Page 83 of In These Hills

“Why does that not surprise me?”

She laughed again, softer this time, her movements efficient and precise—and decidedly feminine. In the lantern light, the wounds on her face were barely visible, though he noticed how she sometimes turned away or dipped her head, as if self-conscious about them.

Then again, he could be at fault for looking overlong. Wounds or not, she was a beautiful woman. And though he didn’t agree with all her stances and causes, he admired her strength and confidence. Whoever had done this to her . . . Just five minutes. That’s all he’d need.

“Does Bethie come by that naturally?” she asked.

His thoughts wandering, Dodge quickly backtracked. “The forthrightness, you mean?”

She nodded, then splashed her face with water and gently patted it dry with the freshest towel he’d been able to find.

“She absolutely does. Her mama, my sister Kathleen, was the same way.”

She paused. “I’m sorry about your sister, Mr. Coburn. That must still be so terribly hard. On you both.”

The sincerity in her voice caught him off guard. Maybe it was the strain of past weeks, the loss of cattle—and of dreams—or the grief he’d tried to outrun, but something shook loose inside him. “Thank you, Mrs. Dunham. I appreciate that.”

She hesitated. “I know it’s not within the boundaries of proper etiquette for us to . . .”

He arched a brow. “I’m going to need you to finish that sentence, ma’am.”

She laughed again, color creeping into her cheeks. “What I was going to say is that I know some might find it improper for us to be . . . more informal. But given that we’re working together, and considering what we just went through . . .”

“You’re suggesting we bend the rules a little? Go by first names?”

She stood a tad straighter. “Yes. I am . . . Dodge. And I would appreciate it if you would call me Josephine.”

She offered her hand. He wiped his own and accepted—briefly. Too briefly. Appreciating the feel of her skin against his a little too much.

“How long have you been foreman here?”

“A good ten years. I began working here when I was twelve. Helped in the barn after school. I watched and learned. Our homestead was a couple miles from town.”

“So you’ve never been anywhere else?”

“I didn’t say that.” He smiled. “I’ve traveled some. Mainly for Uncle Jack on business. New York City, Chicago, Washington, DC.”

Her eyes widened. “You’ve been to all those places?”

“None of them had what I wanted.”

“Really?” Her gaze held surprise. “I’d love to travel, to see those cities. The buildings, the architecture. Think of the history you’d experience in a place like Washington, DC. Before coming here, I’d never traveled outside of At—” She stopped short. “Outside of a twenty-mile radius surrounding Chattanooga,” she finished, her smile downright stiff compared to those previous.

Dodge nodded, knowing the woman no more hailed from Chattanooga, Tennessee, than he did. But the question was, did he call her on it now? Or wait. Instinct told him to bide his time.

“You must have an inkling of wanderlust in you,” she continued. “You were planning on going to Wyoming, after all.”

He went along with the shift in subject. “I wouldn’t call that wander-lust so much as the pursuit of a dream.”

She stared for a moment, and he would have given much to know her thoughts.

“And may I ask what that dream is? Or . . . was?”

“To own my own ranch.”

She frowned. “But can’t you do that here? Surely there’s land and—”

He shook his head. “It’s not just owning cattle or land. It was the opportunity to build something special and to own a piece of that wild, breathtaking place before it’s all settled and changed forever.”