by Cat Cahill
“I don’t want you to be afraid,” he said. “This is your home. And I’m here to protect you.”
Her eyes fluttered open. “I trust you, Andrew,” she said after a moment.
And that was all he needed to hear. In the space of a breath, he’d pressed his lips to hers. If she was surprised, she didn’t show it. Instead, she sighed against him and wound her arms tighter around his waist. She was soft and wonderful and Andrew poured every feeling and thought into that one kiss. His hand drifted to the back of her neck, and just as he began to move away, she pulled him back to her.
He lost track of time and all rational thought. Finally, he gently pressed her away so they could each catch their breaths. He traced a finger down her jaw and wished his work would do itself. Alas, that was impossible.
“I need to get supper started or we’ll be eating cold ham and raw carrots tonight,” Ivy said, a pink blush sweetly coloring her cheeks. “And you ought to get your lunch.”
He let his hand drift down to her shoulder. “I want you to come into town with me to collect the children this afternoon.”
Ivy nodded, and he could tell she didn’t much relish the thought of remaining here alone.
He doubted the man would attempt to return. But if he did, Andrew would be ready for him.
Chapter Seventeen
Ivy had never been so happy to see Oliver and Sarah as she was that afternoon. Their bright, happy faces seemed to chase away the lingering fear that her unwanted visitor had left behind. Oliver insisted on telling her how he’d remembered the names of each country in Europe, while Sarah claimed she now knew all the words and could read anything.
They waited in the wagon outside the small post office next to the depot. Andrew had gone inside to see about any mail that had arrived. They’d both been quiet on the ride into town, but Andrew had held her hand nearly the entire way. Ivy’s face went warm when she thought of the kiss they’d shared earlier. In his arms, she felt nothing would ever hurt her or the children. It was as if the miner and Mr. St. Clair never existed.
“Aunt Ivy, look! We’ve gotten something.” Oliver pointed at Andrew, who had emerged from the little building with a cream-colored envelope in his hand.
He and Sarah clung to the edge of the wagon box in anticipation. Even Ivy sat on the edge of her seat, hoping for word from Mama.
“It’s addressed to you,” Andrew said when he approached the wagon. He held the envelope out to Ivy before he climbed up.
Ivy took it, immediately recognizing Mama’s handwriting on the envelope. She wanted nothing more than to tear it open right there and savor each word, but a letter from home deserved better than that. “It’s from my mother. We’ll save it and read it out loud after supper tonight,” she said to Oliver and Sarah.
“Aww,” they said in unison.
“Good things are always worth waiting for.” Andrew’s words were for the children, but he looked at Ivy as he spoke them, and she wondered if he didn’t also mean them for her.
She gave him a shy smile, and he took her hand again.
Immediately after the supper dishes were cleared and Oliver and Andrew returned from feeding the animals, Ivy sat down with a kitchen knife and sliced open the envelope from home. She said a little prayer as she extracted the letter, hoping everyone was healthy, that Pa’s work was steady, that Luke might have finally proposed marriage to the girl he’d been sweet on for two years, and that no one had heard a word from Mr. St. Clair.
Oliver and Sarah sat at her feet, while Andrew made himself comfortable in the seat across from Ivy. She opened the letter and let the image of Mama’s elegant handwriting wash over her. It was the closest she could get to a hug from her mother, and she wanted to thoroughly enjoy the moment. Then she began to read the words out loud. Mama began by telling them that everyone was in good health and relaying the latest news from Plainfield. It was comforting to hear about friends and neighbors, and for a moment, Ivy felt as if she’d never left home. But one glance up at Andrew, who watched her with a quiet intensity, reminded her that she had. And that after these past several weeks, she wouldn’t trade her new life with him for anything.
Ivy returned her attention to the letter, where Mama had directed questions to Oliver and Sarah about their schooling and their new home. Ivy made a mental note to ask Oliver to write back on behalf of both himself and his sister.
Smiling, she turned the paper over to read the remainder of the letter. “Now I must tell you something of the greatest importance. Papa received word from the depot clerk that Edward St. Clair came—”
Ivy stopped reading. A rock larger than any of the boulders they’d seen on their picnic in the mountains earlier that summer seemed to settle in her stomach. She scanned the remainder of the paragraph, even as the paper began to shake in her hand.
Papa received word from the depot clerk that Edward St. Clair paid him a visit. Now, I don’t mean to alarm you, but he came to see us too, to retrieve the children, just last week. Your father told him what we’d agreed upon—that both you and the children had run off to parts unknown months ago, and we hadn’t word from you since then. He was angry, of course, but he left and we figured we’d seen the last of him. Well, apparently, he began asking around town about you. Of course, no one knew anything and couldn’t be of help to him. And thankfully, Mrs. Fay at the postal office can hardly remember her own name, much less to where we’ve sent letters. But Ivy—we forgot to ask Mr. McCutchin to be discreet. He told Mr. St. Clair that you’d used three tickets to Colorado that you hadn’t purchased from him. He couldn’t remember where in Colorado, though, so I’m confident you won’t be found. I wanted to let you know, though.
Mama signed the letter, wishing her well, and asking for news about the homestead, the children, and Andrew, but Ivy barely saw the words. What if Mr. St. Clair found them? What if he came to Colorado and spoke to a depot clerk in Denver or Cañon City who remembered them? What would he do to Andrew if he discovered she’d married him instead?
Ivy clutched her stomach. The precious time she’d spent here, safe and happy, was about to come to a horrible end.
Chapter Eighteen
“Ivy?” Andrew sat forward in his chair. She’d stopped reading abruptly, although her eyes followed the words on the page. He remembered St. Clair as the man who wished to take the children as his own. The one Andrew had understood would make an unkind, if not outright cruel, father.
Her face had gone white when she looked up at him. She handed him the letter without a word, then shooed the children out to the privy. He read the paragraph once, and then again. And as Ivy put the children to bed, he sat back and pondered the words. By the time Ivy returned to the parlor, he’d quelled any fear he had that this man might find Oliver and Sarah.
“It means nothing,” Andrew said. “Colorado is a large state, and we’re tucked away in this valley. He won’t find the children.”
Ivy looked up at him with terrified eyes. If he could, he’d make it so she never had to worry again about anything or anyone. He took her hand and held it between both of his.
“He’s not beyond paying people for information,” she said. “One of the clerks at the depot in Denver took a shine to Sarah and Oliver and gave them peppermint candies. He’d surely remember us if asked.”
Andrew shook his head. “There must be several men who work at multiple depots in Denver. His chances of speaking to the right person are low, and besides, if he did, it’s unlikely the man would remember where you might have traveled.”
Ivy chewed her lip for a moment before speaking again. “But he may. What will we do if Mr. St. Clair comes here?”
“I’ll simply tell him that as your husband, I’m now the children’s legal father. And to take them from our home would be against the law.”
“Except I’m not their mother.”
“Then we’ll go to the district judge and make it official.” Andrew paused. “If that’s all right with you?”
; A smile shined through her concern like the sun in a rain shower. “I would like that, very much.”
And with those words, Andrew realized how badly he wanted it too. To be Oliver and Sarah’s father was more than he’d ever bargained for when he placed that ad last winter, and yet now, it was everything he wanted. “Then we’ll take a day to go to Pueblo and meet with the judge. Unless he wants the law after him, this St. Clair can’t do anything once that’s all in place.” When Ivy still didn’t look entirely at ease, he added, “I promise. And if he does try, I promise to protect them with everything I have.”
“Thank you,” she said. He’d managed to coax a slight smile from her, but it wasn’t her usual one, the bright one that could turn night into day.
“I doubt he will, though. He doesn’t seem the type of man who’d want the attention of the law on him.”
Ivy cast her eyes downward, as if there was still something that worried her. Andrew let go of her hand and took her into his arms. She folded against him, her hands drifting up to clutch his back as if she needed him to remain upright.
“I’ll keep them safe,” he said.
She nodded, her head against his chest, but said nothing. He rested his chin on her head. Something felt missing, as if this were a piece of machinery without some critical gear or screw. He tried to dismiss the thought, but it held firm and made him uneasy.
There was something she wasn’t telling him.
Chapter Nineteen
Ivy could hardly sleep. The fear curled deeply inside and unfurled like a large flag each time she let her thoughts wander. As the children slept soundly around her, all she could think about was their uncle.
He’d find them. She knew he would. He had more resources and didn’t mind using intimidation to get what he wanted. And while he wanted the children to appease his parents, he wanted Ivy for himself. But even if he decided to respect her marriage to Andrew, he wouldn’t hesitate to take the children. She doubted Edward St. Clair would find himself intimidated at all by any Colorado judge’s decision. He’d take them back to Chicago and handle the consequences from there.
She’d never see them again.
And then there was the question of how angry he’d become once he discovered she was married. That she’d rejected him in favor of Andrew. What if he grew so incensed that he hurt Andrew?
The thought made her feel ill, and as they rose the next morning, she could hardly stomach the scent of the eggs and ham she made for breakfast.
“You need to eat,” Andrew said, resting his hands on her shoulders as she cut the remaining ham for the children’s lunch pail. Oliver and Sarah had gone outside to do their morning chores.
“I don’t feel well.” It was the honest truth. If she tried to eat, she knew it would turn out badly. “Andrew,” she said as she turned around, his hands still on her shoulders, a steadying, comforting force. “I want the children to stay home today.” She couldn’t bear the thought of having them away from her.
“I understand,” he said, and her heart lightened. “But I don’t think we should live in fear.”
Cold, dark terror crept in and drove out the sun. “If he arrives in Crest Stone, the schoolhouse will be one of the first places he visits.”
“It may be. But I’ll talk with the marshal after I bring them in this morning. Marshal Wright is a good, reasonable man. He’ll ensure no one approaches the schoolhouse who shouldn’t be there.”
Ivy swallowed. Mr. St. Clair would find a way. She knew he would. Panic began to rise in her chest, and she tried mightily to shove it back down. “I don’t know . . .”
“Please, trust me, Ivy.” Andrew dropped a gentle kiss on her forehead. “You received that letter how many days after he was in Plainfield? Surely, he would have arrived by now if he was coming. And if he’s been delayed—which I doubt—the marshal will ensure their safety.” He stepped back, an encouraging look on his face. “I love those children. I would never put them into danger.”
Ivy knew he meant that. She’d seen his love for Oliver and Sarah firsthand. She needed to trust him. She did trust him.
But she feared he didn’t know how ruthless Mr. St. Clair could be. There could be any number of reasons for his delay. He hadn’t found the right person to tell him where she’d gone yet. Or perhaps he knew and was biding his time before he arrived.
But what could they do? Lock themselves inside this house forever?
No, Andrew was right.
“I want to go with you,” she finally said.
Andrew nodded as if he’d expected her to say just that. “I’ll saddle the mules.”
But as she packed the children’s lunch pail, urged them out the door, and climbed onto Miriam with Sarah, she couldn’t shake the unease that sat deep down inside.
Was she doing the right thing?
#####
The minutes passed like hours. More than once, Ivy found herself staring out the window, her work inside the house forgotten. Images of Edward St. Clair strolling into the schoolhouse and absconding with Oliver and Sarah wouldn’t leave her mind. Maybe he’d use them to get to her. Or maybe he’d given up on her and only wanted the children to appease his family.
Either way, the worry coiled like a spring inside as she set beans to soak for supper and swept the bedrooms. It built as the morning wore on until she could concentrate on nothing at all except her own fear.
When Andrew arrived for the noon meal, she’d prepared nothing. The broom lay forgotten against the table, and she sat in a chair, twisting her hands together. Andrew shut the door behind him and sat in the chair nearest hers. He pulled off his work glove and rested a hand on her busy ones, stilling them.
“I can’t do this,” she said, looking up into his kind but concerned face. She wasn’t sure how it was possible, but he’d grown more handsome the more she’d gotten to know him. Now he watched her with a furrowed brow and a crease in his forehead.
“I’ll go to fetch them in a few hours and bring them back to you. And you’ll see that they’ll be just fine. The marshal’s keeping watch in town.” His warm hand curled around hers. Normally, she would have found his touch to be reassuring, comforting. But now . . .
“I can’t wait that long. I want to get them now.” She stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor she hadn’t yet swept.
“Ivy, I—”
“I can’t wait any longer,” she said again. “Every second they aren’t here is another second he could take them.”
“That won’t happen.” Andrew stood and placed his hands on her shoulders.
“How do you know it won’t? You’ve not met him, Andrew. You don’t know what he’s like.” Her voice rose as she spoke, mirroring the fear inside.
“I know what you’ve told me. But Marshal Wright won’t let anything happen to them.”
His hands began to feel like weights, holding her down. Keeping her from Oliver and Sarah. Ivy shrugged away from him. A dash of hurt crossed his face, but was gone a second later. He stepped forward, reaching for her again.
But she was too nervous, too afraid to stand still and let him comfort her. She needed to do something. She needed the children here with her. Now.
“I want to get them. Please.”
“They’re fine,” he said in a soothing voice. “How about I finish up my chores, and then we’ll go get them?”
Chores. He was choosing work over the children? “Finish up your chores?” she repeated in an empty voice.
“Yes,” Andrew said as if he weren’t shattering her heart. “I’ll get the work done, and then we’ll go into town a little early. How does that sound?”
Ivy shook her head slowly. He didn’t understand. “A little early” might be too late. Besides, he’d made it plainly clear that the work on this homestead was more important than the children’s safety.
Was this what had happened when his first wife died? Had he ignored danger then? Had he chosen work over her?
“Ivy,” he said, til
ting his head just a little, as if he was trying to understand what she wasn’t saying aloud.
“I’m going to get them. I’ll go alone if I have to.” She turned on her heel and marched into the parlor.
“You can’t go alone. It’s too dangerous.” He hurried after her. “Why don’t—”
He stopped speaking when she reached for the shotgun hanging on the wall. When she’d first cleaned the house, it was coated in dust, as if he’d never taken it hunting. She’d thought it strange then, and now he looked at her as if she were pointing it at him.
“I’ll take this for protection.” She scooped up the cartridges she’d seen before in the end table drawer. She didn’t add that she hadn’t the slightest idea how to use the weapon, or how to load it. Ivy supposed she’d figure that out if she needed to. It couldn’t be that difficult.
Andrew’s face had gone pale, the life had drained from his eyes. He swallowed visibly, and when he found his voice, it sounded as if he were dredging it up from somewhere underground. “Ivy, put that down. Please.”
There was a note of desperation in his words, but the panic growing inside her won out. “No. You don’t understand. I’m getting Oliver and Sarah now, and I’m taking this shotgun with me.”
His eyes hadn’t left the gun. What was he afraid of? That she’d point it the wrong direction and shoot herself? Considering she didn’t know how to operate it, it was unlikely she’d shoot anything at all. She moved to the door.
“I forbid you to leave with that gun,” he said. The words were strong but the voice speaking them wavered.
Ivy kept her hand on the doorknob, but turned to face her husband as anger welled up inside. He didn’t understand at all how dangerous Mr. St. Clair might be. “You can’t force me to stay here.”
“You’re my wife.”
A tornado, stronger than she’d ever seen on the Illinois plains, stirred inside her. Ivy lashed out, barely thinking about the words she was saying. “You can’t keep me here. Not unless you cause me to have an accident like you did Mary.”
