Page 18 of Return of the Rancher

“I thought when I married Farris that I had the family I yearned for. And in the beginning, I did have. But he pulled away from me. He kept secrets. At one time, he was my best friend. My dearest lover. And then...” She trailed off, her throat tight. It was no fun to rehash the old hurts and failures.

“Then what?” Dottie’s round-eyed expression echoed a combination of concern and bewilderment.

India shrugged, helpless to rewrite history. “Farris changed. I didn’t ask a lot of questions, because I didn’t want to cause conflict. But that was wrong of me. That’s not how a marriage should be. I knew I deserved better.”

Dottie wept, silent tears that made silvery marks on her flushed cheeks. “I am so sorry. I thought it was the other way around. I thought you found someone else.”

“No.” India’s laugh held little amusement. “I have moved on, though, Dottie. I appreciate your concern, but these things are between Farris and me. I’m here because I love you.”

Dottie dried her face with a cotton hankie. “He was over the moon when you accepted his marriage proposal. I had never seen him so happy.”

“Well, it ended. What can I say? But I did try one last time to pry him out of his awful shell. I gave him an ultimatum. Either talk to me—tell me what was wrong—or I was walking out. Silly me, I thought that would be the jolt he needed to open up and finally let me know what he was thinking. How wrong could I be? He watched, stone-faced, as I packed a bag and left our home.”

India sat down in an armchair, her legs suddenly like spaghetti. She had never told the whole story to anyone, not even her closest girlfriends. The rift in her marriage had been puzzling, agonizing and embarrassing. And when it was over, once again she was like that scared fifteen-year-old girl, orphaned and alone.

Dottie sighed deeply, wringing her hands. “Men,” she said, the single word laden with disgust. “I love my boy dearly, but even I know that he can’t be an easy person to deal with in an intimate relationship. I wish I could help. I wish I could explain.”

“It’s not up to you, Dottie. Whatever secrets he carries with him are buried deep.” Too much time had passed, too much water swirling under the proverbial bridge.

Finally, Dottie rose to her feet. “I don’t want us to mope all day. Why don’t we go to the den and work on more pictures?”

“That’s a great idea,” India said, projecting enthusiasm, even though all she wanted to do was climb into bed and pull the covers over her head.

Over the next few hours, she and Dottie actually began to make a dent in the organizational nightmare that was the family photo stash. India worked backward from the present, while Dottie began putting the earlier years in order.

At one point, India cued up a playlist on her phone. The music filled the silences and made the minutes pass more quickly. By dinnertime, they had created something approaching a system.

Dottie still protested throwing away prints, but India was adamant. No one needed twenty-seven blurry photos of bison in Yellowstone. Tough love.

The housekeeper summoned them at six. Without the master of the house in residence, the meal was more informal. Dottie and India sat across from each other near the head of the table.

Dottie ate enthusiastically, perhaps because she had skipped lunch. “Wonderful,” she said, digging into her chicken piccata.

India agreed. “It’s a shame Farris is missing this.”

“Don’t you remember, dear? He’s allergic to capers, mildly at least. They upset his stomach terribly.”

India hid her confusion and disbelief. On their first wedding anniversary, India had made a big fuss. She told Farris she didn’t want to go to a restaurant. What she proposed instead was that she cook for him. Over the course of their relationship, he had taken her to some of the finest eateries in the world. Now it was her turn to pamper her man.

She had served chicken piccata.

What the hell? Farris had eaten every bite and asked for seconds. Yet another thing he hadn’t been honest about...

How could a husband who was so careful not to hurt his young wife’s feelings become distant and aloof a mere two years later?

Dottie’s inadvertent but stunning revelation occupied India’s mind throughout the remainder of the meal and in the hours that followed. Though the two women watched a lighthearted romantic comedy on a streaming channel, India would be hard-pressed to describe the plot.

Why did she care if Farris was allergic to capers? Their relationship was dead. Period. Far past the point of CPR.

At last, Dottie noticed that India was frazzled. “Don’t fret, India. Farris will be home tomorrow. Maybe then you can get some answers. Or maybe he might talk to me.”

“No!”India was horrified. “No, Dottie. Swear to me you won’t say a word about any of this. I need you to promise. I’m not kidding.”

Her former mother-in-law nodded sadly. “Okay. You’re right. It’s not my place to interfere.”

India swallowed hard. Of course she wanted answers, but to what end? Her marriage was over.

The fact that Farris was coming home tomorrow meant nothing to her. Nothing at all.

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