“Reverend Tomlin got a letter a few days ago that said if Robert Feagan’s daughter was still alive then there was an inheritance waiting for her in Turnabout. And I’m Robert Feagan’s daughter so I just figured I’d head on over to check it out.”
“Just like that?”
She shrugged. “I’ve never been one to let others make decisions for me.” She grinned. “And I’m also not very patient. Nana Dovie says it’s one of my biggest faults.”
“And the letter didn’t give you any other details?”
“No, and I’m more than a tad curious.” Then she realized he might be able to fill in some of the blanks for her. “Do you know a man named Drum Mosley?”
“Only well enough to exchange greetings. He owns a large ranch outside of town. Is he a relative?”
Something in his tone made her think he knew more than he was saying. “No. But it seems he knew my father. According to the letter, he’s been holding something in trust on my father’s behalf and if I can prove I’m my father’s child, he’ll turn it over to me, whatever it is.”
“My condolences on the loss of your father.”
She shrugged. “Thanks. But he passed on when I was just a babe, so I didn’t know him.”
“Drum’s expecting you, then?”
“Don’t know about that.”
“You didn’t send a response to his letter?”
“I figured there wasn’t much use since I’d get there at about the same time as a letter.” She grimaced. “Or at least I would have if I hadn’t run into these delays.” She’d had enough of talking about herself. She’d much rather learn more about him. “Tell me something about yourself.”
“Anything specific you’d like to know?”
“Do you have any family?”
“I have two sisters.”
“Older or younger than you?”
“Both are younger.”
She imagined he’d make a fine older brother, always there to look out for his little sisters. “I’ve always wished I was part of a larger family,” she said wistfully. “Don’t get me wrong, I couldn’t ask for a better person than Nana Dovie to raise me, but it always seemed kind of lonesome out in the country with no other young’uns to play with.”
She dipped her spoon back in her bowl. “So, how often do you get to see them?”
“Not often. They’re both happily married. Erica, the elder of the two, married a doctor and they moved to San Francisco. They now have four children—three girls and a boy. Katie, my baby sister, married an Italian concert pianist, of all things, and spends much of her time in Europe. They have three little boys.”
“Oh, my goodness, your family is scattered all over creation. No wonder you don’t see them often.”
“We keep in touch with letters.”
“What about your parents?”
“They’ve both passed on.”
So he was an orphan, too. “I’m sorry.” She hesitated a moment, then plunged in with a more personal question. “And you never married?”
From the way his expression immediately closed off, she knew she’d overstepped. “That was rude—forget I asked. Sometimes I speak before I think.”
“I married once. She, also, has passed away.”
Now she really felt bad. Obviously it still stirred up painful memories. “I’m sorry,” she said again, feeling the words were entirely inadequate.
“I appreciate your sympathy.” He stood. “Looks like you finished your soup. Would you like another serving?”
He obviously wanted to put some distance between them, and she didn’t blame him. “No, thank you—I’m full.” She stood, as well. “I should probably check on Jubal before it gets dark.”.
But he shook his head. “I’ll take care of that. Why don’t you feed Rufus?”
“I appreciate your concern, but I’m perfectly capable of taking care of my own animal.”
“Then take care of your dog.”
She bit her tongue, trying to remember that, despite his bossiness, he meant well. She gave a short nod.
For tonight, she’d hold her peace. But come tomorrow it would be a different story.
* * *
Mitch added a couple of buckets of water to the trough.
He’d felt like a fraud earlier when he’d said grace, especially when he’d looked up afterward to see the soft approval in Ivy Feagan’s eyes.
Though he went to church services regularly and attended meals in friends’ homes, where prayers were offered, it had been a long time since he’d truly prayed himself, much less done so publicly. But he did believe in the Almighty and he’d felt strangely reluctant to refuse her request.
The words had come naturally to him, as if riding a horse again after a long convalescence.
Had God, knowing his heart, been offended by his prayer?
Which, for some reason, brought his thoughts around to that moment when Ivy had asked him if he was married.
It had taken all of his control not to react as the painful memories returned. Sweet-tempered, turn-the-other-cheek Gretchen, the woman he’d vowed to cherish and protect, hadn’t deserved the violent, senseless death that had been her lot. And he may not have actually pulled the trigger, but her death was as much his fault as if he had.
He could never forgive himself for that.
Mitch pushed away those fruitless thoughts and focused on Jubal. He firmly nudged the animal, forcing him to take a few reluctant steps, and studied his gait. It was quickly apparent that the mule would indeed need more time before he could make the trip to Turnabout.
“Sorry you had to make that long walk this morning, but it couldn’t be helped.” He gave the animal a handful of oats and patted his side. “But I’ll make you as comfortable as I can while you recover.”
He dug out another scoop of grain and turned to Seeley. “Here you go.” He stroked the animal’s nose. “You didn’t think I’d forgotten about you, did you?”
As he tended to the animals, his thoughts drifted back to Miss Feagan’s mention of that possible inheritance. The conversation had raised as many questions as it had answered. If her father had been dead for all these years, then why was she just now hearing about her inheritance?
And it was even stranger that Drum Mosley was involved. The man had a reputation as a penny-pincher. Mitch couldn’t picture him voluntarily giving away any of his holdings. Then again, he vaguely remembered hearing that Drum had taken to his sickbed recently. Perhaps the rancher was getting his affairs in order.
Whatever the case, it was none of his business. As soon as he could get her to Turnabout, his involvement in her affairs would be over.
He picked up the water bucket and headed back to the cabin, ignoring the little voice inside him that whispered his involvement in Miss Feagan’s affairs was actually just beginning.
When Mitch returned to the cabin, the dishes had been cleaned and put away, and the checkerboard set up for another game.
“I see you’ve been busy,” he said with what he considered commendable restraint. He should have known she wouldn’t take it easy.
She waved toward the game board. “Didn’t want anything standing in the way of my getting my revenge.”