The Legacy by Katherine Webb Page B

. . uh . . . I know it truly was his wish to meet you here himself, Mrs. Massey, but when there are thieves to apprehend, it’s the duty of the landowners to help one another in that mission. I have come in his stead and I’m at your service.”
    “It’s their duty to go?” she asked, tentatively.
    “Absolutely. He was duty-bound to it.”
    “Are you his . . . manservant, then?” she asked.
    Hutch smiled and tipped his chin. “Well, not quite that, Mrs. Massey. Not quite that. I’m foreman at the ranch.”
    “Oh, I see,” Caroline said, although she did not. “Well. Will we be there in time for dinner, do you think?” she asked, fighting to regain her composure.
    “Dinner, ma’am? Tomorrow, do you mean?”
    “Tomorrow?”
    “It’s nearing on thirty-five miles to the ranch, from Woodward here. Now, that’s not far, but too far to make a start this evening, I think. There’s a room waiting for you at the boarding house, and a good dinner too, for you do look in need of a square meal, if I can be as bold as to say so.” He studied her tiny form and the pallor of her skin with a measuring eye.
    “Thirty-five miles? But . . . how long will it take?”
    “We’ll set out early tomorrow and we should get there by noon time on the second day . . . I had not reckoned on you bringing quite so many boxes and trunks with you, and that might slow the wagon down some. But the horses are fresh, and if the weather stays this fair it’ll be a good, smooth ride.” Hutch smiled, and Caroline rallied herself, finding a smile for him in return in spite of the weariness that even hearing about another day and a half of travel made her feel. Hutch stepped forward, proffering his arm. “That’s more like it. Come with me now and we’ll get you settled. You look fairly done in, Mrs. Massey.”
    The Central Hotel on Main Street was managed by a round, sour-faced woman who introduced herself as Mrs. Jessop. She showed Caroline to a room that was clean if not spacious, while Hutch oversaw the switching of her luggage from the station trolley to the covered wagon that would take them on to the ranch. Mrs. Jessop scowled when Caroline asked for a hot bath to be drawn, and Caroline hastily produced coins from her purse to sweeten the request.
    “Go on, then. I’ll knock on your door when it’s ready,” the proprietress told her, eyeing her sternly. The latch on the bathhouse door was flimsy and there was a knot in the wood through which a tiny glimpse of the hallway outside could be had. Caroline kept a careful eye on this as she bathed, terrified of seeing the shadow of a trespassing eye fall over it. The bath was shallow, but it restored her nevertheless. Blood eased into her stiff muscles and her sore back, and she rested her head at last, breathing deeply. The room smelt of damp towels and cheap soap. The last of the evening light seeped warmly around the shutters, and voices carried up to her from the street outside; voices slow and melodious with unfamiliar accents. Then a man’s voice sounded loudly, apparently right below the window:
    “Why, you goddamned son of a bitch ! What the hell are you doing here?” Caroline’s pulse quickened at such obscene language and she sat up with an abrupt splash, expecting at any moment to hear more cursing, or a fight, or even gunshots ringing out. But what she heard next was a rich guffaw of laughter, and the patting of hands against shoulders. She sank back into the cooling bathwater and tried to feel calm again.
    Afterwards, she dried herself with a rough towel and put on a clean white dress for dinner, forgoing any jewels because she had no wish to outshine her fellow clientèle. Without Sara’s help her waist was a little less tiny, and her hair a little less neat, but she felt more like herself as she descended at the dinner hour. She looked around for Derek Hutchinson and, not finding him, enquired of Mrs. Jessop.
    “You’ll not see him again this night, I’ll bet,”