When the weather’s better. The casual assumption that she’d still be here when spring came sent something warm through his chest despite his persistent frustration. As though she truly belonged here, as though this was her home again.
The third shelf went up more smoothly, their coordination improving with each board. Rose anticipated exactly where he needed her hands, how to angle the plank so he could reach the nail holes without straining his injured leg.
“There.” He drove the last nail home, the sharp crack echoing through the barn. Three sturdy shelves now lined the wall, ready to hold brushes, tins of salve, and all the smaller tack that had been cluttering the barn since the fire. “I’ll add the saddle bars and nails for the bridles, then things will be a lot more organized.” He motioned toward the wad of leather the extra bridles and harnesses had been reduced to.
Rose frowned at the tack. “Maybe I can give them a good cleaning too.”
She moved to the pile and lifted one of the bridles to examine it in the dim light. “Mrs. Wang might have some oil I could use.”
“There’s a tin in that crate by the door.”
As Rose settled on an overturned box with the first bundle of leather straps in her lap, he placed the first nail to use as a bridle hook.
When he finished pounding it in, the sound of a whinny in the yard snagged his attention. His brothers weren’t due back for hours.
He set down his hammer and reached for his walking sticks. Unexpected company these days couldn’t be good.
CHAPTER 19
“Stay here.” He kept his voice low as he made his way toward the barn door, each step sending jolts of pain up his injured leg. “Out of sight until I see who it is.”
He sent a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure she wouldn’t argue. Her face had gone pale, her hands stilling on the bridle leather. She understood the danger as well as he did—strangers asking questions, looking for a red-haired woman who’d disappeared from Virginia City.
He positioned himself just inside the barn door where he could peer around the frame without being easily spotted. Two riders had halted in front of the house and now dismounted.
His gut twisted. Tom Holbrook from the mercantile. And was that…? Rufus Clark, owner of the sawmill. What in the snowy mountains were these two doing an hour and a half away from town? They both had businesses to run. Though the sawmill might be slow now that the first big snow had hit.
James glanced back at Rose, who’d come to stand behind him. “It’s two men from town. Can you hide here in the barn until they leave?”
Her lips pinched tight, but she nodded.
As much as he’d like to wrap her in his arms and hide her away, he forced himself to turn back to see what their visitors were doing.
The two men stood beside their horses, brushing snow from their coats and looking toward the house with the casual air of neighbors paying a social call. Yet nobody rode an hour and a half through mountain snow in this bitter cold just to be neighborly.
Tom Holbrook called out, his voice carrying across the yard. “Hello! Anyone home?”
James straightened and hobbled out of the barn, plastering on what he hoped was a welcoming expression despite the way his pulse hammered against his throat. Every instinct screamed at him to send these men away immediately, but turning away neighbors would only fuel their suspicions.
“Tom. Rufus.” He made his way across the yard, his walking sticks slipping a little in the frozen tracks. “This is a surprise.”
Tom Holbrook’s weathered face split into a grin. “Heard you’d taken a spill. Thought we’d ride out and see how you were mending.”
The casual friendliness in Tom’s voice didn’t fool him for a second. But he worked for a friendly tone. “That’s thoughtful of you both. Long ride in this weather.”
“Not too bad once you get moving.” Rufus Clark stamped his feet, snow flying from his boots.
“Well, I appreciate the concern.” He shifted his weight, trying to ignore the way his injured leg throbbed in the cold. “As you can see, I’m getting around well enough. Doc Morrison did good work.”
“That he does.” Tom nodded, but his eyes swept the ranch yard with the calculating gaze of a man cataloguing details. “You boys been keeping busy despite the weather?”
“Always plenty to do on a ranch.” James forced what he hoped was a natural smile. “Stock doesn’t take care of itself, snow or no snow.”
The casual conversation felt like riding a young horse for the first time—at any minute, someone could spook the horse and send them all into a tailspin.
Rufus Clark stepped forward, his gaze drifting toward the barn behind James. “Mind if we take a look at how you rebuilt after that fire? I’d like to see how the new wood matches up with what you had before.”
James’s blood turned to ice. The barn. Where Rose hid, probably listening to every word through the wooden walls.
