Shadows from the Past. Lindsay McKenna

lined from living so long in the elements. His hair was red! Kam swallowed her shock. Flaming red hair peppered with some silver throughout the strands. He wore his hair short but what got her attention was that elegant red handlebar mustache. Rudd Mason looked like he’d just stepped out of the 1860s from the OK Corral gunfight. Still so much like the man in the photo.

      If she hadn’t been so nervous and afraid, Kam could have appreciated the man’s simple cowboy garments: jeans, a checked red-and-white long-sleeved shirt, a blue bandanna around his throat. When he lifted his head to see her standing there, his turquoise-blue eyes narrowed.

      “Afternoon, missy. Might you be Kamaria Trayhern?”

      Her skin shivered with excitement. Rudd’s voice was deep and the drawl took away some of her angst. “Yes, sir, I am. Are you Rudd Mason? The owner?”

      He gave her a curt nod. “I’m him.” He gestured for her to come around the end of the counter. “Come and sit here next to me. I’m glad you could make it. Any problems with the flight? Nowadays, I never fly. Such a hassle.”

      Kam smiled. She liked his straightforward demeanor. He stood waiting for her, the epitome of that old cowboy custom of being a gentleman. His hair was plastered against his skull and his black cowboy hat, stained with sweat around the band, sat on the desk next to his pile of papers.

      “Thanks. And my flight from Billings was uneventful, thank goodness.”

      “Can I get you anything to drink? Cup of coffee? Tea?”

      At least he was pleasant, Kam thought. “No, thank you. I ate lunch in Jackson Hole just an hour ago. I’m fine.” Kam sat down and kept her purse in her lap, hands across it. She watched him settle back down in the wooden chair, which creaked under his full weight. Rudd picked up a yellowed mug and lifted it in her direction. “Well, I’ll take a cup of joe anytime someone offers it to me.” He took a long sip and set it down in front of him. Rummaging around, he found her résumé and put it on top of the stack of papers.

      “I liked your qualifications. You’ve got EMT certification, but I see you aren’t with the fire department. Usually, most EMTs are.”

      Kam squirmed beneath those assessing blue eyes. “I’m a photographer, Mr. Mason. I do a lot of work overseas in areas where there aren’t many hospitals. I decided to get certified as an EMT a long time ago in case it was me who got hurt in the middle of nowhere.”

      “I see….” He smiled slightly. “You’re a gal with some brains in your head. Ever used your EMT skills?”

      At least he appreciated common sense. Kam felt her hammering heart slow down a tad. She liked Rudd Mason. He seemed very laid-back, easygoing and able to communicate. “Yes, sir, I have. Usually on villagers. I never had to use it on myself.”

      “You ever work with older folks, Ms. Trayhern?”

      “Old as in…?”

      “My mother, Iris Mason, is eighty-two. She’s the one who needs taking care of. She lives here with us.” He waved his hand in the direction of the rest of the ranch house.

      “I’ve dealt with villagers in Africa and Eurasia who were very old,” Kam said. “And I used my EMT knowledge to help them. I think I put in my résumé that I had never actually been a caregiver.”

      “Right,” Rudd rumbled, “you put that in here.” He poked at the paper. “You get along with the elderly okay?”

      “I think I do. In my business as a photographer I meet all kinds of people of all ages and nationalities. I try to be a good listener and keep my own stuff out of the way.”

      “Humph.”

      A lump began to form in Kam’s throat. She saw Mason frowning and studying her résumé again. Struck by how lean and scarred his brown hands were, she began to understand how much this man battled the harsh elements of this state.

      “Ever deal with a cranky senior?”

      When he lifted his head and nailed her with that dark look, Kam gulped inwardly. “Well, uh, anyone can get cranky from time to time.”

      “My mother is headstrong, opinionated and stubborn, Ms. Trayhern. You can’t sweet-talk her, and once she’s got her mind made up, nothin’ is gonna change it.”

      “Oh, I see. That kind of cranky.” She saw the left corner of Rudd’s mouth twitch upward.

      “Yes, missy. The doctor tells her she has high blood pressure and she won’t take her medication. She’s already had a TIA, a mild stroke, but she won’t take the medicine to lower her blood pressure so she won’t get another one.”

      “Ouch,” Kam murmured sympathetically. Clearly, Rudd Mason was worried about his mother, but he seemed helpless to get her to change her mind.

      “Yes, ‘ouch,’” Rudd dryly agreed. “My mother is a tough ol’ buzzard. She’s lived on this ranch since she married my father, Trevor, at age twenty. My father’s dead now, but she runs this family ranch in his stead.”

      Kam nodded. “A true matriarch.”

      “You could say that.”

      His dry sense of humor rubbed off on her, and Kam met his slight grin beneath the mustache. There was nothing to dislike about this man so far. Kam wondered if she should just blurt out her real reason for being here. He seemed to be the kind of person who could handle any adversity. Something cautioned her not to rush. Still, the words ached to leap out of her throat and pass her lips. She longed to scream out, I’m your daughter! Maturity won out and Kam sat, mute.

      “My mother is the boss,” Rudd told her. “She’s sharp, but the mild stroke has addled her memory somewhat. She’s got arthritis and sometimes needs help getting around. Iris loves to drive, but her license got yanked by a local judge about a year ago, thank God. If he hadn’t done that, she was bound to have an accident that killed her or some other person. You’d be expected to drive her wherever she wanted to go.”

      “That wouldn’t be a problem.”

      Rudd assessed Kamaria. “You a city slicker?”

      “Uhh…no. I’m a country girl. Why?”

      “Humph.”

      Just what did that mean? Kam almost asked but decided against it.

      “You got a young man in your life?”

      “Not presently. My life as a photographer was pretty much on the go. I didn’t have time for something like that.”

      “Humph.”

      She blinked once. He scowled and put on a pair of bifocal glasses to study her résumé again.

      “You like gardening?”

      “I love it. My parents have a huge garden, certainly not the size of the one I saw at the side of your home, but my mother and I raised a lot of veggies over the summer.”

      “How about flowers? You like them, too?”

      Kam grinned. “Who doesn’t like flowers?”

      “That’s what I always thought, but you’d be surprised,” Rudd muttered. He made some notes out in the margin of her résumé. “I’m curious about why a photographer would suddenly want to become a caregiver.”

      Kam licked her lips and said carefully, “I’ve been on the move since I graduated from college, Mr. Mason. I’m twenty-eight now. I’ve been kicked around this globe and seen a lot. I guess I want to have a life. I don’t want to lie awake half the night scared out of my wits, wondering if some rebel is skulking about to behead me. Or, that I’ll contract malaria or yellow fever and die alone out in the bush.” Kam shrugged. What she said was the truth, but not all of it. “I figure I’ll continue to do some photography and make a little money on the side as a caregiver. It won’t interfere with my job here.”

      “Your nesting