Almost the whole day gone and no sign of Mr. McKenzie. She’d baked the cornbread and brought in a butter pat from the springhouse in anticipation of his visit. A small, inadequate thank you for him traveling all the way from Philadelphia to deliver the news of Jeb’s passing. Her swallow stuck in her throat. Jeb…
She smacked the back of her hand against her cheekbone, swiping away an errant tear. Hadn’t she done enough of that last night? Crying off and on all evening, then after Charlie had fallen asleep, she’d buried her face in her pillow to release the full brunt of her grief. Such foolishness. She’d suspected the truth for months now, had known it was a possibility for years, but somehow the spoken words made it real.
Earlier today, she and Charlie had finished planting the peppers, beans, and sweet potatoes. She prayed it wasn’t futile. A week from now, this might not be her land. Mr. Coffin hadgiven her that long to pay up or clear out. One day gone. Six left. The number throbbed in her head. She didn’t have time to mourn.
She’d honor Jeb by figuring out a way to hold on to the ranch. Mr. Coffin had refused her offer of half the property when the amount owed was worth less than that, but maybe someone else would welcome the opportunity, and somehow…
Who’d have that much money on short notice? And who’d settle for half a ranch?
Even from his grave, her father was still ruining her dreams.
Footsteps charged through the back door and into the kitchen.
“He’s here.” Charlie huffed and snagged a dried apple from a ring. His straight black hair hung across his forehead. “I’ll help him with his horse.” He scurried toward the front entrance.
She wiped her hands on her apron and tugged it off. Today she wouldn’t ask about all of the horrors. Mr. McKenzie probably had no desire to live through such things again. Instead, she’d ask him to share a good memory of her brother for her to treasure. She smoothed her blue cotton skirt and touched her braid, half tempted to loosen it. Foolishness. What did it matter what she looked like? It wasn’t as if she was expecting a gentleman caller.
She strode into the wide hallway with its log walls running down the middle of the house. A breeze filtered in through the half-open back door. Once, this had been their dining room and informal visiting area, but she’d sold the cherry table and chairs, along with the fancy china her mother had brought with them from Nashville. Better to do without such niceties than have no money for seeds and supplies to get them through the spring.
Tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, she opened the front door. Wisps of white clouds lined the western horizon beyond the pickets and rolling hills.
Ben McKenzie stepped onto the porch. In place of yesterday’s crumpled, travel-dusted clothes, he sported a black sack coat over a blue waistcoat and a white shirt.
He removed his slouch hat. “Afternoon, Miss Scott.”
Dark circles underscored his hazel gaze, and a sallow hue tinted his tanned face. Was he still worn out from his long travels, or was it something deeper? He carried himself with a firmness of chin and posture that evoked the image of a leader, but there was a haggardness about his features that bespoke a man weary of battle.
She tugged her gaze from him and stepped aside. “Afternoon, Captain McKenzie. Won’t you please come in? The boy will take good care of your horse.”
The edges of his lips lifted as he glanced toward Charlie, leading a mare to the stables. “Big change from yesterday. No rifle.”
“Yesterday he thought you were one of Mr. Coffin’s associates. Today he knows you were a friend of Jeb’s.”
“Seems like he wants to take good care of his sister.” He blinked in the hall’s dim lighting.
“Well on his way to being a little man.” She propped the door open with a rock-filled tin can. “I leave the doors open when it’s warm. Helps bring in fresh air and light.”
“Jeb mentioned how you used to have to lock things up around here after dark due to Indian raids.”
“Used to?” If only that were the case. She led him past the parlor and bedrooms to the kitchen. “We pretty much stay inside at night. Even let our chickens roost in the trees. Padlock the shutters and the outside doors too. Do the same for the stables.”
“Do or did?” He paused at the entrance to the stone-floor kitchen, his gaze scanning her face.
“Do. There hasn’t been a raid in this county for eight months, but I’m not taking chances.” She motioned for him to have aseat at the small kitchen table with its two chairs. “The fall of 1860 was a terrible year. Unspeakable. One hundred families abandoned their farms and ranches. Pa was determined to stay. But when the Indians figured out almost all of the men in the county had left for war...” She shuddered and retrieved two cups from the cupboard. “Pa moved us to town right after the harvest in ’61. Charlie and I didn’t return until three months ago. That’s why the place is a bit unkempt.”
Mr. McKenzie’s brow furrowed as he sat down in the chair with a loose spindle in its back. “Sounds dangerous. Yet you chose to come back instead of staying in town?”
She halted. “This is our home, much better than some little room in a boardinghouse where a body has to tiptoe around the other guests and feel as if they’re a charity case.”
Mr. McKenzie’s eyes lit, as if someone had struck a match to a wick. “Your determination is admirable.”
What was that supposed to mean? She pressed her lips together. What was she doing spouting off to a guest, anyway? “I apologize. It’s just that you’re not the first person to scold me about my choice.”
He folded his hands on the table. “I didn’t intend to scold, Miss Scott. I was merely concerned.”
She set her two best cups, porcelain imprinted with a swirl of painted ferns, on the table. “Charlie and I can take care of ourselves.”
He cocked his eyebrows, as if to say he doubted it. “Surely, you have other relatives.”
