remember those simple truths.

  She laced her fingers together at her waist and faced Ethan. “Your wife was a very lucky woman.”

  “You can trust me, Jayne. Stay here for a while.”

  “I can’t. I leaned on Hank and look where it got me. If LeFarge is gone, this may be my only chance to leave.”

  “You fainted this morning, and you just ate a slice of bread for supper. You’re not well enough to travel.”

  She shrugged. “Where there’s a will, there’s a way.”

  A mischievous gleam lit Ethan’s eyes as he leaned back in the chair and laced his fingers behind his head. “So let’s see you fly. We’ll climb up to the roof, you can make a wish, flap your arms like an eagle and jump. If you make it all the way to the barn, I’ll eat my words and buy your train ticket.”

  “You’re being ridiculous.”

  “No, you’re being stubborn. You’ve got to face facts. The baby’s going to change your life. It’s going to tell you when to eat and sleep and even when to toss up your breakfast. All the willpower in the world won’t change its mind.”

  He had a point. Dipping her chin, she touched her belly, low where the baby was warm and snug. “I have a lot to learn,” she said.

  His gaze softened. “It’s your first, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, it is,” she said, feeling shy. “We were only married a few days.”

  “Then you aren’t very far along.” He looked from her face to the fire, then rose from his chair and walked to the nightstand. He opened the drawer, took out a wooden box adorned with a carved rose and brought it to her.

  “Take it,” he said. “Look inside.”

  As she wrapped her fingers around the burnished wood, Ethan dragged a chair from the table to the hearth for her. She sat down, watching him as he lowered his tall body down to the rocker, lit his pipe with a twig and propped his feet on the hearth. His cheeks puffed as air hissed through the bowl and she caught a whiff of vanilla-scented tobacco.

  Until this moment she hadn’t seen him indulge in pleasure of any kind. It made her heart ache for him, and she looked down at the box, knowing it held his most precious memories. Carefully she lifted the lid, peered inside and saw three photographs. She recognized Ethan immediately. Younger, clean-shaven and dressed in a suit with a black string tie, he was standing behind a pretty brunette seated in a Queen Anne chair with his hands resting proudly on her shoulders.

  In the second picture she saw two boys standing on either side of a lacy bassinet. The oldest was about eight years old. He had his father’s cheekbones and a mischievous streak the camera failed to hide. Ethan’s second son had his mother’s bow-shaped mouth and dark hair. The baby’s face was a blur, as if it had been crying.

  The final shot showed the entire family. Flanked by his sons, Ethan stood behind his wife who was seated and cradling the baby in her arms. They stared straight-faced into the camera, and yet Jayne saw pride in Ethan’s eyes, a mother’s tenderness for a new baby and two well-loved sons.

  Fighting tears, she laid the photographs gently in the box. “You had a lovely family,” she said tenderly.

  He took a drag on the pipe, tilted his head up to the ceiling and blew out four rings of smoke, one for each person he’d lost. “Laura and I were married for more than nine years. We grew up together in Missouri. That life was everything a boy becoming a man could want.”

  His voice scraped like a pine bough breaking beneath the weight of snow. Jayne clenched her fingers together in a silent prayer that God would heal this man’s grief.

  He puffed again on the pipe, clenching it between his teeth, then lowering it as he blew more smoke. “We went to school together, whispered in church and spooned in the hayloft on summer afternoons. It was pure heaven, though I didn’t know it at the time. We got married in June. Josh came a year later and then William two years after that. Katie was—Katie
came later.”

  He picked up the poker, leaned closer to the flames and jabbed at the burning wood. “Are you sure you want to hear the whole story?”

  He meant how they died. “I think you need to tell it,” she said.

  “I haven’t talked to anyone, Jayne. Not for a long time. What I hate the most is that I failed my wife. It was my dream we were chasing—not hers—but she never said so. Instead she talked about how exciting it would be to see real mountains.”

  He jammed the pipe stem between his lips and sucked hard. After curling his lips into a tight O, he blew two more rings of smoke. “They died in a fire in Raton. My whole family. Everyone but me.”

  His eyes stayed on the two rings until they broke apart and vanished into the murky haze.

  “I wanted a change,” he continued. “I wanted to own land and raise cattle and quarter horses. I sure as hell didn’t want to be working for her father in that damn bank of his. That had been the plan when we first got married. I’d work and we’d save every penny, and then someday we’d go west. Only time kept slipping by. When William came along, we used our savings to buy a bigger house in the center of town, but it never felt like home to me. I grew up on a farm, but even if my brother hadn’t taken it over, I wouldn’t have stayed in Missouri. I wanted a place of my own.”

  “I can’t quite see you working in a bank,” she said tentatively, wanting to encourage him but afraid of treading on sacred ground.

  “I hated every minute of it, and to make matters worse, her old man was mean and cheap. Laura took after her mother, thank God. Only a saint could have put up with that bitter old man, and I was starting to think just like him. Turning down neighbors for loans made me sick to my stomach.”

  “It must have been hard for you.”

  “Oh, yeah,” he drawled sarcastically. “I thought it was hell on earth, but the truth is that I was just plain selfish.”

  Every story had two sides, but Ethan had lost that perspective. Jayne traced the rounded edges of the wooden box in her lap. “You wanted to give your family a good life.”

  “Don’t fool yourself, Jayne. I wanted to give me a good life.”