In the Spirit of...Christmas and A Very Special Delivery: In the Spirit of...Christmas / A Very Special Delivery. Linda Goodnight
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for. And he loves to work.”
“Percheron.” Jesse rolled the word over in his head. He knew enough about horses to know the name, but that was about it. “Different from the quarter horses I’m used to.”
“Certainly different from the wild broncs. Puddin’ doesn’t have a buck anywhere in him.” One on each side of the massive horse, they headed back toward the heat and light of the bonfire. “Every kid within a ten-mile radius has ridden him, walked under him, crawled over him, and he doesn’t mind at all.” She turned toward him, her face shadowed and pale in the bright moonlight. “What about you? Do you still have horses?”
He shook his head. “No. After Erin died, I—” He stopped, not wanting to revisit the horrible devastation when he’d sold everything and hit the road, trying to run from the pain and guilt. He’d told Lindsey more about his past than he’d ever intended to, but talking about Erin was taboo. “I’d better find Jade.”
He stalked off toward the circle of squealing children, aware that he’d been abrupt with Lindsey and trying not to let that bother him. He’d intentionally sought her company, and now he was walking away.
Ruefully, he shook his head. What a guy.
In the distance he spotted Jade, her long hair flying out behind her as she ran, laughing. With a hitch beneath his rib cage, he watched his daughter, grateful for the rare display of playful abandon. Letting the shadows absorb him, he stood along the perimeter of children, hoping this place would ultimately heal them both.
“Hey, Jesse.” A hand bigger than Puddin’s hoof landed on his shoulder. The preacher. “Great party, huh?”
“Yeah.” Though he didn’t belong here, he had to admit the party was a success. Just seeing Jade carefree was worth a few hours discomfort on his part.
“Lindsey’s a great gal.”
Jesse followed the minister’s gaze to where Lindsey, surrounded by too many youthful helpers, attached the patient horse to the wagon. Silently, he agreed with Cliff’s assertion. Lindsey was a good woman. Her decency was giving his conscience fits. “You known her long?”
“A few years. Ever since coming here to minister.” Cliff nodded at the rowdy crowd around the fire. “Most of these folks have known her and each other much longer, but God really blessed me when he sent me to Winding Stair. I feel as if Lindsey and all the others out there are my family now.”
Clarence approached, this time accompanied by a small, gray-haired woman with rosy cheeks who carried a plate of homemade cookies. “That’s the way it’s supposed to be, ain’t it, preacher?”
Cliff reached for the cookies. “Yep.”
“How about you, Jesse?” Clarence motioned toward the plate.
Out of courtesy Jesse accepted the dessert, taking a bite. He liked the mildly sweet flavor of the old-fashioned cookie. “These are good.”
“Course they are,” Clarence said. “Loraine makes the best oatmeal cookies in the county. And if you don’t believe me, just ask her.”
“Oh, Clarence, you old goof.” The smiling little woman flapped a hand at him. “Jesse, don’t pay any mind to my husband. This isn’t my recipe and he knows it. Lindsey’s grandma gave it to me. Now that woman could cook.”
Blood quickening, Jesse saw the opportunity and took it. “You knew Lindsey’s grandparents?”
“Sure did. Better folks never walked the earth, as far as I’m concerned.” She paused long enough to dole out more cookies to passers-by. Jesse kept his mouth shut, waiting for her to go on, blood humming with the hope that he was about to learn something.
“Betty Jean—that was her grandma—could do about anything domestic. A country version of Martha Stewart, I guess you’d say.” She chuckled softly at her own joke. “And she wasn’t stingy about it either. Would share a jar of pickles or a recipe without batting an eye. A fine neighbor, she was. A real fine neighbor.”
She looked a little sad and Jesse shifted uncomfortably. He needed to keep Loraine and Clarence talking but he didn’t want to think of the Mitchells as decent folks. There was nothing decent about stealing from an orphan.
Keeping his tone casual, Jesse said, “Lindsey’s a good cook too.”
“Betty Jean would have made sure of that.” Loraine thrust the nearly empty plate toward him. “Another cookie?”
“Might as well take one, Jesse,” Clarence put in with a chortle. “She ain’t happy unless she’s feeding someone.”
Jesse hid a smile. It was hard not to like Loraine and Clarence Stone. “Thanks.”
He accepted the cookie, mind searching for a way to gain more information. He’d suffered through an hour of stilted conversation to get this far. He wasn’t about to let this chance slip away.
“What about Lindsey’s grandpa? I guess he’s the one who taught her to use that rifle….”
“Yep,” Clarence said. “That was Charlie, all right. Me and him used to hunt and fish together, and he liked to brag about Lindsey’s shooting. Called her his little Annie Oakley.”
Jesse’s stomach leaped.
Charlie.
His patience had paid off. At last, he had someone to blame along with his stepfather. Lindsey’s grandfather, the man who’d stolen this eighty-acre farm from a teenage boy, was named Charlie Mitchell.
In the shadowy distance, snatches of conversation and laughter floated on the night air. One particular laugh—a throaty, warm sound that sent shivers down his spine—stood out from the rest.
Lindsey.
He wanted to put his hands over his ears, to block out the sound. He’d finally discovered some information, and nobody, no matter how sweet and kind, was going to stop him from using it.
Chapter Five
Lindsey draped her jacket over the back of a kitchen chair and went to the sink. She’d had a long afternoon without Jesse there to help, but she couldn’t complain. In the weeks he’d worked on the farm, this was the first time he’d asked for time off. So she had spent the afternoon marking the trees they’d soon cut and bale for delivery.
Ever since the night of the cookout, she’d noticed a shift in him. He worked harder than ever on the farm, putting in long hours and cutting himself no slack. But he seemed to be bothered by something—not that there was anything new about that—but this was a subtle mulling as though he had something heavy on his mind.
With a sigh, Lindsey acknowledged how much she’d come to depend upon the mysterious Jesse. She needed him, and regardless of his inner demons, she liked him. He was a good man with a heavy burden. If only she could find a way to help him past that burden—whatever it was.
Two or three times today she’d turned to ask Jesse’s advice about something before remembering he was gone. Funny how she’d never needed anyone before other than Sushi and the Lord, but Jesse had changed all that. And she wasn’t sure becoming dependent on her hired hand was such a good idea.
Turning the water tap, she filled a glass and drank deeply, thirsty even though the early November weather was cloudy and cool with the promise of rain hanging like a gray veil over the land. In the back of her mind, she faintly registered a rumbling in the distance but paid little mind. After washing and drying her hands, she headed to the refrigerator.
She had one hand on last night’s chicken and rice when the screaming began.
An adrenaline rush more powerful than an electric shock propelled her into action. Faster than she thought possible, Lindsey bounded into the bedroom, unlocked the gun case, removed her rifle and rushed out into the yard, loading the weapon as she moved. An occasional mountain lion roamed these hills.
Peering