Free Return to the Black Hills by Debra Salonen Page B

fault, since everyone believed she’d lit the candle that ignited the curtains that became a fuse.
    “I know, but remember what Mama always said about you? ‘Jessie’s shoulders are broad. She can handle anything.’”
    Jessie sat up a little straighter. Mama had said that. Many times. About many situations. A surge of emotion swelled upward, nearly choking her. No tears, though. Jessie never cried. “The heat from the fire sealed my tear ducts,” she told people.
    “So, this is the place, huh?” Jessie asked, leaning forward to look around. “Not bad.”
    “Not bad? How ’bout freaking amazing?” Remy came to a stop in front of a four-stall garage. The roofline extended across a breezeway to join up with a postcard-perfect two-story log house the color of burnished gold. A forest-green metal roof and matching shutters completed the Cartwright-ranch look. Set back slightly and perpendicular to the big house was a far more modest, one-story home that was saved from looking like a tract home by its wide, wraparound veranda.
    “But where are the barns?” she asked, swiveling in the seat. “Shouldn’t a ranch have a bunch of barns and outbuildings and corrals and stuff?”
    Jessie rolled up her window and opened her door, carefully maneuvering her new walking sticks so she could get out of the car without help. A hospital orderly with a wheelchair had insisted on helping her into Yota, but she was determined to figure this out on her own. “I don’t know, but I’m sure we’ll get a guided tour sooner or later.”
    “You made it,” a familiar voice called. Cade and his daughter exited the house through the door closest to the garage. “Shiloh and I made bison chili. My dad’s recipe. He won a local chili cook-off a few years ago and has been coasting on the glory ever since, but it’s good. We hoped you’d get here in time for supper.”
    Jessie’s stomach had been growling for miles. “Bison, huh? I don’t think I’ve ever tried that.”
    Once she was standing and the car door was closed, she put her crutches under her arms and hobbled toward him. “Lead the way, I’m starved.”
    He pointed to a sidewalk linking the two houses. “Shiloh and I were discussing this. We think it will be easier for you to get up and down the front porch steps. They’re wider and there’s a handrail.”
    Jessie looked at the door he’d used.
    “This goes through the laundry room. It’s closer, but there are more things to trip over, including,” he said meaningfully, his gaze going to his daughter, “Shiloh’s pet raccoon.”
    “You have a raccoon?” Jessie exclaimed. “I had one when I was a kid. Her name was Bandit.” She looked at Remy and grinned. “Not very original, but we were…what? Ten?”
    Remy shook her head. “No. More like six or seven. Bandit was before the fire.” She looked at Shiloh. “Sometimes wild things don’t stick around the way you hope they will.”
    Shiloh’s smile disappeared. She looked at her dad, who rubbed his hands together to hurry things along. “Can I carry anything for you or do you want to eat first and bring in your stuff later?”
    “Food first,” Jessie said. “Definitely.”
    Shiloh and Remy led the way, with Jessie moving slowly and carefully—the damn pain meds were making her dizzy—bringing up the rear.
    Jessie found her rhythm using the crutches pretty quickly. The tricky part came from trying to walk and look around at the same time. And there was plenty to see.
    “You have a pool,” she said, motioning toward an inground pool that seemed to take up at least half of the lawn between the two houses.
    “Yeah. My dad put it in last fall. Right before winter. Dumb time to put in a pool, if you ask me, but I guess he had his reasons. It is solar heated, though, so that’s cool. Do you swim?”
    She loved the water. “Water aerobics would be good low-impact exercises for my ankle. You wouldn’t mind if Remy and I use it?”
    “No. Feel free.