Page 33 of A Convenient Heart
Before long, the McGraws took their leave. Drew carried a sleepy Tillie on his shoulder out the door, the last one to go.
Jack should be going himself. He hadn’t missed the flick of a curtain across the street and knew that Merritt’s neighbors might be watching Jack’s comings and goings. He didn’t want to risk her reputation—more than he already had.
Tonight, being with her and the family had shown him a different kind of life. He was used to being on his own, leaving a saloon after a late night and sometimes lying on a random hotel bed in his clothes, staring up at the ceiling before he was able to drift off. He had never wanted evenings like tonight.
That wasn’t true. There was still a part of a little boy inside him, one who had ridden west on a train with other orphans, who had hoped for a family just like this.
It hurt to remember.
Merritt had taken the coffee mugs into the kitchen and was returning as he shrugged into his coat.
“I’d better go.”
She looked surprised, but then her glance flicked to the window. “Itislate, I suppose.”
Merritt watched him for a moment that stretched long. “You aren’t what I expected from your letters. I heard you talking with Tillie. Why didn’t you tell me about losing both of your parents?”
He didn’t want to lie to her. “That’s in the past.”
“It’s still a part of you,” she said softly.
Tillie had got the information out of him, almost too easily. Where was the man who could hold his own against sharp poker players?
“You can trust me with your true self,” she said.
He touched his temple, only then remembering that he was missing a hat. He stepped out into the cold night without answering her.
Merritt didn’t know who he really was.
She had some picture of him in mind, a picture of that John fellow from the train.
That wasn’t the real Jack. The real Jack had an ugly past. Had hired guns trying to track him down.
If there was one thing he knew, it was that someone like Merritt—a smart, beautiful woman, respected in her community and loved by her family—would never end up with someone like him.
If she knew the real Jack, she would judge him worthless. Just like Mrs. Farr had.
Chapter7
The sun was barely up when Drew found Jack at the site of the fire.
“Want to tell me what you’re doin’?” Drew asked.
“Not particularly.” Jack sliced the shovel into the debris with asnick.
He’d shed his coat a half hour ago. He had a borrowed shovel in hand, and a borrowed lamp sat conspicuously on a two-foot-high stump of wood, though Jack had doused it when the morning light had become bright enough to see. It had taken a good two hours, but he’d managed to scrape one corner free of charred chunks of wood and debris all the way down to the dirt.
It was grubby work. Ash stuck to his clothes and face where he’d worked up a sweat. He felt gross compared to Drew’s clean clothes, though the rancher’s were worn with age.
“Went lookin’ for you at the boardinghouse,” Drew said. He had a coffee tin in hand, and Jack’s nose twitched at the scent of coffee. It was a welcome relief after the acrid soot he’d been breathing in.
“Mrs. Stoll was surprised you weren’t in your room. She did say you came in at a reasonable hour last night.”
Jack grimaced. What did Merritt’s cousin want? He could only hope that the gossip mill left it alone, didn’t believe he’d snuck out to go to Merritt.
“You look thirsty,” Drew said when Jack stuck the shovel into the ground to lift a chunk of burnt log into the empty wagon a few steps away. He’d already nearly filled it up, planning to move the debris away from the site.
Jack slapped the dust off his hands and looked at Drew. “What do you want?”
