Sierra's Homecoming. Linda Lael Miller
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brownish-blond hair shining in the wintry sunlight flowing in through the windows, he looked the way Gabe must have, at his age.
“One from your grandpa,” Hannah said. Methodically, she hung her hat on the usual peg, pulled off her knitted mittens and stuffed them into the pockets of Gabe’s coat. She took that off last, always hating to part with it.
“Which grandpa?” Tobias lingered by the stove, warming his hands, still refusing to glance her way.
Hannah’s family lived in Missoula, Montana, in a big house on a tree-lined residential street. She missed them sorely, and it hurt a little, knowing Tobias was hoping it was Holt who’d written to him, not her father.
“The McKettrick one,” she said.
“Good,” Tobias answered.
The back door opened, and Doss came in, still carrying the saddlebags. Usually he stopped outside to kick the snow off his boots so the floors wouldn’t get muddy, but today he was in an obstinate mood.
Hannah went to the stove and ladled hot water out of the reservoir into a basin, so she could wash up before starting supper.
“Catch,” Doss said cheerfully.
She looked back, saw the saddlebags, burdened with mail, fly through the air. Tobias caught them ably with a grin.
When was the last time he’d smiled at her that way?
The boy plundered anxiously through the bags, brought out the fat envelope postmarked San Antonio, Texas. Her in-laws, Holt and Lorelei McKettrick, owned a ranch outside that distant city, and though the Triple M was still home to them, they’d been spending a lot of time away since the beginning of the war. Hannah barely knew them, and neither did Tobias, for that matter, but they’d kept up a lively correspondence, the three of them, ever since he’d learned to read, and the letters had been arriving on a weekly basis since Gabe died.
Gabe’s folks had come back for the funeral, of course, and in the intervening months Hannah had been secretly afraid. Holt and Lorelei saw their lost son in Tobias, the same as she did, and they’d offered to take him back to Texas with them when they left. She hadn’t had to refuse—Tobias had done that for her, but he’d clearly been torn. A part of him had wanted to leave.
Hannah’s heart had wedged itself up into her throat and stayed there until Gabe’s mother and father were gone. Whenever a letter arrived, she felt anxious again.
She glanced at Doss, now shrugging out of his coat. He’d gone away to the army with Gabe, fallen sick with influenza himself, recovered and stayed on at the ranch after he brought his brother’s body home for burial. Though no one had come right out and said so, Hannah knew Doss had remained on the Triple M, instead of joining the folks in Texas, mainly to look after Tobias.
Maybe the McKettricks thought she’d hightail it home to Montana, once she got over the shock of losing Gabe, and they’d lose track of the boy.
Now Tobias stood poring over the letter, devouring every word with his eyes, getting to the last page and starting all over again at the beginning.
Deliberately Hannah diverted her attention, and that was when she saw the teapot, sitting on the counter. She looked toward the china cabinet, across the room. She hadn’t touched the piece, knowing it was special to Lorelei, and she couldn’t credit that Doss or Tobias would have taken it from its place, either. They’d been playing in the snow while she was gone to fetch the mail, not throwing a tea party.
“Did one of you get this out?” she asked casually, getting a good grip on the pot before carrying it back to the cabinet. It was made of metal, but the pretty enamel coating could have been chipped, and Hannah wasn’t about to take the risk.
Tobias barely glanced her way before shaking his head. He was still intent on the letter from Texas.
Doss looked more closely, his gaze rising curiously from the teapot to Hannah’s face. “Nope,” he said at last, and busied himself emptying the contents of the coffeepot down the sink before pumping in water for a fresh batch.
Hannah closed the doors of the china cabinet, frowning.
“Odd,” she said, very softly.
Chapter Three
Present Day
Sierra descended the rear staircase into the kitchen, being extra quiet so she wouldn’t wake Liam up. He hadn’t had an asthma attack in almost a month, but he needed his rest.
Intending to brew herself some tea and spend a few quiet minutes restoring her equilibrium, she chose a mug from one of the cupboards, located a box of orange pekoe, and reached for the heirloom teapot.
It was gone.
She glanced toward the china cabinet and saw Lorelei’s teapot sitting behind the glass.
Jesse or Travis must have come inside while she was upstairs, she reasoned, and put it away.
But that seemed unlikely. Men, especially cowboys, didn’t usually fuss with teapots, did they? Not that she knew that much about men in general or cowboys in particular.
She’d seen Travis earlier, from Liam’s bedroom window, working with the horse, and she was sure he hadn’t been back in the house after carrying in the bags.
“Jesse?” she called softly, half-afraid he might jump out at her from somewhere.
No answer.
She moved to the front of the house, peered between the lace curtains in the parlor. Jesse’s truck was gone, leaving deep tracks in the patchy mud and snow, rapidly filling with gossamer white flakes.
Bemused, Sierra returned to the kitchen, grabbed her coat and went out the back door, shoving her hands into her pockets and ducking her head against the thickening snowfall and the icy wind that accompanied it. Nothing in her life had prepared her for high-country weather; she’d been raised in Mexico, moved to San Diego after her father died and spent the last several years living in Florida. She supposed it would be a while before she adjusted to the change in climate, but if there was one thing she’d learned to do, on the long journey from then to now, it was adapt.
The doors of the big, weathered-board barn stood open, and Sierra stepped inside, shivering. It was warmer there, but she could still see her breath.
“Mr. Reid?”
“Travis,” came the taciturn answer from a nearby stall. “I don’t answer to much of anything else.”
Sierra crossed the sawdust floor and saw Travis on the other side of the door, grooming poor old Baldy with long, gentle strokes of a brush. He gave her a sidelong glance and grinned slightly.
“Settling in okay?” he asked.
“I guess,” she said, leaning on the stall door to watch him work. There was something soothing about the way he attended to that horse, almost as though he were touching her own skin….
Perish the thought.
He straightened. A quiver went through Baldy’s body. “Something wrong?” Travis asked.
“No,” Sierra said quickly, attempting a smile. “I was just wondering…”
“What?” Travis went back to brushing again, though he was still watching Sierra, and the horse gave a contented little snort of pleasure.
Suddenly the whole subject of the teapot seemed silly. How could she ask if he or Jesse had moved it? And, so what if they had? Jesse was a McKettrick, born and raised, and the things in that house were as much a part of his heritage as hers. Travis was clearly a trusted family friend—if not more.
Sierra found that possibility unaccountably disturbing. Meg had said he was single and free, but she obviously trusted Travis implicitly, which might mean there was a deeper level to their relationship.
“I was just wondering…if you ever drink tea,”