Page 35 of Drifter’s Heart

The concept of a tumbleweed isn’t out of place here. I’m half-tempted to give her a soundtrack to match, but she’s stunned into mostly silence as I park my truck after the gate I unlocked earlier. I figure that’s the sort of reaction I was aiming for.

I don’t bother locking my truck. It’s not like there’s anyone else out here to steal it, which is part of the reason I chose the area for our date. That, and one other.

“Good pick on the shoes, Rand. We’re walking from here.”

Winnie nods, still enamored with the view of the ancient-looking houses with their flat facades. The part of the town we can see right now is guided by a gentle, rolling hill. The remaining structures that once formed the main street arc over the rise, forming a rigid skyline.

Beyond that is what I want her to see. After our tour.

“This is so pretty. And peaceful,” Winnie whispers, treading through the scrubby grass and low-lying shrubs that have reclaimed the original roads and pathways. “When was it abandoned?”

“1919. Early on. This area gets a lot of rainfall.” I slide an arm around her waist, pleased when she doesn’t object, and lead her toward the buildings. We take our time, and my voice is low, though the wind carries it between the structures as we climb. “But it’s cold as hell overnight regardless of the month, and winter is brutal. The conditions and the war might have had something to do with driving the local population to other towns once the silver deposits ran out.”

Winnie glances up at the gray skies overhead. “As long as it doesn’t rain on us,” she mutters, pulling her hood up.

I laugh. “We should be good. I checked,” I promise her. “This was a general store that also doubled as a mailroom. The bank was over there, but it burned down, I think. And that was the jail.” I turn around in the middle of the street, holding her hand. “The saloon was… that one.” I point to a two-story building with a flat front. “The hotel was above.”

She wiggles her nose. “Brothel?”

I shrug. “Probably. Sex workers are part of history, after all.”

Winnie slides back beside me, lacing her fingers tighter through mine. “Church.” She points to a half building with a telltale steeple a moment later as we emerge through the other end of the main street and find evidence of a crossroads beyond. Beside the church sits a small graveyard. Winnie tugs on my hand.

“This is your thing?”

“Yep.”

I let her lead me through the overgrown graves, standing back as she tugs weeds away from both stone and wooden markers. Most of the scratched names and dates are unreadable or close to that condition. Winnie sits back after a moment, frowning.

“You wanted to know the names, huh?” I squat next to her, stroking her back.

She shrugs. “I want to know who lived here. Who they were.” She shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter.”

Warmth slams my chest. “It does. I’ll find out for you.”

She utters a harsh laugh, standing and brushing random bits of overgrowth from her legs. “Are we adding cataloguing and historian to your innumerable talents?”

Her skin is soft and warm beneath mine when I press my lips to her temple. “Only if I can add taphophile to yours.”

“Touché, Mister Cowboy.” She sends me an amused glance and looks down the hill on the other side of the town at a cluster of small cabins. “This is where they lived.”

I point out four small buildings together. “Parents, grandparents, unlived in, and newlyweds.”

Winnie freezes as the penny drops for her. “That’s awfully specific information.”

I hold out my hand and turn toward a patch of trees that head along the foothills of a small rise, away from the town. “Come on. I want to show you something.”

But Winnie has planted her feet. “Wilder West. Are we supposed to be here?”

My fingers wiggle in offering. “Define ‘supposed to’?”

She glares. “West…”

Dammit. I swivel back to face her. “I have permission from the owner.”

Her eyes narrow. “And the owner is…?”

“The land is privately held.”