An Impostor in Town (Colorado Series) Read online

  She snorted. “I didn’t save your life. You weren’t anywhere near dying!”

  “Smoke inhalation is the number one cause of death in a fire.” He added just a hint of persuasion to his argument.

  “Okay, I give. You can pay me back with a home-cooked meal!”

  He grinned and set the meal on the table. She ate as if she’d never eaten in her life. He appreciated a woman who wasn’t a picky eater. Her appetite didn’t match her form. She was skin and bones. Did the woman eat right? Maybe he should feed her more often.

  She wiped her mouth with a cloth napkin he had purchased just for the occasion. “You cook pretty good…for a guy.”

  “You know what they say."

  “What?”

  “The way to a woman’s heart is through her stomach. Wait, I’ve got that backwards. No, sideways. Well, something.”

  She laughed and the tension in her shoulders visibly relaxed.

  “How would you like to go for a drive?” He wiped down the kitchen counter and held his breath. When she didn’t answer, he glanced her way. She blinked at him. “I need to feed my stock.”

  Her face brightened. “You have livestock?”

  “I run a few head of cattle, but mostly I keep the place for Poncho and Chief.”

  A grin played at the corners of her very pretty mouth. “Horses?”

  He wondered what it would be like to kiss those perfectly shaped lips. He shook his head to remove the stray thought. “Yeah. Do you like horses?”

  “My father was a foreman on a cattle ranch in Texas—”

  Why had she bit off the end of her sentence? She was a hard woman to get to know. Come to think on it, she never told him anything about her past. This was a first. “Well, come with me and help me feed them. They love company.”

  ****

  After Brian gathered a few supplies, they hopped into his truck and drove northeast on Florida Road toward Vallecito Lake and Missionary Ridge. Snow nestled among the trees along the side of the road until they reached the edge of the fire line. The barren ground was a blanket of white with stabs of charred wood pointing toward the heavens.

  He turned off the main road. After a mile or so, a pothole rattled the truck and Peyton grabbed the dash to keep from falling into him. “You’re not headed up here for old time’s sake, are you?”

  “Huh?”

  She grinned. Would he accept her teasing? “You know…the site of the fire.”

  He turned his head for a moment and then retrained his focus on the twisting road. “My place is up here about seven miles out of town. It’s not far from the original fire line.”

  “So your willingness to help fight the fire was more than being a good citizen?”

  His features set with confusion. “Good citizen?”

  “Or doing your duty?”

  He glanced her way again. His eyes flashed with a fire she’d never seen in them. “My land was being threatened along with my stock.”

  “No wonder you were so insistent on being included.” Heated debate erupted when the High Sheriff of LaPlata County joined the rank and file on the fire line. Brian had been a magnet for controversy almost from the first day he took office.

  “It didn’t feel right asking someone else to fight my fire for me. Especially when there was something I could do to help.” His eyes swept her face. “Does that burst your notions about me? Not so noble anymore, am I?” He disengaged and retrained his focus, yanking the steering wheel to miss a boulder in the road.

  His beat up Chevy truck shifted gears with a sputter and a lurch as he turned onto a small, winding track that cut through a low place in the hills and emerged on the other side of a ridge in a box canyon. Surrounded on three sides by steep, rocky cliffs, one wouldn’t have found his place without knowing it was there. The pasture was probably green and fertile in the late spring and early summer, but in winter a hard pack of ice and snow crusted the ground.

  He shifted into park. Two horses galloped toward the fence and whinnied as he got out of the truck. The Paint hung his head over the rail fencing, the first to nuzzle Brian as he opened the gate. The sorrel sauntered up with what appeared to be feigned indifference. It reminded Peyton so much of her younger years she bit her lower lip to keep from tearing up.

  She slid into the driver’s seat, drove the truck through the gate, and parked it where he indicated, then rolled down the window and inhaled crisp, clean air while he pushed the cross bars through the braces. The wind was heavy with the strong scent of snow and horseflesh and earth and hay and manure. It was a sickly-sweet smell, but so familiar. She got out and followed a mushy, muddy path from the gate to the corral. Each step she took made a gushy, squishy sound. She smiled with unbridled pleasure.

  The horses followed them to a dilapidated barn with peeling red paint and a rusty tin roof. Brian rubbed the Paint’s flank. “This is Poncho.” Then he patted the sorrel on his hindquarters. “And this is Chief. Boys, this is Peyton.” The sorrel whinnied on cue. Chief nudged Brian’s shoulder hard. He stroked the horse’s nose with affection. Peyton appreciated the easy way he had with the animal. She had never liked treating a horse like it was just property.

  Down the pasture she could see what looked like construction. “You building a new barn?”

  “A shed. I hadn’t gotten very far with it when the fire broke out. It’s stayed just like that since June.”

  He tipped a bag of sweet feed over the fencing and poured a generous portion of feed into a trough. The cows vocalized their appreciation as they made the slow journey to the corral. Someone, probably Brian, had cracked a hole in a nearby pond to allow the stock to water.

  After a while he stomped through a foot of ice and snow to the unfinished shed and grabbed a hay hook, deftly lifting a bale and hauling it to a manger. She followed him step for step and dropped onto another bale next to unfinished wood studs. The shed was nothing more than two by fours and a roof decking. “Do you plan to build a house out here?”

  His activity stilled. “Someday.”

  “When you retire?”

  “When I get married.” He clipped his answer as if marriage was a touchy subject and cut the baling twine with a pair of pliers to burst the bale.

  Who did he plan to marry? Was this something he was considering? She struggled to gain control of her wayward thoughts and pretended to laugh at his response. “You got anybody in mind?”

  He took a nearby hayfork and began spreading the hay in the manger. “I haven’t found the right woman yet.”

  She had to know how serious he was about Chris Smith, so she pushed the limits of his comfort zone. “I thought maybe you had.”

  “I know about the rumors. We’re just friends. Chris is married to someone, somewhere. Just because she can’t remember him, doesn’t mean he doesn’t exist. I’d be foolish to get involved with her like that.” He thrust the hayfork into the snow-covered ground in front of the incomplete shed and cleared his throat. “I’m sorry about what happened at the cook-off.”

  How had he gone from a sensitive subject for him to a mortifying subject for her—in one breath? “There’s no need to apologize—”

  “I’m not apologizing. It’s just…I know that was embarrassing for you. I don’t intend to make things worse by bringing it up again. But you’re wrong. I do understand. Much better than you think I do.”

  “How could you possibly understand?” The fire rose up her throat, heating her neck with shame.

  He removed his coat and laid it across the corral fence. Rolling up his left sleeve, he removed his wide band watch and exposed his wrist to her. She stared at the scar and then stared at him.

  “You see. I do understand.” A glimmer of understanding radiated from the amber depths of his eyes. “If you ever want to talk—”

  She raised her hand to stop him. “I don’t want to talk about it. I’ve worked very hard to leave my past in my past. That was the biggest mistake I’ve ever made. I won’t make it again.” She paused
to catch a breath. “This is my business and no one else’s.”

  “I will respect that.” He turned and finished feeding the stock.

  His easy capitulation caught her without a ready comeback. She changed the subject before he could change his mind. “Do you ever ride them?”

  “They don’t get as much saddle time as they should. I’m afraid Poncho is getting lazy.” He swatted the horse on the rear. “I don’t suppose you’d consider riding with me sometime. It’s much easier controlling these two if they can stay together.”

  “I’d like that.”

  They finished the remaining chores and headed back to Durango. There was little conversation. Rather Brian hummed a tune she couldn’t identify. The lake and the trees and the clouds blurred past the truck. She leaned back and closed her eyes.

  After she had time to consider their entire conversation, she thought maybe it wasn’t wise to spend any more time with him. He was the kind of man a woman lost her head over. She was already traveling down that slippery road. It was time to take an off ramp.

  As he dropped her at her house, she waved to him. She couldn’t totally avoid him, but she would make sure she was never alone with him again.

  ****

  Winter released its hold on Durango and succumbed to the warmth of spring. The ground thawed, but Peyton’s heart remained encased in a frozen tomb. Nothing nudged her out of her listlessness. She refused to do more than work hard and sleep harder. Depression pulled her toward the depths of despair as summer approached.

  Avoiding Brian was difficult. It seemed the man was everywhere she needed to be. At the grocery. At the post office. At the bank. At the stop light next to her. Even in her restless dreams.

  She held her mail under her chin as she unlocked the door and nudged it open with her hip. The load of groceries sagged and almost dropped to the floor before she deposited them on the kitchen table. She let the mail fall to the floor. Only one letter mattered. She snatched if from the vinyl and slid into a kitchen chair.

  Johanna’s letters were always vague, never hinting as to her whereabouts. It was the reason for the post office boxes they routinely used. It was per their agreement. Her heart stuttered as she glanced at the return address. The address was in Ouray. Why had Johanna brought Jake so close to Durango? She ripped the envelope open fearful of what was inside.

  Dear P.,

  I don’t need any money right now. I have a job that includes board and meals that should take care of us. If my situation changes for the worse, I will let you know.

  J.

  Once again, Johanna had tucked a picture of Jake inside the note. She studied the photo. Maybe she was wrong about Johanna squandering what she sent her. The boy always looked healthy and well dressed. She puffed out her cheeks in relief. Maybe she should send the woman some money anyway, but not as much as usual.

  She hugged the new picture of Jake close to her heart. When would she ever feel safe enough to reclaim her son?

  ****

  Peyton watched from across Santa Rita Park as Brian and Chris tossed a disc on July fourth. She pouted. He had been about to sit with her when Chris tempted him with the Frisbee. She declined when Brian suggested she join them. She didn’t want to play with Chris Smith.

  Emily sat on the same side of the picnic table and followed her gaze. “He’s hung up on her.”

  She swirled ice water in a plastic cup. “Yep.” She kept her eyes glued to Brian and Chris.

  “He’s wasting his time.”

  “Maybe.” She wasn’t going to argue.

  “You’re more his type.” Emily wouldn’t leave the subject alone. That was her way.

  “So?” She sniffed. “Does it matter?”

  “It does to you! I think it might to him if you’d encourage him.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.” Discussion closed. Or it should have been. Chris overshot Brian’s head by three feet and the Frisbee landed in Peyton’s practically untouched cheese fries.

  He grinned as he approached the picnic table. “Oops. Sorry about that.” He retrieved the Frisbee and began plucking the debris it left behind from her fries.

  “Don’t bother. I wasn’t eating them anyway.” She managed a straight face, but it was difficult to keep her amusement in check. His expression was so…serious.

  His hand stilled over the greasy, cheesy, dirty mess. “Can I get you some more?”

  “Oh…no. I’m okay.” She didn’t want him buying her anything.

  He plopped onto the seat between Peyton and Emily with his back against the table and kicked his long legs out in front of him. “How’s my angel of mercy?”

  Peyton cringed. “Doing okay, I guess.”

  Emily leaned forward on her elbows and arched her eyebrows at Peyton behind his back. She glared at her and Emily suppressed a giggle. Brian turned to Emily and was about to open his mouth when Chris sauntered up. She looked fresh in her flowered sundress that perfectly offset her golden hair. Peyton glanced down at her worn jean shorts and green tank top. Chris glowed like a sunrise compared to Peyton’s drab appearance.

  “Hey, Brian, I have to go to work.” Chris acted as if Peyton and Emily were invisible. “I’ll play with you later.” She grabbed her Frisbee and walked toward the full parking lot. Brian followed her with his eyes.

  Emily nudged him. “She’s a pretty woman.”

  Peyton glared at her. He appeared to catch the undercurrents, but was obviously clueless as to the meaning. She wasn’t going to enlighten him despite the questioning look on his face.

  Emily wasn’t done interfering. “Wonder if she’ll ever discover her identity.” Peyton narrowed her eyes.

  He shrugged. “Who knows?” A worried frown crinkled his forehead.

  “Well, she can’t possibly marry or have a family as long as she isn’t certain she doesn’t already have one.” Both Peyton and Brian stared at her without commenting. “Well…I think I’ll go find Conner.”

  She sat in miserable silence after Emily left.

  “How’re things going with you?” This time his question seemed more than perfunctory.

  After Shelly Carter attempted suicide, he’d asked her to mentor the girl. At first, she’d balked. She could hardly contemplate her own experience let alone deal with someone else’s. But when she found out Shelly was pregnant, she couldn’t refuse. “It’s been tough.” There had been numerous emotional moments during their meetings.

  He squeezed her shoulder. “I appreciate what you’re doing.”

  “You were right. Mentoring Shelly has been good for both of us.”

  “Do you always go straight to the heart of the matter?”

  “Huh?” His sudden question surprised her. “I guess so.” She dared to venture into uncertain territory. “How old were you?”

  “How old?” His face registered first confusion, then comprehension. “I was seventeen.” He leaned his forearms on his bare upper legs and sucked in his breath. “I guess it’s still a little hard to talk about after all these years.”

  Now maybe he understood her attitude. “It’s easier to ask someone to talk about it than to talk about it yourself, isn’t it?”

  He sighed. “How old were you?” Consternation clouded his face as soon as the question passed his lips. She read his mind. He had promised to respect her privacy.

  She hesitated a moment. What harm could there be in telling him? She was probably safer with him than anybody. “I was twenty.”

  Sympathy erupted on his face and she regretted bringing the topic out into the open. She closed her eyes, sure his next question would be uncomfortably probing, but she was wrong. He leaned over and plucked a blade of grass from the turf. “Come on. Let’s walk.”

  ****

  They trailed the edge of the river. Bright sprays of water splashed over rocks in the streambed. The sun descended in the west, casting yellowish green shadows along the well-trodden path. The few inches that separated them seemed like miles to Brian.

/>   He drew in a deep breath. He had practiced what he would say just in case this occasion presented itself. “I was young and immature and had absolutely no self-esteem. I didn’t fit in. I was a pimply, gangly, awkward teenager—a social disaster.” The words tumbled out of his mouth as if they had a life of their own. “I thought the world was a dark place, but that was because I was always looking inward. I had a very dark heart. I might have been the original Goth.”

  “I can’t believe that!”

  “My mother died when I was sixteen. My father and I were barely communicating.” He snatched at a tree branch, clutching the leaves in his fingers and crushing them. “My girlfriend ran away to California with my best friend. All my life I wanted to work for the railroad, but I was turned down because of my reputation. I felt totally abandoned.” The memories still swamped him with pain. He shoved the hurt into the part of his psyche where he usually hid it and concentrated on the details…for Peyton’s sake.

  “I’ve felt like that,” she whispered.

  “Something changed in my father when I was about ten or eleven years old. He started treating Mom awful…verbally abusive. It was like all the love in his heart just vanished…what little he’d had to start with.” He pushed his story past the clog of emotion in his throat. “He told me I’d never amount to anything over and over again until I believed him. When he came to the hospital after I cut myself, he said I couldn’t even kill myself like a man.”

  “That had to be devastating.”

  “It was. I thought he’d never forgive me for embarrassing him.”

  She stopped him and placed a hand on his upper arm. “Have you forgiven him?”

  She had a strange way of turning a question around and giving an issue a different perspective. He smiled at her direct hit. “Yes.”

  “Does he know that?”

  “No. At least, I don’t think he does. I’m not sure he wants my forgiveness.”

  Her eyes lit with sympathy, empathy, or at least a deep understanding. “Have you asked him?”

  He smiled. Now she was the one counseling him. That was her way. “I haven’t seen him in fifteen years. The last time…he wouldn’t even look me in the eye. I gave up and went home.”