Almost a Hometown Bride. Helen Myers R.

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ a hand around the place, too.

      He raked his hands through his wet hair and wished he’d taken the time for a haircut. No wonder Merritt, the little ferret, was spooked by him, he thought as he checked his reflection one last time before emerging from the bathroom. Better, he thought, but with his chin-length hair, he looked like one of his wilder ancestors.

      Merritt was taking the tea bags out of the mugs and adding honey and lemon as he reached her. “I appreciate the hospitality,” he said. “I didn’t know where you wanted the towels, so I spread everything on the shower curtain rod.”

      “That’s fine. And you can call me by my name. It’s Merritt,” she said as though guessing he hadn’t paid attention before.

      “I remember.”

      “I’ll tell Alvie how kind you were.” She pushed the mug across the counter toward him.

      Noting her hands were trembling slightly, he murmured his thanks. “You might want to rethink that idea. She’s always been decent to me, but she might not like the idea of me being anywhere near you—or being allowed into her house.”

      Merritt glanced up at him from beneath fine but surprisingly long lashes. “She’s the one who told me about your uncle and the price you paid for trying to get justice for him. I’m sorry.”

      “Me, too—since I didn’t succeed.”

      “Excuse me?”

      Certain that Alvie had shared the official Paxton spin on things, he was determined to at least get his side told to someone other than people who would see the truth was buried. “My uncle lived long enough to give me a description of the vehicle and a partial license plate number. That told me the truck belonged to my father’s ranch, and the driver turned out to be the ranch foreman, Dane Jones. I tracked him down determined to haul his worthless butt to the sheriff’s office, only to find out someone beat me to him. Someone had knocked him senseless. And when the deputies arrived right on my heels, Jones let me take the fall for what happened to him.”

      “That’s terrible. Couldn’t your father intervene?”

      “He died before I was born,” Cain replied grimly.

      “What about his father, your grandfather?”

      When Cain sent her a “we’re done talking” look, Merritt grew flustered. “Surely the authorities could see that your hands weren’t bruised and that you hadn’t been in a fight?”

      “It’s a long story.” He shouldn’t have said as much as he did, but he’d wanted her to understand what it meant to sympathize with a half-breed who was considered an outcast even by his own flesh and blood. The more she kept her distance, the better off things would be for both of them. Ignoring the tea, Cain went into the living room where he slid into his jacket and reached for the galvanized steel bucket behind the stove, then the shovel on the implement stand.

      “I take it that your mother has passed, too?” Merritt asked from the wide kitchen entryway.

      “I came into the world and she went out.”

      “Dear God. I’m sorry. Again.”

      “Ancient history. Look,” he said, growing increasingly uncomfortable, “let me just get this stove cleaned out, and I’ll get your wood. There are things I need to do.”

      “Of course. I can manage on my own now. Please don’t make yourself late for my sake.”

      Embarrassment turned her cheeks the color of raspberries, which in turn made Cain feel like a creep. “I don’t mean to insult you,” he said with a patience he didn’t feel. Why was he treating this little pest with kid gloves? He didn’t care about anyone or anything anymore. At least that’s what he’d told himself six thousand times while behind bars. “I just— I know you feel uneasy around me. For the record, that goes both ways.”

      Her expression made him think that he’d suddenly begun speaking in a different language.

      “What am I doing that makes you uncomfortable?

      There weren’t enough words to answer her question, but she made him feel decades older than his thirty-three years. Concluding that it was best to leave Merritt with her naive perspective on small town law and order intact, Cain set into the task of filling the bucket with ashes, which he carried out back beyond the barn. It took two more trips before he was ready to start adding kindling to the remaining coals and get another fire going.

      When he was satisfied that the fire would keep burning, he headed outside without further comment and started loading the rack onto the porch. It was snowing steadily now, and the intensifying wind started to carry the flakes horizontally.

      At some point the mug of hot tea mysteriously showed up on one of the half-moon slices of hardwood, and he paused to take a few swallows, grateful for the relief against the cold. This kind of work in this kind of weather required a hat and gloves, neither of which he possessed yet. She knew—and wouldn’t let him pretend it didn’t matter.

      Several trips later, he had enough wood to last her a few days. As he looked for a spot to set the empty mug so that he could avoid going inside again, the door opened. She’d wrapped herself in a shawl over her apron and turned away as occasional snowflakes slapped at her.

      “I’ll take that,” she said softly. Her gaze only grazed him.

      “I appreciate the gesture.” He handed it over, careful not to make contact. Those damned hands were trembling again—or hadn’t stopped. “I’ll be on my way now.”

      “Be safe.”

      He didn’t know if that was possible. He did believe getting away from here would improve his chances greatly. Nevertheless, when she retreated back into the house and closed the door, he felt—guilty? Something he couldn’t describe, but he resented the feeling.

      He turned up the collar of his jeans jacket, and his long-legged stride took him off the porch, skipping the stairs. Then he jogged to his truck, slipping several times, his cowboy boots slick on the wet snow.

      Once in the truck, he glanced back at the cottage. If nothing had changed while he’d been gone, it was the only residence for another mile or so. In this weather the place looked more isolated than ever. But that wasn’t his problem, he reminded himself.

      He turned the key and had to floor the gas pedal before the old truck coughed and the engine reluctantly started. “Man, are you going to be a money pit,” he muttered. Unfortunately, it was all that he could afford with the money he had.

      As he drove toward the reservation, he forced himself to think forward and prepare for the reunion. He’d had no letters from home in the years that he’d been locked away. Except for his grandmother, there was no other immediate family, and Gran had never learned to write. Was she even alive? He tried to recall how old she would be, but couldn’t. His mother had had two sisters besides the brother who’d been run over. The last he knew of either of them, one had moved to Nevada and the other to Wyoming. He needed to prepare for the possibility that there was no reason to stay in Almost.

      With the extra-strength pain pill taking effect, Merritt was able to push back the blanket she’d been lying under and ease off the bed. It still depressed her that she moved like someone twice her age when СКАЧАТЬ