It wasn’t unlike her childhood home. She swallowed back emotion as she thought of her sister, Cassandra, who had no idea where she was, or that Nathaniel was dead.
She swiped at her cheek again, and turned away from Glen, moving into the kitchen. It looked out over the rest of the property, which was said to be over a hundred acres.
It was a pretty area, she couldn’t deny that, and those rolling hills in the distance reminded her of home. She and Nathaniel would often sit out back at sunrise and enjoy a hot coffee before he had to leave for work.
She sniffled, pulling her thoughts away from the past, and looked about the kitchen. It was quite large compared to the rest of the house, but she understood the reason.
The Land Agent had said it was a booming horse property in its day, and employed several farmhands and cowboys. As part of their cover, Glen wanted to bring it back up to that level.
She didn’t care either way – her finances allowed her to do it, and if it helped keep her safe, why not? She would end up selling it when all this was over, so it didn’t matter to her.
She opened the door to the wood stove. It needed a good clean, just like the fireplace. When the owner died, it seemed the place had just been closed up, never to be used again.
Upon opening the cupboards, Eleanor discovered she had a well-equipped kitchen to work with. She loved to cook, so that was at least one thing in its favor.
The pantry was, not surprisingly, in need of a good clean. Everything would have to go. It might mean another trip into town, but she hoped not. The less she was seen, the better.
Glen had drummed that into her from the moment he’d taken on her protection detail. The sheriff at Great Falls was investigating, but didn’t hold out much hope of finding her husband’s killers. He’d put it down to a robbery gone wrong. And from what she’d seen, that was true.
Their faces were etched in her mind, which had helped a lot with building a sketch for circulation to law enforcement. Hence the reason she had to go into hiding.
She was pulled out of her thoughts at the sound of movement behind her, and she gasped.
“It’s just me,” Glen said gently, as he put their supplies on the counter. “Where do you want these?”
She relaxed just hearing his voice. “I, I have to clean the pantry first. Leave them there for now.” She turned and stared at the tranquility out the back window again. The tranquility of the place made her feel more relaxed, calm.
Unlocking the back door, Eleanor stepped outside. The sun hit her in the face and she was momentarily blinded. She closed her eyes and absorbed the warmth of the day before venturing further.
“Oh, there’s a chicken coop,” she called to Glen. He joined her outside. “I had chickens as a child. My sister and I had to collect the eggs every day. We even named each chicken, and cried when one died.” She swallowed back her emotion. She’d never felt so devastated – would she ever see Cassandra again?
“We could probably get some chickens, if that’s what you want. I’ll make enquiries.”
She nodded. “I’d like that.” It was such a small gesture, but it made her happy. For the moment anyway.
“There’s a horse ranch not far from Belle, the Johnson Ranch. We’ll go there tomorrow and buy our first round of horses.”
She looked to the barn. “I wonder what state it’s in.”
Their footsteps echoed as they stepped inside the huge building. It was bigger than the house itself, and reminded Eleanor so much of her childhood. Not the size, because theirs was far from large, but the smell. The odor that told her horses had lived here.
She wondered if her memories would leave her alone anytime soon, or if she was destined to recall every past moment while living on this ranch.
She truly hoped not, because it was playing havoc with her heart.
Glen shuffled behind her, and she turned to see him enter the tack room, which was well-equipped. At least she wouldn’t have to invest in saddles and other necessary items. It was all here. “I feel like we’re stepping into someone else’s life,” she said softly. “He must have died suddenly. So much of his life has been left behind.”
It reminded her of her own life. She couldn’t return to the house after the killers had left. Couldn’t bear to see Nathaniel like that. Instead she’d hidden for days, then when it was safe, rode frantically into town, going directly to the sheriff’s office.
She would never return to the home she and Nathaniel had shared. There were far too many awful memories in that house now; they completely overtook the good ones.
Besides, it was already on the market. The money from the sale of it would be deposited in her bank account, which she would likely need down the track.
“Before we do anything else, the wood stove needs to be started. No stove, no coffee,” she said, knowing that would stir him up. In the short time she’d known Glen, she’d already come to understand he enjoyed his coffee. If there was one thing he couldn’t do without, that was it.
They headed back toward the house. “That must be the wood shed,” he said, pointing to a small box on the side of the house. Let’s hope it’s not empty.”
She left him to check while she explored the remaining rooms. In particular, the bedroom.
Eleanor stood in the doorway, and glanced around the large room. Like the rest of the house, the bed was covered with a large sheet. It had been stripped bare, and she hoped there was linen somewhere in the house. It was one of the few things she hadn’t considered.
She opened one door of the wardrobe that ran along an entire wall, and found a neat pile of sheets, towels, and blankets. She crinkled her nose at the musty smell, and left the door open to air out. She also opened a window – that might help too.
There were two more doors to the wardrobe, and she opened them. Both were hanging space. The first stood empty, so she presumed the wife had died before Mr Jones, and her things had been cleared out. She moved to the next door, and swallowed. What would she find here?
Just as she’d feared, men’s clothing hung in the cupboard. There was a handful of shirts, some pants, plus an almost pristine suit, for church no doubt. They were far too small for Glen, so she pulled them all out and threw them roughly on the unmade bed.
When they were next in Belle, she’d donate them to the church. Someone might as well get the use from them.
Her mother’s voice echoed in her head. She’d not grown up privileged, nor had they been poor. When the girls outgrew their clothes and shoes, provided they were still in good condition, they were donated to the church. Nothing of use was ever thrown away.
She carefully folded each item, and put them aside on the easy chair sitting in the corner.
Glen cleared his throat behind her. “What’s all this?”
She stared at him. “Mr Jones clothes I’m guessing. We can take them to the church when we’re next in town.”
He put up a hand as if to stop her. “I will be going to church,” she said adamantly. “No one knows us here, so it will be safe.” She ignored his protests and continued folding. There would be no argument.
The woman was incorrigible.
Did she not understand the meaning of laying low? They were supposed to be hiding out, and it was his job to keep her out of sight. It was proving to be a difficult task.
He studied her as she continued to fold old Mr Jones’ clothing. Her chin quivered, and he wondered if she was thinking about her husband. The mere act of folding the clothes of a dead man likely reminded Eleanor of her murdered husband.
If she hadn’t been in hiding, she would probably be doing this same thing, but with Nathaniel’s belongings. She’d at least been able to attend the funeral, under close protection, and then they’d whisked her away.
Life could be cruel.
Despite their recent days of traveling together, of their close proximity at all times, today was the first time he’d had the chance to study her.
Most of his time had been taken up ensuring they weren’t being followed, that no one got close enough to harm her, and she wasn’t recognized.
Being such a high profile couple in Great Falls meant they were well-known. Instantly recognizable. And that didn’t sit well with Glen.
At least they were far away from immediate danger now. Belle was isolated and quiet. Exactly the way he liked it.
On the other hand, newcomers stood out.
“I sure could use a coffee right about now,” he said, pulling his thoughts away from their grueling travel schedule. “What about you?”
She began to rise from her kneeling position and he leapt forward to help. Reaching for her hands, she slapped his away. “I can manage. I’m not useless.” She scowled, and it marred her pretty face.
Eleanor was still young, around twenty-six or seven at most he guessed. Far too young to be a widow. Her long brown hair was pulled back with a clip, but hung loose down her back. It was obvious to anyone who cared to take the time to look, she came from money.
Her clothes, her hair, even her reticule. They were the best money could buy. He wondered how she felt about the common gowns she’d had to settle for from the store in Belle. No doubt her usual attire came from the high market boutiques. Most likely in New York. Or perhaps in Paris.
She glared at him for his apparent misdemeanor, which on this occasion happened to be acting like a gentleman. He might be a detective and used to fighting criminals, but he still knew how to act around a lady.
As he prepared the coffee in the kitchen, he heard her rattling through drawers in the bedroom. He had no idea why she bothered today – she would have all the time in the world to do that. There really was no rush.
The kettle finally boiled and he filled the mugs with the steaming liquid. He leaned in, breathing in the enticing aroma.
“Smells good.”
She stood in the doorway, watching him. He suddenly felt awkward, like a child having been caught doing something he shouldn’t. He tried to ignore the feeling, and passed one of the mugs over to her.
“It’s getting late,” she said, indicating the setting sun. “I should prepare something for supper.”
He wondered what they might have.
She took a few sips of the hot brew, then placed her mug on the counter before rifling through the shopping. She pulled out the flour, milk, and a few other staples, then rummaged through the cupboards looking for a bowl.
He moved to what he considered a safe distance. From there he observed as she mixed all the ingredients in a large bowl with practiced precision. He still had no idea what she was making.
She turned her head and stared at him. “Pancakes,” she said, as if she could read his mind. “I hope you like them.”
It had been years since he’d had pancakes. He traveled a lot for his job, and mostly ate at diners and hotels. It had been a while since he’d had a home-cooked meal. “Of course.”
She flashed him the briefest of smiles, then turned back to what she was doing.
He continued to discretely study her over the rim of his coffee mug.
“Be a sweetheart and set the table, will you?” She’d said it so casually, as though she’d said it a million times before. The distressed look on her face told him she had. To her now dead husband.
She grimaced. “Sorry,” she whispered, and her pain was evident in that one little word.
“Nothing to be sorry about.” He put the mug down, and did as she’d asked. He wondered how long they’d have to dance around each other.
Chapter Three
The three bedroom cottage was quaint, but cozy.
When it was time to sleep, Eleanor realized they hadn’t thought this through. She’d made up the double bed where the Jones’s had no doubt slept for many years, and it looked enticing.
She hadn’t realized how tired she was until she’d cleaned up after supper.
The pancakes were nice, but not her best. The stress of the situation must be getting to her. Tomorrow they’d go to the Johnson Ranch and pick out a few horses. They couldn’t get too many to begin with, because they had no help. Although that may change quickly as Glen had mentioned it to Sheriff Knight. He promised to make enquiries on their behalf.
No doubt the quarters reserved for the cowpokes needed cleaning, so she’d deal with that tomorrow.
As she stood next to the bed, her nightgown laid out across it, she hesitated. They’d not discussed sleeping arrangements, but knew they couldn’t sleep in the same bed.
In her mind, he’d always been going to sleep on the sofa. Or in one of the spare rooms. Why she hadn’t mentioned it, she wasn’t sure. But she was certain that’s where he would sleep.
Eleanor removed the clips from her hair, and let it cascade around her shoulders.
She startled when she saw him standing in the doorway.
“You have beautiful hair,” he said, giving her an appreciative glance.
She felt the color rise up her cheeks. She wasn’t sure how to answer, so simply thanked him, then reached into the wardrobe. “I have some blankets and a pillow for you,” she said briskly, handing them to him.
He frowned. “You surely didn’t think you’d sleep here with me, did you,” she asked, annoyed at his assumption they would actually live as husband and wife.
“I need to be close by to protect you. I…”
She cut him off. “The sofa or spare room is the closest you are going to get,” then shoved him out of the room and slammed the door. She stood on the other side of the door, her back to it, ensuring he didn’t return.
The nerve of the man! Did he honestly think she, a God-fearing, church going woman such as herself, would allow a man who was not her husband, to sleep with her?
He knocked on the door. “Eleanor,” he called through the wood. “We need to talk about this.”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” she said assertively. “Goodnight Mr Sanders.”
When she was certain he wouldn’t try to return, she changed into her nightgown and climbed into bed.
It wasn’t the most comfortable bed she’d slept in, but it was far better than sleeping upright on the trains and stagecoaches they’d had to endure for almost a week.
She closed her eyes and thought of Nathaniel. She drifted off to sleep with tears on her cheeks.
Glen stripped down to his drawers and slipped his gun under the pillow.
Not that he’d tell Eleanor, but he’d slept in worse places. Under trees, in caves, anywhere he needed to sleep.
He doubted he’d get much sleep tonight on this lumpy sofa – he needed to ensure she was safe, and he couldn’t do that with his eyes closed. He might doze a little, but that was all.
When the sheriff in Great Falls had approached him to protect Mrs Eleanor Carter, they both knew it would be a difficult task. She was a woman used to getting her own way, as Glen had come to realize.
But she needed protection, and he’d drawn the short straw. He still wasn’t convinced Belle was the best place to keep her hidden, but that’s where he was told to go, and he followed rules.
Neither of them thought they’d be here long, but it was already several weeks since her husband had died. Keeping her hidden in Great Falls had proven extremely difficult, not to mention frustrating for everyone, so the decision was made to move on.
Word on the street was they were dealing with a pair of hardened criminals who had robbed several banks, and injured people in the process. This would be their first murder.
The thought rattled him. It proved to Glen they no longer cared who they harmed. All they were interested in was the money. And if they couldn’t get it from her husband, he worried they would seek her out and try to get it from Eleanor.
Of course he wouldn’t tell her that. He’d convinced her the threat was low. Perhaps that wasn’t a good thing, because now she wanted to traipse around town donating dead people’s clothes and going t
o church.
His head hurt just thinking about the possibilities. The danger she was putting herself in.
As he drifted into a light doze, her pretty face came into his mind.
Eleanor stared out the kitchen window and studied the scene before her.
It had been a long time since she had watched horses play in a paddock, and it filled her heart with joy.
She’d spent most of her childhood riding and caring for horses. She didn’t want to think about the last time she’d ridden a horse – straight to the sheriff’s office – and pushed the thought to the back of her mind.
“Many thanks for the coffee, Mrs Sanders.”
She spun around at the unfamiliar voice behind her, and gasped. Glen sat opposite the man at the table, and studied her. Did he realize she’d forgotten about the stranger sitting in their kitchen?
Of course he did – he seemed to be able to read her mind.
Old Mr Johnson at the ranch, had mentioned Floyd Arnold as a drifter who might be willing to help out with the horses. He’d been in and around Belle for over a decade, getting work where he could.
He’d arrived with the horses, and Glen had chatted with him for some time before deciding to take him on.
She stared down at her pretend husband. “You’re welcome,” she said. “Would you like some more cookies?”
Floyd Arnold was typical of the drifters she’d seen back home. Thin and in need of a good meal. Unlike the drifters she’d come across before, he kept himself clean and tidy.
“We hadn’t expected to get someone so soon,” Glen told the man. “I don’t even know the state of the worker’s hut.”
“We’ve only just arrived ourselves,” Eleanor added.
Floyd looked from one to the other of them. “It was in a bad state when old Mr Jones ran the place. I don’t imagine anyone has fixed it since then. Since he died, that is.”
“You worked for Mr Jones? Then you know how things need to be done. Brilliant,” Glen said, not even trying to hide his glee. “When you’ve finished your coffee, we’ll wander down and take a look.”
Eleanor's Dilemma Page 2