Rebecca York - Powerhouse

Suddenly, she was wondering what Matt Whitlock might do if he thought he was cornered.

When he started toward her, she cringed—giving away her fears.

He stopped short, staring at her. “You’re afraid of me,” he said in a flat voice. “No.”

He shook his head. “It’s written all over your face, but I don’t blame you.”

“You say you have this talent—and you never told anyone about it,” she challenged.

“That’s right.” He sighed.

“Why not?”

His expression turned glacial. “For starters, my mother tried to beat it out of me. I’ve told you what she was like. Strict. Absolutely certain of what was right and what was wrong. She used to talk about the neighbors. The people in town. She’d make judgments about them—and nobody ever came up to her standards. She even drove an extra fifty miles to a dry goods store because she didn’t like Mr. Mason, the guy who owned the mercantile in Yuma.” He took a breath.

“When she realized what I could do, she was sure it was the work of the devil. None of that made for an idyllic childhood.”

Her heart squeezed, and she tried to imagine what it must have been like for him—if he was telling the truth.

He sighed. “I see you’re having a little trouble with the concept. Do you want me to prove it?”

“How?”

“We’ll call Ed Janey over from the bunkhouse, and I’ll get him to do something.”

“Maybe it will be something he was going to do anyway.”

He laughed. “I mean, you can choose what you want him to do.”

“Like what?” “Anything.”

She thought for a minute, trying to come up with something Matt wouldn’t think of. Something that wasn’t obvious. “You used to keep cans of vegetable beef soup in the pantry. Do you still?”

“Yes.”

“Tell him to get a can from the shelf—and take it home,” she tossed out, sure that would be the end of the experiment.

To her surprise, Matt said, “Okay. Come back to the kitchen and we’ll call him.”

He walked past her, and she could have refused to go along with this crazy plan. Instead she climbed off the couch and followed him down the hall.

When she stepped through the door, he was holding the receiver of the wall phone and dialing.

“Ed?” he said.

She couldn’t hear the other end of the conversation, but she made sure Matt wasn’t giving his foreman any clues.

“There’s somebody over here who wants to say hello to you. Would you mind coming over?”

“Yeah. In this weather.”

He hung up and turned to her. “He’ll be here as soon as he can get his coat and boots on.” “Okay.”

She walked to the table and picked up the mug of chocolate. It wasn’t very hot anymore, but sipping it gave her something to do while she waited in the kitchen with a man who might be insane. She didn’t want to think about it that way, but she couldn’t stop herself from studying Matt’s blue eyes, his mouth, his big rugged hands. He’d left his gun in the mudroom. Did he have another one in a kitchen drawer?

The clock on the wall ticked off the minutes, and she wondered if Ed was really coming. Or had Matt even spoken to Ed? Maybe this was all a sham. Like in a horror movie. She fought to get that notion out of her head.

When Matt saw her watching him, he went to the window and looked out at the wide expanse of white. A few minutes later, there was a knock at the back door. She heard someone stamping snow off his boots. Then Ed Janey came into the kitchen. He’d hung his coat up and was wearing jeans and a flannel shirt. His shoulders were a little stooped, his hair had gone completely gray, and his weathered face was more lined. But he had the same lean body that she remembered from when she’d lived at the ranch. They’d been friends back then.

“Shelley?” he said as soon as he saw her. “Is it really you?”

“Yes.”

He crossed the kitchen and wrapped her in his arms. “It’s so good to see you.”

She swallowed around the lump in her throat. “And you, too.”

“What brings you here?”

She glanced at Matt, then away. “I needed Matt’s help with something,” she said in a low voice.

Ed stepped back and studied her. “You got troubles, honey?”

“Nothing too bad,” she managed to say.

He looked from her to the window and back again. “Heck of a day for a visit.”

“I was passing by,” she murmured, wondering if he believed her.

They chatted about old times for a few more minutes, and she heard regret in Ed’s voice. Obviously he wished that Matt was working the ranch. Did the foreman feel useless? Probably, and that was a shame, because he’d been such an important part of the work life of the spread. Now he probably felt that he was living here on Matt’s charity.

She wanted to ask him what he did all day now, but she understood that was a topic better left untouched.

When they came to the end of the conversation, he said, “Well, it’s good seeing you, but I’d better be getting back.”

As she watched him take a step toward the door, she wondered what kind of farce they’d been acting out. Did Matt really think he was going to get away with this insane tactic?

Maybe she’d be safer if she went back to the bunkhouse with Ed.

Shelley’s breath turned shallow as she watched Ed hesitate where he stood in the middle of the kitchen. For a moment, he looked totally confused. Then he made a little burbling sound in his throat and walked past her and into the pantry. When he emerged again, he was clutching a can of vegetable beef soup.

He stopped short, holding the can and looking at it as though it was a foreign object. “What am I doing?” he muttered. His expression changed to one of embarrassment as he glanced from the can to Matt. “This is yours. I should put this back.”

“No. That’s fine,” Matt said. “I know you always liked it. Take it home and have it for dinner.”

“You’re sure?”

“Of course.”

Still clutching the can, Ed hurried into the mudroom, and Shelley could hear his coat rustling.

Moments later, the back door slammed, and she was left alone with Matt who was gazing at her with what she could only call a smug expression on his face.

Her pulse was pounding as she looked back at him. She’d thought he was spinning a story—for some reason that she couldn’t figure out. She’d thought maybe he was coming unglued. But he’d told her to pick something to have Ed do—and the man had done it. It had been entirely her choice.

Ed had hesitated at first, like he didn’t know why he was getting the soup, but in the end, he’d followed what must have been Matt’s silent directions.

All at once she was unsteady on her feet. Weak-kneed, she dropped into the nearest chair and grasped the edge of the table in front of her.

Matt stood across from her, his face turned to a mask of tension. “You still think I’m crazy?” “I didn’t say that.”

“I don’t have to be a mind reader to know what was dancing through your head.”

She felt her cheeks flush. “I’m sorry. You’ve got to admit, it sounded … off the wall when you told me about it.”

“Yeah. It takes some getting used to, all right. I sort of came to the realization gradually when I was a kid. At first I couldn’t believe it myself.”

“How did you discover something like that?”

He laughed. “I guess the first time was when I wanted to watch a TV program, and my mom wanted to make sure I’d done my homework first. It was a really important program. At least for a twelve-year old. A Bonanza rerun, I think. I silently asked her to let me watch instead, and she amazed me by doing it.