The Lone Cowboy of River Bend. Lori Connelly

been a long time, Jason.”

      “How do you know my name?” The child’s tone was only a shade more polite.

      “Your grandmother became our housekeeper when I was about your age. I grew up with your father.”

      Jason’s expression became mulish. “Grandma ain’t never mentioned nobody named Nate.”

      “Jason.” Alice spoke in a gentle tone as she moved beside them, placing her hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Ain’t never mentioned nobody?”

      “You ain’t- You haven’t mentioned someone named Nate.” The boy corrected himself.

      Alice squeezed his shoulder in approval. “I use his proper name; Nate is short for Nathaniel.”

      Jason’s mouth dropped open. His eyes rounded, becoming saucers. “He’s Nathaniel?”

      “In the flesh.”

      “Oh.” The boy’s gaze found his, staring at the man in wonder. “You’re the-”

      “Don’t say it,” Nate cautioned in a tone gentle but weary.

       Chapter 4

      Nate looked down at the floor, expecting an innocent remark echoing some part of the gossip. Instead, silence stretched over the next few seconds. He brought his gaze up and found the boy staring at him, puzzled. Shame heated his neck. He should have known better. No grandson of Alice would repeat rumors.

      “You’re not the one that works with horses?” Jason asked, sounding tentative.

      “I am. Sorry. I thought you were going to say something else.”

      His expression made it plain Nate’s explanation didn’t make sense to Jason but he moved on. “Would you tell me, um, us, about your horses?”

      “Sure, later, if your grandma says it’s okay.”

      Jason beamed his eagerness then scooted around Nate to hang up his coat. The younger boy, John, darted away from Alice to join Hannah and her daughter at the same time. He and the older woman crossed the room at a more sedate pace. As they approached the others, the little girl drew his gaze. She looked about the same age as John, three if he remembered correctly, with ginger braids falling over her shoulders. When the child noticed him nearing, she sought the cover of her mother’s skirt folds.

      “Jemma, I’d like you to meet Mr. Rolfe.” Eyes, green as the fir trees of his home, peered out at him, shyly. “Nate, this is my daughter.”

      Once more, he crouched down to a child’s eye level. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, little miss.”

      “Hi,” She greeted him with a timid whisper.

      Nate smiled, then trying not to overwhelm her, straightened back up. He reclaimed his seat and cup of coffee. Jason started peppering him with questions about horses and, over time, as he patiently answered them, his brother grew comfortable with him as well. To his surprise, he found himself enjoying their quiet but non-stop chatter while washing up then settling around the table.

      The following hours, though pleasant, seemed to go on forever. They ate, tended chores, and had polite exchanges. Both women tried to be cheerful but, at times, Nate could tell their smiles were forced. Tension haunted them. The presence of a man unseen but felt, Jed. He never emerged.

      During the day, no one ventured into Jed’s room, knocked on his door or suggested including him. No one, not even his boys, spoke about the man. And, for all their chatter, the kids were subdued inside the house, far more than good indoor behavior warranted. Outside, however, the boys were boisterous. The stark contrast disturbed him. By evening, Nate was growing restless, eager to talk it all over with Alice.

      Luckily, the children offered distraction. While not one of them complained about having warmed-over stew again, they each had a demand. John wanted more butter on his cornbread. Jemma asked for more carrots. At the same time, Jason started pleading for Nate to tell the promised story. The kids weren’t trying to be noisy but each had raised their voice, trying to surpass the others.

      The high-spirited chatter put Nate at ease, reminding him of his childhood. It sounded so familiar, in fact, he almost grinned. Even now, when his family gathered for a meal, the result was much the same.

      Hannah took her daughter’s bowl, carrying it to the stove to appease Jemma’s request. Alice spread another thin layer of yellow on John’s bread and, with Jason tugging on his sleeve, asking please yet again, Nate tried to think of an entertaining story. In the midst of all the activity, he somehow heard the low creak of a floorboard.

      “Jed,” Alice announced softly before he could look in the direction of the sound.

      Silence fell, swift and sudden. The older woman’s pale face filled Nate with concern. He glanced over at Hannah, wanting to see her reaction. She stood still, a statue by the stove, her expression a blank mask. His gaze next traveled to the children, each one silent, heads bowed with eyes cast down, then finally to the doorway behind him. The man standing there was an unsettling sight.

      Jed and Nate were of equal height but he appeared shorter, standing stooped over like an old man. Clothing hung off limbs like the sticks of a scarecrow. Blond hair appeared a deep shade of brown, falling about his face in dirty, greasy locks. His face had the pale, grayish tinge of a person too ill to go outside for long. He barely recognized the man.

      “Too.” Jed’s voice came out harsh and gravely as though it had been long unused. He waved one badly shaking hand at them. “Loud.”

      “Sorry, Pa.” All his earlier eagerness gone, Jason’s tone was low and flat.

      Jed nodded in response then went back into his room without another word. He didn’t bother to shut the door. Nate watched him shuffle across the bedroom to sit facing the window again, looking out into the dark, rocking. John made a wordless sound of distress. In silence, Alice got up and went over, shutting her son’s door with a soft click that sounded almost explosive in the dead-quiet room.

      As Alice walked back, Jason pushed away his half-eaten bowl of stew and stood. “I have chores.”

      John slid from his chair, joining his brother by the front door. Barely making a sound, the boys shrugged into their coats and mittens, then went outside. Nate stared after them, worried by their transparent excuse to escape the house. Their chores were already finished, done before supper.

      His gaze shifted to Alice. She’d returned to her chair and sat staring in the direction of Jed’s room, the sheen of tears in her eyes. Troubled, he looked away, seeking Hannah. The woman had also moved back to the table. He heard a flow of comforting words murmured to her daughter as she snuggled Jemma in her lap.

      His appetite lost, Nate stood up and headed for his coat, feeling the need to check on the boys. Hannah joined him as he fastened his last button. She handed him a lantern.

      “You’ll find them in the barn with Meadowlark.”

      Though it was common for even young children to have chores involving animals, seeing how upset the boys had been, Nate was concerned. “If she feels protective of her foal, she may snap.”

      “They know better than to get into the stall with her.”

      “At a time like this, you trust they’ll remember?”

      “No, one of us follows them out.” She didn’t sound offended, just tired and matter of fact. “Tonight, it seems, you are.”

      “Oh.” Nonplussed, he accepted the lit lantern, started to open the door, then halted. “Why go to the horse?”

      “Meadowlark was their mama’s favorite.” A small, somber voice drifted up from where Jemma stood among the folds of her mother’s skirt again.

      Nate