“We brought marshmallows.” Jade’s announcement filled the gap in conversation. She thrust the bag toward Lindsey.
“Cool. Let’s eat a hotdog first and then we’ll dig into these.” Lindsey placed the bag on the table and took a wiener from a pack. “Do you want to roast your own?”
Jade pulled back, shaking her head. “Uh-uh. The fire might burn me.”
“How about if I help you?” Lindsey slid the hotdog onto the stick and held it out.
Jesse could feel the tension in his child’s small fingers. Her anxiety over every new experience worried him. He squatted down in front of her. “It’s okay. Lindsey won’t let you get hurt.”
Indecision laced with worry played over his daughter’s face. Lindsey, with her innate kindness, saw the dilemma. Jade wanted the fun of roasting the hotdog, but couldn’t bring herself to trust anyone other than him. Jesse hid a sigh.
“This hotdog will taste better if Daddy cooks it. Isn’t that right, sugar?” Lindsey said, handing him the loaded stick. “I’ll grab another.”
Squatting beside Lindsey with Jade balanced between his knees, Jesse thrust the franks into the flames. Jade rested a tentative hand just behind his.
More than anything Jesse longed to see Jade as confident and fearless as other six-year-olds. Deep inside, he was convinced that regaining his inheritance, giving her a stable home environment and surrounding her with familiar people and places would solve Jade’s problem. Tonight he hoped to take another step in that direction.
Letting his gaze drift around the campfire, Jesse studied the unfamiliar faces. Somebody here must have known Lindsey’s grandparents and probably even his stepfather. Some self-righteous churchgoer standing out there in the half darkness sucking down a hotdog might have even been involved in the shady deal that had left him a homeless orphan.
“Everyone here is anxious to meet you,” Lindsey said, her voice as smoky and warm as the hickory fire.
Given the train of his thoughts, Jesse shifted uncomfortably. “Checking out the new guy to make sure you’re safe with me?”
The remark came out harsher, more defensive than he’d planned.
Serene brown eyes probing, Lindsey said, “Don’t take offense, Jesse. This is a small town. They only want to get acquainted, to be neighborly.”
He blamed the fire and not his pinch of guilt for the sudden warmth in his face. She was too kind and he wished he’d followed his gut instinct and stayed at the cramped little trailer.
“Here you go, Butterbean.” Taking the hotdog from the flames, he went to the table for buns and mustard. Lindsey and Jade followed.
One of the biggest men he’d ever seen handed him a paper plate. “You must be Jesse.”
Lindsey made the introductions. “This is my pastor, Cliff Wilson.”
Jesse’s surprise must have shown because the clergyman bellowed a cheerful laugh. “If you were out killing preachers, you’d pass me right up, wouldn’t you?”
Cliff looked more like a pro wrestler than a preacher. A blond lumberjack of a man in casual work clothes and tennis shoes with blue eyes as gentle and guileless as a child’s and a face filled with laughter.
“Good to meet you, sir,” Jesse said stiffly, not sure how to react to the unorthodox minister.
“Everyone calls me Pastor Cliff or just plain Cliff.” The preacher offered a beefy hand which Jesse shook. “You from around this area?”
“Enid.” Giving his stock answer, Jesse concentrated on squirting mustard onto Jade’s hotdog. No way he’d tell any of them the truth—that he’d roamed this very land as a youth.
“Lindsey says you’re heaven-sent, a real help to her.”
“I’m glad for the work.” He handed the hotdog to Jade, along with a napkin. “Lindsey’s a fair boss.”
By now at least a half dozen other men had sidled up to the table for introductions and food refills. Jesse felt like a bug under a magnifying glass, but if he allowed his prickly feelings to show, people might get suspicious. He needed their trust, though he didn’t want to consider how he’d eventually use that trust against one of their own.
“A fair boss? Now that’s a good ’un.” A short, round older man in a camouflage jacket offered the joking comment. “That girl works herself into the ground just like her grandpa did. I figure she expects the same from her hired help.”
Jesse stilled, attention riveted. This fellow knew Lindsey’s grandparents and was old enough to have been around Winding Stair for some time. He just might know the details Jesse needed to begin searching the courthouse records.
“Now Clarence.” Eyes twinkling a becoming gold in the flickering light, Lindsey pointed a potato chip at the speaker. “You stop that before you scare off the only steady worker I’ve ever had.”
“Ah, he knows I’m only kidding.” Clarence aimed a grin toward Jesse. “Don’t you, son?” Before Jesse could respond, the man stuck out his hand. “Name’s Clarence Stone. I live back up the mountain a ways. If you ever need anything, give me a holler.”
A chuckle came from the man in a cowboy hat standing next to Clarence. His black mustache quivered on the corners. “That’s right, Jesse. Give Clarence a holler. He’ll come down and talk your ears off while you do all the work.”
Clarence didn’t seem the least bit offended. He grinned widely.
“This here wise guy is Mick Thompson,” he said with affection. “Mick has a ranch east of town, though if it wasn’t for that sweet little wife of his, he’d have gone under a long time ago.”
Mick laughed, teeth white in his dark face. “I have to agree with you there, Clarence, even if Clare is your daughter. I wouldn’t be much without her.”
Jesse’s mind registered the relationship along with the fact that Mick owned a ranch. Now that was something Jesse understood.
“You raise horses on that ranch of yours?” he asked, making casual conversation while hoping to turn the conversation back to Lindsey’s grandparents.
“Sure do. You know horses?” Mick sipped at his plastic cup.
“I’ve done a little rodeo. Bronc-riding mostly.”
“No kidding?” Mick’s eyebrows lifted in interest. “Ever break any colts?”
“Used to do a lot of that sort of work.” Before Erin died. But he wouldn’t share that with Mick.
“Would you like to do it again?”
“I wouldn’t mind it.” He missed working with rough stock, and breaking horses on the side would put some much-needed extra money in his pocket.
“Don’t be trying to hire him away from Lindsey, Mick,” the jovial Clarence put in. “She’ll shoot you. And I’ll be left to support your wife and kids.”
“You’d shoot me yourself if you thought Clare and the kids would move back up in those woods with you and Loraine.”
Both men chuckled, and despite himself, Jesse enjoyed their good-natured ribbing.
Lindsey, having drifted off in conversation with a red-haired woman, missed the teasing remark. Without her present, Jesse wanted to turn the conversation back to her grandfather, but wasn’t sure how to go about it without causing suspicion.
“Tell you what, Jesse,” Mick said, stroking his mustache with thumb and forefinger. “When you