Winter Winds of Wyoming

by Fyffe, Caroline

“What happened?” Tyler forced the question through his lips. Frigid air seeped through the blanket and clothing, but he barely felt the cold. His mind was still circling her last revelation. “How’d he react?” he heard himself ask.

  “He’s forgiven me. But as soon as Christmas is past, I’m sure, he’ll think better of the arrangements and suggest I find a new place to live. I certainly won’t blame him in the least.

  “Tyler, please, let’s go! I’m cold, and so are you. I’m done talking. If we don’t, we’ll get stuck in this storm.” She gestured to the countryside growing whiter with each passing moment. “The snow is building, making extra work for the horses. As soon as I can, I’m going home to Newport.” She shivered and huddled in his coat. “I have friends there. I think Mrs. Bennet will give me Adaline’s old job in the mercantile. I feel good about the decision. My mind’s made up.”

  He wanted to respond. Keep the conversation light, help her in some way, but he’d been shocked into silence. He hadn’t expected her response. And he also knew she was right about the snow and the urgency of returning to the ranch. He’d come to the incorrect conclusion Wil had attacked her, forced himself on her, and then afterwards, controlled her with threat of exposure. Tyler was sure the snake had pressured her and filled her with guilt. That account wasn’t difficult to believe. The pain ripping his heart was almost unbearable. Even if she had been willing, Wil should have known better. Could Tyler kill a man outright? He certainly felt the need.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  When someone pounded on the inn’s door so hard it sounded as if they’d kicked the barrier with their boot, Adaline practically dropped the cup raised to her lips. She cut her gaze to Dalton, who sat next to her. Dalton surged to his feet and strode to the door. Adaline followed.

  Amid the flurry of snowflakes, a man stood in the open doorway, holding the limp form of a woman. They were both covered in snow.

  Dalton yanked the door wider. “Come inside!”

  Adaline ran to the couch and cleared away pillows, as well as a folded quilt. “Put her here.”

  Leaving a track of snow in his wake, the man did as he was instructed and laid the woman on the worn furniture and then propped a pillow behind her head. He gazed at her for several long moments.

  Adaline gaped. “It’s Beth! I didn’t recognize her all bundled up and covered in snow.” Adaline quickly brushed off most of the snow. She shook out the quilt and tucked it firmly around her. “What happened? Is she hurt?” Who was this man? Had he accosted her?

  “My name’s Thomas Hollyhock. The woman in the mercantile said my mother’s taken sick.” He studied Beth again. “I was coming this way and stopped to ask her if I was headed in the right direction. When she recognized me, she swooned. I guess seeing me after all these years was too much.”

  The hint of sadness in his voice was impossible to miss. All of a sudden, Adaline remembered the unhappy tale about Violet’s son and Beth Fairington. How he’d run out on their engagement. But he was so much older—which made sense now that she thought about that aspect, with Violet being the age she was. Age hadn’t crossed her mind before, just the elements of the unfortunate story.

  “She was only about thirty yards from the inn,” he went on. “And headed for Logan Meadows. But you seem surprised to see her. She must have come from here, didn’t she?”

  He was tall, with wide shoulders and large hands. His face had wrinkles, but he looked kind and his voice was almost like warm whiskey. Without having reason to, Adaline instantly liked him.

  Dalton shook his head. “Miss Fairington wasn’t here today. She hasn’t been out to the Red Rooster for days.”

  “I can’t imagine why she’d venture all this way and not come inside,” Adaline mumbled, shifting her attention between the newcomer and Beth. “Especially on a day like this.”

  Beth moaned and lifted a hand to her face, but still her eyes remained closed.

  Mr. Hollyhock turned and looked down the hall. “As much as I’d like to stand here talking, I feel a need to see my ma. Too many years have passed.”

  “Tommy Hollyhock?”

  Jessie had silently appeared from down the hallway and stood behind them.

  A smile formed on Tommy’s face. “Yes, ma’am. That’s me. Do I know you?”

  Her face lit up like the sun. “No, but I know you—from everything your mother has told me. I came to see who was pounding on the door. Thank God, you’ve come! Violet will be so surprised. She’s always attested you’d return someday! And now you’re here.”

  Tommy’s smile faded. “How is she? May I see her?”

  Beth had awakened and slowly sat up, an expression on her face unfamiliar to Adaline. She remained silent for the first time in her life.

  “Of course you can see her.” Jessie stepped closer. “You must see her! But be warned, she might not recognize you. She doesn’t know where she is and speaks mostly in riddles. She’s conscious minutes at a time before lapsing back into sleep. She’s as weak as a sparrow, but the sight of you might be the medicine she needs. If we could get her to eat, I think she might recover. But she’s refusing all food.”

  His gaze finally went to Beth. “I’m sorry I frightened you, Miss Fairington,” he said very respectfully. “That wasn’t my intention. Can we speak after I see my mother? Will you wait?”

  Beth nodded.

  Dalton glanced at the window. “No one’s going anywhere until this snow lets up. Town’s not far, but getting turned around with white vertigo is all too easy. I see you have horses and a wagon. I’ll put them up in the shed on the back of the chicken coop, if you’d like, and toss them some hay. The rickety protection is better than nothing.”

  “I can’t ask you to do that.”

  “You’re not asking, I’m offering. Now, go on and see Violet. We’re all mighty happy you’ve returned.”

  Tommy took a deep breath and smiled. “I’m much obliged.”

  Wrapped in a sea of peacefulness, Violet reposed without pain, floating on her mattress as if the bed were a double-soft pillow cloud resting in a lake of freshly churned butter. Was she dead? She wouldn’t mind at all—and actually hoped she was. She’d be free of all the nosy townsfolk murmuring on the other side of the door. They were curious about her final moments on earth. Well, they could just go gawk at somebody else. She’d heard their whispers, but opening her eyes took too much effort. She’d just rest here all day without having to get up to feed her chickens, walk into town, make supper, or wash the linen. She felt a bit warm, but perhaps that was what heaven was all about with a harsh winter outside. The comfort of a lovely room to call all her own.

  The annoying squeak of the door invaded her daydream, and she realized she was still on earth. Why hadn’t she oiled that darn hinge months ago? Couldn’t an old woman die in peace? She didn’t want any more willow bark tea or dry toast. Her headache was gone. And, please, no more chicken soup! She would gain her wings sooner without. Violet felt a presence sit by her side but didn’t have one ounce of energy to lift her eyelids.

  Who was here? Jessie? Adaline? Violet’s mind roused for one second wondering, and then she let the thought drift away.

  Someone cleared their throat.

  The sound was deep, not any of her three darling women. A man? Not caring, she drifted in and out of the ecstasy at hand.

  “I’m sorry.”

  The gruffly spoken statement was soft and halting. Sorry? Who was sorry? Darn her curiosity, she could never ignore him now. Violet tried to lift one lid, but the effort proved too much. Don’t matter, really. She had one foot in the grave and the other still planted here on earth. Dying didn’t hurt at all.

  “I’ve made some bad mistakes in my life but running away was the worst of all. I don’t ask for your forgiveness, because I’m not worthy. Still, I’d like to say the words—and will say them—until my dying day.”

  Land sakes! What was this feller going on about? She didn’t ha
ve the power to forgive anyone. The deep voice wasn’t Jake, or Hunter, her newly adopted grandson. Wasn’t any voice she recognized of the men around town. Angrily gripping her eyes more firmly together, she hoped the old coot, whoever he was, would get the hint and go away. Bother someone else. Let her die in peace.

  “I’ve thought of you every day, hoping you were safe. Living a good life.”

  What in tarnation? The conversation was preposterous. The only way to get some quiet was to shoo him away. “I ain’t no preacher ta forgive sins, mister.” His sharp intake of breath fed her irritation. Using all her effort, she cracked her eyelids.

  He sat hunched over, his head cradled in his large hands.

  “Who are ya, anyway?”

  He slowly straightened, tears shimmering in his eyes.

  It was Chase Logan. Why in tarnation was he so upset? The two had had their disagreements when she’d questioned his motives about Jessie, and then threatened him at gunpoint to marry her, but those days were long past. They liked each other well enough now.

  She narrowed her eyes, trying to focus. No, he wasn’t Chase, unless his face had miraculously been toughened and aged overnight by—what? Harsh winds? Annoyed at the suddenly aged, presumptuous whippersnapper, she harrumphed. “Go disturb someone else’s dying, would ya? Was almost over the edge. I don’t know what this yammerin’s about, but I can’t hear the heavenly violins through the ruckus.” She wanted to show him the door but was too weak. “Go have a good heart-ta-heart with Reverend Wilbrand. That’s his job!”

  “Ma, it’s me—Tommy. Don’t you recognize me? I’m sorry for staying away so long.”

  Tommy? My Tommy? She’d always marveled how much Chase Logan resembled her boy and told Chase and Jessie so more times than she could count. Was this really Tommy by her side, returned in the nick of time? Or had she lost her mind? Was she talking to an empty chair?

  “Ma? Can you hear me?” He leaned closer, placing one warm, roughened hand along the curve of her cheek.

  Then she recognized him. His eyes, his face, older, but still her dear, sweet boy. He’d come home, just as she’d always believed he would. A million words fluttered through her heart, but a stranglehold of love and emotion kept her speechless. Tears filled her eyes, and she finally nodded. “Tommy,” she mumbled. “Tommy’s come home.”

  Slipping off the chair, he dropped to his knees, leaning closer. Her hand nestled in his, next to his lips, as tears leaked from his eyes. “Yes, yes, Ma. Mrs. Logan says you’d recover if you’d only try and eat a little. Please eat for me, Ma. I don’t want you to die, not now, not now that I finally came to my senses. Will you do that? Will you eat some broth if I go fetch you some?”

  Could she? Give up on her desire to meet her maker and return to the living? Or was she too far gone? She’d been set to go, made her decision, and when the influenza didn’t take her, she’d just stopped eating. But now, looking into the dear, wavering face before her eyes, she realized she couldn’t. She didn’t want to die. She wanted to live! And love! She had to learn about Tommy, where he’d been. What he’d been doing. How his life had played out. Maybe he had a family and was bringing her some grandbabies.

  “Yes’em.” A tiny voice was all she could muster, but by the smile on his face, he’d heard her. “I’ll eat whatever ya give me.”

  Chapter Forty-Five

  A few moments after Tommy Hollyhock disappeared into his mother’s bedroom, Beth took herself away to her old room, claiming she had a headache and needed to rest.

  Jessie excused herself to the kitchen to make a new batch of chicken soup in hopes Violet’s appetite would return.

  That left him in the front room with Adaline, mostly just sitting by the fire and staring into their teacups. He chanced a glance in her direction, wondering what she was thinking. She held her cup with both hands, as if trying to warm her palms, or perhaps shield herself from him. Today, she’d seemed different. Like she’d come to some kind of revelation about him. He missed the stars he no longer saw in her eyes.

  “How was Violet when you went to see her?” Adaline sipped her tea, her expression guarded.

  “Much too weak. She’s the spice of Logan Meadows. Keeps everyone on their toes. I remember a scolding she gave me and Albert for a little disagreement we had the last time I was in town. I actually think Albert blushed under her tongue-lashing.”

  “A tongue-lashing? What was it about?”

  He’d walked right into that. Why did he bring up the fight under Shady Creek bridge? Hadn’t his humiliation at the time been enough punishment for acting like a schoolboy? “Nothing important. I can’t remember.”

  For one instant, her lips compressed as if she’d just tasted something rancid. He thought of the warmth in her voice when they’d been tucked away in the deserted pig shed, riding out the storm. No hint of that affection showed now.

  “Not important? I can’t imagine what you and Albert might have a disagreement about. Something had to draw Violet’s attention—and scolding? You really can’t remember? Sounds impossible.”

  Was she fishing? He’d long since turned over whatever affection he still held inside for Susanna to the Almighty. She was his past. Sometimes it still hurt, if he let himself dwell on what might have been. But since he’d lost her, he tried not to even do that. Best for everyone concerned. Fibbing by omission to Adaline didn’t feel right but going into detail felt worse. “I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

  She nodded and sipped from her cup.

  Something had changed. Perhaps the situation was as he’d said, and her words of love had been the result of a surge of tension and fear the night little Ying Ling had been born. They could still be friends, possibly. They’d forget the fateful night and the words she’d uttered. He watched her lips on the edge of the cup, so chiseled and—he jerked his gaze to the lantern on the other side of the room, realizing he was imagining what a kiss would be like. Jake wouldn’t cotton to a courtship. Dalton must remember himself whenever he weakened. She tipped her head, when only a week ago, she would have reached out and touched his arm. He liked the old Adaline better.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked. “Did you remember something you had to do?”

  He got a grip of his emotions and took a sip from his cup, listening to Jessie rattling around in the kitchen. “Ahh, no. Just something Violet asked me to do, if I could.”

  “A case?”

  He nodded, hating himself for avoiding the truth again.

  “Anything I can help with?”

  Her eyes brightened. Her interest pleased him immensely. “Maybe,” he replied. Was he being selfish to accept her assistance, to aid them over this troubled spot in their friendship? She was as sharp as a whip. He’d welcome any input. “I don’t think Violet would mind me telling you, since time is of the essence. She’s asked me to uncover the do-gooder before she dies, so she can say thank you. I tried to dissuade her, but she’s adamant. Do you think you might keep your eyes open? Let me know if you see anything suspicious. We won’t tell anyone except Violet.”

  Adaline leaned in his direction, excitement dancing in her eyes. “Yes, I’d be delighted to help. And I won’t tell a soul what you’re doing. As a matter of fact, I heard Albert mention the day he and Susanna returned from New Meringue, a small welcome home sign was hanging on the doorknob of their house. They have no idea who’s responsible but suspect the do-gooder as well.”

  Dalton tapped his chin with a forefinger. “If that’s the case, the do-gooder can’t be Susanna. She was gone and couldn’t have accomplished the task.” Setting his cup onto the hearth, he withdrew a list of names and a pencil from his pocket and drew a line through Jessie and Susanna. Adaline’s fresh scent tickled his senses. For some reason, her lips kept drawing his attention.

  “Jessie?” she asked.

  “I spoke with her when I went in to see Violet. She denied being the person and promised me for Violet’s sake she’d admit to the
fact if she were. With everything going on in town concerning Wil Lemon and Christmas, I hadn’t given Violet’s request much thought, and then she took sick. I’d like to do this for her if I can, before she passes away.”

  Her lips quivered. “She might not pass, Dalton. Nothing is for sure.”

  That was true.

  Adaline tipped her head as she leaned closer and read the list in his hand. When she looked up, their faces were barely an inch apart.

  Again, he dropped his gaze to her lips. “Adaline,” he whispered as he moved nearer, thinking he’d waited an eternity for this moment.

  Adaline closed her eyes and their lips gently brushed.

  “Soup’s on and—”

  They jerked apart.

  Jessie disappeared back into the kitchen and the list of names fluttered to the floor.

  Adaline’s nearly empty cup spun sideways in his direction. She yelped.

  He snatched it out of the air, her tea still safely inside. “Here you go,” he barked, flustered and embarrassed. “Don’t want this spilling on your skirt.”

  Adaline took the cup with shaky hands and stood, her bright face reminding him of the Christmas berries growing along the road. She stood and hurried to the kitchen herself.

  He ambled over to a window and stared at the falling snow. As much as he hated to admit it, he’d fallen in love with Adaline—another woman he couldn’t have.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Beth huddled under the thick covers of her old bed, shaking uncontrollably. Her teeth clattered and an icy coldness had seeped all the way through to her bones, having nothing to do with her sodden dress lying crumpled in a heap on the floor or the thin layer of frost on the windowpane. She wiped the wetness from her cheeks and stared at a cobweb hanging in the corner of the ceiling.

  Remaining out front by the fire—as Dalton and Adaline had encouraged her to do—hadn’t been possible. Seeing Tommy rattled her soul. Why on earth had he returned? Memories from long ago rushed back full force.