A Ranch To Call Home. Carol Arens

was a clear night, so the stars shone as bright as a million candles. She breathed in a deep lungful of cold air, grateful that the moon also shone down to light her way home.

      As fast as the temperature had fallen, she might have been shivering had Hey...Dog not come to sit beside her on the bench.

      She hadn’t intended to have a dog. Would have refused him if she could have.

      But now? She could not deny that he gave off a great deal of warmth, that his solid, hulking presence made her feel safer.

      She leaned into him. The chill in her cheek melted when she snuggled against the fur on his shoulder. It was interesting that for such a huge fellow he did not have the unpleasant odor that some dogs had. She had to glance up to look into his face as he sat so tall beside her. He woofed softly and set his chin on top of her head. It was a relief to discover that his breath smelled as fresh as his fur.

      Since sundown, she’d noticed coyotes standing on distant hilltops. They lifted their noses, sniffed the air, then vanished back among the trees. She could only guess that they scented a dog and hoped to find an easy dinner. One glance at Hey...Dog must have made them think again about who was going to be a meal.

      As long as she did not cross paths with thousands of migrating wolves, she ought to pass the boundary of her land before much longer. There was no way of knowing where the house was. There were a lot of acres; it could be on any one of them. She might spot it in half an hour or two hours.

      Forty minutes rolled past before she came upon a split rail fence that looked in good repair. She pulled the team to a halt.

      “Here we are,” she said to the dog. “Home! I don’t know about you, but I’ve never had one of my very own.”

      She stood up, stretched, then stepped up on the wagon bench to get a better view of the land. Acres stretched before her, sloping slightly downhill, which gave her an excellent view of large meadows surrounded by trees that, with sunrise, would be flushed with fall color.

      Moonlight glinted off what she thought must be water, possibly a large stream gouging the shape of a question mark across her property.

      This piece of paradise could not possibly be hers. And yet, thanks to a man who was devoted to her, it was. He’d borne the pain of separation to make sure the mortgage would be paid, so that no one could ever take her home from her.

      For probably the fourth time today, her throat tightened with emotion. Joyful tears pricked at her eyes. Hey...Dog looked at her and whined, nudged her hip with his nose.

      In the darkness, she still could not spot a house and she knew that the horses must need a rest.

      “Come on, boy.” She ruffled the dusky colored fur growing between the pointed brown ears. It was odd that such a fierce-looking creature would have fur that felt like down feathers. “Let’s go for a stroll about.”

      Now that the horses’ hooves were not plodding the dirt and the new wood of the wagon not creaking, she heard the sound of running water. So it had been a stream she spotted running through her land.

      Climbing on the load at the back of the wagon, she rummaged through her spanking new goods until she found a water bucket.

      “You thirsty, big fella? I reckon the horses could use a drink, too.”

      Climbing down the spokes of the rear wheel, she realized she could use a drink as well. She followed the gurgling noise of the stream. Come summer, she would hear the soothing song of crickets and frogs, but now there was only the rush of water running icy cold.

      “Here it is.”

      She stooped and drew her coat tighter against the night. The air wasn’t freezing, but it might be before morning.

      Glancing about at bushes that cast shifting shadows in the night breeze, she remembered how Mr. Rawlings thought it was dangerous for her to be out alone.

      All at once, she was not sure he was wrong. Any kind of predator might have come to drink at the stream. As if to confirm that fear, a large shrub to her left rustled, and not with the wind.

      The dog lifted his face from the water. Icy drops dripped from the fur on his chin. His growl was a low rumble in his deep chest.

      The shrubbery went still. Suddenly a large shape burst from it, flying over the water in one graceful leap.

      Hey...Dog bent his head and lapped once again, not bothering to watch the big cat race over the ridge of the hill.

      She would be well and truly grateful to be within the safety of her own walls.

      Some creatures owned the night. She was not of one of them.

       Chapter Three

      Jesse lay on the lumpy hotel bed, arms cradling his head on a pillow while he stared at the wood ceiling. Moonlight streamed inside the window, giving enough light to expose a network of spiderwebs in the rafters. Given a choice, he would have slept under the stars, but even the extra blanket from Bingham’s father would not have kept the boy warm enough.

      It was only the first night away from his ranch and already Jesse felt a yearning to be home. Even though he’d only owned the place for a month, was still a stranger to some of the folks in town, he felt a strong sense of belonging.

      He’d only ever known that sense of kinship to a place once before. On the rainy afternoon that a welfare agency dragged him from the whorehouse where he had been born and raised, he’d truly felt like the six-year-old orphan he was.

      Living on a ranch for the next ten years, along with four other orphans, hadn’t been horrible. Hadn’t been home either. His adopted parents raised workers, not sons.

      Bedsprings creaked near the opposite wall. Footsteps padded lightly across the rug. The door handle turned.

      “Where are you going, Bingham?”

      “To get a breath of fresh air, is all.”

      “I’ll go with you.” Jesse sat up. He’d bet his new herd that fresh air wasn’t all the kid wanted.

      “You don’t need to, Mr. Creed. I’ve been breathing on my own since I was born.”

      “You walk around in this town with that smart mouth and someone will shoot you as soon as answer.”

      “The Underwood brothers come to Black Creek all the time. No one’s shot them yet.”

      “Not yet. Put on your coat.” Jesse could lecture the boy all night and not teach him as much as a walk through the streets of this sordid town would.

      Once outside, Jesse regretted the need to teach the kid this way. The air was bitter cold. A breeze twirled puffs of dust down the road. He shrugged closer into his coat, hugged the lapels across his throat.

      If Bingham was cold, he didn’t show it. All he seemed to notice were two women waving to him from the upper balcony of the saloon.

      Jesse resisted the urge to wave back. These were not the women who raised him. Those ladies had doted upon him, loved him freely. He’d come to find out later in life that most soiled doves were not like the ones who had brought him up. With most of those adrift souls, nothing was given for free.

      “How about we go inside, have a drink?” Bingham stepped toward the open front door where bawdy sounds spilled into the night.

      No doubt it all sounded like a fine time to the boy. Jesse had thought the same at his age. Cold crept through the soles of his boots. It wouldn’t be long before his toes went numb.

      Jesse grabbed Bingham’s collar and yanked him back.

      “I’m of an age.” The kid gazed longingly at the saloon door.

      “When you’re old enough to know better, you’ll be of an age.”

      “You