She closed her eyes briefly as she set down the length of rail she’d held. Then she stood, brushing her gloved hands together and eyed him with all the wariness of a mouse exposed to a cat. “I’d prefer if you don’t call me that.” She paused, then added, “And good morning, Mr. Thomas.”
That was a curious request. Arlen rested the hand that held General’s reins atop the saddle horn. “Might I ask what I am to call you, then?”
She pursed her lips together, as if deep in thought over this simple question. “Just Josie will do.”
This was promising. If she was willing to forgo the polite nature of formal names, might that mean she was beginning to accept him as part of this ranch? “All right, Josie,” he said, appreciating the playful sound of her shortened name. It suited her perfectly. “I suppose you might call me Arlen.”
“Hmm,” she said in response, her arms crossing as it appeared she considered the request.
When she said nothing else, he nodded at her work. “I can finish that up. Your brother dispatched me to ride the fenceline and do any repairs needed.”
She narrowed those dark eyes at him, a sure sign he’d said something that had gotten under her skin. Which was apparently every other time he spoke.
“I can handle this work just fine on my own, thank you.”
Arlen raised his hands, and General danced to the left at the sudden movement. “I didn’t say you couldn’t. In fact, I believe you more capable than most men I’ve known.”
His compliment had landed the way he’d hoped, softening her guarded expression and making her drop her hands back to her sides. After a few seconds passed, she raised a hand and pointed down the fenceline. “There are two broken rails just down there. Perhaps you can start with those.”
Arlen nodded and tipped his hat at her before nudging General toward where she had pointed. The broken rails were only about twenty feet away, and by the looks of them, they needed to be removed and replaced altogether. Normally, this would mean finding and cutting wood—except it appeared that Josie or her brother had already prepared for this given the stack back near the tree where Josie was working.
He staked General to a picket line and ambled back to Josie. “They’ll need replacing,” he said as she dragged the rail she’d been working on back to the fence.
She said nothing, only nodding at the pile under the tree as she lifted the rail from the ground. But the weight was imbalanced, and one end began to fall back toward the ground. Arlen darted forward and caught it. Josie paused, eying him as if he’d intruded somewhere he didn’t belong. He could almost see her weighing whether to accept his help or tell him to move along. She must have decided his assistance was acceptable though, as she said nothing and instead took the last step toward the fence.
Together, they lifted and set the rail into place. Arlen stepped back and checked its position. The last thing they needed was a curious cow pushing a misplaced rail out of the way with a simple nudge of her nose. But the rail sat snugly in place, and Arlen turned his attention to Josie.
“Thank you,” she finally said, sounding as if she’d drug the words over a tin filled with rusty nails.
Her reticence to acknowledge his help made him grin. He never thought he’d meet anyone as hardheaded as himself—but that person was standing right in front of him right now. He wondered what Josie would have done in his position as sheriff, and he immediately had no doubt she’d also have endured three bullets in four years, stubbornly ignoring that each one meant she’d escaped death yet again.
In fact, she might have still been there, insisting that she could be the one to change things.
“What are you grinning at?” Josie asked, one hand on her hip and her head tilted as she eyed him.
“Only reflecting on the past.” Arlen removed his hat, ran a hand over his too-long hair, and set it back into place.
“Not much good often comes of that,” she said, her eyes now on the fence rail they’d just replaced.
“It can at times.” Arlen watched her, wondering what she had in mind when she’d spoken those words.
She said nothing, seemingly continuing to examine the fence rail. A moment passed, and Arlen couldn’t hold his question back.
“Why is it you dislike being called by your surname?” When she didn’t answer right away, Arlen added, “If it isn’t too intrusive of me to ask.”
“Oh, it is,” she said, her eyes darting up to meet his.
He should apologize. If he were a gentleman, he would apologize. But Arlen was far too curious about the answer to take the question back. Instead he said nothing, hoping that Josie would fill the silence with her answer. He didn’t have to wait long.
With a great sigh, as if he were asking her to confess to a multitude of sins, she finally said, “I was only married to my former husband for two weeks when he was caught in the blizzard and . . .”
“I’m sorry,” Arlen said, guilt rising up inside. He had known the man had died in the blizzard, and he should’ve realized that it might cause Josie distress to discuss her loss. Asking her about it so soon was callous. “I shouldn’t have asked.”
“It’s all right,” she said. She looked up at him then, and while her face showed the weariness of one who had been through a great ordeal, the sadness he expected to see in her eyes was not there. “Although he was kind enough and I was sorry that he came to such an end, I barely knew him. My father sent away for a man to marry me. He thought a husband would make me more ladylike.”
She gave him a wry smile, and Arlen couldn’t keep his own mouth from turning up in a grin. “Seems your papa was unsuccessful in that desire.”
Her eyebrows rose then, and Arlen sucked in a breath. That wasn’t exactly a compliment—even though he certainly didn’t mean it as an insult, and he waited for her to berate him.
