Western Spring Weddings. Lynna Banning

her mouth to reply, but Emily cut her off. “I can wait! I like it out here lots better.”

      Gray stuffed down a chuckle. “Clarissa, looks like you’ve been outvoted.”

      “About the picnic, yes. About going home to Boston—never. All I need is enough money for a train ticket.”

      Gray said nothing. It wasn’t surprising that she wanted to go back to Boston; what was surprising was his reaction. He didn’t want to think about the stab of disappointment that knifed through his chest.

      Emily tugged on his sleeve. “Please, Mister Gray, tell me a story about you.”

      “Listen, Squirt, I’ll make you a deal. I’ll tell you a story if your mama tells one, too.” He glanced up at Clarissa. “Well, how about it?”

      “Oh, no, I couldn’t do any such thing,” she began.

      “Why not? Doesn’t have to be about libraries or museums, does it?”

      “Tell about when you an’ Papa were little,” Emily begged.

      Gray stood up. “And to sweeten the pot,” he said, gathering up the supper platter, “I’ll wash up the dishes.”

      Clarissa bit her lip. “Very well.” She settled Emily on her lap and took a sip from her coffee mug. “When your papa and I were very young, about your age, we got in trouble one afternoon. Your grandfather took us to the park to play. We took off our shoes and socks and ran over the green grass and let it tickle our toes, and then we found a little hill. Anthony, that’s your papa, decided we should lie down and roll all the way to the bottom.”

      “Ooh, was it fun?”

      Clarissa laughed. “It was fun until Anthony rolled over a big rock. It hurt his back, but he laughed, anyway. However, your grandfather didn’t think it was the least bit funny, so he tipped me over his knee and paddled me good.”

      “Did you cry?”

      “I tried not to, but I did, a little.”

      “Did he buy you ice cream when you cried?”

      Clarissa gave a quiet sigh. “Honey, neither Anthony nor I ever tasted ice cream until your grandfather was gone.”

      “How come?”

      She hesitated. “Our fath—your grandfather didn’t like ice cream. He said it was frivolous and his money would be better spent elsewhere.”

      “What’s frivlus mean, Mama?”

      “It means something that is silly. Not important.”

      “What did grandfather like?”

      “He liked money.” Her voice had gone flat.

      At the sink, Gray froze. Money? Didn’t he like his son and his daughter? He plunged a plate into the soapy dishpan. Something wasn’t right there. It sounded kinda like the way he had been raised, except that his folks were dirt-poor, and they ignored him because they were too busy drinking and fighting. Clarissa’s pa just didn’t care.

      Emily’s little arms stole around Clarissa’s neck. “What about your mama?”

      “My mother...” Her arms tightened around her daughter. “My mother did not survive my birth.”

      “Like my mama?”

      “Yes, honey, like your mama.” Her voice caught.

      Gray grabbed the dishtowel and dried his hands. “Okay, Emily girl,” he said quickly, “now it’s my turn for a story. You ready?”

      “Yes!” She scrambled off Clarissa, who quickly averted her face. “Can I sit on your lap?”

      He got comfortable on the settee and lifted Emily onto his lap. “Okay, Squirt, here we go. Once upon a time—”

      “I wanna story about you,” Emily demanded. “About when you ran away.”

      “I already told you about runnin’ away, and about the silver mine, didn’t I?”

      “Tell me again!”

      “No!” came a voice from the kitchen along with a splash of water from the sink.

      “Tell about something new.”

      Gray sat up with a jerk. Oh-ho, Clarissa was listening, was she? Kinda made him swell up inside to think she was interested. “Well, um, when I left the silver mine, guess what I did?”

      “You married a pretty lady,” Emily announced.

      Gray swallowed. “Nope.” Fat chance. He’d never wanted to tie himself to a woman, no matter how pretty. Brides turned into wives who nagged and drank and fought with their husbands, like his ma and pa. “Guess again.”

      “You joined a circus and rode a big elephant?”

      “Nuh-uh. Sounds like fun, though.”

      “You bought a horse,” the voice called from the kitchen.

      Gray chuckled. Now, how did she guess that? “Yeah, I bought a horse, a big roan mare with a white blaze on her nose. And a saddle. I hired on with a rancher in Montana and drove a herd of cattle to Kansas.”

      “Didja get rich?”

      “Nah. I saved up all my pay. Stuffed it all in a clean sock and bided my time.”

      “Until when?” Clarissa called.

      Gray let a slow smile tug at his lips. Guess he was more entertaining than he thought. “Until I had enough.”

      “Enough for what?” Emily demanded.

      “Enough to buy this ranch.”

      Emily squirmed. “Did it cost a lot?”

      “Every penny I had,” Gray said with a sigh.

      “How come you wanted to buy it?”

      “Because—” He stopped. He’d never said this out loud to anyone and it kinda scared him “—because I’d never owned anything in my whole life, and I just plain wanted it.”

      “But why, really?” Clarissa asked. By now she stood in the kitchen doorway, wiping a plate.

      Gray shot a glance at her, but she wouldn’t look at him. “Well, I figure it was because I...uh, I wanted to feel safe.”

      She looked at him now, and with real interest. “Safe from what?”

      He drew in a slow lungful of supper-scented air. Hell, he’d never really thought about it that deep. “Safe from hurtin’, I guess. Having a home, a place that’s mine. If you own something it can’t ever turn on you.”

      He thought she might laugh, but she didn’t. She looked straight into his eyes and didn’t even smile. Oh, God, her eyes were green! He’d tried not to notice that so much these past few days, but tonight was different. Maybe it was because he’d bared his soul to her about the ranch and what it meant to him. Made him damn nervous.

      Clarissa knew in the pit of her stomach why Gray’s ranch was so important to him. It was the same hunger she felt for finding a home for Emily and herself. Every single night with her daughter cuddled next to her in the attic bedroom, she had to acknowledge how misguided her acceptance of Caleb Arness’s proposal had been. After Anthony’s death and the eventual loss of the home they had grown up in, her longing for a place where she belonged was like a toothache that shot pain through her entire body.

      But she would not find it out here in the West. And definitely not here in Smoke River on a ranch she didn’t like or understand. She could hardly wait to return to Boston, where she had friends, where she knew how to fit in. She could even find employment. Out here in this hot, dry country she felt like a delicate petunia in the desert. Never before had she so clearly understood the phrase fish out of water, but that is exactly what she was.

      The