to put another roof over her head, even if it was just a room at Mrs. Mannheim’s boardinghouse. Perhaps Mr. Dean could use another clerk at the general store, or Mrs. Jackson might need an assistant cook at the hotel. If worst came to worst, she could offer to clean and cook for Mrs. Mannheim in exchange for her room and board, though she had heard the German widow was an exacting woman who preferred to do everything herself. Or she could write to Reverend Calhoun and have him check into employment opportunities in Mason, as he’d offered during his stay.
She hoped, however, that she wouldn’t have to leave Llano Crossing. She’d been living here ever since she was eleven, when her father had brought her here as his wife was dying.
Taking a minute to gaze at herself in the cracked mirror, which hung in her room, she made sure the bow of the black bonnet had even loops and her thick brown curly hair was still enclosed in a neat knot on the back of her neck. Black washed out her complexion, making her even paler than she was, but the walk to town ought to bring a little color to her cheeks. In the meantime, she pinched them then picked up her egg basket and went out the door.
Intent on her thoughts, eyes on the path before her, she almost opened the rusted gate into the horse standing in the shade of the oak tree at the roadside.
“Oh! I didn’t know anyone was there!” she said, her hand falling from the gate as she took a step back.
It was the stranger she’d seen yesterday, the one who’d asked directions into town.
He touched the brim of his hat once again. “Yes, ma’am, you did seem like your mind was elsewhere. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“You…you didn’t,” she lied, though she knew it was plain as punch he had. He had changed since yesterday; if not for the fact that he was riding the same horse, she might not have recognized him. He had the same wintry gray-blue eyes, but he’d obviously used his evening at the hotel to bathe and shave and have his clothes laundered—or perhaps they were new ones, bought from the mercantile.
Delia was afraid she was staring.
“Can I…can I help you?” She was used to unknown people showing up at her grandpa’s door, looking for a handout, or perhaps just spiritual advice, but she didn’t want to tell this wolfish stranger she was alone here. “I’m afraid the reverend isn’t available right now….”
“I know. Are you Miss Delia Keller?”
She nodded, feeling her heart pounding in her ears. How had he known her name? What did he want?
“I heard about your grandpa’s unfortunate passing when I got to town,” the stranger said. “I reckon that was his funeral you were leaving yesterday. Had I known who you were, Miss Keller, I would have stopped to talk to you yesterday, not ridden on past.” His voice was deep, like the bottom of a slowly flowing Texas river.
Delia blinked. “Who…who are you?”
The man dismounted before he spoke and dropped the reins to the ground. The buckskin seemed used to this action and merely dropped his head to crop at the grass that grew lushly in the shade by the fence.
As the man turned back to her, she got a true measure of his height. Somehow he was even taller than he had seemed on horseback. He would have easily overtopped her grandpa, who had become stooped in his old age, and was probably taller than her father, whom she hadn’t seen since the top of her head reached only to his elbow. The stranger would probably have had to duck to enter her house—not that she was even thinking of inviting him in!
He seemed to sense her qualms, for he held his ground and removed his broad-brimmed hat, revealing a headful of raven-dark hair. “Miss Keller, my name’s Tucker—Jude Tucker—and the reason I’m here is that your father wanted me to come by and see you.”
She could hardly believe her ears, and her eagerness had her rushing forward as fast as she had been backing up. “My father? You know my father? Is he coming? When will he be here? Why didn’t he come with you? Oh, I knew he’d be back someday!”
A cloud seemed to pass over Tucker’s face, and he put out a hand, not to touch her but to stop the flow of her words.
“He…he’s not coming, Miss Keller. I’m sorry, I should have made that clear right off. I-I’m sorry to have to be the one to tell you he’s dead.”
Delia felt the earth shift beneath her feet as if she had been whirled around a dozen times and let loose. She would have fallen if the stranger hadn’t put out a hand just then to steady her.
“Easy there,” Jude Tucker murmured, his touch gentle. “You’re white as bleached bones, Miss Keller. Why don’t we step up onto your porch and sit down on those chairs? I’ve given you a shock, ma’am, but I reckon you’ll be wanting to hear the rest once you’ve had a few moments to think.”
She didn’t remember giving permission, but with his hand on her elbow, he guided her up the three steps and settled her into the rocker that had been her grandpa’s favorite place to while away an evening. He watched as she untied her black bonnet and set it on the small table between them.
“Is there a pump around back? Could I fetch you a cup of water?” Tucker asked.
His voice seemed to come from a long way off, and Delia had to force herself to make sense of his words before she could answer him. “A pump? Water? No…That is, yes, there’s a pump, but no, I don’t want any….”
Then, as the result of years of modeling herself after her grandpa, who’d never done the least thing without thinking of other people first, she added, “Oh, but feel free to help yourself, if you’re thirsty. There’s a cup hanging by a string from the pump.”
He looked surprised. “It’s mighty nice of you to be askin’ at such a time, ma’am. Perhaps I’ll do that, after I’ve told you about why your father sent me to see you.”
“What…what happened to my father?” she said, swallowing past a lump in her throat, her eyes burning as she struggled to focus on the stranger.
Jude Tucker looked down at the hat he held between his long, tanned fingers. “He died mining silver out in Nevada, Miss Keller,” he said.
When she said nothing, merely waited, he looked up at her, then went on.
“You probably know they struck silver out there in ’59, long before he got there, but your father discovered a new mother lode nearby. I’d been helping him mine it. He’d been lucky—luckier than anyone’s been since the Comstock Lode. He’d been saying he was going to head back to Texas, but before he could there was a mine collapse. I’d gone to town for supplies with the wagon, and he’d gotten pinned under a couple of big beams for several hours. He…”
Tucker paused, then seemed to think better of what he was going to say. His eyes shifted toward the road, but Delia could tell he wasn’t really seeing anything. He was remembering.
“It was clear he was in a bad way when I got there. I pulled the beams off him. I was all for trying to get him to the doctor, but he wouldn’t go. He told me he knew he was dying. There probably wasn’t anything the sawbones could’ve done anyway, and the ride would have killed him. He told me just to let him lie there so he could use the moments he had left to tell me where to find you, Miss Keller. He was gone just a few minutes after that.”
Delia felt a
