If it wasn’t one thing it was another. “I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you,” she said.
“Keep thinking that way.”
The fire she felt inside when he was near began to burn again. “See you at the house soon.”
As she turned to leave, he reached for her wrist. “Hey,” he said softly. “You’re always calling me Brannigan. It’s okay to call me Wyatt, you know. Aren’t we close friends yet?”
“We’re working up to it.” She hurried away, smiling and enjoying being on the teasing end.
~ * ~
Frowning, Jordan hung up the phone. She stood at the bathroom door.
“What is it?” Cole asked. He was busily installing the washbowl.
“I just agreed to go look at a stray horse in somebody’s field. Apparently the animal is sick and starving to death. I don’t have any idea why I said I’d do that.”
“Because you’re related to Lydia Albright.” He checked to make sure the bowl was level. “Everyone in the county knows this phone number is the one to call for a rescue. You might want to consider changing it.”
She thought about that as she set the coffee pot on to boil and opened up a box of glazed donuts. Wyatt knocked on the screen door. “Hello?”
She waved at him. “Come on in. It didn’t take you long to fix the spigot.”
“It was easy, just needed a twist with the wrench.”
“Easy for you. I wouldn’t have known what to do. Thanks again. Coffee will be ready in a few minutes. Have a seat, and a donut.” She offered the box to him as he scooted onto a barstool.
“Don’t mind if I do,” he said, plucking two out of the box.
Jordan saw Cole peek around the bathroom door. She thought it best to let him come out when he wanted, seeing how he and Wyatt weren’t the best of friends. She settled onto the barstool next to Wyatt and told him about the phone call.
“It was an anonymous caller. I tried to get him to tell me his name, but he said he had eggs in a skillet that were burning and he couldn’t talk long. He asked me to get the horse before it dies or before someone shoots it and puts it out of its misery. I tried to explain that I wasn’t Lydia, but he wouldn’t listen. Would someone really shoot a sick, innocent horse?”
Wyatt licked some sugary glaze off his fingers before answering. “I hate to say it, but yes. There are some cruel people in this world, Jordan. You wouldn’t believe the abuse suffered by some of the horses Lydia rescued. In my opinion, anyone who would torture an animal ought to get a taste of their own medicine.” He stared at her with hard eyes that expressed the compassion he held for animals.
“I agreed to go out there tomorrow morning around nine-thirty. I don’t know why I said I’d do it. Even though I feel sorry for the poor animal, rescuing horses was Lydia’s cause, not mine. I know nothing about taking care of a sick horse. I barely know how to deal with healthy ones.”
“Did the caller give you directions?” he asked. She handed him the notes she’d taken. “I know right where this place is. It’s over near Bent. I’d be glad to go with you.”
“You would? That would be wonderful. I never promised the caller I’d bring the horse back with me, but I don’t think I could leave it if it’s as sick as he led on.”
The coffee pot whistled. She poured Wyatt a cup and hollered in the direction of the bathroom. “Do you want coffee, Cole?”
His head popped out from around the door. “No thanks. Howdy, Wyatt.”
“Hello, sport.”
Cole frowned and his head vanished around the corner.
Wyatt added sugar to his coffee. “If you’re not going to keep the rescue operation going—and I don’t blame you if you choose not to—you need to find buyers for the horses you’ve got out in the barn. I know some folks who might be interested in a couple of the geldings. I’ll check with them.”
There he went, coming to her rescue again. But she didn’t mind. It was comforting to know she had a friend she could count on. “I think it would be for the best.”
Wyatt bit into the second donut. “I’ll get those flat tires fixed on your horse trailer before tomorrow morning. We’ll pull it along, just in case.”
“Oh! I forgot about those flats,” she said, slapping her knee. “There’s so much upkeep on a ranch.”
Cole strolled into the kitchen interrupting their conversation. “I’m done installing the vanity, and the toilet’s in, too. Come take a look.”
When Jordan saw the beautiful job he’d done in the bathroom, she gave him a quick hug. “It looks fantastic. Come look, Brannigan.”
He rose from the barstool and sauntered over to stick his head in. “Good job, sport. Looks real nice.”
Jordan saw Cole bristle, obviously tired of being called sport. He excused himself.
“I’m gonna go check on my guys, Jordan. It’s too early for a break, but I don’t hear the dozer anymore. When I come back in, I’ll remove these boards and sweep up.”
She, too, realized the bulldozer had stopped.
Wyatt put his coffee cup in the sink. “I’d better head out, too. I’ve got a few things on my to-do list today. Thanks for the coffee and donuts.”
“You’re welcome. I appreciate your repairing the leak in the barn.”
Both men stood fixed at the front door waiting for the other to leave first. Jordan held it open and shooed them both out as if they were flies. As soon as the three of them stepped onto the stoop, they heard a blood-chilling cry come from the back yard. They dashed around the corner, with Cole in the lead. A surreal scene met them. Houdini chased Bobby around the bulldozer. The two of them looked like cartoon characters, with Bobby screaming and pumping his arms and legs like pistons, his knees high as his chin. The goat romped right behind him, head down and horns poised at Bobby’s legs. Tony sat on the dozer, howling hysterically and clutching his ribs. Tears of laughter rolled down his cheeks.
“Houdini!” Jordan screamed. “How did you get out of the field again?” She slammed her hands onto her hips, angry and frustrated that the pigmy goat was attacking someone else on her property. The goat halted in his tracks when he heard his name called. His tongue rolled out and he started to pant. Bobby jumped onto one of the dozer’s big wheels and punched Tony in the arm. Poor Bobby was panting, too.
“Thanks for helping me out, amigo,” he told Bobby sarcastically. He pressed a hand to his chest and tried to catch his breath.
“Did he get ya, Bob?” Cole asked, unable to hide his amusement.
“No, boss. He just scared the crap out of me. I don’t like rodents. They’re dirty.” Cole and Wyatt chortled. Even Jordan had to slap a hand over her mouth to suppress a giggle.
“This is not a rodent, Señor.” Wyatt marched over, grabbed Houdini by a horn and dragged him across the yard. This was the second time he’d done that.
“Maaaaa. Maaaaa,” the goat cried.
“Be careful, Brannigan. Don’t hurt him,” Jordan begged.
He glanced over his shoulder.
“Now you’re worried? You threatened to put him in the stew pot earlier.”
She shrugged. Some sodas had been left on a bench Tony had set up in the front yard. As Wyatt lugged Houdini past it, the goat clamped his jaws around a soda can and began to chew it up. The sound of crunching metal made Jordan wince.
“Oh, my gosh. He’s a garbage disposal.”
“More like a tornado devouring everything in its path,” Cole laughed. “You’ve got your hands full with that one,” he said before heading back to the house.
Jordan jogged to catch up to Wyatt. She watched him lock Houdini in the stall.
“You’d better check on him later,” he told her. “I hate to bring Buttercup in from the pasture already, but Houdini’s going to want to be with her. It won’t take long for him to realize he’s alone and he’ll try to escape again.”
Jordan assured him she’d put them together before long. She didn’t want any more trouble from the goat today. As t
hey walked to his truck together, Wyatt’s voice lowered, and his tone grew serious.
“What are you going to do about Stillwell and those two lowlifes who work for him? They ran you off the road on purpose. I’m concerned about what they’ll try next. Seems they’re out to make a point one way or another.”
“What can I do?” She threw her hands into the air in exasperation. “Cole told me the sheriff and Stillwell are pals. They go way back.”
Wyatt nodded. “They do. Lovelady’s been elected sheriff the past twelve years, despite the fact that there have been other qualified men running for the position. Addison has a lot of people in his back pocket—people who run the elections.”
Her mouth gaped. “Are you suggesting the ballots are stuffed?”
“Maybe Addison threatens the ballot counters. Who knows? Rumors run rampant every election, but that sort of thing is hard to prove, and people won’t go against him. He owns a lot of businesses around this county that provide many people with jobs.”
She understood what he was saying. Political corruption happened everywhere. “I don’t know how Lydia stood up to such a powerful man.”
“She suffered some hard times,” Wyatt said, not elaborating. His face softened and he winked at the sun. “Sure is a hot one today.” He opened the squeaky truck door and climbed in. “I’ll come by a little before nine in the morning.”
She rested her hand on the ledge of the window. “I’m glad you’re coming with me. I don’t want any animal to suffer, but I wouldn’t know the first thing to do. I don’t even know how to hook up that horse trailer.” Suddenly, tears pricked at her eyes. There was so much she didn’t know and only so many hours in the day for learning. Wyatt’s eyes expressed empathy. His placed his hand over hers and let it rest there. His very touch sent shivers racing up and down her spine.
“Try not to fret. Everything’s going to be all right. I’ll drop by later this afternoon and get those flat tires changed. If I don’t see you then, I’ll see you in the morning.”
She sniffed, holding back the tears. “All right. Have a nice day.”
He removed his hand and plowed a hand through his hair. “You, too. But not too nice.”
Jordan angled her head in question. “What do you mean by that?”
“Will Cole Roberts be hanging around today?”
“I believe so.”
Wyatt’s eyebrow arched. “That’s what I mean.”
Chapter Thirteen
Left alone in the house while Cole and his men went to run errands in town, Jordan’s first priority was to clean all the windows and hang new curtains. After polishing the glass to a shine, she took a few moments to stand outside gazing at the Sacramento Mountains looming in the distance. It had not ceased to amaze her the way they changed colors depending on the time of day or how the light shone on them. In the late afternoon they flamed brilliant red and orange. Later, the evening shadows cast a soft blue shimmer upon them. The desert, too, was ever-changing and teeming with life. In the middle of the day the heat rose off the desert floor in rippling waves. It was hypnotic and could easily put a person in a trance-like state.
Jordan imagined herself in a wanderer’s shoes over a century ago and understood how the mind could play tricks in such an environment. The land was dangerous and mesmerizing all at once. Like a bee to honey, she was inexplicably drawn to it.
She stepped into the house and pulled the worn, threadbare curtains off their rods and tossed them in the trash. After spreading the new curtains out on her bed, she read the instructions for installing the new black iron rods she’d purchased. Realizing she needed a screwdriver, she went on a hunt. Having no luck in all the obvious places, she searched under the bed and rummaged around in the closet. She hadn’t even had time to clean Lydia’s things out of the bedroom closet yet. Her aunt’s meager belongings still hung neatly within. She took a few moments to go through them, deciding she’d bag and deliver them to the Salvation Army store when she found time.
Standing on her tippy toes, her fingers brushed against a box near the back of the closet shelf. She pulled it down and was stunned to see her name printed neatly on the lid in bold black letters. The hunt for a screwdriver came to a screeching halt. What on earth? She set the box on the bed, lifted the lid, and her eyes drank in a treasure trove of items inside—a scrapbook, a small photo album, and a stack of letters tied with ribbon. A shiver spiraled down her spine at the realization of what all this could be.
She climbed onto the bed. Upon opening the scrapbook, she discovered the pages were filled with photos, newspaper clippings, and other memorabilia—all about her! Flipping through quickly, she saw the book highlighted major events of her life, starting when she was a child, and continuing on up until as recently as 2004. Goosebumps rose on her flesh. Her throat closed, thick with emotion. Who had sent Lydia all these things? Her mother? Jordan wondered. That didn’t seem likely. As far as she knew, her mom hadn’t had contact with her aunt since the time Grandma Laura forbade anyone in the family to even mention Lydia’s name, let alone see or be in touch with her.
What suddenly came to mind was the last time Jordan had visited her grandma in the Alzheimer’s unit at the facility in Denver. It had been four months ago. Her grandma had referred to her as Lydia. As the family ghost, Lydia meant nothing to Jordan at the time. Now it seemed ironic to be living in her aunt’s home—someone she didn’t even know—while far away, alone, lived her only remaining blood relative…the woman who had disavowed her own sister.
Jordan shut the scrapbook and opened the small photo album. At the front were several black and white photos of two small girls, presumably Lydia and Laura as children. They looked so similar they could have been twins. In some pictures the girls were posed with a man and a stern looking woman, most likely their parents. The photos progressed, showing them as young girls to teenagers, both individually and together. Jordan slid some of the photos out of their plastic sleeves and turned them over. There were no notations, names or dates written on any of them. One photo, in particular, caught her eye. The two girls looked dressed for a dance. One’s face was jubilant, the other sour. She couldn’t guess which sister was which in that one. The next was a picture of one of the sisters with her date for the dance. Even though she studied the picture carefully, she wasn’t sure of their identities. The young man and woman were smiling, and the girl wore an evening gown. She sported a corsage around her wrist. Her wavy, shoulder length hair was parted dramatically on one side. The dapper young man in suit and tie had his arm around the girl’s waist.
Jordan calculated the time period, and figured it had to have been in the early 1940’s, around the time of the Second World War. She closed the photo album and gently untied the delicate ribbon holding the packet of letters together. The shock of the unexpected discovery was ebbing, but that didn’t stop every nerve from popping and tingling with excitement as she touched the brittle paper of the letter on top. It was like being on a treasure hunt. Using care, she unfolded the letter, leaned against her pillow, and began to read.
May 4, 1942
Dear L,
I sit at the walnut desk I’ve had since I was a boy and write this while gazing out into the starry sky. I have just said goodbye to you and cannot wipe the smile off my mug. Tonight was all I dreamed of and more. This is going to sound corny, but I’ve decided to tell you anyway. When I’m with you, the poet in me comes out. So here goes. This one’s for you.
Your skin is like a porcelain doll,
Your lips as ripe as cherry.
Your hair, gossamer silk in my hand,
Your touch, sweet as a fairy.
You dance like a feather in the wind,
Your smile, a ray of light.
You’ve taken my breath, you’ve stolen my heart,
My love wings its way to you in flight.
N
With a smile, Jordan refolded the letter and started a separate pile for those read. Whoever N was, he certainly was
lovesick. His poem was totally corny, as he’d warned, but the object of his heartfelt words, whom she assumed was the young Lydia, must have been impressed nevertheless. She flipped open the photo album again and returned her gaze to the pictures of the girls dressed for the dance. She deduced that N must have been the young fellow with his arm around the girl who had to have been Lydia. She opened the next letter.
May 18, 1942
Dear L,
I know the news was shocking. I cannot begin to tell you how dreadful it was to tell you. I put it off as long as I could because I hate to see you cry. Imagine for a moment how I felt when I received the notice. Proud and excited, but upset that I’ll be leaving you. I knew it would be coming, I just didn’t know it would be this soon. All the young men are receiving notices. I didn’t want to upset you further, but Tyler and Brian have their orders as well. Remember always, you are my girl, and it doesn’t matter how far away I am, I will be with you in soul and spirit. Dry your tears and be brave. Be proud of me and be proud of our great country. We must all do our part to support this war. I’ll be home in the blink of an eye and then you’ll really be stuck with me forever.
Yours, N
Jordan realized N had been drafted into the military, but he hadn’t mentioned which branch. She placed the letter on the second stack and opened the next letter, her heart beating with anticipation.
May 20, 1942
Dearest L,
This is the first opportunity I’ve had to write you since heading off to war. Right now, I am on the plane flying somewhere over the Pacific Ocean. Everything is happening so quickly. Yesterday I was a gangly kid in school, and today I’m a man preparing to defend our country in a great battle against the enemy of the east. We must be courageous, you and I. Although I will be far away, there is no distance between your heart and mine. Remember that. I will write you as often as I can. Even when you don’t hear from me, know that I am thinking of you every moment of every day. Let there be no doubt in your mind. I am proud to serve our great country. This is a thrilling time for the good ol’ US of A! Pray for me and remain strong. When I return home, I promise we will be together.
Takin' The Reins Page 13