That made her laugh, and his heart lifted a bit.

  “Jack of all trades?” she teased.

  “Cooking on the range and, for a while before Lila, cooking for myself. If it’s easy I can do it.”

  “I feel so useless.”

  He looked at her. “Don’t. You’ve been injured. You didn’t cause any of this. Anyway, I like being of use myself, so live with it.”

  He paused, hating to bring the gloom to her again. “I need to go out and get my shotgun.”

  Her small smile vanished. He detested that, but he’d be of no earthly good to her if he wasn’t prepared to defend her homestead alongside her.

  He might try, but there was no way he could turn this into a fun campout. Sooner or later the darkness would have descended anyway.

  “Thanks,” she said, her voice small.

  This seemed to be his cussing day. While he went out to his truck to get his shotgun and a box of ammo, plus the pistol he always carried to put a sick or injured animal out of its misery, he muttered a few choice words.

  He had to hope that he could really help Grace, that he could put someone behind bars so that she could breathe easy again. All he needed was some concrete evidence to pass to the sheriff. Although it would make him feel a whole lot better to hold the guy at gunpoint for a while before the sheriff arrived.

  Inside he found Grace seated at the table with a cup of coffee. She didn’t look even remotely happy anymore.

  He’d done that by reminding her of this god-awful situation. Well, that made him feel about two inches tall.

  He put his shotgun in a corner, and his locked pistol case on the counter.

  “Guess what I brought to eat?” he asked, trying to cheer her a little.

  She looked at him.

  “I went to Maude’s. I must have made her happy since I ordered at least two meals worth of most items, plus some big pieces of strudel.”

  That perked her interest. “Strudel? That’s a beast to make. I’m surprised she bothered.”

  “Maude’s always a surprise, except when she’s slamming dishes on the table.”

  That brought back her smile. “Too true. The clattering you hear in any diner doesn’t reach the decibels in Maude’s.”

  “I’m amazed she has a whole dish left, honestly.”

  Still smiling. Thank God. They’d get through this mess somehow. “Are you getting hungry?”

  She didn’t have to think about it. “Famished.”

  “Good. Maude would be appalled if we didn’t eat while it’s mostly fresh.”

  “Just don’t tell her if we don’t.”

  “She’ll never know,” Mitch pointed out. “Unless you want to tattle on me.”

  * * *

  Twilight began to creep over the land, flattening the shadows, making the land darker even as the sky remained blue overhead. One of the beauties of the mountains. They swallowed the sun before they stole all the light.

  Grace decided to sit on her porch with her own shotgun cradled across her lap. Mitch joined her soon with fresh mugs of coffee.

  “To keep us awake,” he said as he passed her one.

  For all she resented not being able to take care of all this herself, she was terribly glad of Mitch’s company. It struck her again that she’d been keeping him at a distance for a long time.

  Why? Because he was a supremely attractive man? Because noticing that might be a betrayal of John? All she could be certain of was that she was drawn to Mitch and it didn’t feel like a major crime.

  As if it ever had been. Even when she was married. She’d seen John notice other women, a very male thing to do. Well, she was a female and she was noticing Mitch. The sight of his backside in jeans was enough to make her heart skip a beat. The narrowness of his hips reminded her of his masculinity. Almost constantly.

  Mostly, just then, she was glad he was here. The coming night didn’t quite seem so scary.

  Anyway, it wasn’t the night that scared her. It was what it might conceal.

  “It’s probably too soon to expect anything more to happen,” he remarked. “There were a few weeks after the ewe, and between the barn and the home invasion. Moving slowly. A rapid blast wouldn’t give enough time for the threat to sink in.”

  She nodded, basically agreeing. But not certain by any means. She supposed he wasn’t, either, or he wouldn’t be here.

  “You’re just trying to make me feel better, Mitch.”

  “Probably,” he admitted.

  “But you called it a threat.”

  “Hard to see it any other way now.”

  The evening breeze was shifting direction a bit, bringing a colder breath to the land, washing the air, cleaning it for another day.

  Grace drew in the familiar scent of sagebrush. She loved the aroma. Nature had a beauty all its own, even out here where many might find the vast expanses dull and the dry summer colors boring.

  The land rolled gently, trees grew everywhere they could find enough water. There were wildflowers in the spring, delicate beautiful blossoms. Sometimes as winter approached, she even caught the smell from the evergreens on the mountains. If you were quiet enough, you could see deer who’d jumped the fence and grazed.

  It was a beauty many couldn’t appreciate, but she certainly did.

  A sigh escaped her.

  “What?” he asked.

  “I was just thinking how much I love it out here. I’m not going to give it up, Mitch.”

  “Me, neither.”

  After a bit she remarked, “You had Bill bring you a horse.”

  “Clearly. But not for you. Your hands...”

  “I know about my hands,” she said querulously, then wished she had softened her tone. “I got a whole introduction to what I can’t do today. After you left, I tried to clean up some more. No go. At least I could make that coffee.”

  “Small victories. Take them when you can. Look, those hands you’re angry about are a badge of honor.”

  Her head swiveled toward him. “What do you mean?”

  “You burned them risking yourself to save two horses. That was brave. Take your badge or medal or whatever you want to call it, because you deserve it. You could have saved your hands by letting those horses die. You didn’t.”

  She couldn’t very well argue with that. “Well, I couldn’t have let them burn. Period. So I didn’t really do anything special.”

  “Most people are too afraid of fire to go into a burning building. Welcome to the reality and courage of one Grace Hall.”

  “You think so?” Inside her, an icy knot began to warm for the first time since John’s death. Courage? She hadn’t been showing much over the last two years.

  “I know so,” he replied firmly.

  As the last light began to fail, he reached over and took her hand. It was a careful, gentle touch that caused her no discomfort.

  Well, except for the leaping of her heart and the almost forgotten tingle that ran through her. Within herself she could feel creaky doors opening wider, letting in fresh air, sweeping away dust and even the fog that had shrouded her.

  A new day was beginning.

  If she could just tunnel through this mountain of trouble.

  She looked at Mitch again, seeing his face in shadow, and wished she knew how to close that last bit of distance between them.

  It wouldn’t be easy, not after that way she’d built her self-protective wall between them. Keeping them at the level of friends and colleagues.

  If she wanted to go that way—and she wasn’t yet certain she dared to take the risk—she might have to make the move herself, knocking the barrier over.

  But still there were the other things, the ugly things that seemed to be pursuing her. Her needs versus her wants. Dangers of two different kinds that couldn’t possibly mesh just now.

  While she tried to deal with it all, warning flags were spinning around her head like disembodied demons. It might be wiser to solve the big problems before adding the possibility of another to the list. What if he wasn’t interested? What if he just saw her as a friend, or as a sister?

  Oh, God, could she take the humiliation?

  But she couldn’t deny he was waking her from her long slumber in the depths of despair. Pulling her up from the mire that had been in danger of becoming comfortable.

  She drew a deep breath of the cooling air that cleansed her physically. Maybe she was cleansing herself inside, too?

  “We ought to go in,” Mitch remarked. “Unless you want me to go get you a jacket.”

  That was Mitch. Caring. Always caring.

  “Let’s go in,” she decided. Because as night crept in, with all its mysterious shadows, a threat felt as if it were sneaking closer.

  She couldn’t imagine what it might be, but knew it existed.

  This was not over.

  Chapter 15

  The upstairs of this two-story farmhouse was empty. Grace and John had used it for storing a few things, but otherwise it had been extra, unneeded space. Bedrooms they had once thought would eventually be filled with children. If they’d had children, they’d have moved their bedroom up there, too. Plenty of room.

  But there was a room downstairs that was adequate for them, and they’d used it as their bedroom. A much smaller room had been given over to a tiny office of sorts, now filled with papers and loose-leaf binders and boxes, all holding the inevitable documents for running any kind of business. Over the years the stacks had grown, and since John’s death had been mostly untouched.

  As a business, Grace was practically nonexistent. She recorded the sale of the sheep to Mitch, diligently recorded the payments he made on the land he leased from her, recorded a rare expense that fell to her.

  Then she always closed the door on it all. Leaving it in the dust.

  Grace and John had had little in the way of savings, only socking away what they could for emergencies. So far, she had managed to survive on the proceeds of his life insurance. That wouldn’t last forever, but it had gotten her through. Sooner or later she was going to have to face economic reality. Mitch’s intervention had merely postponed it.

  The unwanted thoughts wafted through her head in the morning when she rose. Mitch had spent the night in the living room, sleeping on a recliner. John’s recliner. It somehow felt right.

  He was already up and dressed, standing in the kitchen. He wore his shotgun chaps over his jeans, topped by a chambray shirt with snaps. The sleeves were rolled up. On his feet were cowboy boots, not work boots.

  “Coffee’s ready,” he remarked. “As if you couldn’t smell it coming down the hall. I recommend a piece of Maude’s blueberry buckle for breakfast.”

  “That sounds great.” She hadn’t even showered yet, and was still wearing an old terry cloth robe over her nightshirt. Feeling suddenly embarrassed, she pushed her hair back and hoped it didn’t look too much like a rat’s nest. Heck, why had she stumbled out here before taking her shower, cold as it would have to be because of her hands?

  He placed a mug of coffee on the table and motioned her to a chair. “Sit, milady, and sip.”

  A surprised laugh escaped her as she slid into the chair.

  He turned back to the counter to open a container and pulled a couple of plates out of the cupboard.

  Which gave her a nice view of the worn seat of his jeans that cradled him oh so perfectly.

  She blinked, shocked by the turn of her thoughts. Really, Grace? Fearful he might read her mind, she yanked her attention elsewhere.

  “Boots and chaps?” she asked as he brought squares of the blueberry buckle to the table. “I haven’t seen you wear chaps often.”

  “That’s because, lately, I haven’t been riding into brushy areas.” He sat, facing her.

  “Are you planning to?”

  He shrugged one shoulder, as if trying to minimize. “I thought I’d ride around and look for trampled brush, spots under the trees, things like that.”

  Anxiety swooped in like a hawk. She had to swallow hard and drink some coffee. “I should do that with you.”

  He cocked a brow at her. “Really.”

  It wasn’t a question and she flushed. “Mitch...”

  “I get it,” he interrupted. “You want to do something, anything. You don’t want me taking over. I know how independent you are.”

  She opened her mouth to answer, but he forestalled her.

  “Well, I’ve got a job for you, if you’re willing.”

  She quelled an instinctive burst of resentment. This was her homestead, her problem, and she ought to be managing it. But the instant the irritation flared, it subsided. There was a difference, she reminded herself, between being stubborn and being reasonable. She certainly wasn’t capable of doing what he was proposing he do. Her damn hands.

  “What do you need?” she asked after another sip of coffee and a stab at the cake with a fork.

  “Guard the place. Just sit out front with your shotgun. The sight of that ought to help any miscreants decide to go elsewhere.”

  Half an hour later, outside the barn, Grace watched Mitch mount a palomino named Joy. Leather creaked, a sound she had long loved. She handed him his shotgun and he slipped it into the saddle holster. Just like a cowboy of old, he wore a gun belt, his pistol safely sheathed. He crammed his battered Stetson with its stampede string onto his head.

  Not a show cowboy, but a working one.

  Iconic image, she thought, as he touched the finger of a gloved hand to the brim of his hat then rode out with the jingle of harness. She’d never become immune to that sight or those sounds over the years.

  Grace spared a sigh, then returned to the house. She filled a tall insulated mug with coffee, then returned to her porch with her shotgun. The single barrel held six shots. No hasty reloading required.

  The ceaseless wind blew, stirred to wakefulness by the rising warmth of the summer day. The humidity was so low that she considered rubbing moisturizer into her face, but let it go. Now that she was alone, the shadows that haunted her seemed to be rising even in the sunlight.

  Almost too much to comprehend, she thought.

  She was alone now, as she had been since John’s death. But this time the loneliness was enhanced. Mitch’s absence presented her with a whole new emptiness.

  * * *

  A few hours later, she spied a vehicle turn into her driveway. Distant though it was, she quickly recognized Betty’s car.

  She and Betty had been friends for a while now. Betty was one of the very few people she’d allowed into her life since John’s passing, and in the past, Betty’s visits had always been welcome, pleasurable.

  Lately she’d found her friend annoying. Why? She couldn’t really say. Even Betty’s repeated suggestions that she needed to move couldn’t be all of it. It wasn’t as if Betty had done more than suggest, and even Mitch had said he kind of agreed.

  But Mitch didn’t bring it up, and certainly not repeatedly.

  No, Mitch just kept coming around to look after her. Man, she was a mixed-up mess. Both Betty and Mitch were trying to protect her, and she sprouted sharp quills any time they tried.

  The look at herself was uncomfortable. It wasn’t as if she were the only solitary widow in the world. She certainly didn’t need to get her back up every time someone cared for her.

  As Betty climbed out of her car and approached, Grace summoned a smile and a wave. “Howdy, stranger,” she called.

  Betty waved back and grinned. “It’s been a while. I’m still not sure I’m welcome.”

  “Of course you are. It’s just been rough lately.”

  “So I hear.”

  Grace leaned forward, ready to put her gun aside. “Coffee, blueberry buckle?”

  Betty waved a hand. “I know my way around your kitchen. I’ll get it myself. What about you?”

  Ten minutes later, they both sat in wood rockers, coffee on the wooden end table between them. Betty had helped herself to blueberry buckle on a small plate.

  “Catch me up, as in why you’re sitting there with a shotgun,” Betty said, then lifted a forkful of cake to her mouth. “Tell me nothing else has happened. Lately I’ve been feeling like every time I turn up, it’s the worst time imaginable. You’re entitled to a break.”

  Grace balanced the shotgun across her lap and surrounded the mug of fresh coffee with both hands. “You’d think. But no, nothing else has happened except Mitch’s men got rid of that horrid, heavy chair from the living room. They were calling it the dinosaur.”

  Betty laughed. “Great description.”

  “I hate to admit how long I’ve loathed that thing. It’s as if it was rooted to the house and would never move.”

  Oddly, she thought she saw a faint shadow pass over Betty’s face.

  “That it did,” Betty said after a couple of seconds. “Why didn’t you and John ever get rid of it?”

  “Too heavy. Neither of us thought it was important enough to struggle with. Boy, did it smell when the guys moved it.”

  “Age does that,” Betty remarked. “But I’m not here about the furniture. I’m here about you. Had enough yet?”

  Grace felt herself bristling again and tried to stamp down on it. “Meaning?”

  “Just what I said. God, Grace, it’s been one thing after another. You’re sitting there holding your shotgun, for heaven’s sake. This goes way past what some might call karma. Besides, you’ve never done a bad thing in your life.”

  That drew a quiet laugh from Grace. “Everyone has, Betty. I’m not ready for sainthood.”

  Betty grinned. “Well, I can’t say I can argue with you. I’ve been so bad lately. And I’m loving it.”

  “Tell, tell. I need something good to think about.”