Where The Wind Blows Read online

  CAROLINE

  FYFFE

  Where the

  Wind Blows

  LEISURE BOOKS NEW YORK CITY

  A Cowboy’s Proposal

  The silence stretched between them.

  Jessie stepped over to the bed and pulled up the covers. She patted and fluffed until Chase cleared his throat.

  “I’ve been circling this thing for hours. All night, in fact,” Chase said with a sigh.

  “I can’t believe this is happening now after you were so good to come back to help me. For nothing. For nothing at all. This is what you get in return for your kindness.”

  With a glance, Chase interrupted her. “I couldn’t help hearing your conversation with Mrs. Hollyhock. You don’t really like being forced into this sham, any more than I do. But I don’t want to see you lose Sarah, either. And even more, I don’t want Sarah to lose you. I’ve become fond of her, and the thought of her being motherless after just being reunited…It’s not something I want haunting me.”

  “Chase, I can’t let you do this,” Jessie said. “I’ll work it out myself, somehow.”

  “Let me finish.” Again Chase was struck by how young she was, and by all the hardships she’d already faced alone. “I think I have an answer that can work for both of us.” He paused to think the idea through his head one more time. “We’ll get married today.”

  This book is dedicated to my Mother and Father—with love

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  A Cowboy’s Proposal

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-one

  Chapter Forty-two

  Chapter Forty-three

  Chapter Forty-four

  Chapter Forty-five

  Chapter Forty-six

  Chapter Forty-seven

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Wyoming Territory, 1878

  Chase Logan removed his hat and ran a gloved hand through his hair, feeling it fall against the collar of his leather coat. How the hell was he going to break the news to Mrs. Strong? What if she swooned, or worse yet, started crying? He had little experience with women. Decent ones, anyway. Resting his arms on the smooth leather saddle horn, he gazed at his destination in the valley below. If not for the smoke curling from its chimney, he might think the cabin abandoned.

  Agreeing to this was the stupidest thing he’d ever done. How on earth had he been talked into it? At the time, delivering the news to Nathan’s wife hadn’t seemed like much. He was heading to Cheyenne anyway. The cabin wasn’t far out of the way. But now that he was here…

  No use stalling, he thought, shaking his head. Best just get it over with and be on his way.

  He nudged his mount down the easy-sloping hill as the sun slipped behind a craggy black mountain. Streams of golden light reflected off the open expanse of low-hanging clouds, painting the gray sky with swirls of pink and yellow, bringing to mind a freshly spun spiderweb. Chase drew his heavy collar around his neck and hunched his shoulders against the blustery October weather. It would be a cold one tonight.

  Chase lingered at his mount’s side longer than needed. Then he walked through the barnyard to the door and knocked. The low metallic click of a gun being cocked resounded through the door.

  “Who’s there?” a female voice asked uneasily.

  “My name’s Chase Logan. I have a message for Mrs. Strong. Would that be you?”

  “Yes,” she answered after three beats of his heart.

  Anxiety clenched Chase’s chest. He wasn’t sure if it was the woman’s he was feeling, or his own.

  “Say what you came to say, mister.”

  “I rode with Nathan at the Bar T,” he said, still looking at the weathered boards in front of his face. “It’d be easier if we could speak without this door between us.” He waited as the cold nipped at his ears.

  She didn’t respond. Chase glanced around the deserted yard, giving her as much time as she needed. Moments crept by. Finally, the door was unbarred and creaked open slowly, just wide enough to accommodate the tip of a shotgun barrel.

  “Think you could put the gun down, ma’am, and open the door? I don’t mean any harm. I swear on my ma’s grave. I’m a friend of your husband.”

  It felt like ages before the gun barrel gradually disappeared. The door protested loudly as it swung open to reveal several wooden chairs and a table. A rocker rested on a faded rag rug in front of the fireplace, and a cupboard sat forlornly next to the wall. Wood smoke and the wonderful aroma of freshly baked bread wafted on the air, making the room feel warm and homey. His stomach rumbled.

  “I suppose it’s all right if you come in, being you’re an acquaintance of Nathan’s.”

  Chase drew his gaze from the potbelly stove, where something was simmering, to the girl—no, woman—who stood before him. She was young, as though she should still be home with her ma and pa, tending to younger sisters and brothers. Not here alone, being a wife to Nathan, a man surely over twice her age. And pretty indeed, with hair as pale as corn silk falling thick down her back. Her eyes, bluer than any Wyoming sky, seemed already to know his news; they were fathomless and sad.

  “You’re Nathan’s wife?” he asked, arching an eyebrow.

  “That’s who you asked for, isn’t it?” A small smile pulled at the corners of her mouth.

  “Yes, ma’am. Just expected someone a bit more…mature.”

  Mrs. Strong’s chin edged up. “Have a seat at the table, Mr. Logan. A cup of coffee will warm your insides.”

  He shifted his weight from one leg to the other. He turned his hat in his hands, and it slipped from his fingers and dropped to the floor. He quickly picked it up.

  Hell and damnation. Sweat beaded on his brow despite the coolness of the evening.

  The woman poured two cups of coffee from a chipped enamel coffeepot. Her hands trembled lightly. “You have a message from Nathan?”

  Chase swallowed. Best just to spit it out fast. “Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry to be the one to tell you, surely I am, but…” He swallowed a second time. “Nathan is dead.”

  Mrs. Strong stood across from him, motionless but for the rise and fall of her chest. Chase wished he were anywhere but here.

  “How?” she whispered.

  “Well…,” Chase mumbled, assessing the situation. Her serious eyes were searching his. Although he believed he was a prett
y honest fellow, at least compared to the next, there was no way in hell he was going to tell her Nathan was killed in a barroom brawl, shot over a game of poker with a saloon girl sitting on his lap. No, he just couldn’t do it.

  Stalling for time, he took the forgotten cups from her hands and set them on the table. He pulled out a chair and gestured for her to sit. He did the same, his mind galloping all the while.

  “What happened was, uh…Nathan had the night watch and rode out around ten. It was stormy. Cattle were edgy. There was thunder and lightnin’ and…uh…well, ma’am, no one really knows exactly what happened, but he was dead when we found him in the morning.”

  He jerked his gaze up to see what effect his story was having. He figured that if you had to die, that was a pretty honest way to go.

  She sat motionless. Her knuckles whitened as she gripped the edge of the stained wood tabletop. Slowly, she lifted her gaze to his.

  “Thank you for your trouble, Mr. Logan. Riding all this way to bring me this news. I’m sure it wasn’t easy.” She paused a moment. “I have beans simmering on the stove and a loaf of fresh bread. I’m sure you must be hungry. It’s not fancy, but it’ll fill your belly.”

  Chase was puzzled. He’d expected tears, or even fainting. Not this cool, almost indifferent calmness. He didn’t know what to make of it.

  “You don’t have to go to the trouble of feeding me. There’s plenty more on your mind about now.” But his stomach rioted at his words. Nothing would be better than a thick slice of fresh bread. He envisioned a huge bowl of beans, steaming and hot. The image persisted, making his mouth water.

  “Nonsense. You must be famished.” She rose and took a bowl from the sideboard. Easing the hot lid from the castiron pot, she set it aside, then scooped heaping ladlefuls of beans into the bowl.

  She was slender and straight, without many curves. Nothing like the saloon girls he was used to. They were well rounded everywhere a man could appreciate. By contrast, Mrs. Strong reminded him of a finely bred filly, young and fresh, willowy.

  As she set the bowl before him, Chase cleared his throat, abashed by his wandering thoughts. She’d just lost her husband, for God’s sake, and here he was comparing her with sporting women. “Thank you.”

  “I’m sorry I don’t have any butter for the bread, but at least it’s warm.” She put the lid back on the pot and folded the dish towel. “I do have a bit of brown sugar, though, if you’d like some on your beans. Gives ’em a real fine flavor, if you have a sweet tooth.”

  “No sugar, thanks,” he said, unable to bring himself to use any of her precious supply. He’d had some once when he was a boy. Couldn’t quite remember where, but the taste still lingered in his memory.

  He shoveled an enormous spoonful of beans into his mouth, savoring their tangy flavor. “Ma’am, these are the finest—” Looking up, he stopped midsentence. Mrs. Strong was hunched over the dry sink. Her shoulders shook, but she wasn’t making a sound.

  Swallowing hastily, he wiped his hands on his pants and stood, knocking the chair over with a bang. In two strides he was at her back.

  Chapter Two

  He raised his hands to put them on her shoulders, then dropped them back down to his sides.

  “Don’t cry, ma’am.” The downy hair at the nape of her neck appeared like that of a tiny duckling, but looked even softer. “Things will work out.” Was it proper for him to comfort her like this? “What’s your given name?” he asked gently.

  “Jessie. My name’s Jessie,” she murmured, her tears changing her voice to a husky softness.

  “Ah, Jessie. That’s real pretty. Would you mind if I called you that?”

  She shook her head.

  A warm feeling took him by surprise, making him yearn for things he’d never had. Imagined feelings whispered through his mind, making his heart tighten up. “Come over here and sit by the fire. I’ve dealt you a healthy shock.”

  He rested a palm on the small of her back and guided her over to a chair by the hearth and sat her down.

  After adding a log to the fire, Chase went to the sideboard. Women liked tea when they were feeling poorly. At least, that’s what he’d heard. He rummaged around until he came upon some sassafras leaves. He dipped the small black kettle into the water bucket and set it on the stove to boil. He waited.

  His bowl of beans was calling to him from his place at the table, but he doubted it would be mannerly to sit down and finish his meal. Instead, he helped himself to another cup of coffee, then leaned against the cupboard and contemplated the kettle.

  She was a proud little thing, this Jessie, trying to keep her grief to herself. How had she managed out here all alone? And now with winter approaching, what would she do without Nathan?

  He prepared a cup of tea, carried it over to where she sat, and lightly touched her shoulder. When she didn’t respond right away, he cleared his throat softly. “Jessie, try some of this.”

  Her startled gaze fixed on him. “Thank you.”

  She took the cup, but it rattled so violently, he feared it would end up in her lap. He reached out, covering her hands with his own, and steadied it until she had it under control. Her cheeks, now the color of summer roses, vied for his attention.

  “I’ll be fine now that I’m over the first shock,” she said avoiding his gaze. She blew on the hot tea before taking a sip.

  “Do you have a friend or family member around I could notify for you?”

  “Please don’t worry, Mr. Logan. I can take care of myself. The only difference is, I won’t be waiting for Nathan now. He’ll never be coming home again.”

  Her words struck a chord. Whether it was the way she said it or the words themselves, he didn’t know. But he knew exactly what she was feeling inside. Alone, small, and unworthy of someone’s concern. Well, he wasn’t going to leave her alone tonight; that was the last thing he could do for Nathan.

  “Would you mind if I bedded down in your barn for the night? My horse is worn out, and it’s getting late. I could just throw my bedroll on some straw and catch a good night’s sleep.” He gave his most hopeful look.

  She smiled at that, bringing light back into her eyes. “I’m afraid the barn won’t be much protection for you. It was Nathan’s intention to fix the roof as soon as he came home this fall. But you’re welcome to stay, if you’d like.”

  Surprised at the feeling her response brought, he smiled back. “Cody will appreciate some time in a stall, dry or not. I know I will, too.” With that, he glanced over at the table. And his bowl of beans.

  “Just be careful. The other day I had the keenest feeling of being watched. Most likely it was just a coyote. Nathan said wolves don’t come this close to settlements.”

  Jessie stood and crossed to the table. She lifted his bowl and scraped his beans back into the pot! Chase swallowed once. Twice.

  Her lips curved up slightly. “Just heating them up a bit. Can’t let you stay out in the barn without something hot in your belly to keep you from freezing, can I?”

  The warm feeling was back, tightening his chest and warming his cheeks. He tried to hold on to it. Savor it. “No, ma’am, I don’t suppose you could.”

  With the cowhand bedded down in the barn, Jessie struggled with the reality of his news. Panic gripped her, turning her insides cold. Nathan was dead. He wasn’t coming home ever again. It was so sad, him dying like that. It must have been a horribly painful death. She didn’t even get the chance to tell him good-bye before his last trip. He’d been a good man, taking her in.

  Did this mean she’d lose Sarah, too?

  She reached for the tiny woolen bootie laying on the mantel, unshed tears stinging the backs of her eyes. The stitching was uneven, the knots loose. But she’d knitted it with love and had dressed Sarah with it and its mate every day. She held it to her nose, breathing deeply.

  Nothing. Not even a hint of Sarah’s precious scent remained. With it pressed it to her cheek, she rocked back and forth, picturing her face. Sarah had only
been a toddler the last time she’d seen her at the orphanage. By now, she was over three and a half years old.

  Jessie’s heart pounded in her ears as she paced the floor, searching for answers. How could this happen now? Just when things were finally working out.

  Wrapping her arms tightly around her middle, she doubled over in anguish. The tears finally came, running down her face like a stream after the first spring thaw. Angrily, she brushed them away.

  She took a deep calming breath and slowly sank into her rocker. Her mind drifted to the day her mother had walked away without explanation, leaving her frightened and alone on the doorstep of the orphanage where she’d spent year after year waiting for her return. Ten years was a very long time. Hunger and fear made very poor playmates.

  “You said you’d come back for me,” she whispered into the silence of the room. “Mothers aren’t supposed to leave their little girls behind.” The familiar knot she always got when thinking about her past tightened painfully in her chest.

  Still, all was not hopeless. She released her breath with a shudder, unaware that she’d been holding it. Nathan was gone, yes, but she was alive and strong, and God willing, she would work through this. She couldn’t see how yet, but there had to be a way.

  Chase groomed his horse in silence. The gelding stood quiet, his head hung low, his breathing even, as Chase went over him with a soft-bristled brush. “It’ll be a cold day in hell before I volunteer for the likes of that again, Cody.” Unimpressed, the big bay stomped his hind hoof, as if to say, “Keep brushing.”

  “Sure is a sweet thing, though. Real pretty, too.” Leaning across Cody’s warm flank, Chase recalled the way she’d looked reaching up to get the bowl off the shelf. He shook his head and tucked the brush away in his saddlebag. He laid out his bedroll on some hay.

  Relaxed on his back, Chase listened to Cody’s melodious munching as the horse ate his supper. The rustling of something small burrowing in a corner drew his attention, but his mind kept circling back to Nathan’s widow.