Sierra's Homecoming by Linda Lael Miller Page B

“Meg told me.”
    â€œOf course she did.” Sierra poured canned soup into a saucepan, stirred it industriously and blushed.
    Travis didn’t say anything more for a long time. Then, “I was a lawyer for McKettrickCo,” he told her.
    Sierra stole a sidelong glance at him. He looked tense, standing there holding his hat in one hand. “Impressive,” she said.
    â€œNot so much,” he countered. “It’s a tradition in my family, being a lawyer, I mean. At least, with everyone but my brother, Brody. He became a meth addict instead, and blew himself to kingdom-come brewing up a batch. Go figure.”
    Sierra turned to face Travis. Noticed that his jaw was hard and his eyes even harder. He was angry, in pain, or both.
    â€œI’m so sorry,” she said.
    â€œYeah,” Travis replied tersely. “Me, too.”
    He started for the door.
    â€œStay for lunch?” Sierra asked.
    â€œAnother time,” he answered, and then he was gone.
    1919
    It was near sunset when Doss and Tobias rode in from the Jessup place, and by then Hannah was fit to be tied. She’d paced for most of the afternoon, after it started to snow again, fretting over all the things that could go wrong along the way.
    The horse or the mule could have gone lame or fallen through the ice crossing the creek.
    There could have been an avalanche. Just last year, a whole mountainside of snow had come crashing down on to the roof of a cabin and crushed it to the ground, with a family inside.
    Wolves prowled the countryside, too, bold with the desperation of their hunger. They killed cattle and sometimes people.
    Doss hadn’t even taken his rifle.
    When Hannah heard the horses, she ran to the window, wiped the fog from the glass with her apron hem. She watched as they dismounted and led their mounts into the barn.
    She’d baked pies that day to keep from going crazy, and the kitchen was redolent with the aroma. She smoothed her skirts, patted her hair and turned away so she wouldn’t be caught looking if Doss or Tobias happened to glance toward the house.
    Almost an hour passed before they came inside—they’d done the barn chores—and Hannah had the table set, the lamps lighted and the coffee made. She wanted to fuss over Tobias, check his ears and fingers for frostbite and his forehead for fever, but she wouldn’t let herself do it.
    Doss wasn’t deceived by her smiling restraint, she could see that, but Tobias looked downright relieved, as though he’d expected her to pounce the minute he came through the door.
    â€œHow did you find Widow Jessup?” she asked.
    â€œShe was right where we left her last time,” Doss said with a slight grin.
    Hannah gave him a look.
    â€œShe was fresh out of firewood,” Tobias expounded importantly, unwrapping himself, layer by layer, until he stood in just his trousers and shirt, with melted snow pooling around his feet. “It’s a good thing we went down there. She’d have froze for sure.”
    Doss looked tired, but his eyes twinkled. “For sure,” he confirmed. “She got Tobias here by the ears and kissed him all over his face, she was so grateful that he’d saved her.”
    Tobias let out a yelp of mortification and took a swing at Doss, who sidestepped him easily.
    â€œStop your roughhousing and wash up for supper,” Hannah said, but it did her heart good to see it. Gabe used to come in from the barn, toss Tobias over one shoulder and carry him around the kitchen like a sack of grain. The boy had howled with laughter and pummeled Gabe’s chest with his small fists in mock resistance. She’d missed the ordinary things like that more than anything except being held in Gabe’s arms.
    She served chicken and dumplings, in her best Blue Willow dishes, with apple pie for dessert.
    Tobias ate with a fresh-air, long-ride appetite and nearly fell asleep in his chair once his stomach