Just West of Heaven

by Maureen Child

  Standing alone in the shadows of the trees, Ridge watched her walk away, back straight as an arrow, head lifted, long, loose hair blowing in the wind, and her bare feet picking carefully around the rocks strewn across the ground. Something inside him twisted painfully, and he realized that what he’d learned was simple.

  He didn’t want that poster to be true. He wanted Sophie Ryan to be exactly who she claimed she was. But mostly, he wanted her.

  CHAPTER Twelve

  And as that last thought took root in his mind, Ridge saw Jenna stop dead at the rise of the creek. The little girl slowly turned and looked right at him. Their gazes locked, and even from a distance, he saw the blond sprite smile. Then, not for the first time, Ridge felt that odd little push at the edges of his mind.

  It was as if something... or someone... was trying to slip inside his thoughts. He almost laughed to himself at the notion, but before he could, that nudge came again and he had to admit to what sounded like nonsense. Nonsense or not, though, Ridge reacted instinctively to what he saw as an attack. In the next instant, he closed his eyes and deliberately tried to blank his mind by envisioning a thick fog bank. He concentrated on the deep, gray, swirling mists, imagining his thoughts clouded, shrouded in the secrecy most people took for granted.

  And that probing nudge faded into the mists.

  Ridge opened his eyes again to see Jenna’s pouting frown. A chill swept along his spine that had nothing at all to do with the cold wind rippling across the surface of the creek.

  Then the moment was gone and Sophie was tugging the girl in her wake again. In a parting gesture, though, Jenna lifted her free hand and wiggled her fingers at him in a tiny wave.

  He waved back even as he told himself that something mighty damn strange was going on here. And damned if he wouldn’t find out just what.

  ●

  Sophie and Jenna stopped by the schoolhouse just long enough to see that everything was as it should be. After spending the morning with the children, Sophie was more anxious than ever to get started teaching.

  Surprising really, she thought, since back home, she’d never have considered being a teacher. And yet, because of circumstances beyond her control, she’d discovered that not only did she enjoy it, but she actually seemed to have a talent for it.

  Remembering the time she’d spent in Hattie’s kitchen with Luke, Travis, and Jenna, she smiled to herself. After the boys had written the stories she’d asked for, Sophie had read to all of them from a book she’d loved as a child. It was a collection of mystical stories about dragons and knights and fair ladies, and the two tales she’d read them had inspired Travis and Luke to run out and try to convince Toby to forge a couple of swords for them.

  Smiling now, she hoped the blacksmith would stand firm against the wily pair.

  “She’ll be ready for the painting come Saturday, ma’am,” one of the men assured her.

  “Excuse me?” Sophie said, dragging her attention back to the matters at hand.

  “The schoolhouse,” he said. “She’ll be ready for paint right on time.”

  “Oh,” she said, “excellent.”

  “Sound to the ground, ma’am,” another man piped up, slapping a palm to one of the brand-new plank walls.

  “It certainly looks sturdy,” Sophie agreed and stepped farther inside, letting her gaze sweep across the schoolroom that would be her world.

  Sawdust littered the freshly laid floor and the smell of newly milled lumber was overwhelming. Sophie loved it. It was the aroma of new starts and second chances. A soft smile curved her lips as she turned in a slow circle. She noted the shining window glass, the rows of low tables and benches where her students would sit, the as yet untouched blackboard, and directly in front of it, the table and chair that would serve as her desk.

  Her desk.

  Her school.

  Her place in the world.

  “Here now, little bit,” a man said, and Sophie turned in time to see Jenna pick up a hammer.

  “I wanna help,” the little girl said, holding the tool in both small hands.

  “Jenna, honey,” Sophie said as she hurriedly crossed the room, “we should go and let the men get back to work.”

  She thought she saw one of the men heave a sigh of relief, but she couldn’t be sure and so refused to take offense at it. Why they should get so upset over a few simple pieces of advice, Sophie didn’t know. But after all, she’d read quite a few books about building and architecture. One would think they’d be grateful for her expertise.

  “Now,” the older man beside Jenna was saying, “if you don’t mind, ma’am, we’ll let the child hit a nail or two. Let her have a hand in building her new house.”

  Jenna gave him a brilliant smile and the man’s whiskery cheeks split into an easy grin.

  “If you’re sure it’s no trouble,” Sophie said.

  “No trouble,” he assured her and wrapped one large, work-gnarled hand around Jenna’s on the hammer. Then, gently, he eased her arm back and helped her pound a nail home.

  It only took a moment, and yet the expression on the little girl’s face was one of triumph. As Sophie watched, Jenna turned and hugged the man who’d helped her, wrapping her little arms around his neck and hanging on tight

  He gave her a gentle pat, then set her back from him.

  Jenna reached out, laid one palm on his cheek, tilted her head to one side, and said solemnly, “You falled off a horse today, huh?”

  The man blinked, startled. “I sure did, honeypie. But how’d you know that?”

  Jenna shook her head and whispered, “Don’t ride him again ‘cause you’ll fall again and hit your head and be really, really hurt.”

  “Jenna,” Sophie blurted and stepped forward to take her sister’s hand firmly in her own. “You shouldn’t be making up stories like that, sweetheart.”

  “But Mama—”

  “Shh,” Sophie said and gave the man an apologetic smile. “I am sorry, but she’s just a little girl.”

  “Uh-huh,” the older man said and pushed himself to his feet.

  All around them, the other men worked, oblivious to their conversation. Sophie was vaguely aware of the slam of hammers, the harsh rasp of a saw blade as it bit into wood, and the soft, slightly off-key whistling from one of the men. But it all sounded as though it came from a great distance and she struggled to hear anything over the sound of her own pounding heart.

  Hard to believe that only a moment ago, she’d been happy, with hope for a normal, happy life. Now, she was staring into the wary eyes of a man whose expression she’d seen so many times before. On so many different faces.

  A sinking sensation welled inside her and Sophie fought against giving in to it.

  The older man scrubbed one hand across his whisker-stubbled jaws, then shaking his head slightly, he bent over, looked Jenna directly in the eye and asked, “How about if l ride a different horse? That all right?”

  “Uh-huh,” she said with a smile. “The bad horsey has something wrong with his foot so it hurts and he doesn’t want anybody sitting on him.”

  “That right?”

  “Yep,” she said with a nod so sharp it sent her soft blond hair swinging into her eyes.

  “That’s enough, I think,” Sophie said and gave Jenna’s hand a soft pat before starting past the man who was now looking especially thoughtful.

  “Little bit?” he called and Jenna stopped and turned to look back at him. “Thanks,” he said, then lifted his gaze to Sophie’s. “I ‘preciate it”

  She didn’t see fear in his eyes, Sophie realized with a start. Instead, there was gratitude and a certain... admiration. That sinking sensation she’d experienced a moment before lifted a bit, and when she left the schoolhouse, it was with a lighter heart than she’d had in years.

  ●

  “So what’s botherin’ you?�
� Toby asked.

  “Hell if I know,” Ridge muttered and rested his folded arms along the top rail of the fence surrounding the paddock. His gaze followed the horses drifting around the enclosure as his mind wandered. Naturally, his thoughts sailed straight back to Sophie.

  Durn woman was taking up far too much of his time lately. And it was only going to get worse, he thought darkly, remembering the wanted poster even now nestled in the back pocket of his jeans. Damn it, what was she up to? The woman he’d just seen with those kids was no kidnapper.

  So what in the hell was going on?

  “I think you know more’n you’re sayin,” Toby said.

  “I wish I did,” Ridge told him and turned his head to watch as his friend lifted a horse’s leg and began the process of scraping out and trimming its hoof. In Toby’s huge hand, the farrier’s tool looked almost tiny, but he wielded it with the same easy grace as he did his sledgehammer.

  Turning around, Ridge braced his back against the fence, crossed his arms over his chest, and rested one booted foot behind him on the lower rail. “Damn it, Toby, there’s something going on here.”

  “If you’re lookin’ for advice,” Toby said, shooting him a quick glance, “I’ll need to know more than I do now.”

  He thought about it for a long moment, then shook his head. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Toby. Hell, he trusted the man more than he ever had anyone else. But he wasn’t ready to talk about that wanted poster yet and he damn sure wasn’t going to say something stupid like, “I think little Jenna’s wanderin’ around town readin’ minds.”

  Ridge needed to know more. He needed to ask questions around town. Talk to people who’d seen Jenna and Sophie together. Find out what the folks around here thought of them.

  Then he had to send a wire. A very carefully worded wire to an old friend.

  “What do you think of Sophie?” he asked quietly.

  Toby paused a beat or two, glanced at him then said, “Nice woman. Good eyes. Honest eyes.”

  “Beautiful too,” Ridge muttered, but that didn’t help him any.

  Toby chuckled. “Hadn’t noticed.”

  Scowling to himself, Ridge asked, “The girl. Her daughter. She seem happy to you?”

  “Smiles a lot,” Toby allowed.

  “She and Sophie seem... right together?”

  Setting the horse’s leg down gently, Toby ran one big hand across its back in a tender caress, then walked over to stand beside his friend. “You got somethin’ on your mind, Ridge. Spit it out.”

  “Wish I could,” he said. “But I can’t. Yet.”

  The other man nodded in understanding.

  Several long minutes passed in companionable silence. Then Toby propped his elbows on the top rail of the fence and looked at Ridge from the corner of his eye.

  “Something interestin’,” he said quietly enough to grab Ridge’s attention immediately.

  “What’s that?” Ridge asked, pathetically eager to have something—anything—else to think about.

  The blacksmith waved one hand at the animal still standing patiently at the doorway to the smithy. “That horse I’m workin’ on?”

  “Yeah?” Ridge flicked a quick glance at the roan gelding ground-hitched in the dappled sunlight.

  “Belongs to Seth Gorman,” Toby was saying. “Seems Seth got thrown earlier today.”

  “He all right?”

  Seth was the foreman out at the Double T Ranch and a good man with a horse. If he got thrown, there had to be a reason. Some said that the old man could throw a rope on the devil himself and ride him straight back down to hell.

  “He is,” Toby said, “but he told me to check the horse’s feet. Said somethin’ was wrong.”

  “Toby,” Ridge blurted, impatient now, “you tell a story like you got all the time in the world.”

  His friend grinned and turned to look at him. “And you got no patience at all.”

  “Keep that in mind, will you?”

  But his friend was clearly in no hurry. While he waited, Ridge watched a dust devil spin into life in the center of the paddock. It kicked up dirt and pebbles as it swept across the yard before petering out. A whole lot of tempest in a little bitty space of time. Just like Sophie in Tanglewood, he told himself ruefully.

  “Now,” Toby said as he stuck one hand into his pocket and pulled it back out again. “I checked that horse out good and proper and I found this.” He held out his hand and there in his wide palm lay a two­inch-long roofing nail. “He’d picked it up, prob’ly over by the schoolhouse, and every time he took a step, it dug into his foot. Prob’ly when Seth climb d up on him, it was more than he could stand.”

  “What’s so interestin’ about that?” Ridge asked, almost disappointed. “Hell, lots of horses pick up stones and such in their hooves.”

  “Yeah, they do,” Toby said, rubbing that nail between his thumb and forefinger. “And that ain’t what’s so interestin’.”

  “Then what?” Patience long gone, Ridge stared at his friend.

  “The child, Jenna? She’s the one told Seth there was somethin’ wrong with his horse.” He looked up. “Told him don’t ride it else he’d get hurt bad.”

  Ridge stiffened and everything inside him went cold and still. Instantly, he recalled again the look on Jenna’s face when he’d built that imaginary wall of fog in his mind. There was more going on here than even he’d thought. “How in the hell did she know that? She’s just a kid,” he muttered, more to himself than to Toby.

  “And that ain’t all,” the blacksmith said.

  “There’s more?”

  “Yep. ‘Pears the child told Davey Sams where to find his missing rifle stock. Then she let Amy Phillips know that she was a grandma and this two days before Amy got the letter from her boy in San Francisco...”

  “Good God,” Ridge muttered, remembering again that gentle push at his mind. With this information and the memory of Jenna’s little pout when he’d blocked her out, he knew that it had been the girl trying to step inside his thoughts. He knew it as well as he knew his own name, but he couldn’t prove it. And wasn’t altogether sure he’d want to.

  “And.”

  “And?”

  “She told Henry Fields that his bitch was havin’ trouble birthin’ those puppies he’s been waitin’ on.”

  Henry was a huntin’ fool and bound and determined to breed the best hunting dogs in Nevada. Everyone in town knew the store Henry set by his dog Molly. Hell, the man had done everything short of passing out cigars when the dog was bred with some fancy purebred out of Reno.

  “What happened?”

  “Henry dragged the doc out to his place and they got there in time to save the puppies and Molly.” Nodding to himself, Toby added, “Henry was so damn happy, he about busted his buttons.”

  All of this had been happening and he hadn’t heard a damn word about it? “Why didn’t I hear about any of this?”

  “Guess you been busy, Ridge.”

  Busy. Yeah, busy making a damn fool of himself over a woman whose face was now folded up and stuck into his pants pocket.

  “Why’s nobody telling me this stuff? I’m the sheriff here! Didn’t somebody think I might want to know what’s goin’ on in my own damn town?”

  “Maybe folks thought you might get upset,” Toby said, a small smile togging at one corner of his mouth.

  “Upset? Hell yes, I’m upset! There’s a kid wanderin’ around town readin’ minds and tellin’ fortunes, for God’s sake!”

  “She’s a child.”

  “That makes it all right?”

  Toby shrugged massive shoulders.

  “If that don’t beat everything right down to the ground...” Ridge yanked off his hat and slapped it against his thigh. “You’re tryin’ to tell me this child can see things the rest of us can’t?”

>   “The Indians would call her blessed,” the big man beside him said softly.

  Shooting his friend a quick look, he noted the far­off expression on his face and knew Toby was remembering the years he’d spent living with the Crow Indians. The man never talked about it much, but Ridge knew Toby’d escaped slavery sometime before the war and had made his way west. Somehow, he’d come to be adopted into a tribe and had lived with them until just a few years ago.

  But why he’d left the Indians, he’d never said and Ridge wouldn’t ask. A man’s past was his own business and not even a friend was welcome everywhere in a man’s mind and heart.

  “Blessed, huh?” he said, following Toby’s stare into the distance.

  “Uh-hub. Call it ‘touched by the spirits.’” He smiled a bit wearily. “Reckon we’d just say God.”

  Ridge reckoned some folks might not think it was God giving the child visions or what-have-you. They might just start thinking Jenna’d been touched by something evil. Which could lead into some serious trouble. Damn it all, somebody should have told him.

  “And what did Seth think?” he asked.

  The blacksmith smiled again. “Said it was right handy having a seer close to home.”

  “A seer?”

  “What would you call it?”

  “Damn disturbing.”

  Toby chuckled and shook his head. “That’s ‘cause you like things to be simple, Ridge. Black and white. Dark and light. Right and wrong.”

  Yeah he did, Ridge thought, and flicked his fingernail against a rough splinter of wood jutting up from the rail fence. “Makes life easier,” he muttered.

  “No it don’t,” his friend said. “’Cause even if you don’t want to see it, the gray’s there. And ignorin’ it don’t make it go away.”

  “Grays don’t matter a damn when it comes to the law,” Ridge snapped and again felt the weight of that wanted poster. If he believed what he was telling Toby—and he did—then he should be arresting Sophie right this minute. His head told him it was the right thing to do. The trouble was, his heart didn’t agree.