“Thanks . . .”
Reese liked the shuffling of those slippers whispering across the cedar floor. It was a sound that gave him a sense of home. It was a crazy reaction, of course. His heart yearned for a home once again. This wasn’t his home, but Shay made him feel like it was. He wished for the hundredth time that she realized the positive and healing effect she had on him and the other vets.
Max made himself comfortable in his doggie bed in the warm corner of the kitchen, curling up and going back to sleep.
As he brought over the mugs and set one in front of Shay, he said, “Your mind must be going a million miles an hour over that bombshell Maud and Steve dropped on you this afternoon.”
She wrinkled her nose. “No kidding. My brain is doing Mach 3 with my hair on fire.”
He chuckled and sat down at her elbow, sipping the chamomile tea. He’d worn his blue pajamas and a white T-shirt, his feet bare. All Reese wanted to do was stare at Shay. Her hair was loose and mussed around her face, her eyes still filled with drowsiness. He knew that when a person was sleep deprived, it took them longer to wake up. It bothered him that the dark smudges were still beneath her eyes. When she licked her lips, he felt his groin tighten. The woman was positively sensual with every movement she made. It put him through a special kind of hell.
“Is that why you’re awake?” she asked.
“Yeah, better reason than a nightmare or flashback. Right?”
Grimacing, Shay nodded, hands around the mug as she sipped her hot tea. “I still can’t believe the Whitcombs are doing this for us, Reese. I feel like I’m in a dream and I’m afraid I’ll wake up and that’s all it was.”
“Maybe,” Reese said, leaning back in the chair, “we’re so used to being kicked, ignored, and cursed at that it’s tough for us to believe when something good happens, it really is good.”
She held his somber gaze. “You’re right,” she said softly. “Especially me.”
Reese heard the emotion behind her words. He wanted to keep the tone positive tonight. “I like Steve Whitcomb. He’s sharp and he has a lot of good ideas.”
“He’s a cowboy at heart, never mind he’s a world famous architect. They’re all like that, men of their word. A handshake still works in the West. Nowhere else anymore, though, unfortunately.”
“He’s not a vet?”
“No. He was a twin at one time. Barkley, his brother, went into the Army when he was eighteen. Steve went to Princeton. It was so sad because Barkley was killed in Afghanistan. It tore the Whitcombs up something terrible, from what Kassie told me at the café one time.” She shook her head, sad over their loss.
“Do you know the source of their money?”
“The Whitcombs came into this valley about five years before my family did. Half their family stayed here in Wind River and the other half went on to Jackson Hole, where they claimed a lot of land. In the 1930s that part of the Whitcomb family sold it off. They died shortly after that and all the money went to the family living here in the valley. I’ve heard a lot of talk around town that they’re worth fifty million or more. But it doesn’t matter. Steve, because of his MBA, also has a lot of funds in the stock market. Kassie once told me that they’re probably worth a hundred million dollars at this point.” She shrugged. “I love Maud and Steve with or without their money. They’re so kind and generous to so many in this struggling valley. And because Steve’s twin was in the military, after he died, he made a promise to always help vets. And they make good on that promise every day. The past decade, they’ve given every wrangler a log home package for free, plus five acres to build it on. They recognize the importance of owning a home and they’re giving away acreage. It’s a wonderful program. When I heard about it, I wished I could do the same thing, but I didn’t have the money. I could help a few vets, though, and they could live out in the bunkhouse.”
Reese remained somber, sipping the fragrant tea. “That explains a lot then, of what they just did to help you. They’re giving you the money interest-free. It’s not going to hurt your ranch’s financial standing at all. The wranglers will send that mortgage payment, free of any interest charge, to them and you won’t pay out a dime. Except that fifteen percent you were collecting from them.”
“Yes. But I won’t keep making them pay that to me monthly.”
“You should,” Reese said. “They owe you for where they’re at now. These homes are on your land. Although the land the homes are built on will belong to the owner of that house. I don’t think any of them will kick one bit over giving you a monthly fifteen percent from what they make.”