“You haven’t dated since Jake died?” Travis asked.
She shook her head.
“What’s the matter with the men in this town?” he asked in a way that suggested they were idiots.
“Grady Weston asked me to the big summer dance last year.”
“And?”
“And I turned him down. Glen Patterson, too.”
“Nell, no.” He planted his hands squarely on her shoulders. “Wake up. Look around you. Breathe in the cool night air and let it fill your lungs. Let yourself feel.”
He spoke with such intensity all she could do was stare at him.
“You don’t believe anything I’ve said, do you? I can see it in your eyes.”
Instantly she lowered her gaze. “I’ll never have with anyone else the kind of love I had with Jake.”
“Of course you won’t,” he said.
The man said and did the most shocking things.
“Jake was Jake,” he continued. “Any relationship you might have with another man will be different from your marriage to Jake because that man will be different from Jake.” He paused. “The problem, Nell, is that you haven’t seen it this way. The way you see it, any other man is destined to fall short because he can never be a replacement for the original.”
She had to admit Travis made sense. It was exactly what Ruth and Dovie and several others, Savannah included, had been trying to tell her. Either she hadn’t fully understood or she hadn’t been ready to listen.
It hit her then that Travis spoke as if he was familiar with this type of loss. “You lost your wife?” she asked him.
Now it was Travis who looked away. “In a manner of speaking.”
“What manner?” He’d prodded and pried, now she did the same.
“I’m divorced.”
“You loved her?”
“Very much,” he said, “and I assumed she loved me. But apparently I was wrong.”
Nell waited for him to go on, and after a moment he did.
“She met someone else.” Travis buried his hands deep inside his pockets as though he felt a need to suppress his anger, even now. “Someone who could give her the things she needed, the things I couldn’t—and I’m not just talking about money.” He sounded philosophical, but beneath his matter-of-fact statement, she recognized his pain. Recognized it because she’d experienced a similar pain.
“Tony, Val’s new husband, sets her on fire,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I didn’t.”
Nell might have accepted the words at face value if not for one thing. He’d held her and kissed her. There was definitely fire in him, and it was burning strong. Maybe his ex-wife hadn’t provided enough kindling, she mused—and felt some amazement that such a thought had occurred to her. “Bitterness wouldn’t solve anything, so I decided to do what I could—go on with my life, put the past behind me.”
“Have you?”
“I like to think so.” He said this as if he expected her to challenge him. “How is it we’re talking about me? You’re the one who’s still living in the past, not me.”
“Really?”
Travis chuckled and held up his hand. “Enough. Your point is well taken. We’re both among the walking wounded.”
Nell smiled. “Perhaps we could learn from each other,” she suggested.
Travis nodded. “Perhaps we can.”
They drove back to the ranch in separate vehicles. Travis pulled into the yard seconds behind her.
“Good night,” she called, offering him a friendly wave as she headed toward the house. A single light shone above the back porch door. In all likelihood Jeremy and Emma were sound asleep; it would surprise her if Ruth was still up.
“’Night, Nell.”
Once inside the house, she climbed up the stairs to her room, undressed in the dark and sat on the edge of her bed, reviewing the events of the day. When she turned on the bedside lamp and took out her journal, it wasn’t the five-hundred-dollar prize money she thought of. Instead, she found herself writing about Travis’s kiss and the discussion that had followed.
JEREMY AND EMMA had been up for at least an hour by the time Nell got out of bed. Sundays were just as hectic as schooldays because chores needed to be finished before they left for Sunday School and church.
Nell had coffee brewing and was cracking eggs for French toast when the kitchen door opened and Travis strolled casually inside. “’Morning,” he said, helping himself to coffee.
“Good morning,” she said, whipping the eggs into a frothy mixture before adding the milk. The griddle was ready and she had six slices of egg-soaked bread sizzling in short order.
“You coming to church with us?” Jeremy asked as he and Emma dashed in.
“Ah…” Travis glanced at Nell.
“It’s the Lord’s day,” Emma said severely as if there should be no hesitation on his part.
“You’re welcome to join us if you wish,” Nell said.
He didn’t show any sign of reluctance. “I’d enjoy that.”
At breakfast Jeremy sat on one side of Travis, Emma on the other, the children accepting him as easily as they would a much-admired uncle.
“We’re lucky Mr. and Mrs. Patterson didn’t have any rooms left to rent,” Jeremy said.
“Real lucky,” Emma agreed.
“With the rodeo over, the Pattersons should have plenty of room,” Ruth muttered as she walked into the kitchen, yawning.
The news landed like a bombshell in the kitchen. The children stared at each other as though they’d just learned the horrible truth about Santa Claus. Nell felt an immediate sense of disappointment, but Ruth was right. Phil and Mary would have space available for Travis now, and the accommodations would be far more comfortable than a too-short mattress in the bunkhouse. At Phil and Mary’s, Travis wouldn’t need to worry about a goat eating the socks off his feet, either.
“That’s true. Mr. Grant could move into town,” Nell said, trying to sound as though it made no difference to her. It shouldn’t, but hard as she tried to convince herself it would be best if Travis left, she hoped he wouldn’t.
Every eye went to their guest. “Move into town?” he repeated, glancing at each in turn. “Would anyone mind if I stayed on here? Your goat and I have recently come to terms. It would be a shame to leave now.”
She shouldn’t be this happy, Nell decided, but she was. She really was.
“WHAT TIME IS IT?” Frank Hennessey mumbled as he rolled over in the large feather bed and stretched his arms to both sides.
“Time for you to be up and dressed,” Dovie said. “Church starts in less than thirty minutes.”
“Church,” Frank groaned. “Dovie, you know how hard it is for me to sit through Sunday service.” But he eased himself up in bed to enjoy the sight of his wife fluttering about the room, hurriedly dressing. Dovie was a fine-looking woman and he took pleasure in watching this woman he loved.
It’d taken him long enough to make the leap into marriage. Not many men waited until they were sixty years old—maybe that was why the decision had been so hard. He might have remained single all his life if not for a woman as wonderful as Dovie. Their arrangement was perfect, he’d thought. Twice a week he spent the night. Two of the best nights of any week.
Dovie, being the kind of woman she was, had wanted them to get married. He’d led her to believe that eventually he’d be willing, and for ten years he’d believed it himself. Then all at once Promise experienced a rash of weddings and Dovie became possessed by the idea of marriage.
That was when he’d realized he simply wasn’t the marrying kind. Painful though it was, he’d confessed to Dovie that he just couldn’t do it—and she’d promptly ended their relationship. Those weeks apart had been agonizing for him.
He loved her, but he’d broken his word to her, and although he hated himself for hurting the woman he adored, he couldn’t give up the comforts of his life as a bachelor. For instance, the fact that his house was a mess. It was his mess, th
ough, and he knew where things were. Dovie wouldn’t tolerate the unsightly stack of magazines by his recliner or the pile of laundry beside his bed.
Marriage meant more than making a commitment to her, he’d thought; it meant he’d be forced to alter his entire life. At sixty such a drastic change didn’t come easy.
Things had looked hopeless—and grew even worse when he made the mistake of taking Tammy Lee Kollenborn out one evening. That was the night he’d known he could never love anyone but Dovie. Afterward, when Dovie had gone away on a short cruise, he’d been terrified she’d meet another man. It seemed inevitable that he was going to lose her, and the knowledge was destroying him.
The solution had come from an unexpected source. From the man he’d assumed would be the least understanding. Reverend Wade McMillen. Frank owed him big time. The local preacher had suggested that Frank and Dovie get married but maintain separate households, the same as they were already doing. Then they could both have what they wanted. What they needed. Dovie had the commitment she craved, the wedding band on her finger. And Frank was free to eat baked beans out of a can in front of the television, wearing nothing but his underwear, if he so desired.
“Dovie,” he whispered softly, watching a silk slip float down over her breasts and hips. “Come here, love.”
“Don’t you use that tone of voice with me, Frank Hennessey. I’m running late as it is.”
“Dovie,” he coaxed and sat up. He held out his arms to her. “How about a good-morning hug?”
“Not now.”
“No?” Frank was surprised. Dovie rarely refused him anything, especially when it came to what she called “the delights of the flesh.” He’d never met a woman like her. Dovie was a lady to the core, but when it came to lovemaking, she was both lusty and generous.
“It won’t stop with a hug and you know it,” she chastised.
He did know it and he sighed deeply.
Dovie disappeared into her closet.
“Where are you going now?” he called.
“Out of sight, out of mind,” she called back, giggling.
Frank tucked his hands behind his head and closed his eyes. He didn’t bother to tell her it didn’t work that way, at least not with him. The time they’d been apart, he’d done nothing but think of her. Thoughts of Dovie had tormented him day and night, until he was sure he’d lost his mind.
“Do that again,” he said, savoring these moments in bed.
“Do what?” came her muffled question.
“Giggle.”
“That’s a silly thing to ask.” But she did.
Frank loved the sound of it. He had to smile every time he heard her giggle. Or laugh. Or just heard her, period.
Dovie reappeared a minute later in a royal-blue dress that buttoned up the front and belted at the waist. She braced one hand on the bed post as she slipped into her pumps.
“I’m going to do something with my hair and then I’m heading for church.”
“No hug?”
One outraged glance answered the question. Frank laughed.
“I’m driving out to see Savannah, Laredo and the baby after church,” she said.
“Do you mind if I tag along?” he asked.
Apparently his question caught her by surprise because she abruptly stopped brushing her hair and met his gaze. Her eyes softened. “You want to see the baby?”
Frank nodded. “That surprises you?”
“Yes. Do you like babies?”
“Actually I’m quite fond of children.” It was his one regret in life. He’d give anything to have met Dovie as a young man and had children with her. She would have been a wonderful mother, just as she was a fabulous wife. “I would have liked kids of my own,” he confessed with a hint of sadness.
She continued to stare at him and he noticed a sheen in her eyes—as though she was about to weep.
“Dovie?” he asked gently. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh, damn,” she said, sniffling. “I’m going to ruin my makeup and I don’t have time to fuss with it now.”
Frank climbed out of bed and reached for his robe. “What is it, Dovie?” he asked again.
“I always wanted children,” she whispered. “So badly.”
“I assumed you and Marvin decided not to have a family,” he said. They’d never discussed the subject, and it seemed strange to be doing so now.
“We couldn’t have children,” Dovie said. “Marvin…had the mumps as a teenager. I never complained, but…”
“Couldn’t you have adopted?”
“Marvin wouldn’t hear of it. I asked him to reconsider many times, and he refused. As much as I wanted to be a mother, I couldn’t bring a child into our home when my husband felt the way he did.”
“I’m so sorry, Dovie.”
She attempted a smile. “It was a long time ago. I don’t even know why I’m crying. But when you said how much you regretted not having children, I realized…why I love you so much.”
The hug he’d been longing to collect all morning was now given with spontaneity. Frank held her tight and closed his eyes.
“Perhaps Savannah and Laredo will allow us to be substitute grandparents for Laura Rose,” he whispered.
“I was thinking the same thing,” Dovie said. She cradled his face and smiled, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “I love you, Frank Hennessey.”
“I wish we’d met years ago,” he said, voicing his earlier thoughts.
“We met at exactly the right time,” she told him. “Any sooner and I would’ve been married.”
“Any later, and you might’ve been with that judge you met on the cruise. The Canadian guy.”
“Perhaps,” she admitted, but skeptically. She dabbed at her eyes. “Frank, I really must rush. You know how compulsive I am about being on time.”
Frank checked his watch and knew if he hurried, he’d have time to dress and join her.
“I’ll go with you,” he said.
“Any reason?” she asked.
“Several reasons—but if I take the time to list them, we’ll be walking in during the middle of Wade’s sermon.”
TRAVIS WAITED UNTIL JEREMY and Emma had left for school on Monday morning before he approached Nell, who was in the barn. “Ruth said I’d find you here,” he said, feeling a bit awkward.
She was busy tending a newborn calf, but glanced up and smiled when he entered the barn. Kneeling in the straw, feeding the animal with a large baby bottle, she explained that the calf was one of twins and had been rejected by its mother. Once again Travis found himself admiring her compassionate capable nature.
They exchanged a few pleasantries as she worked, and when she’d finished, he opened the stall gate for her.
“Thanks,” she said, walking over to the barn faucet where she washed and dried her hands. “So what can I do for you?”
“Do you have time to talk for a few minutes?”
“Why?” she asked bluntly.
“Well, I’m a writer,” he explained, “and I’m working on a project that has to do with this area.”
“All right,” she told him, “but I haven’t got time to stop now. I need to go out and check the fence line. Tag along if you want.”
“I’d enjoy that.”
It wasn’t until Nell led a gelding out of his stall that he realized she didn’t intend to use the truck. Travis had ridden before—in Central Park. Years ago.
“You’re going on a horse?” This probably wasn’t the most intelligent question he’d ever asked. But he had to weigh his decision; on the one hand, he wouldn’t mind some Western riding experience and it would be a chance to talk to her. On the other, he didn’t want to risk looking like an idiot in front of a woman he found very attractive.
“You don’t ride?” she asked in a voice that suggested she should have thought of that herself. She expertly placed the saddle on the gelding’s back.
He hesitated before he answered. “A little.”
“You’re welcome to j
oin me if you want. I’ve got Jake’s saddle and you’d fit that comfortably.”
“Is Jake’s horse still around?” He figured that would have to be an older horse, which could only help his situation.
“Yup.”
“Does he take to strangers?”
“Some.”
“That’s encouraging.”
Nell tossed back her head and laughed, her long braid swaying. “Come on. It’ll be fine.”
Within minutes she’d brought a huge quarter horse out of his stall. Travis watched her saddle him, amazed at her ease with animals.
“Twister, meet Travis,” she said, handing him the reins.
Travis found it amusing that she’d introduce the horse to him and not the other way around.
She led the two geldings outside into the sunlight. With a swift graceful motion, she mounted. “Do you need help getting up?” she asked when he stood there, unmoving.
He tried to look as if the question had insulted him; actually he wouldn’t have objected to her holding the reins while he swung his leg over the saddle. With a mighty effort he did manage to scramble onto Twister—appreciating the fact that Nell didn’t laugh at him.
As they started out, she set a slow easy pace, for which Travis was grateful.
“You wanted to ask me about the area?” she reminded him.
“Yeah,” he said jerkily as his butt bounced against the saddle. “Te-ll m-e wh-at you kn-ow abou-t the gh-ost town.”
Nell eased to a stop. “Ghost town?” she asked, frowning.
Twister, following the other horse’s lead, stopped, as well. “If I remember correctly, it’s called Bitter End.”
“That’s why you’re here?” she asked. “Why you came to Promise?” She nudged her horse into a trot. “I thought you were a writer!”
“Yeah.” Travis managed to keep pace with her, but not without a price. If he survived this with all his teeth intact…“I am. And I w-want to—”
“Who told you about Bitter End?” she asked, stopping her horse again. The warmth she’d shown him had cooled noticeably. “You’re from New York,” she said. “You know Richard Weston, don’t you?”