“No. My uncle Quincy ran when I was just a babe. He returned in sixty-three hoping to help my father escape, but Hiram, my father, wouldn’t leave without my mother, Fannie, so my father sent me with Quincy instead.”
She wondered why his mother couldn’t leave. Then reminded herself that his time in Paradise was limited, and that when he left for home she’d never see him again, so asking a bunch of nosy questions served no purpose.
“Did the war affect you here?” he asked.
“In some ways. The cattlemen got rich shipping beef to the Union troops. The army sent most of the soldiers back East to fight and left local militias to defend the Territory. They started their own war.”
“What do you mean?”
“Some militia members massacred the Cheyenne at Sand Creek in Colorado and the Cheyenne rightfully wanted revenge. There were raids and battles. The tribes eventually lost and were forced onto reservations.”
“You sound as if you have sympathy for the Indians.”
“Don’t you?”
“Back East, they’re portrayed as bloodthirsty killers.”
“The bloodthirsty killers were the men whogunned down the Cheyenne children and women, then returned to mutilate the bodies and set the village on fire. Chief Black Kettle and his people had already signed for peace.”
“The newspapers at home never tell that side of the story.”
“Maybe they should.”
“I didn’t mean to upset you.”
She handed him the skillet he’d used to fry the bacon. “Those were upsetting times. In many ways nothing’s changed.” She poured the dishwater down the drain. “We’re done here. Thanks for your help.”
“You’re welcome,” he replied quietly. “May I ask a final question?”
She nodded tersely.
“Do all the people here feel as you do about the Indians?”
“Some do, but the big cattle ranchers don’t. They own the land now and it’s made them rich. They don’t care if the tribes are fenced in, starving, and destitute, as long as they can ship their beef. Anything else?”
“No.”
“I’m going to go out and shovel a path to the barn.”
“I’d like to help.”
She glanced down at his knee.
“I can wrap it. There’s a lot of snow out there.”
“True, but wrapped or not, I’m the one who’ll have to listen to my brother fuss when you do more damage. Thanks for offering your gentlemanly assistance, but it won’t be the first or last time I’ve done this alone.”
She saw him open his mouth to protest. “You should go write a story or something. Better yet, make a list of a hundred more questions you want to ask.”
He lowered his head and amusement filled his eyes. “Okay. If you insist.”
“I do.” For a moment, she acknowledged how easy it was to be around him and his handsome face. Appalled, she shook it off and glanced around the kitchen to make sure she hadn’t overlooked a stray dish or spoon. Satisfied, she left the kitchen, bundled up again, and left him inside.
While shoveling, she tried to make sense of her uncharacteristic physical reaction to the newspaper man. There was no good reason for her to have felt sparks and tingles or linger on his looks. As she’d noted yesterday upon finding him asleep on her new couch, a pretty face could hide all manner of inner ugliness, something she knew well. Had the sparks been a simple reminder of how long it had been sinceshe’d had a man in her bed?—not that any of the previous experiences ever set her barn on fire. Especially not the way her brother and sister-in-law Regan acted with each other. Colton and Regan’s arranged marriage had evolved into a love match, and they were forever stealing kisses when they thought no one was looking. Spring knew nothing about that kind of bond and wasn’t sure she wanted to, but as she’d reminded herself, McCray wouldn’t be staying around, so it made no sense to have this conversation with herself. Once he was gone, she’d return to what she enjoyed and did best. Being a woman alone.