Plots and Pans (7 page)

Once he disappeared from view, Jess turned in Morning Glory at the stables. Avoiding conversation with the stable master, she kept her head down and grabbed her saddlebags. It cost her a twinge to leave Morning Glory behind when she’d been such a stalwart and constant companion, but she squared her shoulders and moved away from the warmth of the stables.

I made it
. She kept her eyes on the house as she headed for the door.
Now we’ll see what they make of me
.

D
esta didn’t know what to make of the young man dripping all over the front porch. Cowhands and pass-through workers knew better than to come to the ranch house without explicit instruction from Ed or Tucker. Even then, they usually made their way around back to the kitchen out of respect.

So when she heard the knock at the front door without Tucker’s accompanying greeting, she didn’t know what to expect. Folks from town stopped coming by with their condolences weeks ago, and other than that Ed didn’t invite many people over or encourage random visitors. Yet here stood a cowpoke—a very young cowpoke, judging by his small size and smooth cheeks—gawking at her and peering around her into the entryway without so much as a word of explanation.

“Did Tucker send you?” Desta knew better, but figured it would prompt a response.

The figure on the porch jerked back, muttering
“Tucker?”
as though recognizing the name and finding it surprising. But he recovered quickly, giving a short shake before answering in a respectful murmur. “No, ma’am. I’m looking for Ed—Edward Culpepper. Can I talk to him?”

“He’s not here.” She couldn’t have put it into words, since the youngster didn’t strike her as dangerous or intimidating, but she wasn’t sorry to send him on his way. Desta sensed something was off here, even if she couldn’t distinguish the cause. “You’ll have to talk to Tucker Carmichael. Ask for him at the stables or even in the mess hall. He’s in charge while Mr. Culpepper’s away.”

“Away?” The voice sharpened in distress, losing any pretense of a low rumble and exposing the speaker as even younger than Desta imagined. “For how long? When will he be back?”

“Talk to Tucker, child.” She stepped back to close the door. Desta knew Tucker wouldn’t take on the youngster, but he’d give him a dry spot to sleep tonight and a meal or two to fill him up before sending him down the line.

“I can’t.” The voice sounded so small, so lost, it made her pause. “It has to be Edward.”

“Why?” In spite of herself, Desta opened the door wider. She gasped as the stranger reached up and jerked the Stetson away, letting a long, thick golden braid fall over her shoulder.

“Because …” Lonesome brown eyes blinked back tears as she confessed, “He’s my brother.”

“Jessalyn?” The black woman breathed her name so softly that at first Jess wasn’t sure she’d heard right. Then the woman let out a whoop, flung herself through the door, and just about smothered her in a joyous hug. “Praise the good Lord, if it ain’t little Miss Jessalyn, come home at last!”

Taken completely off guard, Jess stood stock-still, unable to return the embrace or end it. Everything about this was
wrong
. Papa dead, Ed gone away, and her only welcome after seven years came from a complete stranger. The bone-deep chill she’d warded away with hopes of home seeped toward her soul, streaked with disappointment and jealousy. Just who was this woman who guarded
her
father’s house, knew her name, and greeted her like a long-lost loved one?

“Yes.” She drew away from the suddenly suffocating clasp. “And you are?”

“Oh, but you wouldn’t know about me.” The woman took a step back, far more subdued as her eyes flickered over Jess’s face without meeting her gaze. “I was yore daddy’s housekeeper.”

“Right.” She’d committed all of Papa’s letters to memory, and now Jess remembered. The very fact that he’d told her helped Jess feel less cut off from the Bar None and more comfortable accepting the woman’s welcome. She dredged up a small smile. “Desta. I do know about you.”

“You do?” Startled, her eyes went so wide Jess could see white all the way around.

“Papa wrote me when you came to the ranch,” she elaborated somewhat defensively. The housekeeper’s surprise made her feel her role of outsider, as did the humiliating recollection that she’d written Papa back, telling him he didn’t need a housekeeper if he just brought her home. She’d promised to take good care of him and the rest of the Bar None, but he’d firmly maintained she was too young. Six years later, she stood on the stoop, trying to explain herself to the woman who’d served as her replacement without revealing how heart-sore the whole thing made her.

“I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you from his description so long ago. It’s a bit of a shock… .”

Understanding dawned on her face, and she broke in, “He didn’t tell you I was black?”

Nettled that the housekeeper thought that would matter so much, Jess shook her head. “It’s not the sort of thing he’d bother mentioning. I’m thrown off by Ed’s absence. Somehow I didn’t imagine I’d get all the way out here and not see him right away. It’s been a long journey.”

“And a long overdue one.” The woman shook her head as though in remorse then snapped to attention as though just realizing Jess still stood out in the rain. She reached out and all but dragged Jess through the door, clucking like a distressed hen. “Come in! As if you ain’t been through enough, my brains joggle at the sight of you and I leave you in the cold. You must be terrible tired and horrible hungry, but I’ll get you fed up and settled in before you know it!”

“Thank you.” Jess allowed herself to be led through the door but halted in the hallway.

Home
. Dark wainscoting paneled the lower half of the walls, familiar but faded damask wall hangings stretched to the ceiling. Jess breathed in the scent of beeswax tinged with lemon oil, laid over the earthier fragrances of ranch living and rain. For one mad moment she fought the urge to race along the hardwood floors and take the turn into Papa’s office so fast her feet slipped.

No matter how fast she ran or how hard she wished, she wouldn’t find him. Never again.

Her chest constricted painfully until Jess drew a jagged breath. The tight ache eased enough to allow a few steps, taking her past the round occasional table gracing the entry. She fought the urge to reach out and finger the fresh wildflowers filling her mama’s blue willow-patterned vase. If she stopped, she feared she might do something unutterably foolish—like snatch the vase to her chest, sink to the floor, and weep until she ran dry.

Instead she continued to the right, down the hall, and opened the door to Papa’s study. Bookcases cushioned the walls, bracing the massive claw-foot desk she remembered so well. But the desk sat empty. No cheery fire cast flickering light around the room. The stale smell of cigars long since smoked teased her memories and sparked sudden outrage. Her grip tightened on the door handle, unwilling to let go as she turned to face the woman her father chose to take care of him.

The woman who’d let him continue smoking cigars, even after the doctor cautioned against them. Papa’s lung might have been weakened by the bronco’s kick seven years ago—old guilt grabbed her at the thought—but was it any wonder it kept collapsing if he kept doing the work of younger men and refused to give up something as insignificant as cigars? Was this why he died?

“You let him smoke?” Accusation bit through the words, questioning more than mere cigars.

“I didn’t
let
Simon do anything, or
make
him do anything.” The housekeeper sounded sympathetic. “No one did. He laid down his own laws.

“Simon?” Jess caught hold of the familiarity, partly out of curiosity but mostly because she didn’t want to admit the woman made a valid point. She knew better than anyone that when Papa set out on a path, no amount of reasoned arguments or emotional pleas could make him change course.

“Simon,” Desta repeated softly, not defensive or apologetic. If anything, the woman looked thoughtful. “I wondered if you were just surprised by my coloring, but you don’t know the other.”

The blatant reference to things she didn’t know made Jess’s teeth clench. “Other?”

“You’ve suffered a long day capped with disappointment. What say we get you upstairs and I’ll bring up water for a hot bath? Once you’re rested, you can ask all the questions you like.” If she’d sounded superior and issued orders, Jess would’ve demanded answers straightaway. But even after she’d snapped questions about her place in the household and implied the woman hadn’t cared properly for Papa, the housekeeper remained calm and kind, trying to ease Jess’s homecoming.

Something about this woman spoke of strength and called for the same in others. For the first time since she hit the porch and the door opened, Jess spared a thought for someone else.

What must it be like for this woman, who’d looked after the Bar None for a half-dozen years, to find Jess on her doorstep? Did she chafe at her subservient position to an unexpected visitor? What deep-seated decency made her welcome the daughter of the man she’d worked for, fielding insolent questions with quiet understanding? Shame cooled Jess’s rioting emotions.

“Whatever my disappointments, you’re not one of them.” Jess frowned. “I’ve been rude.”

“Tired, more like.” An encouraging smile lit her face. “Traveling takes a toll on the body, grief grabs the soul, and it’s only natural to have questions after you’ve been gone so long.”

“It’s one thing to have questions and another to demand answers.” A rueful smile crossed her lips. “But maybe you’ll appease some of my curiosity while we work on filling that bath?”

The housekeeper looked her over and let loose a sigh. “I say you could us a good night’s sleep before unpacking all yore questions, but I see you won’t rest easy until after the askin’.”

“Would you, ma’am?” Jess followed her into the kitchen, forbearing to look in the rooms they passed for fear of getting distracted—or worse, overwhelmed.

“Don’t ‘ma’am’ me. Even if I didn’t work here, we aren’t that formal or fussy.”

“Thank goodness. I’ve had enough pomp and pretension to last a lifetime.” Jess reached for a bucket and waited while the other woman pumped water into the first. “So what do I call you?”

“I’m hoping …”—for the first time the woman looked nervous—“you won’t mind calling me ‘Aunt.’ ”

“Mind?” Her niece barely breathed the word as the bucket slipped from her hands. Jessalyn didn’t so much as blink at the metallic clang of it hitting the floor, her eyes too busy staring at Desta.

Childhood lessons of fearful subservience, painstakingly set aside over the past two decades, surged to the fore with frightening power. It took every ounce of courage not to fix her eyes upon the ground and wait, trembling, for rebuke and retribution. Pale skin no longer gave anyone the right to hurt her, but Desta feared the pain of rejection. Since her mama died and her husband left her childless, her heart’s longing was for another woman to call family … to call friend.

“You’re my
aunt
?” Disbelief dripped from every syllable, but gave way to wonder. Warmth sparkled behind tears as her niece reached out and pulled her close, ignoring the way Desta’s own full bucket sloshed water all over the pair of them. Jessalyn just stared. “I have an aunt.”

“You have me.” Desta set down the bucket and skirted around it. “If you want.”

“If I—” She broke off and started again. “Ed’s my brother, and I’m sorry he’s not here, but now I find that my family welcomed me home anyway. You’ve
doubled
my family!”

Then they both were awash. They hugged for a long time, not saying anything more that couldn’t be said by holding each other:
I’m here. You’re not alone. I’m grateful you’re in my life
.

Desta drank it in and poured it back out in prayer, her heart full of fervent, silent thanks.

Eventually, after the tears ran their course, little realities began to intrude on the moment. Her niece’s slight frame was warm at heart, but cold to the touch and soaked clean through. Jessalyn didn’t offer any protest when Desta sat her down at the kitchen table and took charge.