Sierra's Homecoming by Linda Lael Miller Page B

sip, his eyes full of laughter. Then he headed toward the door, put the cup on the counter and reclaimed his coat down from the peg.
    â€œYou’re leaving? ” Liam asked, horrified.
    â€œGotta see to the horses,” Travis said, putting on his hat.
    â€œCan I go with you?” Liam pleaded, and he sounded so desperately hopeful that Sierra swallowed the “no” that instantly sprang from her vocal cords.
    â€œYour coat isn’t warm enough,” she said.
    â€œMeg’s got an old one around here someplace,” Travis said carefully. “Hall closet, I think.”
    Liam dashed off to get it.
    â€œI’ll take care of him, Sierra,” Travis told her quietly, when the boy was gone.
    â€œYou’d better,” Sierra answered.
    1919
    Hannah knew by the profound silence, even before she opened her eyes, that it had been snowing all night. Lying alone in the big bed she’d shared with Gabe, she burrowed deeper into the covers and groaned.
    She was sore.
    She was satisfied.
    She was a trollop.
    A tramp.
    She’d practically thrown herself at Doss the night before. She’d let him do things to her that no one else besides Gabe had ever done.
    And now it was morning and she’d come to her senses and she would have to face him.
    For all that, she felt strangely light, too.
    Almost giddy.
    Hannah pulled the covers up over her head and giggled.
    Giggled.
    She tried to be stern with herself.
    This was serious.
    Downstairs the stove lids rattled.
    Doss was building a fire in the cookstove, the way he did every morning. He would put the coffee on to boil, then go out to the barn to attend to the livestock. When he got back, she’d be making breakfast, and they’d talk about how cold it was, and whether he ought to bring in extra wood from the shed, in case there was more snow on the way.
    It would be an ordinary ranch morning.
    Except that she’d behaved like a tart the night before.
    Hannah tossed back the covers and got up. She wasn’t one to avoid facing things, no matter how awkward they were. She and Doss had lost their heads and made love. That was that.
    It wouldn’t happen again.
    They’d just go on, as if nothing had happened.
    The water in the pitcher on the bureau was too cold to wash in.
    Hannah decided she would heat some for a bath, after the breakfast dishes were done. She’d send Tobias to the study to work at his school lessons, and Doss to the barn.
    She dressed hastily, brushed her hair and wound it into the customary chignon at the back of her head. Just before she opened the bedroom door to step out into the new day, the pit of her stomach quivered. She drew a deep breath, squared her shoulders and turned the knob resolutely.
    Doss had not left for the barn, as she’d expected. He was still in the kitchen, and when she came down the back stairs and froze on the bottom step, he looked at her, reddened and looked away.
    Tobias was by the back door, pulling on his heaviest coat. “Doss and me are fixing to ride down to the bend and look in on the widow Jessup,” he told Hannah matter-of-factly, and he sounded like a grown man, fit to make such decisions on his own. “Could be her pump’s frozen, and we’re not sure she has enough firewood.”
    Out of the corner of her eye, Hannah saw Doss watching her.
    â€œGo out and see to the cow,” Doss told Tobias. “Make sure there’s no ice on her trough.”
    It was an excuse to speak to her alone, Hannah knew, and she was unnerved. She resisted an urge to touch her hair with both hands or smooth her skirts.
    Tobias banged out the back door, whistling.
    â€œHe’s not strong enough to ride to the Jessups’ place in this weather,” Hannah said. “It’s four miles if it’s a stone’s throw, and you’ll have to cross the creek.”
    â€œHannah,” Doss said firmly, grimly. “The boy will be fine.”
    She felt