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  Joe dived for one of the escaping sheep and caught his hands in the thick wool coat. His feet went out from under him, and the animal dragged him several yards before he let go. Sitting up with his legs stretched before him, Joe slapped his hat against his thigh.

  Heather stifled a laugh at the man’s predicament. The others weren’t as polite. The men shouted and teased him. Much to Joe’s delight, the men soon found themselves in similar predicaments. The sheep proved as slippery as greased pigs, dodging the ranch hands and sneaking through the perimeter they’d set.

  She gave up on hiding her laughter and allowed herself to thoroughly enjoy their antics.

  “Open the gate!” Sterling shouted.

  She released the latch and stood on the bottom rail, then kicked off with her heel. The gate flew open. She dug her toe into the dirt and stopped the momentum. When the stray animal was safely inside, she leaped off and pushed the gate shut once more.

  After nearly two hours, all of the sheep from the yard had been moved into the corral. Rocky rolled onto his side, his tongue lolling from his mouth.

  Sterling patted him. “Good work.”

  He caught Heather’s hand. “I’ll walk you back to the house. Good work today.”

  She grinned. “I haven’t had that much fun in ages.”

  Seamus jogged toward them. “I almost forgot. Nels gave me a telegram.”

  He fished a piece of paper from his pocket and handed the telegram to Sterling before darting after the sheepdog. Rocky had caught his second wind and bounded alongside the boy. They were two peas in a pod, and their energy buoyed her mood.

  Sterling read the lines, and his expression altered.

  The look on his face sent her stomach dipping. “Is it from that reporter?” she demanded. “I’m going to file a complaint with the Gazette. He can’t harass us like this.”

  “It’s not the reporter,” Sterling said, his mouth tight. “It’s from Dillon. He’s finally coming home.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  As Sterling tossed a load of hay onto the wagon, he caught sight of a figure in the distance and paused. He noted Heather’s quick, purposeful stride, and his sour mood immediately lifted. Joe followed his gaze and smiled.

  “I’ll finish up here, boss,” he said with a teasing grin. “You see what the missus needs.”

  The ranch hands had grown fond of Heather since she’d been cooking the meals. She’d made a point of speaking with each man in turn, asking about their lives and their interests. She’d made note of Price’s favorite dish, and when she discovered they’d missed his birthday by a week, she’d planned a special dinner.

  The mere sight of her brought him joy. Emotions he’d buried deep inside rose to the surface. He couldn’t have picked a better wife if he had chosen her himself.

  Her cheeks were flushed with color when she reached the side of the wagon. “I’d like to decorate the house for Christmas,” she stated without preamble. “And I need some evergreen boughs.”

  Sterling braced his hand against the buckboard. “It’s only December 1. Are you certain you want to decorate now? They’ll be dry as tinder in twenty-five days.”

  “Dillon is coming home this week, and he’ll be arriving to a lot of changes. I wanted to make the house feel special for him.”

  “Christmas always was one of his favorite holidays.”

  “I know. He mentioned that your ma used to wrap boughs of evergreens around the banister. I want to continue her tradition.”

  “Do you want a tree, as well?”

  “I thought we’d wait on the tree. I don’t want to burn down the house when we light the candles. There’s that evergreen in front of the house. Perhaps we can decorate the live tree with some dried oranges and sprigs of holly.”

  “That’s a waste of good oranges this time of year.”

  “Perhaps some lengths of popcorn?”

  “The birds will eat them bare.”

  His wife huffed. “Are you going to help, or are you going to be difficult?”

  Sterling squinted into the distance. Since he’d lost a dozen head of sheep the week before, he’d been cranky and out of sorts. Each day that went by, he worried about the stories in the Ohio newspapers. He watched the drive each morning for any sign of visitors.

  Dillon’s telegram hadn’t helped his mood. A month before he’d been desperate for his brother’s arrival, but now he wasn’t as certain.

  Heather’s wanting to decorate the house for Dillon was igniting his latent jealousy. She’d known about his affinity for Christmas, and that fact rankled. “I’m sorry. I’ve been fit to be tied since we lost that batch of sheep.”

  He wanted to tell her his feelings, tell her that he cared for her and ask if she cared for him. But the moment was never quite right.

  She was warm and affectionate and he was terrified of scaring her off.

  “I know.” She rested her hand on his arm. “Christmas is Gracie’s birthday, and I want everything to be special.”

  He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close, resting his chin on the wool cap she’d donned. “I’ll have Joe pick up some oranges the next time he’s in town. I’ll even help string the popcorn for the squirrels to eat. It’ll be nice for Gracie to look out the window and watch them.”

  “She does love her critters. Poor Kitty has to climb the bookshelves to escape her love.”

  “Speaking of that, any problems with vermin in the house since I brought the cat home?”

  He couldn’t quite bring himself to use the animal’s given name of Kitty. Thank the stars the poor cat didn’t know he’d been saddled with that moniker.

  “Not a single sighting,” Heather said proudly. “You picked a good mouser.”

  The cat tended to hunt overnight and left his prey on the back porch for Sterling to discover in the morning. The method worked out well for everyone. Sterling cleared the dead mice away before Heather saw them, and everyone was happy.

  He released Heather and reached into the back of the wagon for a small saw and a burlap tarp. “We’re going to cut some evergreens!” he called to Joe. “You guys can finish up here.”

  “Sure thing!” Joe shouted in reply.

  “I’ll come with,” Heather said. “If you don’t mind.”

  “I don’t mind, but are you going to be warm enough? The evergreens are a fair distance, and the wagon won’t cut through the brush.”

  “I’m wearing my warmest boots,” she insisted. “I’ll be fine. If we can’t take the wagon, you’ll need me to help you carry the boughs. Gracie will be happy with the ranch hands for a while. They spoil her terribly.”

  They weren’t far from the foothills, and Sterling led them toward a knot of evergreens he and Dillon had planted for their ma years before. Both his ma and Dillon had enjoyed the fanfare leading up to Christmas. They had both loved the anticipation of hiding presents and dropping hints to the recipient. He’d always been partial to the candlelight Christmas Day service. They’d open presents in the morning and travel into town. As an extra treat, they’d stay the night in the hotel and enjoy breakfast in the restaurant the morning after Christmas.

  It was the one thing his parents had always enjoyed together, no matter the circumstances.

  “Pick out a tree,” he said. “And I won’t cut off any boughs on that one. We’ll save it for the house.”

  Heather circled the clearing, peering at different trees and inspecting the branches. After carefully considering all the choices, she retrieved a red ribbon from her pocket and tied the length around a branch.

  “This one,” she declared. “It’s perfect.”

  Sterling tipped his head and studied the sturdy little evergreen. “Nice choice.”

  Avoiding the tree she’d chosen, he randomly cut boughs
off the surrounding trees. He piled the tarp high with the limbs. The evergreens they’d planted had flourished, and thinning the copse helped the others survive during the hot summers when the sun scorched the earth.

  He amassed a pile on the burlap tarp and considered his bounty.

  “That should be plenty,” Heather declared.

  She reached for one side of the tarp, and he grasped the other. Keeping his stride short, he matched her pace.

  “I didn’t see Otto with you today,” she said. “Is he all right? I feel as though he’s been missing a lot of work lately. He says he’s fine, but he won’t see the doc.”

  “I had him working on some harnesses in the barn. He’s feeling better, but I don’t want him to get sick again.”

  “This may seem like an odd question, but how does Otto get along with the rest of the ranch hands?” she asked.

  Sterling blew a puff of warm air into his free hand. “Being foreman isn’t easy. He makes the tough decisions, and the others don’t always agree. Why do you ask?”

  “I don’t know. Just some things I’ve heard the men say over the past couple of weeks. I don’t think Price likes him very well, though he’d never say as much. And I can’t imagine Woodley gossiping in town. He’s only been in Valentine a few months. Who does he even know that would listen?”

  “Let’s rest a minute,” Sterling said, stalling for time.

  He’d been concerned about Otto over the past few days too. He’d noticed a change in the foreman since his return, but he’d made all sorts of excuses for Otto. The foreman and his pa had been close, and losing the old man had been hard on him. Otto was aging and, though he denied any ailments, his health was clearly failing. He’d also seen Otto snap at the men. They were all tough cowhands, and no one was going to quit over a little ribbing now and again, but it seemed there was something more happening.

  Woodley’s exit bothered him most. The man had no reason to spread rumors. He’d worked on the ranch for barely three months.

  “I’ll talk with him,” Sterling said at last. “His health might be worse than he’s letting on.”

  Despite his misgivings, he was protective toward the foreman. All of his concerns were based on snippets of conversation taken out of context, and nagging suspicions based on instinct and not fact. Otto had shown his loyalty, and he deserved that same loyalty in return.

  “I shouldn’t pry,” Heather said. “The ranch hands are none of my concern. I know you’re under a great deal of pressure, and losing another will only add to the burden. If Otto is ignoring his health, I want to help him.”

  “I know you want to help,” Sterling replied, his thoughts troubled. “I have more sympathy for my pa these days. Running a ranch isn’t easy.”

  Price was stirring a pot on the stove when they arrived home. Sterling helped Heather cut the boughs, then they tied the pieces together with twine and wound the length around the banister.

  Heather stood back and surveyed their work. “That looks amazing. Thank you for your help. The spare bedroom is ready for another visitor. Are there any special items Dillon left when he joined the cavalry? There’s nothing personal in his room—at least you have your pictures.”

  “That’s Otto’s work. He’s quite the artist.”

  Something flickered in Heather’s expression, an emotion he couldn’t quite translate. “The pictures he drew are, um, beautiful in their own way.”

  “You don’t sound as though you like them.”

  “It’s not that. There’s something I can’t explain. His drawings are cold. There are no people. I don’t know. I’m being foolish. We were speaking about Dillon’s room.”

  “He’ll be in the same room he had as a kid. That’s enough. Pa was never one for sentiment. When ma died, he put all her stuff in a trunk and donated it to the widows and orphans society in town. When Dillon and I left, he burned most of the belongings.”

  Heather gaped. “He burned your things? That’s awful.”

  Sterling shrugged. “Like I said, he wasn’t much for sentiment. He said he didn’t have the space to store the bits of junk we’d collected. He was right. What do boys collect over the years? Bits of rock and arrowheads? My pa preferred a clean slate. Ma was the sentimental person in the family.”

  “You have me now,” Heather stated firmly. “I’m terribly sentimental. I’m happy to assume the task of memory keeper.”

  “Traditions mean a lot to you, don’t they?”

  “Traditions are what bind a family together. The people who make Christmas such an exquisite celebration are the people who love us enough to create meaningful traditions. Don’t you think?”

  He stepped back and surveyed their work. “I guess I never thought about it much at all.”

  “You mentioned your family stayed the night in town each Christmas. That’s a tradition.”

  “I reckon you’re right,” he said. “It’s one of the things I remember best from growing up.”

  Heather was carving her place into his life and making traditions for Gracie. She reminded him of the evergreens spreading their roots into the soil. The house didn’t look as it had when his mother was alive. Instead, Heather had brought a warmth that had been missing from the home. She’d grounded them in her traditions, breathing life into a history he’d been willing to leave behind.

  “Change is good,” Heather said. “But there’s nothing wrong with a little tradition in the mix.”

  “Tradition,” he echoed.

  Dillon’s impending return left him with mixed feelings. Change was coming, and he didn’t know if that change was going to be good or bad.

  * * *

  The wind whipped along the platform as the passengers departed. There was no Wells Fargo delivery that day, and the platform was practically deserted. Standing beside Heather, Sterling held Gracie, his body shielding the child from the worst of the chill.

  She’d nearly given up expecting Dillon—perhaps there had been a mistake—when he appeared. The first thing Heather noticed was his gaunt frame. The next thing she noticed were the crutches propped beneath his arms. The third thing she noticed was the empty pant leg pinned above his knee.

  Her chest ached. He must have suffered terribly over the past few months. He’d suffered and he’d suffered alone.

  “Now you know,” Dillon said, his expression grim.

  “You might have said something,” Sterling replied. “Heather has been worried about you.”

  “I guess I was busy.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. He’d neatly pinned it all on her, when she knew for a fact that Sterling had been just as concerned. Judging by the tense stance of the two, there was trouble brewing between the brothers, and she had an uneasy sensation that she was going to land squarely in the center of their animosity toward one another.

  “Too busy?” Sterling snorted. “Too busy to tell your own brother you’d been wounded?”

  “What was there to say?” Dillon demanded. “The leg is gone below the knee. End of discussion.”

  “You let us worry instead.”

  “Who’s the kid?” Dillon asked.

  “Heather and I are married, and she’s ours. This is Gracie.”

  “You might have said something.”

  “I telegraphed.”

  “You ordered me home.”

  “What’s there to say? I’m married and we have a kid. End of story.”

  Heather groaned. This wasn’t exactly a good beginning.

  Dillon adjusted his crutches and hopped a little on one foot. “I guess we both have long stories to share.”

  Sterling’s brother was dressed in his civilian clothes, and his sack coat hung loosely off his thin body. He’d grown a thick beard, and his dusty blond hair reached his shoulders. She’d only known him clea
n-shaven, and the change was jarring.

  Heather forced a smile and moved between the two men. “It’s cold. Why don’t we go home and catch up in front of a warm fire?” She reached for Gracie. “I’ll hold Gracie while you fetch Dillon’s trunk.”

  “Not like I can carry it myself,” Dillon said, his voice grim. “I had to pay a porter a dollar to load it the first time.”

  The bitterness in his reply had her eyes burning with tears that threatened to fall. “The wagon is this way.”

  She slowed her pace, and Dillon limped silently beside her.

  “How long have the two of you been married?” he asked.

  “Six weeks today.”

  He glanced at Gracie and back over his shoulder toward Sterling. “Huh.”

  “As we established, it’s a long story,” Heather said. “We can catch up on the ride home. There’s no use standing in the cold all afternoon.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  She quickly masked her annoyance. He was clearly hurting, and doing his best to purposely exacerbate the tension. She wasn’t going to give in to his sour mood, though.

  Sterling loaded the trunk and handed Gracie into the seat, then assisted Heather. He hovered awkwardly near his brother.

  “Can I—”

  “I’m fine,” Dillon snapped. “I’m not a child. Just take these.”

  He handed Sterling the crutches and clumsily maneuvered into the seat beside her. Sensing his embarrassment at his difficulties, Heather kept her focus on the new bank building at the end of the street.

  Sterling adjusted the hot brick at her feet and draped the blanket over her lap. “Warm enough?”

  “Yes. How about you, Dillon? Are you warm enough?”

  “I’m not one of your students, Heather. Don’t fuss over me.”

  “She was being polite, unlike you,” Sterling spoke gruffly. “It’s a long ride back to the house. Too long for that attitude.”

  Dillon flushed. “You’re not Pa, little brother.”