The Rancher's Secret Wife

“There’s more. I can hear it in your voice.”

“That’s your imagination.” She sat down next to him, lavender and vanilla. He leaned a little toward her because he couldn’t see her and he wanted some connection with her, some way to know she was there.

“No, it isn’t my imagination. I’m very good at voices. It’s because I can’t see. They say it enhances the other senses.”

“Really, and what does my voice tell you?”

“I hear strain. And you hesitate each time you tell me you’re fine. See. I’m very perceptive.”

“I’m not trying to hide anything from you. I just don’t want you to think that I came here expecting more from you than you’ve already given me.”

“I want to help if I can.” He reached for her hand.

“You’ve helped so much, Reese.” She squeezed his hand. “You don’t owe me anything else.”

He stood because she had. “I have to disagree, Cheyenne. I think I owe you for better or worse, in sickness and in health.”

“Those are vows for real couples who have real weddings. That isn’t your promise to me. Your promise to me was your last name and life insurance if something happened to you. Because of you I have insurance and I had money for school.”

“What do you know? Something did happen to me.”

“I’m sorry.” Her voice cracked, and he felt like the creep Heather sometimes said he’d become. “I’m sorry that something horrible happened to you. But I’m going to have a baby. I don’t have a family I can turn to. And I want to stay here.”

“Cheyenne, you don’t have to leave.” He reached, found her hand and pulled her close, but she wouldn’t step into his arms.

“I have to make a life for myself and my son. I want to be somewhere safe. I want a community. A neighborhood where kids play and ride bikes.”

“You’ll do great here.” He backed up a step and put the distance between them she seemed to want—

distance he probably needed. “Do you need anything?”

“No, nothing. I’m good.”

“If you do need help, let me know.”

“I’ll let you know.” She walked him to the door. “Reese, I can be here for you, too. If you need anything at all. Even if it’s just a friend.”

“Thank you.” He shrugged as he reached for the door. “I’m still trying to figure out how to take care of myself.”

“You’re doing better than you think.”

He smiled at her optimism. “That’s good to know.”

“Reese, about the annulment. We should get that taken care of.”

“Soon.”

As he walked out the door, Heather waited for him. He heard her move, felt her hand on his arm. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah, thanks for waiting.”

“Watch out. This sidewalk is pretty broken up in places.” She placed his hand on her arm, and they walked in the direction of the main road. “Step down, and we’ll cross the street.”

“Gotcha.”

“Reese, do you want to talk?”

“Not yet, but thanks. I’ve got to figure this one out on my own.”

It wasn’t simple because he wasn’t the man he used to be. He definitely wasn’t the man Cheyenne needed in her life. Cheyenne needed and deserved a man who could take care of her. She deserved a real marriage.

The plan to dissolve their marriage had seemed easy back in Vegas. Now that he knew her, knew the food she loved most, the colors that made her happy, the music she listened to when she was down—all of the things she’d shared in her letters—it didn’t feel like an easy in-and-out plan.

Chapter Three

A few days after Reese’s visit, Cheyenne sat down in the barber chair and looked at the shop, at her dream. She smiled and rested her hands on her belly. She’d cleaned and polished, and the only thing left to do was paint. She would wait until she talked to a doctor before she undertook that task. She wanted to make sure it would be safe for the baby.

She eased out of the chair and headed for the back room. What had once been a storeroom was now her little apartment. It held a bed, a chair, dorm-sized fridge and microwave. She even had a tiny bathroom and a closet. It wasn’t much, but at least she had a place to stay, a place of her own.

The bell over the door jangled. Cheyenne stepped around the corner and peeked out. Heather Cooper stood at the front of the shop looking at the pictures on the wall. Cheyenne wiped her hands on her jeans and straightened her top. Those adjustments didn’t make her feel any more confident, not with Heather standing in the front of the little shop, looking completely together in linen capris and a pretty top of soft fabric in summery blues and greens.

Years ago Cheyenne had been a lot like Heather, before mistakes that turned her into a different person, someone she didn’t recognize. Living in Dawson, she thought maybe she’d find the old Cheyenne. The old Cheyenne knew how to smile and greet Heather.

“Heather, it’s good to see you.”

Heather turned from the photographs in black and white of customers who used to patronize the Dawson Barber Shop.

“The pictures bring back a lot of memories. I know most of those men.” Heather smiled and walked across the room. “How are you?”

“I’m good. Getting settled and trying to get work done so I can open soon.”

“What else do you have planned?”

Cheyenne looked around the barbershop, and she shrugged. The room was long and narrow. There were molded plastic chairs at the front of the building, midway back a counter with a couple of bar stools. The old barber chair sat between that and the back wall. Opposite the barber chair there were a couple of sinks for washing hair.

“Not much really. Maybe paint the walls.”

“What colors?” Heather walked around the room, as if it was a normal day, normal conversation.

Cheyenne stood in the center of the room and watched the other woman. It wasn’t a normal day. They weren’t friends, although Cheyenne wondered what that would be like, to have someone like Heather to talk to, to have coffee with.

Cheyenne shrugged in answer to the paint color question. “I don’t have a clue.”

“I’ll help if you’d like. And if you want my opinion, I think decorate with the photographs and the past in mind.”

“That’s a great idea. But I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“Consider it my ‘welcome to Dawson’ gift.” Heather took a seat on one of the stools behind the counter, and Cheyenne knew this had nothing to do with the shop or welcoming her to Dawson.