again.
“I took the liberty of speakin’ to the pastor myself. He’ll conduct a short service at the grave site at the cemetery in Sheridan.”
Vienna didn’t have to conjure up her relieved smile. “Thank you, Sheriff.”
“These things are never easy, ’specially under the present circumstances.”
He’d been the one, along with Edward and West, to come to her rescue that awful night when Chance had kidnapped her after she’d left him. Few knew the real reasons for Vienna separating from her husband prior to his arrest and most of them, with the exception of Sheriff Tweed, lived at the Running W.
After asking what time she needed to be there for the funeral, Vienna bid the man goodbye. She shut the door and returned to the kitchen. But even the thought of making pastries didn’t fill her with her usual calm and delight. She covered the dough with a towel, stashed it in the icebox, and headed outside through the back door.
The afternoon felt warm, but a nice breeze kept the air from being too hot. Vienna glanced in the direction of the corral. Hattie sat on the top rung of the fence, while West stood beside her, holding her in place so she wouldn’t fall. As if sensing Vienna’s presence, West turned his head in her direction. She pointed toward the mountains to indicate she needed a walk. With obvious understanding, he dipped his chin in a nod.
The wordless communication between them had been one of many things Vienna had appreciated about their friendship, both prior to her marriage to Chance and then again since coming to the Running W. There’d even been a time when she’d thought—hoped, really—that she and West were becoming more than friends. But she’d been wrong.
Vienna pushed aside recollections of the past as she slowly walked toward the Big Horn Mountains. The pastures, fields and trees, cloaked in their summer greenery, never grew old to her. She’d moved to this area with her parents at the age of eleven, six years after the tragic death of her older brother, and had quickly fallen in love with the wild beauty of the land. Her appreciation for ranching, though, had never fully developed. She still preferred gardening, and more recently cooking and baking, than she did riding or caring for horses.
Did she want to keep the HC Bar, then? Vienna plucked up the long stem of a wildflower and ran it along the tall grass growing beside the horse trail. Moving into town and opening a café or a restaurant sounded more appealing to her than running a ranch. Besides, she couldn’t operate such a spread by herself. That had been one of the reasons she’d sold her home after her parents’ deaths. If her brother hadn’t died as a child, perhaps the two of them could have managed the place together. But at sixteen years old, and an orphan, Vienna had had little choice except to leave.
The thought of selling yet another property, even if she’d only lived at the HC Bar for two miserably unhappy years, filled her with a physical ache. She wanted—no, needed—to give Hattie the sense of home and purpose she herself had lost. And she couldn’t do that if she stayed at the Running W. This was someone else’s dream, someone else’s land. She was simply borrowing security and stability here; she hadn’t yet created them permanently for herself and her daughter. And a café or a restaurant... A business like that would be hers, yes, but would it give her the same sense of permanence that came from standing on her own land?
“Help me know what to do, Lord,” she murmured out loud as she came to a stop, her eyes rising to the mountain peaks.
She’d managed to keep the little remaining money she had from the sale of her parents’ home hidden from Chance and she had saved most of her wages from working for the Kents as their assistant cook. It might be enough to reestablish the HC Bar as a working ranch again or to do something else if she sold it. But which path should she take?
Tossing aside the flower, Vienna spun around and walked briskly back the way she’d come. Chance’s death might have been a complete shock, but she had enough faith to believe there was purpose and timing in it, too. And while she might not have all the answers yet regarding her future, she did know one thing for certain. As much as she hated the thought of leaving this place and its people or of being entirely on her own, with a child this time, it was time to go.
* * *
West McCall threw another glance in the direction Vienna had gone on her walk. He’d wanted to press her for information about Sheriff Tweed’s news, but the pensive look on her pretty face when she’d exited the house had told him that she needed some time to herself first.
This undercurrent of protectiveness for Vienna wasn’t new, and it had only grown stronger when she’d come to live at the Running W three years ago—and then when West had learned her scoundrel of a husband was bound for prison. And now that protective instinct included taking care of the little girl he held firmly in place on the fence post next to him.
He’d thought Hattie Howe fairly cute when she’d been a squirmy, bright-eyed baby with a healthy set of lungs he could often hear clear down at the bunkhouse. But the moment the little girl had taken to following him around and calling him “Mr. West,” he’d been a goner. The kid had wormed her way into his guarded heart, which no one, not even her mother, had completely breached in years.
“What’s the new horsie’s name?” Hattie asked him.
West pushed up the brim of his hat. “Don’t know that Mr. Kent has named her yet. What would you name her?”
“Um...” The little girl peered up at him with large green eyes that matched her mother’s. “How ’bout Hattie?” A triumphant smile lit her face.
Pressing his lips over a laugh, West pretended to think the suggestion over. “You don’t think that’d get a bit confusing? We already have Hattie the girl and Hattie the doll.” He tipped his head toward the toy she still held under her arm.
“But it’ll be Hattie the horsie,” she countered with an arch look. “So it’s different.”
How could he argue with that? he thought ruefully. Hattie began kicking her shoes against the fence, sending the new horse skittering away at the loud, repetitive sound.
“Remember what I taught you about makin’ noise around the horses?”
She squinted up at him, then brightened. “We have to be real quiet.” Bringing her pointer finger to her mouth, she made a loud shushing sound.
“That’s right,” West said with a chuckle. “Which means no kicking the fence, especially with a new horse around.”
Her brow furrowed as she glanced down at her feet. “I’ll tell them to be quiet.” Then she shushed her shoes.
West laughed fully this time, and Hattie joined him a moment later, even though he suspected she didn’t know what they were laughing about.
“There’s Mommy.” She wiggled in his grip, indicating she wanted to get down.
Sure enough Vienna was walking back toward them. West lifted Hattie off the fence and set her on her feet. The little girl darted across the yard to greet her mother.
“Mommy, there’s a new horsie, and I want to name her Hattie. And my feet weren’t bein’ quiet so I had to shush them. Like this.” She repeated the quieting action, her narrowed gaze on her black shoes.
A faint smile lifted Vienna’s lips. “That’s wonderful you’re learning to be quiet around the horses, Hattie.”
