by Hebby Roman
“Okay.” He gave in, since it was obvious she wasn’t going to let it go. Besides, the thought of spaghetti, meat sauce, and garlic bread made his stomach growl.
“Yeah?” Her smile brightened her face more than he thought possible, and he found he didn’t want to be the one to make it go away.
“Yeah,” he confirmed. “How about tomorrow?”
Chapter Three
Dinah parked in the driveway of Ben’s old house. The one they’d shared before she’d walked away. He hadn’t understood her need to preserve her independence or wither away, and she’d been determined not to allow Ben’s career decisions to derail her own goals. So, even though she loved him, she’d packed her bags and left McTiernan for Dallas and her future.
Unfortunately, her future hadn’t lasted that long. The competition was fierce for her two chosen fields, event planning and real estate, not to mention the higher cost of living, and six months later, she’d run out of money. Luckily, when she made up her mind to leave Dallas, she’d found someone to sublet her apartment, which took that bill off her “owe” column.
Ben wasn’t here, yet, so she tried her old key in the lock and it opened. Did she even want to explore what that meant? Did he think himself safe and she would never come back? Or did he leave the old lock in place, hoping she would return, and . . . what? Pick up where they left off?
She shook herself mentally, and walked back to the car to grab the fixings for dinner. Thinking this way would get her nowhere. Even if she thought she wanted to get back with Ben Hammond, and she didn’t know if she did, much time and deliberation should be devoted to the idea
No. She stopped herself right there. Neither one of them had really changed in six months, at least not in the way that mattered. They both had their career goals, although hers had been redirected. While he wanted a wife to be at his disposal, at all times, she wanted to remain independent in a relationship. No, they would never be able to meet in the middle.
A short time later, with meat sauce bubbling in the skillet, garlic bread ready to go into the oven, and spaghetti waiting to boil, she opened a bottle of wine and set it on the table to breathe. She set the file, with all the property info, on the other end of the dining room table and waited for Ben to come home.
* * *
Ben’s heart lurched as he pulled into his driveway and saw Dinah’s car. It had been some time . . . six months . . . since he’d looked forward to coming home. The house was too quiet without anyone else there, and he’d taken to staying at the jail more nights than not. While he would never say it aloud, he wondered if her being here meant anything significant. The practical side of his brain said absolutely not.
He exited his patrol car, locked it, strode to the door, and turned the knob. At some point, after she left, he’d considered changing the locks, but it seemed like a hassle he could do without. Now, he was glad he’d listened to his inner voice of reason.
“Di? I’m here.”
She met him in the living room. “Good, if you’re hungry, I’ll start the pasta cooking.”
“Any time’s fine,” he said. “I’ll go clean up.”
He unlocked the gun safe, placed his gun and badge inside, and then headed back to take a quick shower. A few minutes later, he joined her in the kitchen, cleaner and smelling better.
She grabbed salt and pepper from beside the stove. “I thought, if it’s okay with you, we’d eat off the stove instead of dirtying a bunch of serving dishes.”
“That works for me, since the dishwasher’s still broken.”
“Ben, that was months ago,” she scolded, “Why didn’t you get it fixed?”
“I haven’t been here much. A dishwasher wasn’t high on my list of priorities.”
Dinah glared at him for a second or two, like she might have more to say, and then, shook her head, and got two plates from the cabinet. She removed the bread from the oven, wrapped the loaf in a towel, and said, “Whatever. Here’s the bread, go pour the wine and I’ll be right there.”
“Okay.”
She followed behind him, set the plates on the table, and smiled when he held her chair. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
Either her cooking had improved or he was just hungry, he’d bet on the latter, but he ate his way through two helpings of spaghetti and half a loaf of bread. He dropped the last bite of bread crust onto the plate, and leaned against the chair back.
“Whoa,” he said, and then drew in a deep breath. “I won’t have to eat for three or four days. You done good, Di. Did you take cooking lessons, while you were in Dallas?”
“Ouch! Don’t be a jerk!” She threw a wadded up napkin at him. “I thought we were having a nice evening.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean—
“Of course, you did.” She stacked her silverware onto her plate, and poured more wine into her glass. The corner of her mouth kicked up. “Truth is, I had a neighbor who worked as a chef at a prestigious hotel restaurant, and I picked up a few tips, here and there.”
“Wow.” Ben bit his tongue to keep from saying anything else that would be mean. He didn’t normally throw out rude comments, but, for some reason, he always did with her. “Glad that worked out.”
Her mouth opened, as if to comment further, but she immediately closed it. It crossed his mind, if they weren’t careful, they’d both have blood dripping down their chins, so he decided to get her off the hook.
“I see you’ve brought your file, why don’t I bring in the boxes from the car?”
“Good idea,” she agreed, “I’ll clear the table and start soaking the dishes. Meet you in five?”
“Yeah.”
Back in the house, he removed the lid, and set a few items out. When Dinah joined him, he asked, “What exactly are we trying to prove here?”
“I thought it might be fun to match the info you’ve found in the boxes with the deeds I have. I love history and family sagas, plus maybe we can shed some light on the missing money and why folks started calling the place Hard Luck Ranch.”
“It isn’t just because you’re nosey and like to gossip?”
“Ben?” she warned him.
He laughed. “Okay, I promise no more shots across the bow.”
“Finally.” She picked up a document and began to read. “This is a deed from 1930, with the owner listed as Warren Harper, and the next one – oh, nice, these are in chronological order – the next one, dated 1959, has Warren Harper, Jr., listed as owner.
“In 1960, it appears the land reverted back to Warren Sr. And then, apparently, Otis Baker bought the place in 1970. I wonder why?” She leaned toward him and asked, “What have you got there?”
“Envelopes of all shapes and sizes. This one’s labeled, Deed Copy.” He removed a cache of papers, held together with a rusted staple, and read, “The name here matches yours for Warren Sr. It’s a copy of the one you have.” He refolded the deed, put it back into its envelope, and picked up another letter-sized envelope. “This is a last will and testament for . . . Warren Harper, Sr.”
Dinah leaned closer. “What does it say?”
“Essentially, it says he leaves his property and other possessions to his son, Warren Jr., and his family, Janet Bailey Harper and Bailey Harper.” He handed her the document.
“This was notarized in 1959, but we know Sr. was still alive in 1960. So, what happened to his family?” She placed the will on top of the original deed.
“Okay,” Ben said, picking up a brown envelope and emptying the contents onto the table. “Here’s a pile of newspaper clippings.”
Dinah picked up the top one and read the title of the article. “This one tells of the wedding of Warren Jr. to Janet Bailey, um, December 1949 is hand written across the top.”
Ben took the stack and handed it to Dinah. He took the rest of the contents and began reading.
Dinah unfolded the yellowed newspaper clipping and read aloud, “Local woman, Janet Bailey, marries Fort Sam Houston soldier,
Corporal Warren Harper, Jr. It says here, she will live with her parents in San Antonio, while her husband is stationed in Korea.”
“Hmm, apparently, Jr. was a doctor,” Ben said.
“Really?”
“Yeah, here’s his certificate stating his completion of residency training, in internal medicine, from . . . 1957.”
“Okay, this article says he received a promotion to Lieutenant. He served in a MASH unit not far from North Korea.”
“When was that?” he asked.
“Thanks, by the way, to whoever wrote dates on these, umm . . . 1952.”
“No kidding.” He went to the kitchen and came back with a notepad and pen. “Go ahead and write down the dates and the event, would you?”
“Sure.” Doing as he asked, she then picked up another clipping. She drew in a sharp breath, and as she continued to read, tears filled her eyes. “Oh, Ben, this is why Warren Sr. took back the land.”
He couldn’t imagine what had upset her, but he didn’t like seeing her this way. Never had. He found he would, to this day, do anything to keep her from crying. Sliding his arm around her shoulders, he waited for her to continue. Finally, he prompted, “Di?”
“January, 15, 1960, Warren Harper and his wife, Janet, were killed in a single car accident, just north of Dallas, due to icy roads. They were moving here to set up his medical practice.”
“Damn, does it say anything about their son?”
She swiped at the tears running down her face. “Apparently, Bailey was asleep in the back seat, and not seriously injured. After the funeral, he went to live with his grandfather, Warren Sr.”
“So, something happened, between 1960 and 1970, to cause Senior to sell the property to Mr. Baker. At that point, Bailey was about twenty. Why didn’t he get it?” Ben started flipping through other documents to figure out the puzzle.
“I don’t know.” She wrote down the date and incident on the timeline, and then pushed away from the table, grabbed her glass of wine, and moved to the couch. “But, I do know, I can’t read anymore sadness tonight.”
He followed her. He hated seeing her this way. She had such a resilient mentality, very little dampened her spirits for long. Without thinking too much about the reasons or the consequences of his actions, he slid his arm around her shoulders, and pulled her close.
Miracle upon miracle, she laid her head on his shoulder. She was soft and warm, and her scent filled his nostrils, stirring memories he’d long ago hidden away. Rarely did he allow his mind to wander in this direction . . . at least not in the last six months . . . and, not this far. But she was too close. She skewed his ability to reason. He sank into the cushions, his arms taking her with him. His libido overrode reason, and he lifted her chin, and then, his brain in a lust-filled fog, he covered her mouth with his.
She responded with equal hunger, returning as good as he gave. She tasted so good, so familiar, he lost himself for a few moments . . . that is, until she broke the contact. She pushed against his chest with both hands and jumped off the couch.
Hands on her hips, she squared off in front of him, visibly shaken. “What are you doing?” she accused, her voice quivering.
“Holding you? Offering you comfort?” he said to her, trying unsuccessfully to redirect his wayward thoughts.
“Like, hell, you were. That’s not what your tongue was doing!” She gathered her file, grabbed her purse and stormed to the front door in a huff. “I never could give you an inch that you didn’t take a mile.”
And with that, she was gone, his ears ringing with the sound of the slamming door. His head spun from the swiftness of her exit. Later, after his body recovered from the shock and awe that was Dinah Horne, he’d give himself a good talking to, for being such an easy target.
* * *
Dinah pulled out onto McTiernan Ranch Road with no thought to her direction or destination. What had she been thinking? Nothing apparently. She’d never had any presence of mind where Ben Hammond was concerned. From the first day they’d met in Maggie’s living room, she’d had no control over her reaction toward him. He’d filled her every waking thought. It was one of the reasons she’d had to leave. She felt she was in danger of losing herself, her independence.
She pulled the car over and stopped. She really needed to talk to someone. But not Maggie. Someone who didn’t have a vested interest in their friendship. As she looked around, she realized she sat at the gate to Ben McTiernan Ranch. Last year, she’d helped Bridey with her Labor Day Bash, and they’d gotten along. Maybe Bridey would listen as she tried to make sense of a few things.
Everybody in the town knew Bridey stayed up into the wee hours, so she put the car in gear, drove through the gate, and up to the house. Soft light glowed from the downstairs windows, confirming Bridey was probably awake. She walked onto the wrap-around porch and rang the bell. While she waited, she began to rethink her decision to stop here. She’d decided to leave before anyone knew she was the one who’d rang the doorbell, just as the Benning’s butler answered the door.
“Miss Dinah, it’s good to see you.”
“Hi, Hampton. Have you recovered from the party?” She liked the sweet older gentleman. Both he and his wife, Vidalia had worked for the Bennings for many years, and were thought of as family.
“Yes, ma’am, everything ‘cept my feet. I sure gave ‘em a workout.”
“I know that’s right.” She smiled and then gave him the reason for her visit. “Is it possible for me to see Bridey?”
“Yes, if you’ll wait in the den, I’ll let her know you’re here.”
“Thanks, Hampton.” She entered the large family room located off the kitchen.
Bridey joined her after a few minutes, and welcomed her with a hug. “Dinah, I’m so glad you stopped by. I’m sorry I put you to work at the party over the weekend. We hardly had a chance to visit.”
“That’s quite all right, glad I could help. You had so many guests to tend to, I completely understand,” Dinah answered, and added, “Listen, I apologize for dropping by so late.”
“It’s no problem. I’ll be up for hours yet.” She motioned for Dinah to sit on the couch and joined her. “How can I help you, dear?”
Dinah hesitated for a second or two, wondering if she’d made the right choice, and then the words poured out. “I don’t know if you can or want to. I know Maggie would, but she’s too good a friend, and . . .”
“And you need someone who isn’t too close to you or the situation, and therefore, won’t be biased in their advice.”
“Yeah,” Dinah sighed her agreement. “That’s what I need.”
“Well, tell me your dilemma, and I’ll help if I can.”
“Ben kissed me tonight.”
“As in, McTiernan’s sheriff?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, so far, so good.”
“Not really,” Dinah said. “I pushed him away and ran from the house.”
“Why do you think you did that?”
“I don’t know, I keep making the wrong decisions, like mistake is my middle name instead of Marie.” She waited for Bridey to intervene, to try and stop her, or tell her she was wrong. When that didn’t happen, she continued, “I made a mistake when I moved away, I made a mistake in my career choices, and I may have made a mistake in coming back.”
“Aren’t you being a little hard on yourself?” Bridey said, gently.
Dinah mulled that over for a split second and started to cry. She couldn’t have stopped the water-works if she tried and found she didn’t really want to. She went willingly into Bridey’s open arms, accepting the comfort she offered. After a short time, she straightened out of Bridey’s embrace, swiped at her eyes, telling herself she needed to be stronger, giving in was a weakness.
“Thanks, Bridey, I appreciate you letting me come in and bend your ear for a few minutes. I feel better.”
“We didn’t talk about very much. Why don’t I fix us some tea, and you can keep me company for a while?” Brid
ey took her by the hand and led her over to the kitchen and the round glass-topped table. “Do you have any place you need to be right now?”
“Not really. Maggie and Graeme are expecting me to show up eventually, but with the kids in bed, they might enjoy some alone-time before I barge in.”
“I doubt they know what alone-time is and they’re about to have even less of it.”
“That’s probably true,” she agreed, “Just in case they do, I’ll call her and tell her I’ll be later than I expected.”
Bridey went ahead of her and put the kettle on to boil, leaving Dinah to make her call. When Dinah joined her, she smiled, and asked, “How’s Maggie?”
“Tired,” she said. “She was on her way to bed when I called.”
“Good.” Bridey brought the teapot and cups, and joined her at the table. “How are you doing at Packard Realty?”
“Fine, so far, I think . . . I hope Tristi thinks so.”
“Knowing Tristi as I do, I imagine she’d tell you if she didn’t think you were.”
“I hope so.” Dinah fixed her tea with cream and sugar, and then said, “Ben’s new place was my first sale.”
“That’s right, he bought the old Harper place, didn’t he?”
“Yes. I met him at the house the other day and we found some interesting things.”
“Like what, for instance?”
“Like newspaper clippings, deeds, wills, and such. I told Ben, I wondered if we could find out how the place got the name Hard Luck Ranch.” She sipped her tea, and noticed Bridey had become quiet and pensive. “Do you know anything about the ranch’s history?”
“I know the Bakers owned and lived on the place for many years, until Otis Baker died. His wife moved in to town so she wouldn’t be alone. That’s about the time Bailey Harper came back and he took to living there,” Bridey recalled. “I don’t remember too many specifics, it’s been too many years and so much has happened . . .”
“That’s good to know. Ben said, about the name, Hard Luck, that there were rumors of stolen money possibly buried somewhere on the place.” Bridey studied her cup intently. The silence hung between them so thick and heavy, that Dinah wondered what the older woman wasn’t saying. She decided to ask more questions. “Did you know the Bakers or Mr. Harper very well, or at all?”