Why wouldn’t he admit he was in love with her sister? Well, if he wouldn’t own up to it, Daelin would wager people in town had plenty to say. With less than a thousand souls, everyone in Settler had to know everyone else’s business.
How many secrets did her baby sister keep? Why had she never said she had patched things up with their mother? Granted, Rosalie was an extremely sore spot among Daelin, Charming, and their brother Cobb, so Daelin could forgive Charming’s discretion. Not about the boyfriend, though. Why keep Earl a secret? It made no sense. Maybe if Daelin knew him better the answers would come.
“Did you grow up in Settler?” she asked.
His palm tapped on the steering wheel. “No. Never spent much time in Oregon until recently. I’ve moved around a lot. Guess I bought into the commercial, ‘Come Settle in Settler’. Have you seen it?”
The tiny town had a commercial? Daelin would have to search it out and watch. She could use a laugh. “How long have you lived here?”
“Five years. Charming said you all moved around a lot.”
Charming had revealed a lot to this man for him to claim they weren’t involved. It wasn’t like her to trust a stranger with so many delicate details. All through college, Charming had pretended to have grown up outside Chicago and had made Daelin play along whenever she visited. The rest of the story claimed their parents had become missionaries in New Guinea. All that had changed. Now Charming painted illusions for Daelin. It hurt worse than the worst day of her life.
“Yeah,” Daelin said, “you met Rosalie. She didn’t like to stay with a band more than two years. If she wasn’t on tour, we moved about looking for the next band. American nomads is what we were. Where did you grow up?”
“Nowhereville, New York. Left as soon as I was old enough.”
“Really? A New Yorker? I never would have guessed.”
“Why not?”
“You don’t talk like one, and you seem so at home with the cowboy thing.” The clothes fit him as well as if he had come from another century, and he had the build of a cowboy, of a man who spent a lot of time working on the land.
He chuckled softly. “I was never a cowboy. I’m a businessman who pretends to be one.”
His pretending came off as genuine. He acted as if he and Charming were something innocent. With all her sister had disclosed about her early life, that wasn’t possible. Daelin watched his lips move while he spoke about the ranch, not really listening. Something tickled in the back of her mind about rescuing her sister. By Earl? From Earl? She chewed on her fingernails unable to remember and wanted a sandwich. How could she be hungry? “You pretend a lot, Mr. Blacke.”
The smile left his cheeks. “No. Not anymore.”
His answer hit her ear as odd. “What did you used to pretend about?”
His guffaw came out like a dry hack. “It wasn’t so much pretending as changing. You know, once in awhile you wake up and realize you aren’t the same person. When that happens, I can’t go on living the same life as the same man.”
She hadn’t taken him for the philosophical type. Earl was a definite enigma. “Did you learn your cooking skills in one of those former lives?”
His brows rose. “What?”
“The sandwich you made me was unbelievable. Did you used to be a chef?”
“No, but I’ve been on my own a long time. So Charming mentioned you did something in relation to books in New York?”
Her former life, the one she regretted giving up. “I was an editorial assistant for a publishing house. It was everything I wanted. I didn’t change. The world did. I still want to be that Daelin, not this one.” She sighed and picked at her fingernails. She could use a fresh coat of polish.
“So you aren’t a writer?”
She had started many times, but never stuck with it. She couldn’t claim the title. No, she only made other writers better. Well, used to. “Never had the time. Maybe someday.”
“You’ll have lots of time on your hands as Settler’s librarian.”
“Yeah?” She hadn’t thought of that. What would she write? Maybe life here wouldn’t be the horror story she feared. “Bend is really a city?”
He exited onto the Basin Highway, and they headed east. The brush gave way to pine trees. The air burdened itself with their scent, filling Daelin’s lungs.
“The definition is a little skewed in these parts.” He laughed, this time carefree, brightening his eyes. They almost twinkled.
“I thought Charming would end up at a museum in Chicago. She was obsessed with Chicago.”
A group of deer sauntered onto the highway. Earl slowed to a stop and waited for them to bound off before hitting the gas again.
“She told me she had been in plenty of towns like Settler growing up,” he said, “and liked the idea of staying put. If she’s been in Podunks, so have you.”
Daelin watched the deer disappear into the woods. “None as tiny or as remote. Dinky towns like to push new people out, which is why I went to the biggest city there is, counting on its size to keep me anchored. Who knew the publishing houses would merge and a job like mine would become as obsolete as Charming’s dinosaurs.”
“It’s just a down cycle. You’ll find your place again, one you love as much as the old.” His head bobbed in rhythm with his words. “That’s what I hope anyway.”
“You too, huh?” He was an all right guy. She could see why Charming would fall for him. “So tell me about Settler. How can I fit in and not stick out like a New Yorker in the wilderness?”
“Be yourself and take a genuine interest in the lives of others.” His lips twitched into the hint of a smile. “Everyone will know you sneezed within ten minutes. Your sins don’t disappear in a small town, they linger forever. But they’re pleasant enough people and good souls.”
As the new person in town, Daelin would bet everything she did would be of unshakeable interest. Great. “I met Culver’s cousin. She seems a little kooky. Are they all like her?”
“Tiny?”
“Yup.”
“There’s a few. Most like to gab, and conversations can get deeply personal right quick. It’s Settler’s favorite entertainment.” He raked his gaze over her. “You should trade in your business coat for something more casual. Warmer, too. Layering is best in these parts. Fleece is a good idea too.”
“This is all I have until I get paid.”
“There’s a thrift shop in town. I just brought the owner some items left behind by my winter guests at the resort. There are a few nice coats. For a mere twenty dollars, you’ll be all set.”
It wasn’t only twenty dollars when her whole fortune was forty. “This coat will do. It’s summer.”
“Summer usually doesn’t start until mid July and it’s a short season. Central Oregon only has winter, which is most of the year, and August.”
If Charming had mentioned the dreadful weather, Daelin would have figured out somewhere else to go. “Why is it so cold?”
“We’re at a higher elevation. Elevation dictates everything in Oregon, especially weather. Be careful when working out for awhile. You’ll feel the lower oxygen. It’ll make you feel as if you’re old and out of shape.” He paused to take a swig of water from his canteen. He used an old-fashioned one Daelin had only seen in old camping photos. “The festival season is about to start. You missed Memorial Day weekend’s Race Days, but you’re in time for Swit Days and the rodeo.”
Daelin watched his face. It didn’t flicker with the faintest hint of a joke. “Was that English?”
He took a pack of mints out of his pocket and popped one in his mouth. “Patrick Swit was the founder of Settler. So this is Settler’s version of Founders Day. A carnival, music, and a rodeo.” He offered her the mints.
She took one and chewed it. “The postman mentioned he and his cousin were descendants.”
“Yeah, the last of them. Patrick Swit was a little odd.”
With Culver and Trinidad as examples of the Swit family, oddness obviously ran in the genes. “How’s that?”
“You should get Wald in the county offices to give you a tour of the house. It’s crazy. Doors everywhere. Hallways to nowhere. Old Pat believed Settler possessed by spirits.”
“How bizarre. I hadn’t heard it mentioned until now, which is the weirdest part.”
“It’s one of Settler’s hidden secrets. The town doesn’t talk about the house much or Patrick’s craziness.”
Yeah, who would want to admit their home was founded by a loon. “Yet they celebrate him.”
“History loves rewriting itself.”
hapter 