Arlene James - So Dear To My Heart

Danica told herself that a lesser woman would have buckled under all the strain, but she knew that she was holding on by her fingernails. Her reaction to Winston Champlain’s unexpected appearance today was proof of that. And yet, the reaction was somewhat justifiable, wasn’t it?

For weeks and weeks after returning home, Dori had alternately complained about her ex-husband and rhapsodized about their nearest neighbor, Winston Champlain. She’d waffled between returning to the entertainments and sophistication of Dallas for good and the supposed joys of actually owning her own ranch in Wyoming, however remote. Even after her normally ebullient spirits and natural penchant for fun had reasserted themselves, she had troubled Danica by measuring every man she met by the growing enticements of Champlain. Finally she had confessed to a “special relationship” with the man. Thoroughly alarmed, Dani had begged Dori to sell the ranch and stay with her in Dallas.

At length, Dorinda had agreed. Danica had arranged to take a few days off to accompany her sister back to Wyoming to settle her business affairs and put the ranch on the market. They were in the vicinity of Tucumcari, New Mexico, driving Danica’s small coupe in order to save on gasoline, when Dorinda had cut in front of a tractor-trailer rig only to find the traffic in front of them braking to avoid a garbage bag tumbling across the six-lane highway in a stiff breeze. The resulting crash had given Danica nightmares for weeks. The worst of it, however, had been waking up in the hospital with a smashing headache but hardly a scratch otherwise to find that the person dearest to her in all the world was no longer a part of it.

The weeks following had been unbearable. Danica had emerged from the initial fog of grief in a confused state of mind. She’d found it difficult to concentrate on work or much of anything, really. The well-meaning condolences and advice of friends and coworkers had been especially difficult to take, and Dani had found herself reacting with surprising anger. Just two weeks after returning to her job, she’d taken a leave of absence and retreated to the relative privacy of her apartment, only to find that her self-appointed caretakers were even more determined to pull her back into everyday life than she’d realized.

Finally, in sheer desperation, she’d packed a suitcase and headed for Wyoming in Dori’s gas-guzzling truck, ostensibly to settle whatever unfinished business remained and put the place on the market. She’d taken some ridiculous chances, she realized now, by driving straight through, and the week or more that she’d been here, she’d done little but sleep and stare out across the treeless plains, never seeing another soul until Winston Champlain, of all people, had arrived at her door.

The irony of it was not lost on Danica. Here she was right where she’d begged her sister not to go, and the first person she sees is the very one she least wants to. Now that she was over the shock of it, she was rather surprised to find that Dorinda had not exaggerated his physical appeal. Standing at least three inches over six feet, he had that kind of lean, rangy strength about him that many athletes possessed. His hair—though mostly hidden by a dusty gray felt hat with a wide, curly brim and high, domed crown—was a light, biscuit brown and fanned out in undisciplined flips from the nape of his neck. Slightly darker brows slashed straight across his face in two short dashes above light, smoke-gray eyes of startling clarity. It was a strong face, strong enough to carry a square, slightly cleft chin, prominent cheekbones and a long, slender nose that had obviously been broken at least once above a wide, spare mouth.

No wonder Dori had allowed herself to become entangled with him. How easy it must have been for him to slip beneath her defenses after the deep disappointment of her marriage to Bud, and now, clearly, he was ready to resume the affair. Obviously, she should have told him about Dorinda, but she’d been so shocked to see him standing there just as Dori had described him that she’d been tongue-tied. Then to hear her sister’s name on his lips, with a compliment, no less, had been more than Danica could bear. She’d slammed the door in his face and dissolved in tears.

How long ago that might have been, she didn’t really know, but a hollowness in her middle reminded her that she hadn’t eaten all day. She put her head in her hands and contemplated the necessity of it, dredging up the will to rise from her chair and go to the pantry. Fortunately, since the refrigerator didn’t work, the larder was well-stocked with nonperishable foodstuffs. Unfortunately, with neither microwave nor functioning cookstove, she was reduced to eating her irregular meals cold right out of the can, box or bag. At least she had electricity and, therefore, hot water, though why that had not been shut off she had no idea.

Forcing herself to her feet, she went to the pantry and selected a can at random, carried it to the counter and opened it. Corn. She hated canned corn. Fresh or even frozen was much better, in her opinion. With a sigh she picked up the spoon left on the counter after her last meal and carried it to the table along with the can. She got down three bites before a pounding at her door made her start so violently that she turned over the can, spilling the contents across the table top.

“I want to talk to you!”

Him! An uncontrollable anger seized her. How dare he intrude like this again! She balled up both fists and shouted at the door, “Go away!”

“Fat chance, lady! You can’t just brush this off!”

“Go away!” she cried again, but somewhat feebly, her energy quickly waning. She looked at the spilled corn and felt close to tears once more. Just then the door, which she had neglected to lock, opened and Winston Champlain strode through it, waving a folded, blue-backed paper.

“Look,” he said sharply, “I wanted to do this easy after all you’ve been through, but by golly, one way or another, I mean to have my cattle!” He shook the paper out and thrust it in her face, adding, “You’re served! Now what the hell are you gonna do about it?”

Served? Danica stared openmouthed at the paper held to the end of her nose, but her eyes crossed when she tried to bring the words into focus. Irritably, she pushed it away.

“You’re not welcome here, Champlain, so go away.”

“Well, that’s just fine!” he snapped. “First Bud and now you. I guess you’re as much thief as him.”

“I am not!”

“Yeah, well, what do you call it? I’m out forty producing heifers, and the court says you’re the one who has to reimburse me for them!”

Forty heifers? Holy cow, her dad had never owned so many at one time. Of course, cattle had just been a sideline with him. His cotton crop had been his main concern back then. “Where on earth would I get forty heifers?” she demanded.

“Out of your herd, presumably.”

“My herd?” Oh. Of course. She hadn’t thought of that. As her sister’s only surviving relative, the ranch and the cattle would be hers now. “I don’t even know if I have forty heifers.”

“Guess we’ll find out, won’t we?” With a sharp flick of his wrist, he swirled the paper at her. She caught it in midair, crumpling one side in her fist, and turned it right side up. It was, indeed, a restitution order from the circuit court. “Read it and weep, Dorinda,” he said snidely.

She sighed and lifted her wrist to her forehead. “I’m not Dorinda.”

He literally snorted. “Huh! You don’t expect me to believe that.”

She stared at him, suddenly fatigued again, tears filling her eyes as she searched for the words. “Dorinda is…There was a-an a-accident.” She carried the paper to the counter and carefully laid it there, one hand going to her hip, the other to her chest. “I—I didn’t know about this. I would’ve t-told someone if I had.”