Slade parked his old pickup in front of Manny’s General Store, ignoring the stares and whispers of the midday crowd as he climbed out and headed for the post office. Most folks wouldn’t expect to see him in town so close to Christmas, and they all had to be wondering what he was doing here. But other than a nod or a brief greeting, no one said a word. They wouldn’t. Not when he employed most of their brothers, sons and fathers.
The responsibility of owning the second-largest ranch in Central New Mexico, which made him the town’s major employer, was one of two reasons that kept him here.
The other was Emily’s grave.
Simon Whitefeather looked up from the mail he was sorting and his black eyes immediately narrowed over his wire-rimmed reading glasses. “Mornin’, Ethan, what brings you into town? Weren’t you here just five months ago?”
Ethan slowly nodded. “I’m out of supplies. Any mail for me in the back?”
“Nope. Sam picked up the ranch mail two days ago, bills and catalogues mostly.” Simon frowned and scratched his balding head. “Seems to me Billy Bob has a telegram for you. Unless he already got it to you?” When Ethan shook his head, Simon added, “It came about two or three days ago. He said he was going to run it out to the ranch.”
Ethan rubbed the back of his neck. Who the hell would be sending him a telegram? Jenna. It had to be his kid sister. He wondered what kind of scrape she’d gotten into now. It seemed that was the only time he heard from her anymore.
“I told him he’d have to leave it with Sam. I figured you’re still living out at the caretaker’s shack.”
“Thanks, Simon.” Ethan had known the older man a long time. They’d met near Miller’s Creek when Ethan and Sam were only six. Simon had taught them how to swim. Ethan knew Simon would respect his desire not to have Billy Bob Simms or anyone else nosing anywhere near the shack.
“Can’t swear he’ll listen. I heard he’s bucking for a job at the Double S.”
“Things are slow this time of year. I doubt Sam needs an extra hand.” Even though Ethan owned the place, he rarely interfered with the way Sam ran things. He preferred mending fences, herding strays, preserving his solitude. “How’s Martha doing?”
“Complaining about her arthritis in one breath, and that I don’t take her anywhere in the other. Women. If I live to be a hundred, I’ll never understand ’em.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean.” Ethan stooped to pick up a plastic snowman that had fallen off the counter. He stuck it next to the Santa sitting in the middle of the cotton snow, then headed toward the door. “Tell her I said to take care of herself.”
“Ethan?”
Reluctantly he stopped at the door, wishing like hell he hadn’t come to town today. Thirty years of friendship made him turn around. “Yeah?”
“Martha keeps asking when you’re coming to dinner.”
He exhaled slowly. “I’ve been pretty busy lately….”
“You gotta be taking Christmas off. She roasts a mean goose.”
“I don’t think—”
“She serves it with her homemade cranberry sauce. That took the County Fair blue ribbon three years in a row.”
Ethan half smiled. “I’ll think about it.”
“You do that.” Their gazes met, understanding and sympathy in Simon’s eyes. Ethan had to look away. “There won’t be anyone there but us, and of course, Sam’s invited, too.”
“Thanks, Simon, I’ll let you know.” Ethan opened the door and stepped outside, grateful for the brisk winter air.
He inhaled a lungful, then turned up the collar of his jacket in deference to the chill nipping at his neck. No way would he go to the Whitefeathers’ house for Christmas. Holidays were still too painful. Emily should have been here sharing them with him, having his children, growing old with him. Not buried under six feet of cold ground.
He swallowed and adjusted his Stetson before heading toward Manny’s store. After Ethan picked up several month’s supply of canned goods and toiletries, he’d have to go find out about that telegram. He doubted Sam had it. If he did, he would have run it over to Ethan right away. Sam was a lot more than his foreman, he was the best friend a man could have.
Just outside Manny’s, Billy Bob hollered Ethan’s name, then ran across the street, nearly getting run over by a white Jeep Wrangler.
He waved an envelope. “I saw your truck. Figured I’d catch up with you sooner or later. I got a telegram here for you from Jenny.” He handed it to Ethan, then dragged his sleeve across his red, runny nose. “What is it she’s calling herself these days?”
“Jenna.” Ethan started to tear open the telegram, then frowned at Billy Bob, whose gaze was glued to the envelope. Ethan dug into his pocket, came up with a five-dollar bill and put it in Billy’s hand. “Thanks, kid.”
“Gee, thank you, Mr. Slade.” He waited for Ethan to open it.
“Don’t you have something else to do?”
The young man’s eyes lifted to Ethan’s expressionless face and widened slightly. “Yeah, sure.” Billy Bob took a step back and shrugged. “If you wanna answer it, I guess you’ll let me know.”
“I reckon I will.” He didn’t go back to tearing the envelope until Billy turned to leave.
“Oh, Mr. Slade?”
Ethan looked up.
“They just opened one of those big supermarkets over in Andersonville,” Billy said, with a small sheepish smile. “My mom tells me they have a real nice floral section year round. You know, for…when…”
Ethan stiffened slightly. “I appreciate you letting me know.”
“No problem.” The young man met Ethan’s eyes for a moment, then he shoved his hands in his pockets and shuffled away.
“Hey, Billy.”
He turned. “Yeah?”
“If you’re needing a part-time job, go see Sam. Tell him I sent you.”
“Gee, thanks, Mr. Slade.”
Ethan nodded, then headed down the opposite end of the sidewalk while he fished the telegram out of the envelope. He stopped suddenly and stared at his sister’s message in stunned disbelief.
Even the rousing chorus of Deck the Halls coming from Manny’s store couldn’t drown out Ethan’s involuntary curse.
SARA CONROY zipped the front of her daughter’s jacket, then adjusted Misty’s thick wool scarf to make sure her neck was covered.
“It’s not cold enough to wear all this stuff, Mom.” Misty scowled as she tried to loosen the scarf.
“It will be once we get outside.” Silently,
