Roz Denny Fox - Mom's The Word

Jacob covered the gap in short order.

“Yo, brother,” Dillon called, holding his ground until Jake had galloped all the way into his makeshift camp. “Took your time getting here. I’d about decided we’d got our wires crossed.”

“Spoken like a man who’s been forced to play the hermit against his will. You haven’t been gone from home a week. Couldn’t be you’re missing someone special, now could it?” Jake laughed and jumped back from the teasing punch Dillon threw at his left shoulder.

“You damn well know I’m homesick as hell. How’s everything at the Triple C?” In other words, how was Eden getting along without him?

“You know, Dillon,” Jake said in a thoughtful voice, “I think Coronado misses you. Why, it’s a crying shame how broke up that parrot’s been this week.”

“Very funny. You know the bird hates me.” Dillon grasped Jake’s shirtfront in both hands, nearly lifting him off the ground. Charcoal charged the men, baring his teeth and barking wildly. Dillon lost no time in releasing his brother.

“Tell me about Eden,” he pleaded. “What did she send me? And don’t hold out. She promised, and Eden never breaks a promise.”

Jake knew when to back off and play it straight. He unbuckled Mojave’s cinch, hauled the heavy saddle under the trees and dropped it beside Dillon’s. Quickly he extracted a pink envelope from one saddlebag. So maybe he wasn’t finished teasing. He passed the scented missive under Dillon’s nose, then drew it back and pretended to take a deep whiff himself. “Mm-mm! I do believe she soaked this in pheromones. Better watch out, or every male in the animal kingdom will be swooping down on us.”

“Give that to me.” Dillon snatched his letter out of Jake’s hand. He promptly put space between them, literally turning his back on his brother while his read it.

Grinning like a crazy man, Jake flopped down with his back against a tree trunk and uncorked his canteen to take a long swallow of the cool water. He’d give Dillon time to read and reread his message from home. There was a limit to his pranks. But the darned thing was four pages long. Eden must have written a page for every night Dillon had been gone. Though he didn’t want to, Jake suffered a stab of jealousy.

He supposed it was understandable. Growing up on an isolated ranch, he and Dillon had gone through all of the normal competitive stages that young boys and then young men developed. At times their poor mother had despaired of their surviving the sibling rivalry. But they had, and had emerged stronger men. They’d ultimately grown to be best friends. So what Jake felt now wasn’t personal. He figured it was more that he’d reached the time in his life when the male in any species needed to find a mate and make a nest of his own.

The idea came so clearly that it surprised the heck out of him. He’d believed himself content to drift along, playing the field, so to speak.

He was concentrating on his thoughts and didn’t hear Dillon at first.

His brother finished folding the letter and tucking it away. “Jacob, my man, what are you mooning about? Where’s the sack of vegetables Eden says she sent me?”

“Oh, that.” Jake knew he’d have to account for the missing produce. Suddenly he was reluctant to tell Dillon anything about Hayley Ryan. He didn’t want his brother making a big deal over nothing.

“Hand it over, dude. I really don’t know how the cowboys of old went for months eating out of cans. Call me spoiled, but I’ve gotten used to picking stuff out of the garden. Man, I can almost taste those beefsteak tomatoes.”

Jake didn’t see any way around it. He cleared his throat a couple of times. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Well, don’t get your mouth too set. I don’t have the stuff Eden sent.”

“You left it at home?”

Jake supposed he could delay the inevitable by letting Dillon think he’d ridden off without the package. But he’d always been one to take his punishment rather than lie. It seemed pointless at any rate, since he’d told his dad he’d fill Dillon in on the situation at the spring. He opened his mouth and out poured the story of Ben O’Dell’s demise—and Hayley Ryan’s appearance.

“Let me get this straight. You and Dad just let that woman squat on the section of land Ben promised would be ours?”

“She isn’t exactly squatting, Dillon. She filed legally. Instead of the claim being in Ben’s name, now it’s in hers.”

“Did she show you the papers?”

“No. But she has Ben’s truck and trailer. Why would she lie?”

“Why wouldn’t you ask to see proof?” Dillon’s eyes, a shade darker than his brother’s, clouded as if heading into a storm.

Jake touched the still-swollen knot over his ear. “She showed me all the proof I needed,” he said wryly. “The business end of a shotgun.” Because it seemed almost funny now, Jacob spun that tale, too.

Laughing, Dillon slapped his knee. “What I wouldn’t have given to see that.”

“I’m sure. If you know what’s good for you, you won’t be spreading the story around. It was an accident. Could have happened to anyone. She aimed over my head and hit a damned branch.” He gingerly fingered the lump on his head again.

“Maybe you won’t mind telling me what insanity possessed you to have a second go at her today. Why in heaven’s name would you bring her food? My food,” he said irritably.

“Regardless of the shotgun incident, she’s a woman.”

“Yeah, a woman sitting smack alongside the only fresh water for miles around.”

“Exactly. Wild animals aren’t my only concern. Granted, most illegals crossing the border aren’t looking for trouble. But who’s to say they’d consider a bitty woman trouble? Some might risk jail for her truck alone. Or a drifter might. Or the occasional homeless guy trying to live off the land.”

“You have a point.” Dillon ran a hand over his stubbled jaw. His hair wasn’t as dark as Jake’s. He’d inherited more of Nell Cooper’s coppery highlights. When he did start to grow a beard, like now, it was redder still. “What did Dad say?” Dillon asked. “He’s not going to let her stay, is he?”

“He and Mom went to Tombstone today. Dad’s planning to find out if Ben mentioned our deal to anyone. Then the folks are going on to Tucson. Mom’s been chafing to visit a new pottery-supply store she heard about. If Dad doesn’t get answers in Tombstone, he said he’d pay a visit to the county recorder. To take a quick gander at the record of claims.”

“Makes sense. If the woman’s not savvy, she might have slipped up somewhere. Left a loophole or something.”

“I wouldn’t get my hopes up. She seems knowledgeable about filing issues.”

“Well, hell. Did she happen to say what’s so all-fired tempting about that twenty acres? Ben worked it for years and he never found diddly squat.”

“We don’t know that for sure. The old guy was pretty closemouthed. Oh, he told some tall mining stories, but I can’t recall him ever giving away anything personal.”

“He talked a lot about his silver mine. I had the idea it produced all right, didn’t you? Why wouldn’t that revenue be enough for his granddaughter?”

“Depends on what you mean by ‘all right.’ Don’t you think if it’d been making good money, he’d have stayed home and enjoyed the fruits of his labor a little more?”

“Prospecting gets in some men’s blood. It’s a lot like gambling. A fellow always thinks his really big strike is over the next rise.”

“I found Ben more down-to-earth than that. I mean, if he had gold fever, he would have spent more than a couple of months a year on his claim. To me it seemed he treated it more like a vacation.”