A Promise to Keep Page 9

The chime sounded again and she hurried through the house, into the living room that was rarely used, and pulled open the heavy door.

  Jed stood on the step. “Here.” He handed her the plastic container from the ham and the glass dish from the cobbler. Folded on top of them were her black jeans and white blouse.

  She felt hot inside as she took the items. All she could think was that it had been less than a day since his mouth had been on hers. “Thanks. You didn’t have to bring them here. I’d have—”

  “Otis died this morning.”

  Shock rocked through her.

  Then she shoved the stuff on the table next to the door and put her arms around him. “I’m so sorry.” Her voice was hoarse. “So sorry, Jed.” She felt his hands on her back.

  But it was too brief. Too little. As if he didn’t want her sympathy.

  He pushed her back altogether and his gaze went past her.

  She looked over her shoulder to see her grandmother. “Gram...” She had to clear her throat. Her voice was thick. “This is Jed Dalloway. My grandmother, Gloria Clay.”

  “Otis enjoyed the cobbler, ma’am,” Jed greeted. “Wanted me to tell you thank you.”

  “My pleasure,” Gloria said with a friendly smile. Her eyes were a little searching. “Nothing like a covered dish from a pretty girl.”

  Jed’s jaw canted. “Pretty much what Otis said.”

  April’s eyes burned. She looked away to swipe her cheek.

  “I’ve got things to take care of,” he said abruptly, turning to go. His eyes skated over hers.

  “Jed—”

  But he was already heading down the wide steps of the porch, his long legs eating the distance to the dusty truck parked in the circular drive fronting the house.

  “Honey.” Gloria came up and rubbed her shoulder. “What is it?”

  April turned into her grandmother’s arms. “He’s gone.”

  “Jed?”

  Him, too. “Otis.”

  * * *

  Like all things Otis Lambert had done in his life, he did the same in his death.

  Everything his way.

  He’d ordered his own cremation. Chosen his own plain, flat headstone. He’d even gotten the paperwork that allowed his ashes to be buried on his own land—a task he’d made Jed promise to handle himself.

  Since the only reason Jed figured he was alive today was because of that long-ago Texas night when a complete stranger saw something worth saving in Jed’s miserable soul, he figured he owed it to Otis to live up to his word.

  Otis had marked his chosen spot a year ago. Despite the elements in the months since, the big red X he’d painted on the rocks was faded, but still there.

  Which left Jed with nothing to do after his boss was gone, besides finish the work. He’d had to wait for the doctor to come up and certify the death and then wait some more for the mortuary to perform their part. They’d been doing their thing when Jed had driven down to the Double-C ranch.

  Some things he just hadn’t had the strength to witness.

  By the time Jed received the wooden box of ashes, it was nearly nightfall. The ground was more rock than soil and it took more pickax than shovel to dig the hole once he’d managed to get past the boulders blocking the way. Samson lay on the ground nearby, his head on his paws. Not even chasing after a rabbit when it got curious enough to come close and see what was going on.

  One box of ashes shouldn’t be so hard to deal with. But it was still backbreaking work to get the hole deep enough for that box.

  But at last the deed was done.

  Jagged boulders moved. Earth briefly disturbed.

  A plaque situated.

  The words were simple. “Otis Lambert. Born here. Died here.”

  No dates were included. Otis never figured it was anyone’s business, anyway. And who, in their right mind, would ever climb up onto the edge of earth where Otis had chosen to spend his eternity?

  Only Jed, because he’d promised. Certainly nobody from town. Otis had flatly forbidden any other mourners.

  In the moonlight, Jed carried the shovel and pickax back to the UTV he’d had to leave parked down the hill a hundred yards off. One last time he went back up to the ridge carrying the bedroll that was always stowed behind the seats of the UTV and the truck. You never knew when you’d get stuck out on the land for a night. It wouldn’t be long before Jed would have the roll fastened to the back of his saddle, because during calving season it was sometimes just easier to bed down where the mamas were.

  He flipped open the roll and sat down on it beside Otis.

  He was no different than Samson.

  “It’s a good view, Otis.”

  The dog woofed softly and crawled forward to put his head on Jed’s knee. He rubbed the dog’s head. “I know, buddy.”

  There’d been hardly anyone to come to Tanya’s funeral, either. Everyone had either been in jail by then or had put Jed at a distance. And Tanya’s only family was already gone by then.

  The day he had put his first and only love in the ground, it had been just him and a minister. A guy he’d never seen before. One who had never known Tanya. Just someone who’d answered the phone number provided by the funeral home.

  In a way, this was better. Truer.

  “Guess you knew that, too, you old man.” Otis had never said who he’d been in Texas to bury five years ago. Jed had known better than to ask.

  Samson scooted again, pushing his eighty pounds of determination against Jed in his effort to take over some of the bedroll.

  Jed was weary enough, he didn’t care. He let the dog take his share while he looked up at the stars.

  They looked close enough to touch.

  He’d given up on heaven. But he still believed in hell.

  Otis was the one who’d shown him the way out.

  He’d brought Jed up to this very spot when he’d arrived that first day on the Rambling Rad.

  “You think your life is so bad? You really want to end it? Stop playing around at it and do the job right.” He’d gestured at the sheer drop-off. “You won’t survive going over that. And there are plenty other spots down the road. Don’t have to look hard. Otherwise, work starts early here. You can fix up that ol’ potting shed however you want. I need someone with a strong back and tight lips. In return, you’ll get room and board and a percentage of whatever profit the ranch makes for as long as you’re working it.” Then he’d let out that cackle of a laugh. “’Course a hunnert percent of nothing is still nothing.”

  “You can be glad I didn’t walk off the edge,” Jed muttered, resting his hand on the freshly turned earth beside him. “Nobody else’d be fool enough to bury you on the side of a mountain.”

  He’d sure thought about walking off the ledge, though.

  But as the weeks, then the months and the years passed, he’d climbed up to this spot less and less.

  The last time he’d been up here had been to help Otis paint that damn red X.

  The dog had stretched out. Jed pushed with his own weight to gain enough space and stretched out, too.

  He propped his hands behind his neck and stared down at the lights sparkling in the distance. Was April still down there somewhere?

  Working out Stanton Development’s next move?

  Or had she already gone back to Denver where good ol’ Kenneth would be waiting with open arms?

  Jed couldn’t really blame the guy.

  He’d set his eyes on Tanya more than a decade before she’d even given him the time of day.

  If she had never done so, she’d never have died.

  And as far as Jed was concerned, that was the very definition of hell. Knowing that if it weren’t for him, Tanya and the babies she’d carried would still be alive today.

  Chapter Eight

  The house—a generous term if th
ere ever was one—was still sitting on the side of the mountain.

  Wood still gone gray with weathering. Worn deck still lining the front side of the house.

  April zipped up her leather jacket and reached inside the car for the padded carrier. She started to close the car door but the wind finished the job first, yanking it right out of her hand.

  It hadn’t even been two weeks since she’d made her first trip up the mountain to see Otis.

  It felt like so, so much longer.

  Now the only thing she could do coming up the mountain, was to pay her respects.

  She made her way past the wooden barricade and the boulders and aimed toward the front of the house.

  She didn’t see the rocking chair sitting on the deck at first. Not until she’d picked her way up the ragtag steps.

  Jed was sitting in it. One bare foot propped on the splintering rail in front of him. He wore jeans and a striped shirt that he hadn’t bothered to button and one of the shirttails flapped in the wind.

  A bottle of scotch sat on the deck beside the chair.

  “Do you have a drinking problem, Jed?” For a greeting, it wasn’t what she’d intended.

  Certainly not what she’d been rehearsing all the way up the winding mountain road.

  He didn’t look at her. “What do you want, April?”

  She pressed her tongue against the back of her teeth, exhaling. She hurt inside. “I came to see how you are.”

  He spread his hands and she saw the short glass he was holding in one of them. “This is how I am.”

  She walked toward him. It was almost automatic now to step over the boards that looked as though they were ready to split right in two.

  “My family sends their condolences.”

  He didn’t respond. There was about an inch of alcohol in the bottom of the glass.

  “When’s the last time you ate?”

  Again, no response. He lifted the glass, watching the whisky swirl. But he didn’t drink. Just lowered the glass again, resting it against that hard, bare abdomen.

  Her hair blew across her face and she pushed it back behind her ear, looking out from the deck. Weaver lay in the distance, a small town shaped a bit like a cross. Another range of mountains lined the far side, separating Weaver from its sister town of Braden. Yet up here on the mountain, they could have been the only two people in the world.

  “It’s very windy out here. Aren’t you cold?”

  “I don’t get cold.”

  She looked at him. His eyes were bloodshot and his knuckles looked raw. “Everyone gets cold.”

  “Thank you for your condolences.”

  “Now go home? Is that going to be the end of that thought?”

  “There’s no reason to stay here.” He gestured with the glass. “You said it. It’s windy and cold.”

  “Then come inside.” She lifted the insulated carrier. “I’ve brought you a meal.”

  “No point in trying to bribe me. I can’t help you acquire the ranch.”

  “It’s not a bribe.” Because he didn’t seem inclined to invite her inside, she just went to the door and let herself in.

  The chair that Otis had sat in the day of the rainstorm was gone and she realized it must be the same one that Jed had taken out onto the deck. There wasn’t much other furniture to speak of. The woodstove was stone cold when she checked.

  She went through the swinging door to the kitchen and set everything on the table, then went back in the living area. The wood was stacked against the wall near the woodstove. She opened the door and laid a new fire, silently blessing the fact that she’d learned how to do so when she was just a kid.

  Flames were licking well from the kindling into the log when she closed the heavy door on it and went back into the kitchen. She propped the door open with a chair so it would get some of the heat from the fire. The most modern thing in the place seemed to be the phone, and it looked nearly antique. No coffeemaker. No microwave. She remembered that from the last time she’d been up there.

  She searched behind the curtain hanging from the counter and found a tin of ground coffee. The metal coffeepot sitting cold on the stove was the same style that Squire always used when he’d taken his grandkids out camping and fishing.

  She gave it a thorough wash, filled it with water from the tap and stuck it back on the stove, fiddling with the burner a bit before the gas flame lit.

  There was a bowl of eggs in the ancient refrigerator. Freckled and colored and probably farm fresh versus the supermarket. She cracked one into a small bowl and stirred several scoops of coffee into it. When the water was boiling, she dumped in the slurry and stirred it until it foamed up. Then she poured in a bowlful of cold water settling the whole mess and turned off the flame.

  When Jed finally came in, she was sitting at the table sipping at a cup.

  It was too late for lunch. A little early for supper. But she’d set the table with a plate from his shelf. Folded one of the napkins from her carrier and placed it beneath the mismatched flatware that had been piled in the sink.

  She didn’t say anything while he studied the display. Just used two fingers to push his steaming cup of coffee across the table toward him.

  His lips compressed. He dumped his glass into the sink, pouring out about an inch of whisky, she noted. Then he picked up the coffee cup. “Looks more like tea than coffee. I don’t drink tea.”

  She smiled faintly, focusing hard on the coffee so she wouldn’t get caught staring at that slice of bare chest showing between his unbuttoned shirt. “It’s not tea,” she assured. He surely knew it. The kitchen was redolent with the scent of coffee. “Give it a try anyway.”

  He took a sip. Narrowed his eyes at her. “All right,” he finally said. “It’ll do.” He flicked his free hand, taking in the set table. “Is this part of the whole condolence package?”

  She noticed again the scrapes on his knuckles. They hadn’t been there the day before when he’d come to the Double-C. “Ordinarily, I’d have just left the meal. But I didn’t want you having to eat alone.”

  “I’ve been eating alone a long time.”

  “If you’re saying that you and Otis didn’t share meals, I don’t believe you.” She sipped her coffee, pretending a calmness that she didn’t really feel. “Have you made any arrangements yet?”

  “For what?”

  He was being deliberately obtuse. But she wasn’t going to rise to it. Not when she knew it was caused by grief. “Piper’s father is a minister if you don’t have someone in mind already to handle the service for you.”

  “It’s taken care of.”

  She wasn’t really surprised, she decided. “Otis left instructions, I suppose.”

  “You could say that.”

  “Will it be soon? I know Squire will want to—”

  “He’s already buried. I buried his ashes myself.”

  She stared, feeling a sinking sense of dismay. “When you say you did it yourself—” she glanced at his raw hands “—you’re not saying you did it yourself. Are you?”

  “I had the proper permit,” he said flatly. “I told you he wanted to be buried on his mountain and I promised him I’d do it.”

  “Oh, Jed.”

  “Just leave it.” He looked grim and he lifted the coffee cup again, taking a drink. “What’s different about this? It tastes—” He broke off, shaking his head.

  “Smooth? No bitterness? It’s egg coffee. Squire’s favorite.”

  He shoved the cup onto the table as if he were appalled. “What the hell is egg coffee?”

  “You stir an egg into the grounds. And some shell. It clarifies the coffee.” She caught one of his hands in hers. Studied the knuckles that were scraped raw. When she turned his hand over, the ridge of callouses on his palm hadn’t been enough to prevent a blister. “You used your bare hands?�
�

  “I used a shovel and a pickaxe.” He opened the back door and pointed to a spot beyond the two sheds. “He’s up there on that ridge. Staring down at all of Weaver forevermore. Lording over things from his position on high.”

  She closed her eyes, swallowing dismay. When she opened them again he’d closed the door and was toying warily with the coffee cup. She knew that if he liked coffee as much as Squire, he couldn’t help but like the old-timey recipe. She hadn’t met a coffee drinker yet who didn’t. “You could have had help, Jed.”

  “Somebody else dug the hole when my wife died. It wasn’t any easier that way. At least this time, it wasn’t strangers doing the job.”

  She curled her fingers in her lap. “When, uh, how long ago did she die?”

  “Does it matter? Tanya’s gone. Whether it happened yesterday or a decade ago.”

  Tanya. The name sank through her. “You married the first girl you kissed?”

  “I kissed a few others between that first one with her and the last. She didn’t make it easy catching her. She had—” He broke off and looked down at his mug.

  “Had what?”

  He didn’t immediately answer. “High standards,” he finally said abruptly.

  April dragged her eyes away from his chest again and trained her attention on the food. “You, ah, you don’t have to bring back any of these containers. If you’re not up to eating now, I can package it all up and put it in the fridge for later.”

  In answer, he grabbed the chair she’d used to prop open the swinging door, flipped it around toward the dinky table and sat. “Why do people send food?”

  She made a soft sound. “For support. Comfort. Surely that’s not an unfamiliar concept for you.”

  His lips twisted. “You ought to be celebrating.”

  She sat back, stiffening. “Why?”

  “He told you he had a will, but I haven’t found it. Looked all day. Not in his room. Not tucked among the ranch books. It’s nowhere.”

  “Why would he have lied to me about having a will?”

  “Why bother calling Stanton Development? Otis likes...liked...yanking people’s chains.”