“On the stagecoach, I assume.”
She shrugged. This was not information he needed. Her skirts steamed, and her wet shoes squeaked with every movement. A minor inconvenience. “As soon as Eddie is warmed up, we’ll be on our way.”
“The stagecoach is waiting for you?”
His mild tone didn’t fool her. Not for one minute. He knew as well as she and every passenger and resident west of Manitoba that the stagecoach waited for no one. Same with trains.
“There’ll be another one coming along shortly.” Shortly being a relative term. Not long compared to eternity. Forever measured by her urgency. She’d had quite enough of traveling and was ready to settle down in the home awaiting her. A smile tugged at her lips—surely the reason the man opposite her narrowed his eyes.
“Guess everyone has a different understanding of ‘shortly.’”
His echo of her thoughts curved her lips upward even more. She ducked her head so he wouldn’t spot her amusement. He must see her as hard, ready to defend, even a little bit like?—
“You ever hear of Crazy Jane?” She nudged the ax forward.
The man blinked, looked from her weapon back to her, and then hooted with laughter. When he could talk, he asked, “Who told you about her?”
Dianne shrugged. It didn’t matter who, only that he recognized the warning.
The man’s eyes widened. Leaning forward, he whispered, “For all you know, this could be Crazy Jane’s cabin. Did you think of that?”
Although her muscles clenched and her lips pressed together, she wouldn’t reveal a single degree of her trepidation.
“From what I understand that woman doesn’t care for men.” Not even young, broad-shouldered ones.
“People change.”
Dianne turned Eddie around under the blanket so his backside faced the heat. “Are you getting warm?” she asked him.
“Yes, Mama. Who Crazy Jane is?”
The boy did not need to hear such stories. She shot their host a warning look. Though the termhosthardly suited the situation.
“Son, it’s just a tall tale. Forget you heard it.”
Eddie’s raised eyebrows suggested she asked the impossible.
At the similar expression on the man’s face, she scowled. What made either of them react that way?
“You meeting your husband at Golden Valley?” He settled back, lazy and relaxed as if to hide his searching for information.
How much should she tell him? What difference did it make? It wouldn’t change her plans. All she had to do was go back to the way station and wait for the next stagecoach and continue her journey. The ax at her knee offered assurance he wouldn’t be able to stop her if he tried.
So far—to her faint comfort—he hadn’t made any threatening movement or spoken a word that gave her concern.
“I’m a widow.” The word always sent stiffening tension through her.
The man showed not one hint of a reaction.
Dianne hurried on. “I’m disembarking at Golden Valley but then going to a ranch to keep house for a friend of the family.” Thinking of her future brought a full-blown smile. “A friend of my father’s actually. They grew up together and stayed in touch over the years.”
“This man have a name? I might know him.”
Again, she considered her answer. “Chet Berch.”
The chair skidded back, squealing in protest as the man burst to his feet. Dianne pulled Eddie into her arm on one side, hoisted the ax with her other hand, and stood.
Jace Reynolds curledhis fingers until his knuckles popped. Chet Berch. The last name he wanted to hear. He’d retreated to this hunting cabin so he could forget the man and all he meant.
