Chapter 3

“Brrr.” Luke shivered from the draft created as the wind howled down the chimney.

Maeve’s breathing was steady and shallow.

“Are you awake? Maybe I should let—”

“No, I’m just resting my eyes.” She gave him a sleepy smile. “Don’t you want to know what Marianna does?”

“Yes, but you seem tired.”

“I’m fine.”

Luke grinned.

“What?” Maeve’s eyelids flickered.

“You’re dozing. I really should be—”

“No, I’m just relaxing.” Rotating her shoulders, she yawned. “The fire’s so cozy, and listening to you read Marianna’s diary, I can visualize her defending their rights.” Waving him on, she leaned back. “Keep reading.”

Over the wind whistling through the chimney and the fire crackling and hissing, Luke detected another rhythmic sound. He glanced from the journal to Maeve and smothered a chuckle. She’s snoring—if I can call it that.

Her rosebud lips were slightly parted, and she gave a faint sigh each time she exhaled. Her body armor at rest as she slept, her face was as peaceful as moonlight on freshly fallen snow.

Snow… Careful not to wake her, he crossed to the window and peeked out.

Gale-force winds whipped the blustering snow, driving it into steep drifts that swallowed the hedges and hid the sidewalks. A car parked along Main Street was nearly buried beneath a white mantle.

Thinking of his truck, Luke groaned. How long will it take to dig out? He tiptoed behind her chair and into the lobby, where the night clerk watched captions on a muted television. “Any weather updates?”

The man glanced from the screen. “Blizzard’s worse. Between the snow, icy roads, and a three-car collision on route seventeen, all highways are shut down.”

“Doesn’t look like I’m getting home tonight.” Luke stifled a sigh. “Got any rooms left?”

“Nope. Sorry.” The clerk shook his head. “We’re booked solid.”

Luke ran his hand across his chin. Then he gestured to the armchairs with his thumb. “Mind if I camp out ’til the roads clear?”

“Under the circumstances? Not a problem.”

“Thanks.” He started toward the sitting room and nearly bumped into Maeve, leaning against the wall. “Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t.” She tossed her chin. “I was cat-napping.”

“Right.” He compared her guarded veneer to her sleeping-beauty persona. Which is closer to her true self?

“Couldn’t help overhearing.” Gesturing toward the clerk with her chin, she grimaced. “I’m responsible for you being out tonight—”

“No.” He shook his head. “This is just a freak storm.”

“You don’t have to sleep in a chair.” She took a deep breath and gave a quick, tight-lipped smile. “My room has two queen beds, and you’re welcome to one of ’em.”

Unsure of the extent of her invitation, he did a double take.

“Just so we understand each other, this is a bunk, a place to sack out. Period. Amen.” She spoke in a low-pitched, no-nonsense voice. “Nothing more, so don’t get any—”

“Got it.” He covered his disappointment with a laugh. “Thanks, I appreciate the offer, but I’ll be fine dozing by the fire.”

“Hey, I’ve bivouacked with soldiers in Afghanistan. I don’t mind sharing a room. We do what’s necessary under extenuating circumstances.” Shrugging, she glanced at the door. “And this blizzard qualifies.” Her face relaxed into a smile.

Her offer tempting; he compared sitting up all night to stretching out in a bed. Then he glimpsed the clerk. Her room’s right across from the front desk.

“If you’re worried about my reputation, don’t be. I’m just passing through. Besides, people would talk even if they caught us napping by the fire.” Jerking her thumb toward the sitting room, she laughed, the sound like sleigh bells tinkling on a crisp, wintry night.

What is it about her that conjures thoughts of other times—other eras?

“Look, if you’re afraid of small-town gossip, we’ll wait ’til the clerk steps out.” Her eyes glistening merrily, she grinned.

On cue, a microwave beeped, and the clerk slipped into the back room.

“Quick! The coast is clear.” Turning, she grabbed the wine and glasses, strode toward her room, unlocked the door, and waved him in.

He swallowed hard. Now what?

****

Was this a dumb idea? Second guessing myself, I closed the door. What would Cody say? Exasperated that he crossed my mind, I sighed. Who cares? What I do is none of his business.

Luke crossed to the far end of the room, clasping the diary to his chest like a shield. Shifting from one foot to the other, he studied the décor as his gaze moved from the door to the window, to the vintage desk, to the beds.

He looks as nervous as I feel. My knuckles white from clutching the handle, I hugged the door as I mentally tallied his actions. After stopping to help me, he called the police, gave me a lift into town, found me a hotel room, and bought me dinner. If anyone’s trustworthy, he is. Relaxing, I let go the doorknob and stepped into the room.

He took a step back, bumped against the desk, and caught the teetering lamp moments before it crashed to the floor. “Sorry.”

“No worries.” I pointed at the windows. “Hey, a storm’s raging outside. We’re dealing with extenuating circumstances.” I already said that…What started as a chuckle came out a high-pitched giggle. “We’re both adults. We’re just being sensible.”

“Absolutely.” He nodded emphatically. “Consenting—” He cleared his throat. “Sensible adults.”

“Have a seat.” I gestured to the desk chair. “And since you’re holding the journal, why don’t you read another entry or two?” As I backed toward the chair nearest the door, I realized I was still holding the bottle and glasses. “Want any more wine?”

“Actually…yes.” He tugged his jacket into place, zipping, then immediately unzipping it. “I could use it.”

His tone had a self-conscious ring, and I chuckled, empathizing. “So could I.” Handing him one, I filled both glasses and raised mine in a toast. His thoughtfulness that afternoon reminded me of a story. “Be the sun, not the blizzard.”

“What?” His glass mid-air, he cocked his head.

“I read about a traveler stranded in a blizzard and how his host’s hospitality impressed him. Can’t recall the details, but the moral was ‘Be the sun, not the blizzard.’ ”

“Good words to live by.” He laughed deep in his throat as he clunked his plastic glass against mine, sipped, then opened the journal. “How much of this story do you remember while you were catnapping?”

“Ramon had just suggested a compromise, and Mr. Holden was listening.” Pretending to be insulted, I arched my brow. “Fooled you, didn’t I?”

“So, you were listening.” He made a mock bow as he took his seat. “My abject apologies for doubting you.”

I settled into a chair and closed my eyes, letting the journal’s entries come alive in my imagination.

****

“Since you won’t lease the minerals under our land, Mr. Holden, I recommend—”

“You’re in no position—”

“That we sell you the plat south of the arroyo but keep the tillable land to the north.” Ramon caught his wife’s glance. “That way, you get what you want, and we keep our ranch.”

Tweaking his mustache, Holden leaned forward. “How much you want for it?”

****

“January seventh. Sold the south section. Own the ranch free and clear.

“January twenty-ninth. Can’t keep anything down except Mother’s Soft Gingerbread.

“February fourteenth. Fainted while chopping wood.

“March fourth. I may be pregnant.”

A crying baby yanked me from a semi-doze.

“Wonder who the baby was?” Luke cocked his head.

“You heard it, too?” Half-asleep, I blinked.

“Heard what?”

“The crying baby.” I shook my head to clear it. I must’ve nodded off. “What baby are you talking about?”

“My great-great-grandmother’s.” He tapped his index finger against his lips. “Bet Aunt Rosie knows.”

“Good…” Drowsy, I felt myself slipping into a twilit dream of gingerbread, Henrietta, and crying babies…

“If your eyelids were any heavier, you’d fall flat on your face.”

I woke with a jerk. “I’m just resting my eyes.”

“You’re dozing again.” He chuckled. “Why don’t we call it a night?”

“It’s a night.” Slaphappy, I grinned.

“Seriously, let’s get some shut-eye.”

“I’m not tired.” Like a stubborn child refusing to go to bed, I shook my head while hiding a yawn. “I want to hear what happens to Marianna.” I kicked off my shoes, lifted my knees to my chest as I curled into the chair, then rested my cheek on my hand. “Keep reading.”

“Five more minutes.” Wearing a stern frown, he made a growling sound in his throat. “Then I’m hitting the hay. Which reminds me. Which bed’s mine?”

My eyes snapped open, and I pointed to the one nearest the window. “That one.” Mine’s closer to the door. I planned escape routes as I swung my feet on the floor. “Want me to read a while?”

“Sure.” He crossed the room and handed me the diary. “Reading might keep you awake.”

“I wasn’t asleep!” Chuckling at the banter, I turned the page.

“April third. Told Ramon the good news.”

****

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.” Marianna nodded. “I’ve suspected for months, but now, I’m positive.”

Ramon lifted her in the air and twirled her around.

Her skirt and petticoats flying, she laughed, glad she had delayed sharing the news until she was certain. “We’ve been disappointed before, but this time…” She swallowed to keep her lips from trembling. The premature birth and miscarriage still haunted her, and after two unsuccessful years of trying, she had all but given up hope of having a baby.

He took her in his arms and held her close.

Responding to his tender grip, she drew strength. “This time, I’m sure.”

****

“September first. Brought in a good crop of cotton. No boll weevils.

“October fourth. Gave birth to Ramona, a beautiful, healthy girl.

“October eleventh. Ramon carved our initials in a cottonwood near the spring.”

****

A week after their daughter’s birth, Marianna and Ramon strolled about their property.

Dressed in their autumn finery, the cottonwoods’ buttery yellow and gold leaves rustled in the evening breeze, sounding like rain on a tin roof. The Texas sage nearby exploded with purple and mauve blossoms, perfuming the air with their spicy-sweet fragrance.

Her heart bursting with love for her husband and new daughter, Marianna breathed in the scene as she inhaled the scented air.

“Let’s remember this moment.” Ramon unsheathed his hunting knife, carved the initials M & R into a tree, and etched a heart around them.

****

“I wonder if they’re still there.”

“If who are still there?” Luke opened his droopy eyes and blinked.

“Not who—what—Marianna and Ramon’s initials.”

“Why don’t we find out?”

“You mean, look for their old homestead?” Scrunching my eyes, I tried to remember the settings of my grandmother’s bedtime stories. “Castolon is nowhere near here, is it?”

“It’s only two hours south in what’s now Big Bend National Park.”

Physically connect with what I thought were fairytales? The idea appealed to my sense of family as much as my taste for adventure. “What time do we leave?”

****

The next morning, Luke woke to voices outside the door. Who’s that? He threw off the covers and sprang from the bed. Why am I dressed? Where…? Half asleep, he glanced about the room. Then he spotted Maeve in the next bed, and the evening’s events whooshed back.

Tiptoeing into the bath, he eased the door shut to avoid its squeak. After a quick shower, he found a toothbrush and razor in the hotel’s amenities, brushed his teeth, and shaved.

The hinges objected as he opened the bathroom door, and he froze until Maeve’s chest rhythmically rose and fell with each breath. Then catlike, he slunk to the window to check the weather.

Outside, the sun shone brightly. Clear blue skies above, the snow-topped peaks of the Lincoln Mountains glistened in the distance.

The snowplows had cleared Main Street but buried the parked car in salty slush.

That poor owner. Then suppressing a groan, he estimated the shoveling it would take to dig out his truck.

He scribbled a note from the hotel’s pad and stuck it in the mirror’s corner.

Luke—Gone home to change. Back at eight to see the homestead—

Barefoot, he tiptoed past Maeve’s sleeping form, and her artless beauty stopped him. Her face as serene as dawn on a still lake, she seemed to shed her military exterior when she slept. Her brow untroubled, she looked as vulnerable as a newborn, and a protective impulse overtook him. Good thing I happened along when I did yesterday.

Boots in hand, he cracked the door, checking if the clerk stood guard at the front desk. All clear, he popped into the hall.

“Luke?”

He recognized the voice, and the hairs on his neck bristled. “Bea.”

“What’re you doing here?” Her raised eyebrows silently reproached as she bobbed her head left and right, rubbernecking to see into the room.

He shut the door behind him, accidentally slamming it. So much for a silent retreat. Then he leaned against the wall to pull on his boots.

“Isn’t February a little early to go barefoot?” Her cold eyes glittered. “What are you doing here?”

“Family research.” With a tight-lipped smile, he stepped toward the exit.

“Research?” Her posture shrieking, I don’t think so, she planted her legs wide and grabbed his arm, blocking his exit.

As her manicured talons dug into his flannel shirt, his back stiffened.

“Your Aunt Rosie is the family historian.” Her grip loosening, her fingers slid down his arm and interlaced with his. “Why not ask her instead of sneaking around hotel rooms?”

“Why don’t you mind your own business?” Shrugging her off, he stepped around her. Great. His shoulders tensed as her gaze burned into his back. Now the rumors will fly.

“Have a good night’s rest?” The night clerk’s sly grin suggested more.

Luke swept by with a noncommittal grunt, caught in the man’s trap no matter how he answered.

“They plowed this morning.” The clerk raised his voice, calling after him. “Bea made it through the roads okay…”

Luke pictured her wheedling the details from the man, then twisting the facts.

****

The door slammed like a detonated bomb.

IED strike! Snatching my knife from beneath the pillow, I vaulted from bed and scanned the area for terrorists. Oh, yeah. As I got my bearings, I gulped air. This is Texas, not Afghanistan. Adapting to civilian life may take longer than I thought.

Then the night’s details slammed through my mind. Luke! Where…? Glancing from his empty bed to the note, I caught myself smiling in the mirror. What am I grinning about?

I analyzed my reflection. Meeting Luke yesterday…seeing him again today…and exploring one of Grandma’s “fairytales.” What’s not to smile about?

I studied the knife in my hands—a precaution against sharing a room with a stranger. Glad I didn’t need this. Then, eyeing the clock, I hopped in the shower.

Steam hung thick in the bathroom as the water vapor fogged the air.

Suddenly, a child’s laughter penetrated the haze.

“Who’s there?” I peeked from behind the shower curtain into the billowing steam.

Another high-pitched giggle—like a little girl muffling her laughter—invaded my privacy.

“Hello?” My skin crawling, I turned off the water, but only a hollow drip, drip, drip echoed in the drain.

“Anyone there?” I reached for a towel and stepped from the shower into the steamy room. A smiley face materialized on the mirror as condensation dripped from it like transparent blood.

The hinges squeaked as the bathroom door cracked open.

“Luke?” He doesn’t have a key. “Hello…?” I kicked open the door and burst into the bedroom.

Silence.

Unnerved, I scoured the room, testing the locked door and windows. Then crouching, I checked beneath the beds.

Nothing moved or seemed out of place.

“Who’s there?”

****

He pulled into the same parking spot he had left an hour earlier and texted Maeve as he entered the hotel.

Luke—I’m in the lobby—

“Good morning.” The day clerk smiled from behind the desk.

Relieved to see her instead of the night clerk, he returned the smile. “Morning.”

“Here you are, Miss Mamie, cream and two sugars.” Her syrupy voice preceding her, Bea emerged from the back room, carrying two mugs. As she handed one to the clerk, she stopped short. “Luke, what a pleasant surprise…again. Can I interest you in a cup of coffee?” She took a sip before offering him the mug, leaving a lipstick kiss on the rim. “Just the way you like it…hot and sweet.”

Her voice like satin, she all but purred. Recognizing the tone, he suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. “No, thanks.”

“What brings you…back?”

Though her lips curled in a smile, the pupils of her eyes narrowed like a cat’s ready to pounce.

The door opened across the hall, and Maeve emerged in cropped hiking boots and tight black jeans that hugged her bottom.

“Morning.” Her face brightening as she met his gaze, she slipped her arms through her vest.

“You must be Luke’s…cousin.” Sprinting around the desk, Bea held out her hand. “I’m Beatrice Perkins but call me Bea. Everyone does.”

Maeve’s gaze again brushed his before she shook hands. “Maeve Jackson.”

“Any friend of Luke’s is a friend of mine.” Wearing a wide smile, Bea sidled next to him, linking arms. “We’re all one big happy family here.”

His spine stiffening, he stepped toward the door as discreetly as possible.

Bea snatched at his hand, her long nails tearing the keys from his grip while she grazed his palm.

As the keys clattered to the floor, he stooped to retrieve them, pulling away.

“A little edgy this morning, are we?” Her eyes narrow slits, Bea smiled sweetly. “Maybe you didn’t sleep well last night.” Not missing a beat, she turned to the newcomer with a lipstick smile. “How long will you be staying?”

“Sorry to interrupt, ladies, but we’re running late.” He opened the door. “All set?”

“Yup.” Zipping her vest, Maeve nodded. “Just as—”

“Not leaving so soon, I hope!” Her smile painted on, Bea stepped between them, blocking the exit.

“Excuse me.” Maeve arched her brow as she shifted sideways, squeezing past the woman.

****

Bea sulked at the window.

“What’s that about?” I took a deep breath, the brisk mountain air constricting my lungs. When I exhaled, my breath steamed.

“Don’t mind her.” He shook his head. “Some people are territorial even on neutral turf.” He grimaced as he opened the truck’s door and offered me a hand.

“Thanks.” Appreciating the boost, I pushed off from his palm, propelling myself onto the front seat. The tingle of his touch shot up my arm and catapulted down my spine like a hot flash.

He hopped in the driver’s side. “Thought we could check on your car, then grab a bite to eat.”

“Sounds good. I could use a cup of coffee.” Or a cold shower. Despite the frigid temperatures, I unzipped my vest as I studied his profile. His five-o’clock shadow was already shading his strong jawline, reminding me how I’d studied his profile last night in the moonlight.

After showering for bed, I’d slipped my knife under my pillow, then crawled between the sheets. Uncomfortable about sharing my room with a stranger, I lay awake, alert for footsteps or the slightest creak of his bed, but only his steady breathing broke the silence. Against the moonlight streaming through the window, I watched the shallow rise and fall of his chest and fought the temptation to brush his curly tendrils of hair from his forehead.

What’s his relationship with Bea? Just as I was about to ask, he pulled into the auto shop.

He rolled down the windows and called to Smitty. “What’s the good word?”

“Not good.” The mechanic wiped his hands on an oily rag as he came around to the passenger side. “You definitely sheared off the exhaust system and damaged the oil pan, alternator, cooling system, brake lines, fuel lines, and drive shafts. But what I’m worried about is the transmission and steering.”

“What isn’t damaged?” I managed a weak smile.

“The trunk.” Smitty chuckled. “Have you called your insurance company?”

“Not yet.” Glimpsing Luke, I winced. In the excitement, insurance had slipped my mind.

“You may be looking at a totaled vehicle.” Smitty pointed to my car on the lift.

So much for getting to El Paso any time soon.

“When will you know the damages?” Luke’s voice splintered my thoughts.

The man shook his head. “Not ’til the parts arrive to test if the transmission and steering work. Then if more repairs are needed, it’s up to the insurer whether to give the go-ahead.”

“Thanks.” How much will a replacement car cost? I weighed the guesstimate against my bank balance. And how could I forget to call the adjuster? What was I thinking? A glance at Luke answered my question. I wasn’t. Girl, get your head on straight.

Excusing myself, I jumped from the cab and called my insurance company. Five minutes later, I hoisted myself back in the cab. “The adjuster will stop by this afternoon to assess the damage. The good news is she’s already received the police report.”

“Nothing more you can do at this point.” Luke shrugged. “How ’bout breakfast?”

Worried about transportation and car payments, all I could muster was a detached nod. “Sure.”

“Hey.” He gently shook my shoulder. “This’ll work out whatever way it’s meant.” His eyes twinkled. “What was your phrase? To everything, there is a purpose.”

Is he poking fun? I peered into his chocolate-brown eyes. Or trying to cheer me? His reassuring smile put my doubts to rest.

“Thanks.” What would I have done if he hadn’t come along yesterday? Appetite returning, I gave him a twisted grin. “Breakfast sounds great.”

“I know a terrific taqueria. Like Mexican food?”

“Love it.” My stomach growled at the thought. “I haven’t had authentic huevos rancheros since the last time I visited Grandma.”

Ten minutes later, we sat across from each other in the café. Drinking freshly brewed coffee from an oversized cup, I breathed in the rich, nutty aroma as I scanned the décor.

Rows of low-hanging, multicolored papel picado lined the ceiling, and each time a person walked beneath, the tissue-papers fluttered. The glossy walls were painted a vivid mustard yellow above their red-brick wainscoting. Colorful, relief-painted chairs portrayed macaws, calla lilies, wide-brimmed sombreros, saguaro cactus, and Mariachi musicians.

How good to be back in a taqueria. I inhaled the scents wafting from the kitchen: sautéed garlic and onions, cilantro, oregano, cumin, and chilies. The mouthwatering aromas triggered memories of past meals with Grandma.

“They make their own tortillas and tamales here.”

“No wonder they are such a booming business on a snowy morning.” The door chimed as two more customers walked in and another left. “That door’s open more than it’s shut.” I chuckled at the counter’s steady queue.

“Lucas.” Holding a tray piled high with empty dishes, a grinning, gray-haired woman in her early sixties paused at our table. “What brings you out this snowy morning?”

“A cousin to taste your cooking.”

“Cousin?” She set down the platter as she regarded me. “Why don’t I know you?”

“Aunt Rosie, I’d like you to meet Maeve Jackson.”

Running the name over her tongue, the woman tilted her head as she glanced into space. Then a light flashed in her dark eyes. “You’re not related to Milly Taylor, are you?”

“Yes.” I gasped, shocked to find another connection. “She’s my grandmother.”

“Call me Aunt Rosie.” Holding out her arms, she stepped toward me.

I stood to return the woman’s hug.

“I met Milly at a family reunion”—letting go the embrace, Rosie paused, again glancing into space—“maybe ten years ago, but I remember her well. She wore glasses, wound her long hair in a bun, and mentioned a granddaughter named Maeve.” Her lined face warmed in a smile. “How is she?”

“Grandma passed away two weeks ago.” Swallowing the sudden lump in my throat, I forced a tight smile.

“I’m so sorry for your loss.” The lines deepened on Rosie’s forehead before a sympathetic smile brightened her face. “What brings you to Fort Lincoln?”

Luke caught my gaze. “Maeve’s researching her family tree.”

“You don’t say. Bring her to supper tomorrow night.” Rosie brushed her hands as if that were that. “Let her meet the rest of the family.”

“From what I understand, we’re only related by marriage. I’m from—”

“Cadence and Ben’s side.” Living up to her name, Rosie flashed another smile. “Like I said, meet the rest of the family.”

A warmth began in my chest, thawing parts I didn’t know had iced over. “What can I bring?”