Philomena gazed at him in confusion, before nodding once and departing for home. Her mind filled with questions and doubts, she no longer considered the beautiful day. Instead she was filled with a yearning that someone were as worried about her as Peter’s family worried about him. Never before now had she felt so much an orphan, adrift without the support and love of an extended family.
During a lull in the café, Peter sat in the kitchen with his grandma, nursing a cup of cold coffee, as she puttered around the stove. “Come, Grandma. Sit,” he urged. “Nothing needs to be done, and we have plenty of stew. In fact, you should return home to spend the evening with Grandpa. I can ladle out the stew and serve it. I don’t need to chat with the men.”
“They expect conversation as part of the price of the meal,” Irene said, as she sat with a relieved sigh.
Peter gave a huff of exasperation. “They also expect the café to serve meals. It won’t do that if you’re incapacitated because you worked yourself to the bone.” He raised an eyebrow, as he waited for her to argue. When she appeared relieved, he frowned with concern. “Go home, Gram.”
“Not yet,” she said. With a firm shake of her head, she quieted his protest. “I’ll go. Harold will be bellyachin’ because I won’t be worthwhile company as I fall asleep on him, but he’ll have to make do.” She smiled, as Peter chuckled. “No, my darling boy, I want to know how you are.”
Peter stilled for a moment, then shrugged. “I’m fine.”
“Fine. Fine,” Irene muttered. “That word’s only good for the hogs and the food we feed them. Not for my grandson.” She looked at him, daring him to contradict her. “How are you, my boy?”
As he was about to take a sip of his coffee, he set down his mug, while she watched him intently. With a sigh, he murmured, “Frustrated. Upset. Anxious.”
Irene nodded at her grandson’s succinct summary of his emotions. “No matter what, my boy, you have to allow yourself to feel. Or it will come out in ways you don’t intend and will hurt those you care about.”
Nodding, Peter said, “I can’t see my path forward, Grandma. Most times, it’s as clear as the road to the ranch. Now it feels like I’m in the middle of a stampede, and I can’t see my way clear.”
Irene chuckled at his description, before sobering. “You’ve always enjoyed stampedes. Said you found them exhilarating, as you rounded up the herd and found a new path. New possibilities.”
“Yes, but it’s different with women.”
“Women,” Irene murmured, taking a deep breath. “Would one of these women who concerns you be your mother?”
Peter leaned forward, staring at the tabletop. “I saw the letter. Or one of them.” His bleak gaze met his grandmother’s. “The one Slims saved that was intended for Frederick.” At Irene’s patient silence, he whispered, “How could Mother despise him so much? And believe she’d be welcomed back and treated like a queen?”
Irene took a deep breath. “That is who she is, Peter. Not the woman you fantasized about, who held you on her lap and read you stories when you were a boy.” She waited a moment, gazing at him with compassion and concern, as she reached forward and grasped one of his hands. “How many times do you truly remember her holding you like that?”
Peter stilled, his gaze distant, as he sifted through his memories. “Once, maybe twice.” He flushed, as he looked at his grandmother. “I wanted to believe her … maternal.”
At his soft voice, she smiled, with a hint of distress at the news she imparted. “How many times did she hold your brothers?”
He gulped, his gaze stricken. “Constantly.” He shook his head, as though attempting to dispel the unwanted thought. “She shouldn’t have had more time for them than for me.” He gazed at the woman who had always believed in him. “I don’t understand.”
At his plaintive words, she firmed her lips against a quiver. Finally, in a halting voice, she whispered, “She always resented you. For taking her away from the life she loved in the city that she adored. She felt you needed to suffer as she suffered.”
Stricken, Peter sat in dumbfounded silence, as he considered his grandmother’s words. “I always knew I wasn’t worthy of her love.”
“Never believe such nonsense, Peter. Never,” Irene snapped, her harsh tone causing his head to jerk up and to meet her fervent gaze. “You were and are always worthy of love. It was her shortcoming, never yours.”
Peter sat in dazed silence.
After a long moment, Irene said in a soft voice, “You said, women.” At his curious stare, she repeated, “Women. When you began talking with me. You’re having difficulty with your ladylove?”
Scoffing, Peter rubbed at his forehead with his free hand. “She’s not my ladylove, Gram.” He smiled at using a nickname for her that he thought he’d outgrown. “I … I know I’m as foolish as my father. Besotted by a woman who will prove as inconstant and as cruel.”
Irene gave a snort of displeasure. “You are a fool if you believe that hogwash you just spouted.” At her grandson’s incredulous stare, she said, “Do you believe your mother would have come here to warn you and then to help in the café, like Philomena did?” Irene shook her head decisively. “Do you believe your mother would have been patient, giving you the time you needed to determine what it is you want?”
Peter shook his head. “No.”
“Heck no,” Irene said, her light-blue eyes lit with passion. “She would have badgered and pestered you until she was blue in the face and until you were so henpecked that you gave in to whatever she wanted, just to get her to shut up.”
Against his will, Peter laughed. “Oh, Gram, you do have a way with words.”
Irene smiled. “I didn’t spend all those years with your grandfather without picking up a few of his wily ways.” Sobering, she looked at her eldest grandson. “What do you know to be true?” Shaking her head, she held up a hand. “I don’t need to know it. But you do. Don’t let your fears, your doubts, and your past ruin what you can have now. What you should have now.”
She sighed and looked around the kitchen. “With that, I’m going to take you up on your offer and head home.”
Peter nodded, staring absently into space, as he considered all she had said. “Thank you, Gram.”
Kissing his head, she murmured, “Always, my dear boy.”
He sat for long moments in quiet contemplation, until a customer roused him from his thoughts. However, Gram’s advice and warning were ever present, as he laughed and talked with the café’s patrons. Peter knew what he wanted and what he knew to be true, as he counted down the minutes until he could see Philomena again.
Standing in the meadow, Peter listened for her footsteps. He knew it was rash to return here every evening after work, but he yearned for another magical interlude with her. Where the outside world and all their worries faded away, and they could simply be Peter and Philomena. When she would laugh with abandon and would forgot to guard her reactions. When he caught her staring at him, with the same longing he felt.
He let out a shaky breath, as he ran a hand through his hair. Speaking with his grandmother had eased his doubts in unfathomable ways. His description of his mother and of his mother’s coldness to him was in stark contrast to everything he knew about Philomena. With utter certainty he knew Philomena wasn’t like his mother. Philomena was cautious, loyal, kind, and generous. She was everything his soul called out for.
With an aggrieved sigh, he paced in the meadow. It had been a week since he had danced with her here. Since he had held her in his arms and had laughed and had known, deep in his marrow, that Philomena would never intentionally hurt him. Would never act like his mother.
When he heard footsteps, he turned and was unable to fight his delighted smile at the sight of her. “You came,” he breathed.
She shrugged, a luminous smile bursting forth at his delight in seeing her. “I wasn’t sure you would be here.” With hesitant steps, she approached him. Her gaze glowed with an incandescent joy. “I f
eared I was the only one afflicted with the need to see you again.” She ducked her head and flushed at the admission.
“No,” he said, his voice as warm as melted chocolate and just as soothing. “I’ve been here almost every evening since we danced. I worried you’d never return.”
“Every night?” Philomena whispered in wonder. Her hesitation disappeared, and she approached him, nearly tripping now in her haste to be in his arms.
“Shh, darling, there’s no rush. We’re together again.”
“Yes, but for how long? Do we wait each week for Morris to work on his sermon, so I can sneak out?” she asked, her blush brightening at her boldness.
Peter had stilled at her words, his breath catching. With cautious hope, he whispered, “You want more too?”
At her subtle nod, he pulled her close, crushing her in his arms. When he felt a quiver go through her, he murmured, “All is well. There’s nothing to fear.”
“Of course there is,” she whispered. “I’ll be branded a … a loose woman, if I’m found with you.”
“No,” he said, cupping her cheeks. “Every woman has the right to spend a little time with her fiancé.” His triumphant exuberance faded when she stiffened, although his hold on her never wavered. “I promise I won’t abandon you this time. On everything I hold dear.”
“There may be reasons you are unaware of that would make you unwilling to marry me,” she whispered. When he held two fingers under her chin, so she had to meet his gaze, she closed her eyes, unwilling to look into his penetrating gaze.
“Look at me, Mena. Share what you’re feeling.” When she remained quivering in his arms, he kissed her forehead and then her nose. “Share your fears with me.”
“All I see is me, that morning in April, staring into my mirror, so full of hope. The beautiful Texas sky as I walked to the church, while the mockingbird serenaded me.” She swallowed. “I had such hopes. No one stopped me, as Morris was officiating and waited at the front of the church.”
Peter paled, as he gazed at her in horror. “No one prevented you from walking into the church to discover I wasn’t there?” At her quick shake of her head, he whispered, “They fed on your disappointment?”
“Yes.” Her eyes gleamed with pain. “I walked through the church door alone and so filled with hope.” She closed her eyes.
“Resplendent,” he whispered reverently. “I know you shone, as you can’t hide your beauty when you’re happy.”
Her breath hitched at his words. “And you weren’t there. Your side of the church was empty. I saw the anger and embarrassment in Morris’s gaze.” She sniffled. “And I fled.”
Groaning, he rested his forehead against hers. “Why don’t you hate me, Mena?”
Her fingers dug into his strong arms. “I tried to. I tried so hard to.” She took a stuttering breath. “But I couldn’t. I can’t.” She eased away from the comfort he offered. “I know Morris will never agree to marry us again.”
Flushing with anger, he inched closer to her, refusing to allow her to back away from him. “You’ll never go against your brother, will you?” he asked in a low voice, filled with pain and remorse.
“I’ll have nothing and nowhere to go if I lose him,” she said in a low voice. “I don’t know what I would do if I were destitute.”
“You’ll have me,” he said in a determined voice. “You’ll always have me. Tell me you believe that.”
“I want to,” she breathed, as a tear trickled down her cheek.
“And you’ll never be destitute. My family wouldn’t allow it.”
She shook her head, her eyes filled with disillusionment. “I’m not a member of your family, Peter. They have no reason to look out for me.” She shook her head and tried to back away, only stilling her movement when his hold on her tightened.
“You’ll always believe Morris wants the best for us. That he will give us his blessing.” He paused, gazing deeply into her eyes. “I hate to imagine the disappointment that is to come.”
Staring at Peter in confusion and ignoring his subtle warning,, she whispered, “What does he need to bless?”
He released her with such haste that she stumbled back a step. Gasping, she gaped at him, as he dropped to his knee in front of her, holding one of her hands in his. “Marry me, Mena. Marry me and be my wife. My confidante. Dance with me in our kitchen, in meadows, on the ranch, whenever we want. Brighten my days with your smile and your laughter. Give me the chance to give you the joy and happiness you have always given me.”
She gazed at him, her breath short and rapid. Falling to her knees, she raised her free hand to cup his face. She watched in wonder, as he turned his cheek into her palm, chasing her soft caress. “Yes, I’ll marry you. I’ll believe in you.”
He pulled her close, pausing a hairsbreadth from kissing her. “Don’t be afraid, Mena. Nothing will stop us from marrying.”
Chapter 8
“You can’t be serious,” Morris said the following afternoon, as he took a calming breath, while glaring at her. He held up the latest edition of the Bear Grass Springs newspaper, where yet another article had been written by Jessamine MacKinnon about Philomena and Peter. “Why can you not see sense? Even the reporter knows his nature, and she’s related to him. What woman would think to agree to marry a man with the nickname Runaway Groom?”
Philomena pinched the bridge of her nose, as she staved off a headache and attempted to summon patience. “Morris, you know she started that series of articles to distract the townsfolk from his mother’s presence.”
“Which only makes him even more scandalous!” Morris roared. “What woman aligns herself to such a man? First he leaves you at the altar. Then we learned his not-dead mother has been gallivanting about the country with men who are not her husband after abandoning her family. And still, even now, you want to align yourself with him?” He shook his head, as though this was one cross too many that he had to bear. “This time he’ll find a way to leave you in an even more spectacular way, but do you want him to ruin you first?”
“Morris, that’s unkind and uncalled for,” Philomena said, as she tamped down every fear he roused.
“My sister, the proper Philomena Fitch, cannot seriously consider engaging herself, again, to that reprobate.” His eyes gleamed with anger, as he stood with fisted hands.
“I am serious, Morris. Why won’t you listen to me and let me explain?” Philomena asked, her eyes a stormy gray. She flushed, ignoring his comment about Peter ruining her. “I believe him.”
Snorting derisively, Morris raised both hands in the air. “You believe a liar and a cheat. How promising a start to any conversation with you, dear sister.” He ignored her flinch at his biting sarcasm. “You’ve exposed us to ridicule and to gossip. I’m the new pastor in this town. I’m certain the townsfolk are already questioning their misfortune of having me join their small community. I don’t need my sister making this wretched situation worse.”
“This isn’t a wretched situation, Morris. This is my life!” Ashen and near tears, she whispered, “Why are you acting like this? Not everything is about you, Morris.”
Flushing with barely controlled ire, he strode to her. “I have given you everything, Phil. I’ve provided you with a home, food, clothing. I’ve never treated you poorly. All I’ve asked for is your fealty. I don’t believe that is too much to request.”
A tear slipped down her cheek. “But at what cost?” She backed up a step. “I love him. I never stopped.”
“You love him?” He stared at her in horror, as though she had just pronounced she were a pagan. At her nod, he rasped, “You intend to fulfill your harebrained plan that is pure folly?” She nodded again. “You will turn us into the source of gossip and ridicule in another town, forcing us to leave again?” When she flinched but did not denounce her intent to marry Peter, Morris roared, “Get out. Get out of my house.”
“Morris,” she whimpered. “I … I have nowhere to go.”
He swiped at his mo
uth, looking at her as though she were the worst sort of woman. “Perhaps you should have considered that before you betrayed the trust I placed in you.”
She stiffened, holding her shoulders back. “I’ve done nothing to bring shame on our family. Nothing but love a man. I pray you see the folly of your actions one day.” She turned to leave the room, stilling as his quietly spoken words broke her heart.
“I will never perform the ceremony binding you to him and consigning you to a life of misery,” he said. “Never.”
She raced from the room. She ran upstairs to pack her bag, uncertain where she would seek refuge.
Bears stood outside the livery, chatting with a patron about a team of horses they needed stabled. Glancing across the street, he saw Miss Fitch, carrying a large bag, pausing to stare down the main street of town. After murmuring a few words to the man, Bears slowly approached her, for she had the look about her that he’d seen too often upon first meeting his wife, Fidelia. Lost. Hopeless. Desperate. “Miss,” he called out, holding his hand palm up to calm her, as though to keep from spooking her.
“Sir, forgive me,” she whispered. “I should know better.” She clutched her bag to her and took a step forward and then backward. “I … I …”
“There’s no law sayin’ you can’t stand on the street, miss,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “You look uncertain about where you’re going.”
“I don’t know what to do. I have nowhere to go.” Her eyes, now a translucent gray, shone with fear.
“Come with me,” he said, gently gripping her arm, so she would walk with him. When he led her deeper into the town, she struggled.
“No! I won’t let you take me there. I refuse to be one of those women, no matter what anyone thinks.” She had never seen anything more than the outside of the Boudoir, but she knew, if she set a foot inside, she would be ruined forever, and Peter would no longer want her. She couldn’t bear that thought.
Runaway Montana Groom: Bear Grass Springs Book 12 Page 11
