by Carol Grace
“Come now, dear. You’re being too hard on yourself. Everyone gets another chance at marriage. Especially you and maybe even me.” Emily winked at her niece.
Laura’s mouth fell open in surprise. What did her aunt mean when she said “even me”? Aunt Emily had been widowed for many years and her son Andrew lived across the country. If she wanted to remarry, more power to her. But she’d had, by all accounts, a happy marriage. Evidently it was all the more reason to want to repeat the experience. Whereas Laura had only negative thoughts about marriage. Maybe someday they’d fade. But by the time they did, she’d be rocking on her front porch, telling her grandchildren stories about the history of Silverado. Maybe they’d be more interested in the old days than Dylan was.
Laura gave her aunt a curious look. “Do you have anyone special in mind?”
“For you or for me?” her aunt asked, her eyes wide, but a faint tinge of pink on her cheeks.
“Well, I thought…”
“We’re talking about you, dear. You’re much too young to give up on men at your age.”
Laura shook her head. “I don’t feel young. I feel as old as those hills out there. One marriage was enough for me. More than enough.” Laura stood, but her aunt put her hand on her arm and poured her a second cup of coffee from a silver urn.
“Sit down. Relax. You’ve had a hard day,” her aunt insisted, and she couldn’t deny it. It had been one of the hardest days of her life. But relax? She couldn’t relax until her debts were paid off.
“Thanks again for letting us stay here. Now, if you won’t let me help out, I want to pay you, of course.”
“No relation of mine will pay to stay with me. Why, if your dear mother were here…”
Thank God she wasn’t. She’d told Laura not to marry Jason. She’d never have said, “I told you so,” but she would have thought it. And it would have broken her heart to see the ranch sold.
After a momentary pause to wipe her eyes with an embroidered handkerchief, her aunt continued. “Now, tell me more about the new owner.”
“Well…” Talking about the new owner was certainly preferable to talking about her ex-husband. But not by much. “I don’t know anything about him. Only that he appears to be living there alone. And he drives a fancy black sports car. I saw it in the driveway. I know he doesn’t like kids.”
“What does he look like?” her aunt asked.
“Like he’s made of granite.”
“Granite?” he aunt asked, looking perplexed. “You mean like Mount Rushmore?”
“Yes, only colder and more distant,” Laura said.
“That’s not what I heard from Alice Gray, whose sister saw him at the discount store on the highway.
She said he looked like that movie star…what’s his name?”
“Darth Maul?” Laura teased, naming one of Dylan’s toy action figures.
Her aunt pursed her lips together. “I haven’t seen him, but I don’t think so. Seriously, and looks aside, if he has a fancy sports car and he paid cash for your ranch, I’d say he must have something going for him.”
“Yes,” Laura said. “He must have money. But money isn’t everything.” She couldn’t help feeling bitter. Money wasn’t everything, but if you didn’t have it, it sure seemed like it was everything.
“How old would you say he was?” her aunt asked, deliberately overlooking the bitter tone in her niece’s voice.
“I don’t know…In his thirties, I guess. I could be wrong. I could be wrong about his looks, too. Maybe he looks like Tom Cruise and I didn’t notice. I only saw him briefly. Outside the house this morning.” Just long enough to notice steel-gray eyes and a cynical mouth that never smiled. She gave a little shiver just remembering.
“Seems a shame, a single city man rattling around in that big five-bedroom house in the middle of that thousand-acre ranch, doesn’t it?” Emily asked, propping her plump elbows on the white tablecloth and gazing at her niece.
“I suppose so.” A shame? It was a crime. It was a house meant for a family. A big family. At one time she’d imagined kids in every one of the five bedrooms. The one with the bunk beds was Dylan’s. The one at the end of the hall with the flowered wallpaper had been hers when she was a child. Which one would the tall stranger sleep in? What did it matter? It was his now. His to change, alter, remodel…and she’d better get used to it.
“I don’t understand it, but maybe he’s not single and his family will be joining him later,” her aunt suggested.
“I have no idea. I swear, Aunt Em, I’ve only spoken ten words to the man, if that. Buzz probably told me something about him when we closed the sale, but I wasn’t paying attention. If anyone can find out the details, it will be you.”
Her aunt nodded solemnly. “I intend to,” she said.
THERE WAS AT LEAST ONE benefit to living in town, Laura reminded herself as she walked briskly down Main Street to work the next morning. She didn’t have to worry that her truck would break down on the way to work. Or that Dylan would fall out of his tree house and break his leg while she was at work. She walked briskly, but she should have been running. She was late as usual. And today she had no excuse. She was living only a few blocks away.
But today, as was usual these days, she got bogged down in a no-win argument with her son over the new rules.
“Don’t ride your bike any farther than the cemetery.”
“Check with me before you go anywhere.”
“Be home for lunch at twelve.”
Every rule was cause for an objection on his part followed by an argument. She suggested for the umpteenth time that he go to the day camp the church was running, but he said it was for babies. So she dropped the subject.
She wished she’d had time for breakfast. The smell of Aunt Em’s blueberry muffins wafting from the kitchen had caused her mouth to water and her stomach to growl. In the old days, not that long ago, she’d have coffee at her breakfast nook, look out toward the valley at Silver Springs ranch land stretching as far as the eye could see, listen to the red-wing orioles and watch the cattle graze. The wells would be pumping water to irrigate the fertile fields. The cattle were gone now, sold months ago to pay for the roof repair, along with the horses, the tractor and the flatbed truck. All that was left was Dylan’s tree house and her herb garden.
The phone was ringing inside the post office and there were three people standing outside, waiting to get in. One was Wes Blandings, the retired plumber. He was always there. No matter how early she got there, he was waiting outside.
“You’re late again, Laura. Run into a lot of traffic, did you?” he asked sarcastically. They both knew there was no traffic on her road. But the poor man had nothing to do but wait impatiently for the mail. Even though it didn’t come in until two in the afternoon, he checked his box first thing in the morning.
“No traffic today, Wes,” she said as pleasantly as she could while she unlocked the door. It wouldn’t do to tell him his box was empty and was likely to remain so until his retirement check came. The postmistress in a small town knew everything about the inhabitants. Too much. She had to dispense hope as well as the mail. Not that she was the postmistress. Not yet.
“I’ve moved to town, Wes. No more commuting.” Might as well come out with it. Wes would find out soon enough. Along with the rest of the town.
“That right? Heard you sold your place,” he said, following her into the tiny building. “Heard the new owner needed a place to hide out from the law.”
“Really?” Laura said.
Georgianna Breck, who was standing behind him, chimed in. “That’s not what I heard. I heard he’s going to turn it into a theme park.”
Laura almost choked. “A theme park? I don’t think so.” She slipped behind the counter and grabbed the phone.
“Silverado Post Office. Acting Assistant Postmistress speaking,” she said.
“This is Brandon Marsh at the Silver Springs Ranch. What time is the mail delivery?”
Chapt
er Two
Laura froze. She could see him now, sitting in her kitchen, looking out her window at her view. Expecting to have his mail neatly delivered to his doorstep. Where did he think he was? San Francisco? She took a deep breath.
“There is no mail delivery on your road. Your mail is here in the post office, if you have any.”
“In the post office? I don’t believe this. Why didn’t someone tell me?”
“I—I’m sorry. It’s my fault. I should have informed you. I might be able to find someone who was going out your way to drop it off, but…”
“No, that won’t be necessary. I’ll come in to pick it up. How can it be possible in this day and age that you don’t have a delivery service? I’m going to file a complaint with the post office in…Where does your mail come from?”
“You do that,” she said, knowing it would do no good. The post office would never send someone to deliver mail to a spread-out, rural community like theirs. “It comes from Reno.” She scanned the line of people that now snaked out the front door. “Now, if you’ll excuse me…”
“Wait a minute. What time does the mail come in?”
“Two o’clock.” She hung up.
Laura forced herself to concentrate on the customers. But she couldn’t stop thinking of the man who’d bought her house. Should she have told him about the lack of mail service? Should she have told him he could complain all he wanted, but he didn’t have a hope in hell of having his mail delivered? He now lived in a rural area and that was one of the disadvantages. She’d never seen it as such, but for someone used to city life…
Absently she rewrapped a poorly taped package for Dora Hayslip. Then she had to leaf through big books to find the commemorative stamps the next customer wanted. When she finally finished with the customers, she had to sort mail that had come in on Saturday. She saw several letters for Brandon Marsh, and it gave her a jolt to see someone else’s name above the name of her ranch. No, his ranch. She was as bad as her son. Having a hard time letting go. She wondered if he’d come in today. She found herself watching the clock.
At lunchtime, Cecily, the part-time girl came in, and Laura hurried back to Aunt Em’s. To her relief Dylan was actually sitting on the front steps of the house waiting for her. His jeans were ripped, his face was dirty and he had a cut on his finger.
“What happened to you?” she asked.
“Nothing.”
“Where have you been?”
“No place,” he said. “Aunt Emily’s in bed.”
“What?”
“I went in there and I seen her in her room. Isn’t she kinda old for a nap?”
Laura ordered him to clean up, then rushed down the hall to see her aunt.
“Just resting,” her aunt said when Laura asked her what she was doing. “I didn’t sleep well last night.” She looked pale, and there were dark circles under her eyes that hadn’t been there last night.
“Shall I call the doctor?” Laura asked.
“No need. He told me there’d be days like this and he told me what to do. I’ve taken my medicine and I’m resting.”
“What about your guests?” Laura asked anxiously.
“They left this morning. The girls changed the sheets and we’re all set for the next group tonight.”
“Are you sure you shouldn’t cancel?”
“Oh, no. But I may cancel dinner. I hate to do it, but I could send them to the diner.” Her aunt’s mouth turned down at the corners at the thought of her guests eating at such an inferior place.
“Let me cook the dinner for you,” Laura said. “That is, if you trust me.”
“Of course I trust you,” her aunt said without much conviction in her voice. “But I couldn’t ask you—”
“Really, I’d love to.”
“Well…if you’re sure.”
“I’m sure. Now you rest,” she said. “And I’ll try to leave work early tonight.”
She made sandwiches for her and Dylan and took one up to her aunt with a cup of tea before she left. When she walked out the front door, Dylan was sitting on the steps where she’d found him an hour ago, his arms folded around his knees with a morose frown on his face. She stood there for a long moment without speaking, not knowing what to say to him.
“I don’t like it here. I wanna go home,” he said.
We don’t have a home were the only words that came to her mind. She didn’t say them. Couldn’t say them. Instead, she turned around, kneeled down on the steps and hugged him tightly. “I know you do. But right now we have to stay here. Just for a while. Just until we get settled in our new home.”
“I don’t want a new home.”
His words hurt like the hot brand of the familiar SS of the Silver Springs Ranch. She didn’t want a new home, either. She wanted her old home with its warmth and security and memories wrapped around her like a blanket. The pain of leaving it, of feeling guilty for losing it, was like a knife in her heart. Every time Dylan complained about leaving or waiting for his father, he twisted the knife.
“I miss my tree house,” he said.
“We’ll build a new one,” she said, unwrapping her arms and gazing at him, willing him to be patient, to be happy. “Just as soon as we get settled.”
He shook his head. “Don’t want a new one.”
“It’ll be bigger and better than your old house. I’ll stop by the hardware store and see how much the boards cost.”
“We got boards at the ranch.”
“Yes, but…” She bit her tongue. She’d sold the place “as is,” lock, stock and barrel. Boards included. She couldn’t tell Dylan that. It would just start another argument that nobody would win.
“Are we poor?” he asked, regarding her with a worried frown.
“Of course we’re not poor,” she said brightly. “But we don’t waste money, either. We’ve got money for the things we need. And a new tree house is one of them. As soon as I get my new job and we get our own place, everything will be okay. Can you hold on until then?” she asked, taking his hands in hers and squeezing tightly.
He didn’t answer. She couldn’t expect him to understand. His whole world had been turned upside down. She sighed and hugged him again.
“I have to go back to work now. You know where to find me if you need me.”
He nodded, but he looked so forlorn, she felt sick about leaving him there. But she was already late. Cecily would be chomping at the bit, anxious to get back to her other job at the coffee shop, and Laura couldn’t afford a single black mark against her if she was to be named postmistress. She took a few steps, then turned to look back. Dylan was still sitting there, his head resting on his knees, looking as if he’d lost his best friend. But this was worse. He’d lost his father, his home and his tree house.
Brandon Marsh came into the post office at precisely two o’clock. The place was full of customers. The driver of the mail truck had dumped the bags in back and she hadn’t had a moment to sort through them. She’d told him the mail was in at two and now he was here, but the mail wasn’t ready. A hush fell over the small office as all heads swerved in his direction. She couldn’t blame them. So little happened in Silverado. A newcomer was fair game. Someone to stare at, speculate about, discuss and dissect.
Laura was just as bad as everyone else. She wanted to stare at him too. To see if he looked as forbidding as he did the last time she’d seen him. But she only allowed herself a brief glance before she trained her eyes on Amanda Little, the librarian who was mailing a package to her niece in Las Vegas.
“What do you think, Laura? Should I insure it or not? It’s only cookies, but you know how Mimi’s counting on them. I made chocolate chip this time.”
“How much did you say it was worth?” Her voice sounded too loud in her ears. She felt Brandon Marsh’s eyes on her. While everyone else was looking at him, he was looking at her.
“Oh, I don’t know. Let’s say five dollars.”
“Oh, yes, well in that case…”
&n
bsp; Somehow she worked her way through the customers ahead of him, each one of whom had something to say that had little to do with the transaction, but more to do with local gossip, until he was finally at the counter. His arms were folded over his chest and he was staring at her, his dark eyebrows drawn together in a puzzled frown. He was better looking at second glance—or was it third glance—with high cheekbones, deep-set eyes and a square jaw.
“What are you doing here?” he asked. A hush fell over the small office as everyone else in line stopped talking to listen to the tall, handsome stranger interact with their assistant postmistress.
“I work here. I’m the assistant postmistress. Someday soon I hope to be the actual postmistress,” she said. Though why she felt the need to communicate her career plans to a stranger, she didn’t know. She was just afraid of allowing a moment of silence between them. “Anyway, I’m sorry, but the mail hasn’t been sorted yet. I know I told you two o’clock, but I’ve been so busy….”
“Are you all alone here?” he asked, looking behind her.
“Yes. This is not exactly San Francisco. This is Silverado. We don’t have all that much business. Well, actually we have enough to keep me busy selling stamps and mailing packages and sorting mail.”
“Yes, I see.”
What was wrong with her? He knew what post office employees did. She didn’t have to explain as if he’d never been in one before.
“Shall I come back another time?” he asked.
“If you don’t mind. It’s been so busy today….”
“I know. You said that.”
She blushed. She’d been working there for the past year and a half. She rarely got rattled, no matter how many people were in line, but today she couldn’t seem to get organized. It was the move. Then it was Dylan and now it was this man.
“I’ll be back,” he said, and turned and walked out the door.
The atmosphere in the room changed the minute he left. Customers resumed their conversations. After craning their necks to stare at the stranger, they went back to making small talk as they waited their turn. When she finally got a break, she went to the back room and dumped the leather sack of mail onto her small desk, sat down and began to sort briskly through the envelopes and packages, hoping to get through them before he came back.