Whispers on the Wind (A Prairie Hearts Novel Book 5) (9 page)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

H
efting the posthole digger chest high, Jake was about to slam the tool into the earth when the sound of approaching hoof beats stilled his motion. He turned and searched the horizon, as did Gabe and Tyler Weston.

Chase? What’s he doing out here?
He always picks up supplies on Monday morning.
He’d left early with the buckboard to pick up several additional rolls of fencing wire.

A nervous energy edged its way over Jake’s shoulders. He reached for his canteen, and the other two men followed suit.

“Wonder what he wants,” Tyler said, leaning a shoulder on a nearby tree trunk while they waited for their boss to arrive.

The twenty-four-year-old, from somewhere over in the Dakotas, had become a friend. Other than Gabe, he was Jake’s closest comrade in the bunkhouse. The fella had hired on several months ago and had yet to open up about his past—which was a fairly common occurrence. Saddle tramping was a solitary business. One didn’t have to spill his guts to get hired, which was attractive to the drifting sort.

That was fine with Jake. He rarely divulged his past, since it brought back hurtful memories. He’d gotten over a lot of it in the last few years. Chase had helped, as had the rest of the family. The past was the past, and there wasn’t a thing he could do to change it. Most importantly, Daisy didn’t seem to mind that he didn’t have a surname, or that his mother had worked in a saloon. She herself had left a similar type of existence. She was his sun on a rainy day.

“Don’t know.” Gabe swiped at water that had splashed on his chin, then glanced up at the sky. “Must be important that the news couldn’t wait until quitting time.”

Chase reined to a stop and stepped off his mount in one fluid movement. “Men,” Chase said, sparking suspicion in Jake with his formality.

Chase strode to the fence they were stringing, and leaned close to the top wire. Closing one eye, he inspected their day’s work. He pulled back and nodded. “Good and straight. How long till you’re finished?”

Another strange question.
He knew they were waiting on the wire to finish up. “As soon as we get what you went to town for, the rest shouldn’t take long. You did get the wire, didn’t you?”

A look of embarrassment crossed Chase’s eyes.

Jake glanced at the buckboard Gabe had driven out, where one roll remained. “We’ll make this last acre with what we got left. But if you didn’t pick up the supplies, we’re dead in the water.”

“I got the fencing.” He looked off over the prairie.

What in the devil was going on? His, Gabe’s, and Tyler’s orders had been to string the fence as far as they could go, and then they’d have more wire tonight for the rest of the week. What was the cause for this impromptu, unneeded meeting out in the middle of nowhere? Chase had to have something else on his mind. When he plopped his hand on Jake’s shoulder, he was sure of it.

“Gabe, Tyler, go ahead and head back. Take the rest of the day off. You’ve been putting in long hours. Go fishing or something.”

“What about the roof on the bunkhouse?” Gabe asked, his brows drawn down in question. “Did ya pick up the shingles needed for that? If yes, I’ll get to reroofing.”

Gabe, always industrious, could work the rest of them to shame.

Chase sprouted his first smile since he’d arrived. “If you’re so inclined, Gabe, then you’ll find everything you need in back of my buckboard parked in the barn. Be careful on the roof. I don’t want you sticking your foot through the places that are paper thin. I believe that bunkhouse is fifty-some-odd years old.”

Gabe nodded. After one confused glance toward Chase, he went to the wagon and climbed onto the bench.

Tyler fetched his horse and mounted. “See you back at the ranch,” he said in his low, gravelly voice.

Jake and Chase watched in silence as the two moved away.

“So, what’s up?” Jake asked, not sure he was ready for the answer. It had been years since he’d seen such a mixture of anguish and uncertainty on Chase’s face. Not since the morning Jessie’s daughter, Sarah, had been abducted by the scoundrel that had followed them to Logan Meadows from Valley Springs—some five years ago. “Spit it out, Chase, because I can tell whatever you have to say is bad. Is Daisy all right? She hasn’t gotten hurt, has she?”

Chase shook his head. “No, no, nothing like that. Everyone is fine. Saw Daisy this morning in the Silky Hen and she looked as pretty as ever. Said to tell you hello.”

Jake rolled his tight shoulders. His boss meandered back to the fence and tested the post. Jake’s gut was a mess of twisted knots.

Chase turned and stared. “Your mother’s in town. She’s staying at the Red Rooster Inn with Mrs. Hollyhock. She wants to speak with you.”

Jake’s breath burst from his lungs.

My mother?

In Logan Meadows?

He turned to hide the animosity that ripped through his chest.
What’s she want?
Money? A place to live?

The tangy taste of bile rose in his throat. No. He didn’t want to hear anything she had to say. Mrs. Hollyhock was the closest thing to a mother or grandmother that he’d ever had. She hated his ma. Why would she house her at all?

“Jake?”

“I hear ya, Chase. That was a mouthful you dumped on me. I don’t know why that woman would come here—
now
—after not hearing a word from her since I left. It’s not because she wants to see me.” Jake searched Chase’s face. “You know why, don’t you? I can see it in your eyes.”

Chase nodded.

“Well?”

“She has news of your pa. Has a letter for you.”

Revulsion for the woman who’d birthed him soured his mouth.
She’s known all along who my father is?
“What do you mean? A letter from years ago?”

“A new correspondence. You should be happy, Jake. You’ve wondered about this for years. You’ll finally know who your pa is and have a family history, some roots. It’s what you’ve been longin’ for.”

“Family?” Jake scoffed, glancing back at Chase. “I’d hardly call
him
that. I can’t imagine why, after all this time, he wants to see me. You and Jessie are my family. Gabe and the children, too.”
But you’ll have a name. Something real to give Daisy. If for no other reason, you should be glad about that.

Chase gripped his shoulder. “’Course we are. And that will never change. But, he’s dyin’, Jake. The doctor thinks he may only have a few weeks to live. You’ve wondered about him for a long time, and now’s your chance to get some answers. Jake?” Chase’s heated tone was not lost on him.

“Yeah, I’m delighted. Glad he waited until he was out of time to look me up.”

Chase let go of his shoulder and gazed into the sky. “Maybe this is how fate planned it, Jake. You’re your own man now, not some boy looking for a handout. You can meet him on your own terms. You’re a
good
man, too. Never doubt that. You’ve made a home and name for yourself here in Logan Meadows. You’ve got a small piece of land and a bride to boot. The mares you got from Nell and Charlie all have nice foals by their sides and are bred back to our stud. Your band of horses is growing. You don’t
need
him now, and that’s a good thing. That should give you some peace of mind. Some pride. Jessie would say this was God’s way of leveling the field. That fella may be surprised at the man who walks into the room.”

Jake’s heart swelled. What would have become of him without this man standing here? Jake didn’t like to contemplate. Once he’d been given the opportunity to move away from the squalor that he called home in Valley Springs, he’d never looked back. Perhaps he’d have gone bad, been on the wrong side of the law. Robbed a bank, or worse. Maybe he’d even have been strung up from some hanging tree for rustling or killing.

“When?” he asked, the thought of seeing
her
distasteful in his mind. “When does she want to talk?”

“Violet’s making her work off her board by doing laundry for Tap Ling. She’ll be off around four today. Violet said if you wanted to come out to the Red Rooster tonight for supper, that would be a good time. Violet’s told no one but me about who Marlene really is, or why she’s here.”

Jake took a stumbling step back at the mention of his mother’s name. He hadn’t heard it spoken in years.

Hey, Marlene, don’t you look purty tonight. Come on over and give me some sugar.

“The Lings don’t know her history, but of course, Beth Fairington does, being she’s from Valley Springs as well. I’d prepare yourself that others are going to hear the story once the ol’ gossip starts nattering. Violet had her promise to keep quiet, but you know as well as I do that the temptation will be too great.”

Jake nodded, not caring who else found out. He’d never tried to hide his history. A part of him wondered what his mother looked like now. The woman who’d been dead to him had just been resurrected.

“I’ll go,” he said, looking Chase in the eyes. “Tonight.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

A
t a round table by the back door of the Bright Nugget, Hunter plopped into a chair next to Kendall, who was counting the money they’d taken in last night.

The bartender turned to him, a look of annoyance in his eyes.

“Just taking a short break.”
To watch you count the earnings.
He’d offered to do it—amid repairing the damaged tables and chairs, as well as patching the ceiling and walls of the dilapidated room upstairs—but this was one job Kendall wasn’t turning over. Today was the first time Kendall had brought out the ledger, and Hunter pulled the volume close. The columns were a mess. Black smudges marred the pages where Kendall had made mistakes and started over. One half of a column was completely crossed out. How Kendall kept anything straight was a mystery.

“Give me that.” Kendall snatched the accounting book back to his side of the table.

Hunter shrugged and picked up a deck of cards left over from last night. He shuffled and dealt out a hand of solitaire. Made four moves, counted through the deck. Once, twice, three times, moving cards to the top four places.

Kendall organized the money in piles, counted it three or four times, and then, with head bent over the ledger, entered his sums. He pressed the pencil so hard Hunter expected the lead to snap.

Finished, Kendall pushed back from the cigarette-burned tabletop, a good-sized grin splitting his face. “Not bad. Not bad at all. I’d say we’ll end even with what I did last October.” He ran his finger down a crumpled sheet of paper, one corner at the top burned away. He jotted down the amount, two hundred ninety dollars, next to the date. “Fall’s when business starts to dwindle. Weather gets nasty. Men stay home by their own stoves instead of venturing out.”

“Just even? Shouldn’t we be making more? I thought the idea was to grow business every month.”

The obvious hung over them like a dark cloud. The profits would be split between the two owners now that he had arrived.

“Can’t always grow, Wade. Sometimes nights are slower than others. Wives get cranky and keep their men at home. Salooning is give and take.” He rubbed his belly and glanced to the woodstove where a pot of beans was heating, and then back at him. “You’ve got a lot to learn.”

The older man’s biting tone rankled, but Hunter shrugged it off. Kendall was getting tired of his many questions, and had said so on numerous occasions. He once again counted out his three cards, and then stilled. “Maybe, but I’ve been thinking.”

Kendall scowled. With both hands, he scooped the coins and paper money into the cash bag to take down to the bank. They’d do
that
together. “You’re always thinking about something. What is it now?”

“I know a pretty little singer in Soda Springs. Sounds like an angel.”

Kendall swiveled and looked him in the eye. “Go on.”

“Since the room upstairs will soon be repaired and livable, why don’t I send her a telegram? Maybe she’ll come to Logan Meadows.”

“We got Philomena.”

“Miss Dichelle’s not a working girl, she’s a performer. She draws a large crowd at Ned’s every Friday and Saturday night. Just like clockwork. She’s looking to be discovered. She may be the goose that lays
our
golden eggs.”

A look of skepticism crossed Kendall’s face. “Women round here won’t like that. You know, their men going off to ogle another woman flaunting her wares, even if they can’t touch.”

Hunter felt his eyes go wide. “When have the rules of a saloon been dictated by the female element of a town?”

Kendall rubbed the black stubble on his chin, knocking off a few dried crumbs in the process. “You haven’t gone up against the likes of Mrs. Logan, Mrs. Donovan, Mrs. Hutton. Or the sheriff’s new wife, Mrs. Preston. They can be a handful, to say the least. If I keep a low profile, they pretty much leave me alone.”

Suddenly, Kendall’s eyes grew as wide as a barn door.

Hunter couldn’t stop his curiosity. “What?”

“Or
Miss
Canterbury. She’s the worst of ’em all. Ever since she built that dollhouse out of a fairytale two doors down, my life has been a living hell. She won’t like more men crowding in, taking up hitching rail space, creating more manure that’ll bring more flies. She’s talked to the town council three times.” His hand dropped to the table like a stone. “I’ve even tried sweet-talking her. Nothin’ seems to work. Once that spinster gets a bone in her craw, there’s no yanking it out.”

At the mention of Miss Canterbury—Miss Hoity-Toity as Hunter started thinking of her in light of Kendall’s comments—he couldn’t stop a grin of his own. He’d not call her a spinster—not just yet. She was a shrewd but pretty businesswoman. One that wasn’t frightened to speak her mind. One with a very good head on her perfectly straight shoulders. “That might be so,” Hunter said, all the while thinking out his plan. “But Dichelle Bastianelli would be worth the fight.”

Kendall cocked his head. “What kind of a name is Bastianelli?”

“Italian, my dear man. And she’s as pretty as she sounds.”

Kendall’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “She
your
girl? That won’t sit well with the men. There’s only so much you can keep under wraps. And a relationship ain’t one of ’em.”

“Nope, she’s young enough to be my daughter. I may be coarse and a bit uneducated, but I’m no lecher. I’d be a liar, though, if I said I don’t appreciate her attention. We’re good friends is all. I like her singing and she likes my stories. If I ask nicely, she just might come. If that happens, you leave Miss Hoity-Toity to me.”

Jake stood at the hitching rail of the Red Rooster Inn a good five minutes, stalling. Going inside was a double-edged sword. Once he opened the door to
that woman
, he’d not be able to close it again. But, he was curious and excited to find out about his pa.

Taking the steps two at a time, he rapped on the thick wood.

Violet opened the door, causing a rush of emotion.
This
was the person who’d raised him. Made him hot chocolate on Christmas day, washed behind his ears, scolded him for cussing. She’d stood him in the corner when needed, or switched his behind when he got out of hand. Her care and love were the only constant in his life.

“Mrs. Hollyhock,” he said, feeling shy. He took his hat from his head and smiled.

She searched his eyes, keeping the door closed enough to keep their meeting private from snooping glances.

“Jake, boy,” she said for only his ears, her gravelly voice a soothing medicine to his heart.

As was his habit, he leaned down so she could kiss his cheek.

“I know this won’t be easy on ya, but I feel ya just might benefit. Iffin I didn’t think so, I’d’ve sent her packin’ just as soon as she stepped off that stage.”

“Thanks for puttin’ her up.” He hated that his ma would inconvenience Mrs. Hollyhock. His mother was a thorn in his old friend’s side that just wouldn’t go away. Even after all these years. It wasn’t only a few times that he’d found Violet smoldering over something his ma had said or done. And now, here she was again . . .

“Come in outta the chilly air.” She took his arm and pulled him inside. “May as well find out what this is all about. Things that don’t kill ya will make ya stronger.”

Just inside the door, he shrugged out of his coat, hanging it and his hat alongside a few others on the rack on the wall by the door.

Feeling someone’s gaze, he turned. Standing in the alcove between the living room and kitchen was the woman he remembered. She was older. Thicker. More lines marked her face. But the eyes were the same. Blue as a field of bluebonnets, but missing the hot resentfulness. He’d been an inconvenience to her all those years. And perhaps, he still was.

“Jake,” she uttered, blinking several times in quick succession. Her face, void of the rouge he remembered so vividly, changed to a deep ruddy pink. “Look at you! You’re a man!”

He squelched the shiver her smoke-tainted voice produced. He pushed away the memories of her drunken rages, and quick hands eager to slap.

Not wanting to call her
Marlene
or
mother
, he just nodded. He stepped toward her as stiff as a dummy set out to ward off the crows.

“You look good. You’ve grown tall.” She reached out for a moment, but let her hand fall back to her side. “Thank you for giving me this opportunity to see you. I realize you could have said no.”

What did she expect him to say? Even if he had any words, they’d not be able to get past the boulder wedged in his windpipe.

At his silence, she turned and looked at the table set behind her. “Violet’s made all your favorites. Let’s eat before the meal gets cold, and then I’ll have answers for all your questions. Does that sound good?”

Shocked that she’d asked, instead of demanded, he felt himself nod. It wasn’t going to matter what was on his plate. He doubted he’d be able to eat even a bite.

The meal passed with barely a spoken word. When they were finished, Violet insisted they go into the living room and sit by the fire while she cleaned up. She’d sent Beth to stay over at Maude’s house tonight so they wouldn’t be interrupted. Jake felt five again, as he fiddled with a piece of string in his fingers, waiting for her to make the first move.

“As you know, I got a letter from your father. He’s dying. He wants to see you if you’re willing.”

He looked up into her eyes. “You said you didn’t know who my pa was.”

The sounds of Mrs. Hollyhock banging around in the kitchen kept their conversation private. Any other time, Jake would have insisted on helping, but tonight he’d let her drag him into the living room, the wiry old woman adamant on doing the dishes herself. After they’d cleared the table, his mother had gone into her room, returning with the envelope she held in her hands. He’d not beg.

“I knew. I knew very well.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? At least when I’d grown older?”

“I had my reasons, Jake, ones I’ll not share with you. You can hate me if you want. I’m sure you already do.” She held the letter out to him.

His name was right here in this letter. How many years had he pondered on who he was? He swallowed and took the missive. “I’ll just step outside.”

Marlene nodded. “I’d do the same. I’ll be here when you have questions.”

Jake retrieved his jacket, and picked up a lantern set on the small table by the door. He stepped outside and put the lantern on the wide porch rail. Drawing the note from the envelope, he opened the paper, thankful that Gabe had insisted on teaching him to read.

Marlene, I hope you will indulge a dying fool. I’d like to meet the boy you claim is mine. If you still know where he is, ask him to come quickly. I have a longing to see if what you said is true before I die. I hope it is. You know where to send him.

—James Costner

Jake stared at the signature. So many emotions swirled inside he couldn’t make out one from the other.

Costner.
His name was Costner. Jake Costner, son of James Costner.

The door creaked open.

He looked around.

“You all right, Jake boy?” Mrs. Hollyhock asked, her face looking fifty years older than when he’d arrived. “Yer ma said you was out here.”

He held up the letter. “My pa’s name is James Costner.”

She gave a wink. “Imagine that,” she said in a whispery-soft voice, one he remembered from the times she’d tenderly tucked him in.

Exactly.
Imagine that.
The backs of his eyes pricked painfully, so he dropped his gaze to the flickering flame of the lantern.

Costner.

His mother knew where to go to meet his father. When his heart tried to soften toward the woman waiting inside, he purposely brought to mind how his fingers and toes had felt in the shivering cold every time she’d forgotten to fetch him into the saloon to the small area she’d arranged for him under the staircase. She’d not be let off the hook just because she offered up something that she should have done years ago. Not with how many times he’d begged her for the information. No one deserved absolution so quickly.