proved dusty and squat but friendly. The store owner had allowed her to wash Meggie and tidy them both up as best she could. Customers had offered greetings and given her details about the ranch she was about to reach.
“Big place.”
“Boss works his men hard and himself harder.”
“Too bad about what happened.”
When she pressed for details on that latter bit of information she found the people of Buffalo Hollow suddenly reticent.
Too bad? A fire perhaps or a broken bone.
Now, as she studied the far-off buildings, she wished she’d insisted someone tell her what they meant. She could almost hear Pa’s voice and she smiled up into the sky. ‘Pepper, you must learn to guard your inquisitiveness. Sufficient to the day is the trouble thereof.’ He meant everyone had enough troubles and trials of their own without borrowing from others. And that included wanting to know more than she needed about other people.
She turned her attention back to Meggie. Despite her attempts to clean them up in the tiny town, they were both dusty and soiled, and smelled of coal smoke and sour milk. Not the way she would have wanted to arrive on a stranger’s doorstep. She could only hope Meggie’s new guardians cared nothing for such things and only for the well-being of their orphaned niece. Suddenly she wanted this meeting over with and had to remind herself to be patient. Like Pa would say, “Settle down, Pepper. You can’t make the world turn faster.”
They rounded a corner, ducked between two sharp embankments crowned with a jagged row of rocks and headed toward the buildings.
She strained forward, assessing everything. A barn surrounded by rail fences with a horse in one of the pens. Several low buildings on either side of the alleyway running from the barn to the rambling frame house that sat like the crowning jewel a little apart. Smoke twisted from the rock chimney.
She squinted at the house as they drew closer, anxious for a good look, wondering what sort of life Meggie would be thrust into.
A roofed but wall-less lean-to covered the sides of the house—a sort of veranda though it seemed to come to an abrupt halt midway down one wall.
Even several hundred yards away she could see an untidy assortment of things under the roof of the lean-to. As if the barn wasn’t big enough to accommodate the tools of ranching.
“We’s here.” The driver’s announcement was redundant as he pulled to a halt before the house.
“Could you please put my things on the porch?”
He yanked the two bags from the buggy and deposited them. One contained her traveling things and Meggie’s few clothes. The other held most of Lena’s and a few of Mark’s belongings. The bulk of Mark’s possessions had been claimed by his brother, Andy, who also wanted to take Meggie but Lena had been insistent that Meggie go to a married man.
“I don’t want her raised by a bachelor. How would she learn to be a refined lady? No, promise me you’ll take her to my brother. He sent for his bride six months ago. They’ll be happily settled by now. My brother and I were always close. They’ll take good care of my baby.”
Jenny had gladly given her promise and would very shortly fulfill it.
She allowed the driver to help her from the buggy, carefully shifting Meggie from one arm to the other as she descended. The baby wakened and whimpered.
The man stood by his buggy. “I’ll wait and see if anyone has letters to post.”
Meggie hesitated. Why had no one come to the door or strode from one of the outbuildings? She’d glimpsed the shadow of a man in the barn. Seems someone should show a degree of curiosity if not neighborliness but apart from the creak of a gate blowing in the wind and the far-off cry of a hawk, there was no sound of welcome. “This is the right place?”
“The Lazy B. ’Spect all the men are out working but Paquette should be in the back. Want we should go that way?”
“Paquette?” What was that? But if it meant admission to this house, she’d follow the man most anywhere.
“She’s the housekeeper. A Métis.”
She’d heard of the part Indian, part French-Canadian people, many of them descended from the fur traders.
They left the baggage where the man put it and picked their way past overturned buckets and around a huddle of chairs.
They found the back door open. The driver stepped inside with complete confidence and Jenny followed hesitantly. In her world, one didn’t walk into a house unbidden. This, however, was a strange, exciting new world. A thrill trickled through her lungs.
The enormous size of the room surprised her. A scarred wooden table with plank benches along each side and a chair at each end took up the area nearest the door. At the far end, cupboards and a stove—presided over by a little woman so bent and crippled Meggie wondered if she could walk. Her graying hair hung in twin braids down her back, tied with a length of leather. The frayed ends of each braid were black.
“Hullo, Paquette. The boss man about?” the man at her side called.
“I hear him soon ago. Out by de corrals, him. He ride away ’gain. I hear horsesteps. I help you? Me?”
Jenny edged past the driver. “My name is Jenny Archibald. I need to speak to the Edwards. Could you tell Mrs. Edwards I’m here?”
Bent as she was, the woman appeared to regard Jenny from beneath her gray-streaked, black hair with eyes so dark the pupils were indiscernible. “Be no Missus Edwards.” She gave a jerky sort of laugh that seemed oddly full of both mirth and mockery.
“But—” Jenny fell back a step. “There must be.”
“No, Ma’am, there is not.” The deep voice behind her jerked Jenny about so fast it hurt her eyes. She blinked. It was the man from the train. Except—
She narrowed her eyes and looked at him more closely. He looked like a wild cowboy now but with the same dark intense eyes. Yes, it was the same man.
She gathered her thoughts and chose the most obvious one. “Mr. Edwards, I presume?”
“That would be so, though I prefer to be called Burke. But tell me, why must I have a wife?” His words were slow, his voice deadly calm.
She shivered at the way he spoke as if she had insulted him and he was about to demand some sort of retribution. Suddenly the strength drained out the soles of her well-worn black leather boots. As her knees turned soggy, she groped toward the table and plunked down on a bench.
“Perhaps you better explain what it is you want.” He signaled to the woman. “Paquette, bring us coffee, please. Unless…” He silently questioned Jenny.
“Might I have tea?” she whispered.
“Tea, for the lady, Paquette.”
“Yes, boss. Fer de lady. I get de tea.”
Jenny pulled in a long, strengthening draft of air, hot from the stove and rolling with scents of many meals past and present. An explanation, he
