Free How to Wrangle a Cowboy by Joanne Kennedy

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Chapter 10
    Shane stood his ground as the ghostly phantom came closer, squinting into the darkness until it was almost close enough to touch. When the shadowed features formed themselves into a familiar pattern, he smiled.
    “Grace. What are you doing out here?”
    She passed him, walking on with a toddling but determined gait. Shane fell into step beside her.
    “Where are you going?”
    “Nowhere,” she said.
    Shane offered his arm. “Then I’m going there too.”
    She slipped her small, bony hand into the crook of his elbow. “You’ve always been such a gentleman.” She shot him a wry look. “Until lately, anyway. What have you got against my granddaughter?”
    He chose not to answer, and her slow steps faltered, then stopped.
    “It’s a beautiful night.” Shane placed his opposite hand over hers. It was cold—too cold. “Where were you really going, Grace?”
    “I was looking for Bud.” She shifted fretfully from one foot to the other. “I can’t find him.”
    Shane felt his heart break a little for this fragile woman who’d been left behind by the man she’d loved almost all her long life.
    “He’s gone, Grace.” Shane patted her hand. “You know that, don’t you?”
    She turned her head, and he felt her gaze sharpen as it settled on his face, as if a gentle canary had morphed into an eagle.
    “I know he’s dead.” Her voice was suddenly strong and sure. She’d lost a few marbles lately, but there were times when she managed to round them all up again. “But Bud’s not gone. He’s still here, in the pastures he cleared, the cattle he raised.” Pulling away, she pointed toward the house, then the barn. “He’s in every nail in that house, every board of that barn. And he’s in that herd, those cattle he bred to be so hardy, so strong.” The pointing finger aimed at Shane himself now. “Don’t you say he’s gone.”
    “Sounds like you found him, then.” Shane started walking slowly toward the house and was relieved when she followed.
    “But part of him’s missing. Oh, I know he’s here.” She placed a fist over her heart. “But I can’t feel him. I used to walk into the house and know if he was home, just because I felt him there. And if he wasn’t there, I’d go to the barn, and I’d know in a second if he was there or not. But now I can’t feel him at all.”
    She sounded tearful, and tears were something Shane couldn’t bear, especially from women. Should he hug her? Rub her back?
    He settled for taking her hand. “Maybe he’s just settling in. It can’t be easy, adjusting to…”
    Adjusting to what? Death? What the heck was he saying?
    It was bad enough he’d mistaken Grace for a ghost moments before. Now he was picturing Bud settling into his grave like a man unpacking his suitcase at a Holiday Inn.
    “You think so?” Grace sounded hopeful.
    “It takes time for a man to adjust to change.” Shane had no idea what he was talking about, but Grace seemed to find his cockamamy theories comforting. “Give Bud a day or two. He’ll be back.”
    Grace gripped Shane’s hand in hers and stared up at the moon.
    “I haven’t slept alone for fifty years,” she said. “That was one thing I really loved about ranching.” Her voice began to crackle and fade like an old radio transmission from somewhere far away. “We were always together. Always…”
    Shane was about to reassure her again when Lindsey raced out of the house, taking the front steps in one huge, tomboy leap and tearing across the lawn. She’d kicked off her expensive shoes, and her long hair streamed out behind her. For a moment, in spite of her funeral clothes, Shane could see the girl she’d once been.
    But only for a moment. Then she was back to being all hissing, spitting woman, mad as a cat in a carnival dunk tank.
    “Where did you take her?”
    “Nowhere.” Grace gave Shane a conspiratorial wink—one that told him she didn’t want him to share their conversation about Bud.