was certain that she hadn’t left her husband willingly. The woman had drawn stars next to the love sonnets in a well-thumbed volume of poetry. The Bible on the shelf held a mystery as well. Someone had written dates and initials by the simple verses taught in a child’s Sunday School class.
As the wagon rattled to a stop, Jayne picked up the lantern and opened the door. Light spilled into the yard, circling the rancher as he climbed down from the seat. Her gaze traveled from his muddy boots to his thighs to the hard line of his whiskered jaw. He was spattered with mud from head to foot.
Peering through the golden light, she said, “It must have been a terrible trip.”
“I got stuck a few times, but that’s the way of it.” He gave the horse a quick scratch on the neck. “Old Buck’s even dirtier than I am.”
She hung the lantern on a nail and walked to the back of the wagon. “I’ll help you unload. You must be starved.”
“I am.”
“I’ve got stew and—” Her fingers grazed varnished wood. “My trunk! How did you get it?” Her mother’s scissors. Her clothing. Letters and keepsakes. Trailing her fingers across the dark walnut, she said, “I can’t thank you enough, Mr. Trent.”
“There’s no need. You can look through it while I get the horse settled.”
He hoisted it from the wagon and headed for the door. Jayne grabbed a sack of cornmeal and followed him into the cabin. “I can’t believe you brought my things. Did you go to the hotel?”
The rancher set the trunk down and stepped back. Her gaze narrowed to the broken latch and then shot to a dress sleeve dangling over the side. Someone had searched her belongings. “What happened?” she asked.
He rocked back on his heels and stared straight into her eyes. “Jayne, we have to talk.”
He had used her given name, and she wondered why. “Yes, we do. You’re entitled to the truth.”
“So are you.” Using the toe of his muddy boot, he nudged the trunk closer to the bed. “We’ll talk when I’m done with chores.”
Together they carried in cans and packages, stacking everything on the counter until she was worried it would tumble to the floor. He’d bought enough flour to last six months and enough milk for an entire family.
As soon as he left for the barn, she knelt in front of the trunk and opened the lid. Everything from her best dresses to her unmentionables had been jumbled together, and someone had rabbit-eared all of Hank’s pockets.
Who had riffled through her things and why? Shivering at the implications, she lifted the tangled clothing from the trunk and set it on the bed. Her mother’s scissors clattered to the floor. Bending low, she scooped them up and slipped her fingers through the loops.
You’re strong, Jayne. As long as you can sew, you can earn a living.
She heard Louisa McKinney’s voice in her heart and knew the words were true. She’d find a way to start over, but first she had to tell the rancher the truth. If LeFarge had found her, Ethan Trent was in more danger than she thought.
Leaving the clothing on the bed, she went to the kitchen to dish up his supper. Just as she ladled stew onto a plate, he opened the door. For the first time in a month, he left his muddy boots on the porch. Glancing at her, he stepped inside, reached into the pocket of his coat and handed her a small brown bag.
“These are for you,” he said.
His rough fingers brushed her palm as she took it. She peeked inside and then arched her eyebrows at him. “Lemon drops?”
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