Buch lesen: «So Dear To My Heart»

Chapter One

Winston slowed the battered pickup truck as soon as he could read the name on the mailbox wired to a fence post at the side of the paved, two-lane road. The engine chugged as he downshifted, causing the old truck to lurch, and he glanced with mild concern across the cab at the dog hanging out the window, its white-tufted black ears flapping in the breeze. Did the animal know that it was going home? He wouldn’t have put it past the canny black-and-white dog. Perhaps that was why his son had taken such a liking to it.

For some reason the quiet eight-year-old had formed a deep affection for the odd cattle dog in the months since Dorinda Thacker had left it with them while she went for an extended visit with her sister in Texas. None of the other dogs around the Champlain ranch had ever inspired such devotion from Jamesy, but the dog belonged to the Thacker place, and since Dorinda had returned, so must the mutt. Out here on the sparsely populated Wyoming plains, a good dog was highly valued as useful for working cattle, companionship, keeping wild critters away from the home place, sounding alarms and, in the case of this particular pooch, going for help at a spoken command. Anyone living alone in these parts definitely needed a dog. It was just a shame, for Jamesy’s sake, that in Dorinda Thacker’s case it had to be this dog.

At least, Winston mused, he could get his stolen cattle back now, not that he had any intention of serving her with the restitution order immediately. After what her ex-husband Bud had put her through—the loss of her savings, the embarrassment of his thieving, the trial and conviction and, of course, the divorce—the woman deserved a chance to get her feet under her before she got hit with the loss of forty head of her cattle. It seemed unfair in a way that she should have to make the restitution, but that was how the court ordered it at the behest of the insurance company. They’d expected her back a couple months ago, in the late spring. It was full summer now, and Dorinda had notified no one, not even the Summerses who were still taking care of her horses, of the reason for her delay. Nevertheless, Win figured that he’d waited this long for his cattle; he could wait awhile yet. The dog was another matter.

With the truck sufficiently slowed, Winston turned it off the paved road onto the narrow dirt track that wound through the small hillocks and shallow rises which provided the Thacker cabin with some shelter from the elements. Win admitted to himself that he felt a little uneasy. Dorinda had often made him uncomfortable. Owing to his personal experience, Win had a little problem with married women who pursued men other than their husbands. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Dorinda. Not even all that Bud had put her through during their short marriage had dimmed her sunny disposition and happy-go-lucky attitude. Plus, she was a very attractive woman. When it came right down to it, however, he wasn’t at all sure that he could ever trust her.

As he guided the truck along the snaky path toward the cabin, he pictured her in his mind. Of medium height, with neat, graceful curves, Dorinda had big brown eyes, a heart-shaped face and a wealth of long, dark hair. She wore a touch too much makeup for his taste and, in his opinion, bought her jeans at least a size too small, but her smile was often so bright that it obscured everything else. He wished, heartily, that she had not made her interest in him so very obvious before Bud had been arrested. Perhaps all that had happened and the months away had changed her. He hoped so. Six years was a long time for a man to be alone, and lately he’d been feeling it more acutely than ever before, which was why he’d been out driving alone late last night and had spotted the light in Dorinda’s window. He’d tried to call this morning, but the phone had not been reconnected, so he’d decided to drive over instead.

The small, weather-grayed house came into view. Perched as it was halfway up the gentle rise of the shallow hill behind it, the cabin boasted very little front yard, and Dorinda’s flashy red truck took up what was there, so Win circled around and parked at the end of the narrow porch. After he killed the engine, he reached across to ruffle the ears of the black-and-white collie, which looked at him with inscrutable black eyes rimmed with a narrow, caramel brown mask resembling a pair of lopsided spectacles.

“You’re home, old son. We’ll miss you back at The Champ, but Dorinda needs you here. You take care of her now.”

The dog yawned widely, as if to say that he knew his business well and needed no reminders from some scruffy cowboy. Winston chuckled and reached into his shirt pocket for a short, splintered stick, which the dog nipped carefully from his fingertips, white-feathered black tail wagging happily. Win let himself out of the truck and waited for the dog to leap down to the ground before walking around his truck and between Dorinda’s and the porch to the narrow, sagging center steps, the dog at his heels.

As Winston drew close he could see through the screen and the open door to the kitchen beyond. Empty. The dog dropped down onto its belly on the porch and began gnawing the stick, which it held upright between its front paws. Rapping his knuckles on the door frame, Win called out, “Hello! Winston Champlain here.”

For a moment, he heard nothing in response. Then tentative footsteps came from the direction of the living area. Immediately, the dog began to growl, much to Winston’s confusion. A shadowy form appeared, accompanied by a soft, rusty female voice.

“What do you want?”

At that, the dog shot up to its feet and began barking. Perplexed and surprised by the animal’s reaction, Win commanded sharply, “Down!” The animal obeyed, but reluctantly, dropping onto its haunches and quieting to a whine. Win pulled the screen door open so they could see one another better, propping one shoulder against it. “Hey, there.”

Further comment evaporated as he stared at the woman standing before him. She was thinner than before, her long T-shirt bagging unexpectedly around her slender frame and revealing long, delectable legs. An utter lack of cosmetics revealed a pretty face more delicate and vulnerable than he remembered, but the most surprising element of her appearance was the short hair. The long, heavy fall of brown-black had been transformed into a wispy cap that seemed to enlarge her warm brown eyes and call attention to the plumpness of her dusky pink mouth and the graceful length of her neck.

Win realized that his mouth was hanging open only when he used it to exclaim, “Wow!” Her brows beetled at that, and she folded her arms. Win shook away his speechlessness and found a compliment. “I—I mean, I really like your hair, Dorinda.”

A soft gasp was his only warning before she stepped back, reached out and slammed the door, literally, in his face.

A full minute passed before he could grasp the reality of what had happened. Even then, it made no sense. Unless she meant to fight the restitution order. Suddenly, his blood boiled.

He’d been darn patient about this. Everyone from whom Bud had stolen got their cattle back but him, and he’d be skinned for a polecat before he swallowed the loss of forty producing heifers. He felt bad for her, but the law said that Dorinda, who had received the ranch and the Thacker herd in her divorce settlement, was responsible for reimbursing him. Bud couldn’t very well come up with either cattle or their cash equivalent from a prison cell, and he had testified that the proceeds of his thieving had been put back into the place he’d inherited from his uncle, so that left Dorinda on the hook.

Winston turned on his heel and stomped across the porch and down the steps. The dog followed, and Win was of no mind to discourage it. He yanked open the cab door of the truck and waited for the dog to climb up inside. Muttering under his breath about capricious women, he got in and started the engine. The dog whined as Win backed the truck away from the house. The sound had a quality about it with which Win could readily identify.

“I know what you mean, boy, but she hasn’t heard the last of us, not by a long shot.”

Danica lifted her head from the kitchen table. A dull ache bulged deep within her ears, and her eyes were swollen, a condition with which she was too often plagued since the death of her beloved sister. Even now, some two months after the fact, she couldn’t quite believe that Dorinda was gone. The entire past year and a half had been one catastrophe after another.

First Dori had met Bud and, despite Danica’s misgivings, married him after a whirlwind courtship. Then the newlyweds had moved to Wyoming, leaving Danica to struggle alone with the full rent of an apartment that had been meant for two. As if to add insult to injury, the pediatrician for whom Danica worked as a nurse had taken for a partner none other than Danica’s philandering ex-husband, Michael. Over the following months, Michael had attempted to reignite their relationship, Bud had been caught rustling cattle and was sentenced to prison, Dori had gotten a divorce and returned home to Texas to decide what to do next. And finally had come the awful accident that had cost Dorinda her life.

Danica told herself that a lesser woman would have buckled under all the strain, but she knew that she was holding on by her fingernails. Her reaction to Winston Champlain’s unexpected appearance today was proof of that. And yet, the reaction was somewhat justifiable, wasn’t it?

For weeks and weeks after returning home, Dori had alternately complained about her ex-husband and rhapsodized about their nearest neighbor, Winston Champlain. She’d waffled between returning to the entertainments and sophistication of Dallas for good and the supposed joys of actually owning her own ranch in Wyoming, however remote. Even after her normally ebullient spirits and natural penchant for fun had reasserted themselves, she had troubled Danica by measuring every man she met by the growing enticements of Champlain. Finally she had confessed to a “special relationship” with the man. Thoroughly alarmed, Dani had begged Dori to sell the ranch and stay with her in Dallas.

At length, Dorinda had agreed. Danica had arranged to take a few days off to accompany her sister back to Wyoming to settle her business affairs and put the ranch on the market. They were in the vicinity of Tucumcari, New Mexico, driving Danica’s small coupe in order to save on gasoline, when Dorinda had cut in front of a tractor-trailer rig only to find the traffic in front of them braking to avoid a garbage bag tumbling across the six-lane highway in a stiff breeze. The resulting crash had given Danica nightmares for weeks. The worst of it, however, had been waking up in the hospital with a smashing headache but hardly a scratch otherwise to find that the person dearest to her in all the world was no longer a part of it.

The weeks following had been unbearable. Danica had emerged from the initial fog of grief in a confused state of mind. She’d found it difficult to concentrate on work or much of anything, really. The well-meaning condolences and advice of friends and coworkers had been especially difficult to take, and Dani had found herself reacting with surprising anger. Just two weeks after returning to her job, she’d taken a leave of absence and retreated to the relative privacy of her apartment, only to find that her self-appointed caretakers were even more determined to pull her back into everyday life than she’d realized.

Finally, in sheer desperation, she’d packed a suitcase and headed for Wyoming in Dori’s gas-guzzling truck, ostensibly to settle whatever unfinished business remained and put the place on the market. She’d taken some ridiculous chances, she realized now, by driving straight through, and the week or more that she’d been here, she’d done little but sleep and stare out across the treeless plains, never seeing another soul until Winston Champlain, of all people, had arrived at her door.

The irony of it was not lost on Danica. Here she was right where she’d begged her sister not to go, and the first person she sees is the very one she least wants to. Now that she was over the shock of it, she was rather surprised to find that Dorinda had not exaggerated his physical appeal. Standing at least three inches over six feet, he had that kind of lean, rangy strength about him that many athletes possessed. His hair—though mostly hidden by a dusty gray felt hat with a wide, curly brim and high, domed crown—was a light, biscuit brown and fanned out in undisciplined flips from the nape of his neck. Slightly darker brows slashed straight across his face in two short dashes above light, smoke-gray eyes of startling clarity. It was a strong face, strong enough to carry a square, slightly cleft chin, prominent cheekbones and a long, slender nose that had obviously been broken at least once above a wide, spare mouth.

No wonder Dori had allowed herself to become entangled with him. How easy it must have been for him to slip beneath her defenses after the deep disappointment of her marriage to Bud, and now, clearly, he was ready to resume the affair. Obviously, she should have told him about Dorinda, but she’d been so shocked to see him standing there just as Dori had described him that she’d been tongue-tied. Then to hear her sister’s name on his lips, with a compliment, no less, had been more than Danica could bear. She’d slammed the door in his face and dissolved in tears.

How long ago that might have been, she didn’t really know, but a hollowness in her middle reminded her that she hadn’t eaten all day. She put her head in her hands and contemplated the necessity of it, dredging up the will to rise from her chair and go to the pantry. Fortunately, since the refrigerator didn’t work, the larder was well-stocked with nonperishable foodstuffs. Unfortunately, with neither microwave nor functioning cookstove, she was reduced to eating her irregular meals cold right out of the can, box or bag. At least she had electricity and, therefore, hot water, though why that had not been shut off she had no idea.

Forcing herself to her feet, she went to the pantry and selected a can at random, carried it to the counter and opened it. Corn. She hated canned corn. Fresh or even frozen was much better, in her opinion. With a sigh she picked up the spoon left on the counter after her last meal and carried it to the table along with the can. She got down three bites before a pounding at her door made her start so violently that she turned over the can, spilling the contents across the table top.

“I want to talk to you!”

Him! An uncontrollable anger seized her. How dare he intrude like this again! She balled up both fists and shouted at the door, “Go away!”

“Fat chance, lady! You can’t just brush this off!”

“Go away!” she cried again, but somewhat feebly, her energy quickly waning. She looked at the spilled corn and felt close to tears once more. Just then the door, which she had neglected to lock, opened and Winston Champlain strode through it, waving a folded, blue-backed paper.

“Look,” he said sharply, “I wanted to do this easy after all you’ve been through, but by golly, one way or another, I mean to have my cattle!” He shook the paper out and thrust it in her face, adding, “You’re served! Now what the hell are you gonna do about it?”

Served? Danica stared openmouthed at the paper held to the end of her nose, but her eyes crossed when she tried to bring the words into focus. Irritably, she pushed it away.

“You’re not welcome here, Champlain, so go away.”

“Well, that’s just fine!” he snapped. “First Bud and now you. I guess you’re as much thief as him.”

“I am not!”

“Yeah, well, what do you call it? I’m out forty producing heifers, and the court says you’re the one who has to reimburse me for them!”

Forty heifers? Holy cow, her dad had never owned so many at one time. Of course, cattle had just been a sideline with him. His cotton crop had been his main concern back then. “Where on earth would I get forty heifers?” she demanded.

“Out of your herd, presumably.”

“My herd?” Oh. Of course. She hadn’t thought of that. As her sister’s only surviving relative, the ranch and the cattle would be hers now. “I don’t even know if I have forty heifers.”

“Guess we’ll find out, won’t we?” With a sharp flick of his wrist, he swirled the paper at her. She caught it in midair, crumpling one side in her fist, and turned it right side up. It was, indeed, a restitution order from the circuit court. “Read it and weep, Dorinda,” he said snidely.

She sighed and lifted her wrist to her forehead. “I’m not Dorinda.”

He literally snorted. “Huh! You don’t expect me to believe that.”

She stared at him, suddenly fatigued again, tears filling her eyes as she searched for the words. “Dorinda is…There was a-an a-accident.” She carried the paper to the counter and carefully laid it there, one hand going to her hip, the other to her chest. “I—I didn’t know about this. I would’ve t-told someone if I had.”

“Told someone?” he echoed uncertainly.

“About Dori,” she whispered, holding onto the ragged tail of her composure by a mere thread. “It was only t-two months ago. In Tucumcari. O-on our way h-here.”

“An accident,” he said stupidly.

She pulled a deep breath, blinked and nodded. “I’m her sister, Danica. Danica Lynch.”

He tilted his head, staring at her, and finally concluded, “Her twin sister.”

“Yes.”

“And Dorinda was in an accident.”

“That’s right.”

Concern and regret creased his features. Reaching up, he removed his hat, as if just then remembering his manners. He cleared his throat. “How is she? Where is she?”

Dani tried to tell him and couldn’t. The effort sent fresh tears rolling down her face. Finally, he understood what she couldn’t say; she saw it in his eyes the instant before he blurted, “Oh, my God, she’s dead!”

That awful, final word again. Dead. It pierced her through with such force that it doubled her over. The next thing she knew, she was cradled against a solid chest, long, strong arms wrapped around her.

“Merciful heaven, I’m so sorry. I had no idea. Oh, man, I came busting in here like a crazy man, accusing you of trying to cheat me when you didn’t even know what I was talking about! And all the time your sister…” He tightened his embrace and dropped his voice. “I am so sorry. Poor Dorinda!”

Being held like this felt as comfortable as a warm blanket on a cold day. Danica closed her eyes, imbued with a sense of safety and indulgence. For the first time she considered that, eventually, it might be okay, after all.

“I should’ve told you earlier,” she admitted, breathing through her mouth as tears clogged her nose. “I was just so shocked when you called me by her name.”

“I’m sorry about that,” he apologized sincerely, “but you’ve got to admit that you look an awful lot alike.”

She managed a doleful nod. “We’re identical, except for the hair, but you obviously had no way of knowing that.”

His big hand stroked the back of her head, and he whispered, “I do like your hair. Very much. That was no mistake, at least.”

A thrill of pleasure shot through her. She lifted her head to thank him for the compliment, looked up into his rugged face, saw the flare of awareness that warmed his cool gray eyes—and abruptly realized what she was doing and with whom! Jerking back, she broke the embrace. “I, uh, that is…”

His brow beetled with obvious concern, and he reached out a hand to her. “Are you all right?”

“Oh, uh, I’m not feeling very well.”

“Maybe you ought to—”

“It’s just a headache,” she interrupted. “It’ll be fine.”

Nodding, he glanced around the room. His gaze settled, and he frowned. She followed his line of sight and lifted one hand to hide her smile. His hat lay right in the middle of her spilled corn. Obviously he had discarded it rather hastily earlier. Remembering why, she cleared her throat and glanced away as he gingerly retrieved the hat and brushed at the stains.

“Listen, I oughta be going,” he said. “We’ll work out the restitution thing later. Is there anything I can do for you before I go?”

“Uh, no, thank you. I don’t need a thing,” she refused firmly, wanting only to get rid of him now.

“If you do, don’t hesitate to ask,” he told her. “My folks were fond of Dorinda. They’re going to be real shocked and saddened by this. I know they’ll want to do something, especially Mom.” He glanced around again, adding, “Maybe you’d like her to come over and help you straighten the place up?”

Danica looked around her, realizing for the first time that she’d let things get out of hand since she’d been here. Garbage spilled out of a full container. The mess on the table was spreading. Utensils and tin can lids littered the kitchen counter. Articles of discarded clothing lay strewn about the tiny living area, including, to her extreme embarrassment, one of her bras!

Coloring violently, she put her hand to her head, hoping to anchor his attention there, and said weakly, “That’s very kind, but I’ll take care of it as soon as I get rid of this headache.”

“Do you have something to take for that?” he asked, voice heavy with concern.

“Of course, I do. I’m a nurse, after all.”

“Are you? That’s good.”

“The thing is,” she lied, “it’s going to make me sleepy, so if you don’t mind…”

“Oh. Right.” He put on the hat and turned for the door, saying, “I’ll check in on you tomorrow.”

“No, don’t bother,” she said quickly. “I’m fine, really.”

“No bother,” he assured her, smiling warmly as he opened the door and slipped through it. “That’s what neighbors are for.”

Neighbors. Danica closed her eyes and bowed her head as the door closed behind him. Something told her that as a neighbor Winston Champlain was going to be as much a problem for her as for her sister. But in another way, of course. She certainly was in no danger of becoming enamored of the man. She knew his kind far too well for that.

Dismayed by the lack of reassurance brought by that thought, Danica turned her attention back to the small, L-shaped, living and kitchen area. Why hadn’t she realized how cluttered the place had become? The answer to that was obvious. Disgusted with herself, she straightened her spine and dashed away the last of her tears with the back of one hand.

“All right, Danica,” she told herself aloud. “Time to get a grip. You need order and exercise. No more lying around the house twenty-four hours a day. No more being a slob. No more maudlin self-indulgence.” And no more being charmed by the likes of Winston Champlain, she added silently.

She’d learned her lesson with charming men the hard way, and if that wasn’t enough, she had Dorinda’s experience to consider, as well. True, unlike Bud Thacker, Michael had never stolen so much as a tongue depressor, so far as Danica knew, and he was a fine physician. That didn’t change the fact that he had professed love to the devoted little wife at home, namely her, then carried on with half the nurses in Dallas as easily as he dispensed pills and treats to the children who came through his examining room, while remaining one of the more likable men she’d ever known.