Page 44 of Huckleberry Hill
“North,” I said. “The land has all been cleared that direction and if the bear is anywhere around, we’ll be able to see him before it’s a problem.”
“I’ll follow you.”
I took the lead. We rode across a meadow and a small stream, silence falling between us as we enjoyed the outdoors. Eventually, Declan brought his mount next to mine and we slowed the horses.
“If you go that way,” I pointed, “you’ll find the hot spring.”
“The hot spring? You’re kidding.”
I shook my head. “Nope. The original cabin that my great-great grandfather built was only a few hundred feet from the spring. It’s why he settled here.”
“I don’t think I know the story of the ranch,” he said. “I didn’t realize it’s been in your family that long.”
“Dad didn’t tell you?” I asked in surprise.
He shook his head.
“My great-great grandfather, Eamon Powell, was an Irish prospector,” I recounted. “He struck silver in this valley in the early 1880s. He homesteaded the first 160 acres, and as the years went on he used the silver to buy as much land as he could around the original ranch until the mine went dry. He spent the rest of his life here, and the ranch has been in my family since then.” I shot him a grin. “There’s a myth about the hot spring on our land, too.”
“Oh yeah? What’s the myth?” Declan asked, his blue eyes bright in the sunshine.
“That it has healing powers.” I shrugged. “Eamon cut his leg once. It was bad enough he thought he’d have to have it amputated—but he went to the hot spring and soaked it, and somehow it healed and he was able to keep the leg.”
“How’d that story make it down the generations?” Declan asked. “Was it written down?”
“Like in the family bible?” I shook my head. “No. It was passed down orally.”
Declan nodded thoughtfully. “Do you believe it?”
“No.” I scoffed. “Of course I don’t believe it.”
“Why not? It could be true. Why don’t you believe it?”
“Because it didn’t heal my mother,” I said quietly.
Declan’s expression fell. “Hadley?—”
“Come on, I’ll race you back to the stables.”
Chapter Ten
The Ranch
* * *
“Ow, ow, ow, ow.” I hobbled down the stairs, grimacing with each step.
“Is that you, sugar?” Muddy called.
“Yeah,” I replied, slowly making my way into the kitchen.
Muddy was at the stove, wearing her faded strawberry print apron. She looked at me over her shoulder and grinned.
“Stop it,” I said with a laugh.
“Want me to get you some aspirin?”
“I’d prefer bourbon,” I replied.
