She smiled at him as if she approved of his efforts. “I have no proof. Disliking someone doesn’t make them guilty of crimes. The sheriff certainly can’t arrest Winfield based on suspicions and my dislike, especially since Winfield’s done a lot for the community.”
“You need proof, that’s true. I’ll bet you have good instincts, though. I sure didn’t like Winfield. He was really mad when he found out I was staying here.”
Her eyes widened and she paused. “I-I hope he doesn’t try to retaliate against you.”
“If he intended to, yesterday would have been an opportune time. Instead, the prowler rode away.”
“Now I’m so spooked I’m afraid for the children to play outside. Such a shame when they’ve been having so much fun in your tent. But a bullet would easily pierce it.”
That blasted tent. He recalled he’d said the children could play in it. “Who got that thing set up for them?”
“The children did it themselves. Davie found the directions. I checked once they’d finished and it looked sturdy enough. It’s so large, I can see how a family might live in one.”
He hung his head. “That’s the most humiliating thing to happen to me.”
She paused with her hands in the soapy water. “I’m sorry—did I say something wrong?”
He exhaled and raised his head. “I might as well confess. The first night after I left home I thought I had the tent set up. A storm came up and the thing collapsed on me. I got soaked to the skin and most of my gear was wet. After I met up with Moose, he said I had pitched the tent too close to the creek and the soil was too soft.”
She plunged another pan into the water. “Three of them worked together to raise the tent. Also, the part of the yard they chose is nice and level.”
He offered her a rueful smile. “No need to make excuses to soothe my ego, Charlotte. I have no camping skills. I’ve lived in a city all my life although I dreamed of life in the wild.”
She grinned. “Like the Missouri Kid?”
He was embarrassed again. “I guess that’s obvious. You must think I’m foolish.”
She met his gaze and he saw understanding in her eyes. “Not at all. You were brave to strike out on your own. Well… maybe you were a little foolish, too, but with brave intentions. Most people thought I was crazy to become a mail-order bride but I did anyway.”
“And it worked out for you?”
Her expression sobered. “For a while it did. I had a husband, children, and a home. At least I still have my children.”
“Don’t give up yet. Now you have a ranch hand and I’m about well enough to ride. Moose will show me what to do, so you’ll finally have help. Now that I’m pretty well healed, I’ll move my things to the bunkhouse. I don’t want your reputation to suffer.”
“Oh, well if you prefer. But won’t you be moving on as soon as you’re healed?” Still stunned at the return of his memory, she hated to think of him moving out of the house.
He frowned. “I don’t know. Guess I’ll have to think about that.”
She thought she knew. Soon he’d be leaving, resuming his trip to California. She’d miss him—After all she’d enjoyed his companionship. Certainly that was the only reason, wasn’t it?
***
Bret carried his things to the bunkhouse. He was going to miss seeing Charlotte during the day. At least he’d see her at meals. He regretted thinking women were not capable of rational thought. She was intelligent, industrious, and more than rational. She planned well.
Moose had placed his few possessions near a bunk with a footlocker at the end. “You mean we’re gonna be bunkin’ together again?”
Bret looked around the large room. “I think it’ll be better for Charlotte’s reputation. Besides, now that my memory is back, I figured I’d better break ties slowly to the lovely widow and her children.”
Moose sent him a solemn stare. “You leave here and you’re a durn fool. You got money and she needs it. You like working outdoors and this is the perfect place.”
Before Bret could answer, Davie came in with a load of Bret’s gear.
He set the load on the floor. “Mama sent me to help you.”
Bret nodded. “Appreciate it. Hope finding me didn’t get you in trouble with her.”
Davie shook his head and grinned. “Naw, she griped at us but it’s all right. We had it coming.”
Moose asked, “She give you a whipping?”
Davie rolled his eyes. “She never hits us. Sometimes I wish she would and get the punishment over with.”
Moose straightened. “What’s she do to discipline you if she doesn’t hit you?”
“We get extra chores and some of them can be pretty disgusting, like cleaning the pig sty. Ugh, I hate that most even though it has to be done. Other times she’ll make us stay in our room, but that’s not too bad because I can read or play with my stuff.”
Bret closed the lid of his foot locker. “Doesn’t she ever get really mad?”
Davie hesitated. “Once, after Papa got shot, she got disgusted because we complained we were gonna have stew again. She said if we didn’t want it we’d take it to someone who would. She made me go hitch the team to the wagon while she loaded up the stew except what she fed Papa and loaves of bread and an apple cake that was for our supper. She also put in a wheel of cheese, jars of milk, and some other things.”
Bret was curious. “What did she do with them?”
“We drove to the Wilson family’s place. We take stuff to them pretty often since Mr. Wilson died. When we
