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Authors: Pamela Toth

BOOK: Buchanan's Pride
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Biting the bullet, he went over and asked if she'd been able to understand anything he was shouting.
“Just the word
mother,
” she replied as she straightened and arched her back to get the kinks out. “The rest was pretty garbled.”
Shocked, he watched her pick up another hoof.
“I'll be right back.” He felt guilty for not pitching in right away, but part of him needed to be alone—to take in what she'd told him. The woman he'd known in his dream to be on her deathbed, the woman whose face had been no more familiar to him than a stranger's, was his mother.
It was the first real glimpse of his past that he'd had, and he
hated
it. Feeling shaky, John went back into the barn. Except for a cat that melted into the shadows, it was quiet and cool. There he sank down onto a hay bale and buried his face in his hands.
Vaguely, he was aware of Leah's approaching footsteps, but he couldn't summon the will to lift his head and pretend things were normal. Not this time.
“Headache?” she asked, bending over him and touching his shoulder. “There's aspirin in the tack-room cabinet.” When he looked up, her gaze slid to the gash on his forehead and then back to his eyes. He'd forgone the bandage last night; the wound was scabbed over. It was going to leave a scar she had solemnly assured him would be “chick bait.”
He wanted to wrap his arms around her waist and hide his face in her feminine softness. The impulse shocked him. How weak a man was he?
“No, I'm fine.” He tried for a reassuring smile. A little of the anxiety faded from her expressive face, but she appeared to be in more of a hurry than the day before. Then he remembered that she'd told him she had to work at the library this morning. They'd discussed what he could do, clean stalls again, help with the feed and then go through a list of repairs she'd written down for him. By the time he'd done all that she'd be home again.
John got to his feet, intent on pulling his weight. Leah stepped back, but when she looked up at him, her gaze was still intent, seeking. It made him nervous.
“Is your mother still alive?” she asked gently.
“Sure,” he replied without thinking. “She has a condo in Florida and she's hooked on bingo.”
“That sounds like a good life.” She glanced at the plain watch on her wrist and frowned. “I'll go fix breakfast and then I have to change for work. You know what to do?”
He patted the pocket where he'd put her list of instructions. “Got it all right here.”
“The number for the library is up at the house, on the pad by the phone.” She nibbled on her lip. “Miss MacPherson frowns on personal calls at work, but if you really need to talk to me—”
“I understand. I won't bother you unless the barn catches fire.”
Her eyes widened.
“Bad joke. Sorry.” He put a hand on her shoulder and gave her a gentle shove. “Get going. I'll cope.” What he needed was time alone and some mindless chores, a chance to think and maybe sort things out.
“Give me a few minutes to get breakfast on the table and then come on up,” she said, walking backward toward the door as she talked. Today she was wearing a red shirt beneath her jacket, and its brightness gave color to her cheeks. Her hair swung straight and silky around her face. “I'll fix you a couple sandwiches while I'm throwing together my lunch.” Duke followed after her, tail wagging. He'd hardly glanced at John this morning. The dog must have decided he wasn't much of a threat.
“Great. I'll get to work,” he said as she hesitated in the doorway.
“Candy's waiting for you. The tools are still outside.”
Just as Leah had said, the gray horse was waiting patiently by the fence, cross-tied between it and a post. When he saw John, he pricked up his ears. After John had cleaned the animal's hooves, he ran back into the barn and retrieved his coffee mug. Then he went up to the house, ignoring the little spurt of eagerness he felt.
After they'd eaten a much simpler breakfast than the day before, he went back to the barn, carrying the sack lunch and the soda she'd handed him before she headed upstairs to get ready for work. When he heard the truck start up, he thought about stepping outside to wave, but he didn't. For the next several hours, he kept his hands busy while his mind replayed his mother's message.
Promise her what? He had no idea.
 
Leah spent the morning shelving books, a job she especially detested and one that took up at least an hour every day she worked. Today it took longer because two classes from the grade school came in. Miss MacPherson was in her office looking through new book catalogs, so Leah hurried over to the main desk when the line of children began forming in front of it to check out their selections. The librarian never looked up from her reading.
Right before Leah's lunch hour, Amy Stout, the janitor, came in. She and Leah got along well, in part because of their mutual dislike of Miss MacPherson. Amy and her husband lived in a small house at the other end of town. He had opened an insurance agency the year before and her job at the library was part-time. Her stomach was beginning to round out beneath her flowered uniform smock and Leah envied her with a pang that was bittersweet.
“How you feeling today?” Leah asked.
Amy had been suffering from morning sickness for several months, but she refused to quit her job despite her husband's urging. She had confided to Leah that her paycheck went right into a college fund for baby Stout.
At Leah's question, she made a face and waved at Miss MacPherson, who had glanced up from her reading and was watching them through the glass wall of her office. Technically, Leah was on lunch and Amy didn't start for another fifteen minutes. She usually came in a little early so they could visit before she went to work.
“My stomach wasn't actually as queasy this morning,” Amy said. “Maybe the doctor was telling the truth after all when he said it wouldn't last forever.” She followed Leah into the tiny employee lounge and shut the door behind them. If any patrons came in, Miss MacPherson would just have to deal with them.
“What's new?” Amy asked as Leah retrieved her lunch from the ancient refrigerator and they sat down at the scarred wooden table. No doubt she expected Leah to reply as she always did. Not much.
“I hired a temporary ranch hand,” she said with a small grin at Amy's double take. She hadn't intended to say anything; the words just popped out on their own accord.
“Really? Is he cute?” Despite her pregnancy, or perhaps because of it, Amy had stepped up her insistence that what Leah needed most in her life was a man. She knew all about Gil, Leah's ex-husband, but Amy didn't consider one failure a reason to remain alone. There weren't that many single men in town, but both Amy and Carter, her husband, were constantly offering to fix Leah up with anyone who had the misfortune of crossing their matchmaking paths.
“Yeah, I guess he's attractive,” Leah replied slowly. If Amy ever found out that John had kissed her, she'd have no peace.
“You guess?” Amy echoed, leaning closer. “Haven't you noticed? Where did you find him?”
“On the side of the road.” Leah took a big bite of her sandwich and chewed slowly while Amy's eyes widened.
“A hitchhiker?” she exclaimed. “You actually picked up a hitchhiker? Don't you know how dangerous that can be?” Amy was from Detroit. In a lot of ways, she was still adjusting to rural Colorado.
While Amy waited, impatience dancing in her brown eyes, Leah swallowed the bite of sandwich and washed it down with a sip of cola. Amy gazed at the soda can longingly. She'd given up caffeine for the length of her pregnancy.
“Well, are you going to tell me?” she demanded finally. “I have to go to work in a couple of minutes, you know.”
“He was lying in the grass at the foot of my road,” Leah said, pausing for effect. “He was unconscious.”
Amy popped up out of her chair. “Ohmygod! Are you serious?” she squealed. “What happened to him?”
“I'm not sure. He says he was hitchhiking and he had a disagreement with the man who picked him up. He said he must have fallen and hit his head.” Even to her own ears, put that way, John's story sounded as lame as a three-legged dog.
“What did Sheriff Brody think of him?” Amy asked.
Leah ducked her head and rooted around in her lunch sack for the carrot sticks she'd brought. “The sheriff hasn't exactly met John.”
“John?”
“John Brown.”
“Did he have references?” Amy demanded, hand on her hip. “Did you check them out?”
Leah bit into a carrot and shook her head, wishing she'd never mentioned John at all. “He's only staying for a few days.”
“How many days does it take to murder you and dispose of your body?” Amy cocked her head, pursing her lips.
“I was desperate,” Leah said defensively. “Wranglers who will work for room and board aren't exactly thick on the ground. Ever since Eli left, I've had more work than I can do alone.” Amy thought she was crazy to try to run the ranch by herself. She just didn't understand how important it was to Leah.
Now her friend looked distinctly skeptical. “Maybe Carter and I should come out and look him over,” she offered dubiously. “Carter could have a little talk with him.”
Leah had to suppress a smile. Carter was tall and skinny, with glasses and thinning hair. The idea of him putting the fear of God into anyone was ludicrous to everybody but Amy, who idolized him. “Thanks,” Leah said, touched by the suggestion. She wouldn't hurt her friend's feelings for the world. “But I did ask the sheriff if any ax murderers were on the loose in the area and he reassured me there weren't.”
There was a frown on Amy's round face. “But what do you really know about this guy?”
Before Leah could answer, Miss MacPherson poked her head into the lounge. “Amy, would you clean the rest rooms first thing?” she asked in a not-too-subtle reminder that it was time to start work. “After the school visit this morning, I'm sure they need attention.”
With her back to the librarian, Amy rolled her eyes at Leah, who had to struggle not to react. “Will do,” she said as she followed the older woman to the door. “I'll talk to you later,” Amy told Leah pointedly.
Had there been a hint of warning in that last remark? As Leah dug a paperback mystery out of her purse and settled down to read for the rest of her lunch break, she was sure she hadn't heard the last from Amy on the subject of her new employee.
 
As it turned out, Amy left work early that afternoon with a migraine headache, so the subject didn't come up again. On her way home, Leah picked up a pizza and placed the box on the seat beside her. She slowed when she drove past the spot where she'd found John two days before.
She was looking forward to getting home, she realized, even more so than usual. Was it because of him? She had to remember that he was only going to be around for a few days. He felt as though he owed her, and any help he gave her was that much less she had to do herself.
That's all there was to it. Just because he'd kissed her didn't imply anything more. She was a grown woman, not a naive schoolgirl, and she recognized a pass when she saw one.
She loved the ranch and her animals, especially the horses, and she was eager to get home to see them. That was all.
When she pulled up in the yard and John walked out of the barn, wiping his hands on a rag, she ignored the surge of excitement she felt at the sight of him.
“How was your day?” he asked as he came over and opened her door before she had the chance.
“It was nothing special,” she replied, grabbing the pizza box and hopping down to the ground. “How did things go here?” Good grief. They sounded like a couple chatting away about their day.
“Well, I didn't burn the barn down,” he replied. “Wow, pizza!” he exclaimed when he saw what she was holding. “It smells heavenly.”
“I thought it would be quick and easy,” she said somewhat defensively. If he expected a home-cooked meal every night, he could forget it!
Instead, he reached into his pocket. “What do I owe you?”
Leah turned away. “Room and board, remember? That was the agreement. You're not paying for part of this pizza.”
He tucked his money back into his pocket and took the box out of her hands. “Are you angry about something?” he asked as Leah headed for the house.
She turned back to him impatiently. “Of course not. I'm just tired and hungry, that's all. And I can't wait to get out of these clothes.”
John studied her full cotton skirt and plain white blouse with a thoroughness that made her squirm. “They look nice enough,” he concluded, “but they aren't the real you.”

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