Page 4 of The Rancher Who Swore Off Love
“Jonah.”
“Hm?”
“If that rat comes back tonight, I’m sleeping in your room.”
He laughed, loud and warm in the little, cold house, and the sound of it bounced off the crumbling walls and filled up the empty spaces the way only her brother’s laughter could.
“You got yourself a deal, darlin’.”
Chapter One
The letter arrived on a Tuesday, eleven days after Grace had mailed hers.
She’d spent every one of those eleven days inventing reasons it wouldn’t come. The rancher had found someone else. The post had lost it somewhere between here and Colorado. Or worse, and most likely, the man had taken one look at her careful handwriting and her modest little list of qualifications and tossed the whole thing into a stove.
So, when she came back from the market with a half-pound of dry rice and a heel of bread under her arm and spotted the envelope poking out of the mail slot, she almost walked right past it.
Almost.
Instead, she set the rice and bread on the step, wiped her palms on her skirt, and pulled the envelope free.
Miss Grace Linton, New York, New York.
The return address read Pitkin, Colorado. But the name above didn’t match.
M. Foster.
Not L. Not the rancher himself.
She broke the seal right there on the front step and unfolded two pages of loose handwriting that sprawled across the paper like it had places to be and couldn’t slow down long enough to stay between the lines.
Dear Miss Linton,
My name is Mason Foster. I am writing on behalf of my brother, Logan, who is not much of a hand at letter writing and would likely just send you one line telling you when to show up, which my other brother, Thomas, and I agreed would not make for the best first impression.
A laugh bubbled up in her chest.
We received your letter and were mighty pleased to read it. Logan took a shine to what you had to say, even if he would sooner wrangle a bull than admit it out loud. He has asked me to tell you that the position is yours if you want it. We have a good-sized ranch house with a spare room that is clean and private, and a kitchen that could sure use someone who knows her way around a cookstove, as none of us three boys can cook worth a lick, and our father has just about thrown in the towel on the matter.
Now, I know the journey out from New York is a long haul and not a cheap one either. I have taken the liberty of purchasing a train ticket for you, which you will find enclosed.
The ticket is for the 9:15 out of Grand Central on the morning of the 14th. You will need to transfer in Chicago and once more in Denver. The whole trip runs about four days, give or take, depending on what the railroad sees fit to do with its schedule. When you roll into the Pitkin station, somebody will be waiting for you.
We are looking forward to your arrival, Miss Linton.
Respectfully yours,Mason Foster
P.S. Bring yourself a warm coat. The nights up here will freeze you plumb solid if you are not prepared for them.
Grace read the letter twice more. Then she dug into the envelope and pulled out the train ticket, a stiff rectangle of printed card stock with her name on it, heractualname, and a departure date only twelve days away.
Her hands trembled. Just a little. Just enough that the ticket’s edge fluttered against her fingertips.
She gathered the rice and the bread and went to find her brother.
***
Jonah sat on an overturned crate in the backyard, whittling at a piece of scrap wood with a pocketknife that had seen better days. He looked up when the back door banged open, and Grace came through it waving the letter like a flag of surrender.
