The Interpreter. RaeAnne Thayne

are very big,” Miriam added.

      “You’ll get used to them,” Mason said to the girl with a surprising gentleness. “Like I’ve told you, once you’ve been here awhile you won’t be so nervous around them. I know you’ll like the horses once you let me take you for a ride. Charlie likes them, don’t you, bud?”

      The boy nodded his head vigorously, beaming at Mason.

      What was the story here, she wondered. Why did this strong, masculine cowboy have custody of these two children who seemed so far from home? They seemed such an odd mix for a family.

      At least they had each other.

      She had no one, she thought. At least no one she remembered. What a demoralizing thought. Could she have a child somewhere? A husband who might be looking for her?

      Helpless frustration washed through her and she let out a long breath. The lovely physician had said her memory would likely come back in a few days. She had to hang on to that hope. Worrying about something she couldn’t control would accomplish nothing and would only make her ill from the effort.

      Dr. Maxwell said she needed to give herself time to heal and she resolved to do just that.

      A few moments later, Mason turned the vehicle under an archway constructed of two massive upright logs topped by a horizontal one just as big with the word Bittercreek carved into it in letters that had to be at least two feet high.

      The rather grand sign out front turned out to be fancy wrappings for old rubbish, she discovered as he drove up a long winding driveway. She was surprised to find Mason Keller’s ranch had a tired, worn-out feel to it—weathered outbuildings in want of paint, sagging fencelines, old rusted farm machinery hulking in fields.

      Odd, that, when the vehicle they were riding in smelled new and had to have cost him a pretty penny.

      Perhaps he spent all his money on vehicles—and on adopting two Filipino children.

      The ranch house squatted square and solid at the end of the long gravel driveway. It looked to be two stories, with a trio of gables and a porch that stretched across the entire width of the house. The whole thing was painted a bright white that gleamed in the hot afternoon sun, even though she could see it needed a fresh coat.

      Someone was making an effort to spruce up the place, she thought, if the raw plywood and cans of paint on the porch were any indication.

      The children climbed out on the driver’s side after Mason but Jane remained seated.

      She couldn’t seem to make her muscles cooperate. Her head still pounded and she was suddenly exhausted by all that had happened to her since she’d opened her eyes and found Mason looming over her.

      After a pause while they waited for her, Mason finally walked around the truck and opened the passenger door. “Are you coming?” he asked.

      Heat scorched her cheeks. He must think her a total idiot, which she was. “Ah, yes. Thank you,” she murmured.

      She straightened her shoulders and slid out of the truck, where she wobbled just a little before finding solid ground.

      “Welcome to the Bittercreek,” Mason said. His features were sardonic but she thought she detected something else. Not quite embarrassment, perhaps, but something close to it. “I’m afraid the red carpet is at the cleaners.”

      “It looks very comfortable and the view is lovely.”

      “I would apologize that it’s probably not what you’re used to. But since you claim not to be used to anything, I guess it doesn’t much matter how humble the accommodations might be, does it?”

      “Anything will be fine.” She wasn’t at all sure how to respond to the low antagonism in his voice so she decided to simply ignore it. “You’re very kind to take me in,” she went on politely. “Especially as I know how inconvenient it must be.”

      A muscle tightened along his jawline but he said nothing to either verify or deny her statement. “Sorry about the dust. We’re in the middle of about a hundred renovations. The place has been empty for a couple years and it seems like everything needs to be done at once.”

      Why had the ranch been empty? she wondered. Where had Mason and the children lived before they came here to open up the Bittercreek again? She didn’t have a chance to ask before the children grabbed her hands, one on either side.

      “Come, Jane.” Miriam gave one of those rare smiles. “You may sleep in my room.”

      “That’s not necessary,” Mason said. “We can air out one of the empty bedrooms for her. There’s plenty of room.”

      He led the way up the rickety porch steps to the front door and then inside. Instantly, the delicious scent of roasting meat and vegetables wafted to them.

      Antimacassars spread across the backs of armchairs.

      Tea in a silver pot gracing a carved wooden tray.

      A plump striped cat sprawled out on a rug before a merry little fire to take the chill out of a damp and dismal afternoon.

      The memories were tiny and fleeting, but they still stopped her in her tracks as she tried to pin them down.

      “Everything okay?” Mason asked.

      “I…yes. That smell seems very familiar, that’s all.”

      He gave her an odd look. “Smells to me like Pam’s making a pot roast for dinner.”

      “Pam? Is that your wife?”

      A shout of laughter greeted her question. She followed the sound to its source and found a woman standing across the room. She was short and slightly plump with a wild, curling mass of vivid red hair in a shade that couldn’t possibly be natural. The woman laughed again, her expression friendly and open as she walked into the room.

      “Better not let my Burnell hear talk like that. Though he’s never been the jealous type, he just might start if he thought a troublemaker like Mason Keller had designs on me.”

      “Jane, this is Pam Lewis. She and her husband own the closest ranch down the road a way and they’ve been running things over here for me for the last few years. She’s helping me out with the kids and the cooking temporarily, until we find our feet.”

      The woman stepped forward with a smile. “You must be our Jane Doe. You’re even prettier than I heard.”

      Mason raised an eyebrow. “The Moose Springs grapevine has certainly been busy.”

      “Mase, you know your sudden return to town is the most exciting thing to happen around here since Doolley Shaw hit the cold medicine a little too hard and drove his truck clean into the side of Ben Palmer’s barn.”

      Pam grinned at him. “Anything you do starts tongues flapping. What do you expect the gossips to do when you show up at Lauren Maxwell’s clinic with a beautiful mystery woman on your arm? The phone lines are bound to start buzzing.”

      “I figured I’d at least have an hour or so lead time.”

      She laughed. “Coralee called to give me fair warning the minute you pulled out of the clinic’s parking lot.”

      Mason’s handsome features tightened into a grimace. “Surely there’s something more exciting to gossip about.”

      She shook her head. “I, for one, don’t know what that might be. I guess until Doolley gets the sniffles again, you’re all we’ve got, boy. Better get used to it.”

      The woman shifted her attention to Jane and the amusement in her gaze gave way to compassion. “You poor little thing. You look dead on your feet. When was the last time you ate?”

      Jane stared at her blankly and Pam slapped her forehead. “I’m such a dunce. You probably have no idea, do you? Well, are you hungry?”

      She had to think about it. Though her stomach felt hollow,