The thought of selling yet another property, even if she’d only lived at the HC Bar for two miserably unhappy years, filled her with a physical ache. She wanted—no, needed—to give Hattie the sense of home and purpose she herself had lost. And she couldn’t do that if she stayed at the Running W. This was someone else’s dream, someone else’s land. She was simply borrowing security and stability here; she hadn’t yet created them permanently for herself and her daughter. And a café or a restaurant... A business like that would be hers, yes, but would it give her the same sense of permanence that came from standing on her own land?
“Help me know what to do, Lord,” she murmured out loud as she came to a stop, her eyes rising to the mountain peaks.
She’d managed to keep the little remaining money she had from the sale of her parents’ home hidden from Chance and she had saved most of her wages from working for the Kents as their assistant cook. It might be enough to reestablish the HC Bar as a working ranch again or to do something else if she sold it. But which path should she take?
Tossing aside the flower, Vienna spun around and walked briskly back the way she’d come. Chance’s death might have been a complete shock, but she had enough faith to believe there was purpose and timing in it, too. And while she might not have all the answers yet regarding her future, she did know one thing for certain. As much as she hated the thought of leaving this place and its people or of being entirely on her own, with a child this time, it was time to go.
* * *
West McCall threw another glance in the direction Vienna had gone on her walk. He’d wanted to press her for information about Sheriff Tweed’s news, but the pensive look on her pretty face when she’d exited the house had told him that she needed some time to herself first.
This undercurrent of protectiveness for Vienna wasn’t new, and it had only grown stronger when she’d come to live at the Running W three years ago—and then when West had learned her scoundrel of a husband was bound for prison. And now that protective instinct included taking care of the little girl he held firmly in place on the fence post next to him.
He’d thought Hattie Howe fairly cute when she’d been a squirmy, bright-eyed baby with a healthy set of lungs he could often hear clear down at the bunkhouse. But the moment the little girl had taken to following him around and calling him “Mr. West,” he’d been a goner. The kid had wormed her way into his guarded heart, which no one, not even her mother, had completely breached in years.
“What’s the new horsie’s name?” Hattie asked him.
West pushed up the brim of his hat. “Don’t know that Mr. Kent has named her yet. What would you name her?”
“Um...” The little girl peered up at him with large green eyes that matched her mother’s. “How ’bout Hattie?” A triumphant smile lit her face.
Pressing his lips over a laugh, West pretended to think the suggestion over. “You don’t think that’d get a bit confusing? We already have Hattie the girl and Hattie the doll.” He tipped his head toward the toy she still held under her arm.
“But it’ll be Hattie the horsie,” she countered with an arch look. “So it’s different.”
How could he argue with that? he thought ruefully. Hattie began kicking her shoes against the fence, sending the new horse skittering away at the loud, repetitive sound.
“Remember what I taught you about makin’ noise around the horses?”
She squinted up at him, then brightened. “We have to be real quiet.” Bringing her pointer finger to her mouth, she made a loud shushing sound.
“That’s right,” West said with a chuckle. “Which means no kicking the fence, especially with a new horse around.”
Her brow furrowed as she glanced down at her feet. “I’ll tell them to be quiet.” Then she shushed her shoes.
West laughed fully this time, and Hattie joined him a moment later, even though he suspected she didn’t know what they were laughing about.
“There’s Mommy.” She wiggled in his grip, indicating she wanted to get down.
Sure enough Vienna was walking back toward them. West lifted Hattie off the fence and set her on her feet. The little girl darted across the yard to greet her mother.
“Mommy, there’s a new horsie, and I want to name her Hattie. And my feet weren’t bein’ quiet so I had to shush them. Like this.” She repeated the quieting action, her narrowed gaze on her black shoes.
A faint smile lifted Vienna’s lips. “That’s wonderful you’re learning to be quiet around the horses, Hattie.”
“Mr. West teached me.”
Vienna looked at him, a mixture of appreciation and regret in those beautiful green eyes. They reminded him of a pair of jade earrings his mother used to wear. The color of the stones mirrored the exact shade of Vienna’s eyes.
Did his mother still own those earrings? It had been more than ten years seen he’d last seen them or their owner. The reminder threatened to pull him toward darker thoughts—ones he typically buried under an easygoing demeanor and plenty of hard work.
“Mr. West has been a wonderful friend and teacher to you, Hattie,” Vienna said as she glanced away.
Has been? A feeling of foreboding settled in his stomach at her use of the past tense. Maybe it had only been a slip of the tongue...or maybe whatever news the sheriff had brought her meant something in their lives was about to change. Though he hoped not.
“You all right?” he asked in a low voice, falling into step beside her and Hattie.
Vienna nodded. “Hattie, will you go pick those wildflowers by the stable there? I’d like to put some on the supper table for the Kents tonight.”
“All right, Mommy. But you gotta hold Hattie for me.” With that, the little girl shoved the doll at her mother before racing toward the small stable that stood next to the ranch house.
When her daughter was out of earshot, Vienna turned toward him, her hands clutching the doll to her middle. “Chance is dead,” she said without preamble.
“What?” West gaped in shock at her. “When?”
“Yesterday apparently. There was a...a fight and he was shot, though it sounds like he didn’t suffer.”
A desire to comfort Vienna filled him, a longing to reach out and take her into his arms as he’d done years ago—and then again the night he’d helped rescue her from Chance’s crazy kidnapping scheme. But things had been more formal between them for a long time and he wasn’t sure if Vienna would appreciate the comforting gesture or not.
“I’m real sorry, Vienna,” he said, hoping she sensed his sincerity. While he despised Chance Howe for the way the man had treated his wife, he didn’t fault Vienna for feeling grief over her husband’s demise.
She offered him a thin smile of acknowledgment. “Thank you. I don’t really know how I feel about it.”
West could relate far better than she knew. How did one respond to loss when it had been preceded by so much conflict and harshness?
“I suppose I feel mostly sad, more for him than for myself or Hattie,” she admitted. “He and I have lived apart for so long now that it’s more like hearing about the death of a distant acquaintance than a spouse.”
“I’m glad to hear he didn’t suffer.” No matter his anger toward Chance and his choices, West didn’t like the idea of him suffering any more than the man already had. After all, Chance Howe had lost his wife and child long before he’d lost his life.
Vienna dipped her head in a slow nod. “Me, too.”
“Will you tell Hattie?” West