Within My Heart

by Tamera Alexander

  “What’s an ap-pe-tizer?”

  Listening as Mitch explained to his younger brother, Rachel was surprised when Rand climbed up beside her. She made room on the bench seat, noticing how nice he looked, his suit pressed and cleaned, and how he smelled—she breathed in. Mmmm . . . bay rum and spice. She’d take that as her appetizer any day.

  He gestured to the reins in her hands. “Would you mind if I drove?”

  “Would you mind telling me where we’re going first?”

  He narrowed his eyes as though seriously considering her request, all the while moving a hand closer to the reins. “Would you mind if I didn’t?”

  She held them just out of his reach, determined to keep the sparkle from her eyes, but apparently failing miserably judging by the one in his. She would’ve sworn he’d said they were going to Miss Clara’s, but thinking back on it now, she wasn’t sure.

  “Biscuits!” Mitch leaned over the bench seat, crowding between them and holding out the tin plate. “Miss Clara made us biscuits. And they’re still warm.”

  “They got butter on ’em too.” Kurt wriggled in beside his brother, draping an arm over Rand’s shoulder. “Can we eat ’em now, Dr. Brookston? Since they’re supposed to come first?”

  Rand glanced her way, question in his eyes.

  Rachel studied the three boyish expressions staring back at her and grinned. “Only if I can have one too!” She grabbed a biscuit and, with a look of playful warning, handed Rand the reins. Whatever he had planned for this evening, she strongly suspected it wasn’t going to be “just dinner.”

  She was certain she’d figured out Rand’s surprise—until he drove on past his clinic, then past the street where James and Molly lived. When he guided the team onto the road leading out of town, her concern notched up considerably. She attempted a casual tone. “Where are we going?”

  Focused ahead, Rand smiled. “You don’t like surprises?”

  “Of course I like surprises. As long as I know what they are beforehand.”

  He grinned. “Only problem is . . . then they wouldn’t be surprises.”

  The wagon bounced and jostled over the washboard road, and she gripped the side of the seat. She glanced down at her simple shirtwaist and skirt, then at the stains darkening her hem. She was dressed well enough for Miss Clara’s, so were the boys, but . . . “Rand . . .”

  He looked over at her, traces of boyish enthusiasm in his features.

  She hesitated, not wanting to hurt his feelings, especially if he planned on taking them where she feared he was taking them. The expense alone made her uncomfortable, but add to that their lack of proper attire. “The boys and I . . .” She leaned closer, not wanting Mitch and Kurt to hear. “We’re not dressed appropriately for the restaurant at the resort.”

  “Good,” he said succinctly. “Because that’s not where we’re eating.”

  “Oh . . . well . . . fine, then.” She sat back, feeling presumptuous and vain.

  “But just so you know . . .” His gaze moved from her eyes to her mouth, then slowly took in the rest of her. “No matter what you’re wearing, Rachel, you’ll be the most beautiful woman in the room.” With a satisfied look, he faced forward.

  Not knowing how to respond, she didn’t even try. How did he do that? How did he look at her that way without making her feel uneasy, or as if he were having thoughts he shouldn’t? She didn’t know. But one thing was certain—she definitely didn’t need her shawl. Fanning herself discreetly, she let it slip from her shoulders.

  The boys chattered behind them, but she heard only snatches of their conversation over the wagon’s rumble—something about how far they could jump, and from how high a perch. She knew by Kurt’s tone that he was trying to best Mitch’s estimate, whatever it had been. Would there forever be this competition between them?

  “How was your dinner earlier this week?”

  Knowing exactly what he meant, she gave him a sideways glance, surprised at the question and recognizing his attempt at a casual air. “It was nice. We ate at Miss Clara’s and had pork chops and new potatoes. I thought about ordering pie, but decided against it.”

  Purposefully sighing, she stared out across the fields, relishing the dry look he was no doubt giving her. After a moment, she grinned. “My meeting with Mr. Westin went very well, thank you. He’s already sent a telegram on my behalf requesting information and pricing on the cattle. He said we might hear something back as early as next week.”

  In the silence that followed, she discovered she really would have liked to have known his opinion—but not enough to ask for it. Especially when she had a fairly good idea what his suggestion would be.

  On either side of the road, the brown-clad landscape still wore its winter coat, and the surrounding mountains, flocked in snow to the highest peaks, spoke a similar refrain. The sky yawned a cloudless blue overhead, and she leaned back enough to watch Rand without him knowing. “I’m sorry the building beside the store didn’t work out. It would have been perfect for a clinic.”

  “Yes, it would have.” He shrugged. “But the way I see it, things have worked out the way they were supposed to.”

  “How’s that?”

  “If Westin hadn’t bought that building, then Ben wouldn’t be able to provide for Lyda’s future the way he wants to. Ben and I talked for a while yesterday while Lyda was in town. He and Westin are moving forward with the plans to expand the store. Westin’s making good progress too. Have you been by there recently?”

  “Not since last week.”

  “They’ve already got doorways cut through to the other building and shelving going up. According to Ben, he and Westin are broadening their stock to carry almost twice the items they do now.”

  Hearing that news was bittersweet. “Lyda’s been after Ben to do that for years, but they didn’t have the space.” Or the money, she knew. They rode in silence until she spotted the resort in the distance. “I thought you said we weren’t going to the resort.”

  He smiled. “Don’t you trust me?”

  Ignoring his hurt look, she leveled her gaze, insinuating she’d rather not answer that question.

  “I never said we weren’t going there. What I indicated was that we weren’t eating at the resort’s restaurant.” His attention remained on the road. “You really don’t like surprises, do you?”

  Hearing a hint of disappointment in his voice, she sighed. “Saying it that way makes it sound as if I don’t know how to enjoy myself—which I do.” She picked a piece of grass from her skirt. “I simply like to know what’s coming, so I can be prepared.”

  He cut his gaze her way, his laughter rich. “I enjoy your company, Mrs. Boyd. Very much.” He looked toward the mountains, and a moment passed before he spoke again. “I’d hoped we might be able to bring Ben home tomorrow, but he’s developed a cough deep in his chest, and I don’t want to risk it. After discussing it with him and Lyda, they agreed. The rest and nutrition they’re getting at the resort is good, for both of them. And all the construction going on at the store right now—the sawdust and nails pounding—wouldn’t be conducive to Ben getting the rest he needs.”

  She agreed and was grateful Ben and Lyda had too. “Do you think the cough’s related to his heart?”

  “More than likely it’s the fluid on his lungs.”

  “So you think it’s already gathering that quickly again?”

  “I’m sure of it, just like it did before.”

  She looked up at him. “But you can perform the procedure again. Right?”

  “After he regains his strength—if we can get Ben to agree to it.”

  The way he said it made her think he’d already tried to convince Ben, and failed.

  The wagon jolted hard to the right, dropping into a deep rut, and Rachel grabbed hold of the seat. Rand put his arm out, securing her beside him. He glanced back. “You boys okay back there?”

  Boyish laughter erupted. “Do that again, Dr. Brookston! That was fun!”

  Smi
ling, Rand looked over at her. “You’ve got yourself a couple of pistols back there.”

  “Don’t I know.” She rolled her eyes, realizing he didn’t know the half of it. Not in regard to Kurt, anyway. Not at all bothered by Rand’s closeness, she found herself a tiny bit disappointed when he moved back to his side of the bench seat.

  She glanced back at the boys, remembering the ink-on-Miss-Stafford’s-drawer-pulls stunt. She’d written yet another note of apology to Miss Stafford, as had Kurt, and she’d hand-delivered them both. But Miss Stafford’s reaction proved to be especially cool this time, her behavior bordering on rude. Yet when Rachel put herself in the young teacher’s place, she couldn’t say she blamed her. For Kurt’s punishment, Rachel had assigned him a month of extra chores in the barn, but she honestly didn’t feel as if that was addressing the issue. But what was the issue? Only God knew, and she prayed constantly that He would show her.

  The closer they got to the resort, the more conspicuous Rachel began to feel.

  Three large carriages, two of them covered and all of them far nicer than a farm wagon, were parked in front of the resort entrance. Rand guided the wagon to a stop beside them, and a boy who looked no older than Kurt, dressed in a crisp white shirt and black trousers, raced to meet them.

  “Good evening, Signore Brookston.” Holding the bridle of the lead mare, the boy offered a half bow to Rachel.

  Once down, Rand slipped the boy a coin. “Thank you, Gino.”

  Mitch and Kurt catapulted out of the wagon, staring up at the resort, eyes wide.

  “This is where we’re eatin’?” Kurt said none too quietly.

  Rachel put a finger to her lips, glancing at Rand, who was still speaking to the young Italian boy. “I’m not exactly sure. But please, you must both be on your best behavior. Do you understand?”

  They both agreed, jaws hanging slightly open.

  The vistas were stunning from this vantage point, the Rocky Mountains breathtaking in their splendor and height. And she could well imagine how they would look draped in a crimson sunset.

  Rand came up behind her, briefly touching the small of her back. “Shall we go inside?”

  Holding her gently by the elbow, he led the way.

  28

  Good evening, Dr. Brookston.” With a stately bow, a handsome Italian man greeted them on the porch and held open the wide ornate doors. “Mrs. Boyd, how nice of you and your sons to join us. I hope you very much enjoy your evening here, ma’am.”

  If she wasn’t mistaken, Rachel caught a glint of amusement in the man’s eyes when he glanced at Rand. And how did he know her name? She couldn’t recall having met him before. “Thank you, sir.” Smiling, she gave a brief curtsey. “I’m certain we will.”

  She ushered Mitch and Kurt on ahead of her, wanting to keep an eye on them. Guests crowded the lobby for the dinner hour, and Rachel’s earlier recollection of their elegance was confirmed in the hand-beaded gowns of silk and taffeta, accentuated by the sparkle of bejeweled necklines and wrists glistening in the lamplight. Everywhere she looked there were flowers. Brandon Tolliver must have ordered them by the hundreds from the hothouses in Denver. No telling how much that cost him. Then it dawned on her.

  The coming weekend was the grand opening. In the blur of recent life, she’d forgotten.

  Rand appeared at her side. “I hope you don’t mind, but we’re going to escape all this.”

  “With pleasure,” she whispered and indicated for the boys to follow, pleased at how well they were behaving. For the time being, at least.

  Again Rand surprised her when they passed the Health Suite. She tugged on his sleeve, slowing her steps. “Do you think we could stop in and see Ben and Lyda for a moment? The boys would like to say hello, and I’d like to show them where you performed Ben’s surgery.”

  He glanced down the hall, then stepped closer. “I promise, we’ll do both of those things before the evening’s over. But for now, we have reservations we need to keep.”

  She glanced at the boys, then back at the Health Suite, a little disappointed Rand had not been more sensitive to her request. Then again, she had the impression he’d gone to a great deal of trouble to plan the evening.

  “Shall we?” he said softly, offering his arm.

  She tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and they continued down the hallway, the boys beside them, gawking and whispering to each other.

  When they rounded the corner, a young woman standing by a door at the far end straightened in recognition. Rachel remembered her. Brandon Tolliver’s assistant.

  “Dr. Brookston, I’m so glad you arrived.” Warm welcome shone in Miss Valente’s face. “Mrs. Boyd, how are you this evening?”

  “Very well, thank you,” Rachel answered, and made quick introductions between Miss Valente and the boys. Rachel couldn’t remember a more polite staff, which was befuddling considering Brandon Tolliver’s demanding, ill-tempered disposition. Rand had shared with her that Mr. Tolliver was not at all pleased with Ben and Lyda’s continued presence at the resort, but apparently Rand had managed to reach some sort of agreement with him.

  A glimmer similar to that in the doorman’s smile shone in Miss Valente’s as well. “Everything is prepared as you requested, Dr. Brookston. If there’s anything else you require”—she directed the statement to all of them—“please ask for me.”

  “Thank you, Miss Valente.” Rand briefly took her hand. “For everything.”

  “It is very little, Doctor, compared to what you have done for us.” Miss Valente’s retreating footsteps barely made a sound on the plush carpet.

  Rand winked at the boys. “Are you ready to eat?”

  At their simultaneous nod, he opened the door.

  For a moment, Rachel could only stare. She heard a gasp, then quickly realized it had come from her. She stepped into the private dining room, her focus drawn to the sweeping view that lay beyond the panoramic window—the vista she had admired just moments ago. Only now a sunset of crimson and gold blazed over the whitecapped peaks. Her gaze went to the table set with china and crystal, and with flickering candles spiraling high, and to where Ben and Lyda sat waiting.

  Ben peered around the candelabra and waved. Lyda grinned and scrunched her shoulders as though the excitement of the experience was too much to hold inside. Rachel couldn’t have agreed more.

  She heard Rand whispering beside her and turned to see him on his knees, eye level with Mitch and Kurt. The boys hung on his every word. She couldn’t hear what he was saying, but her sons each shook his hand as if sealing a deal. They walked to the table, looking more like little men than boys at the moment. They hugged their uncle Ben and aunt Lyda, then slipped into their seats.

  Emotion welling in her throat, Rachel tried to etch the details and nuances of the moment into her memory, wanting to be able to take it out and relive this feeling again. She’d forgotten what it had felt like to be cherished, to be treated with such forethought and tender concern. There had been moments like this with Thomas, but he’d been gone for so long it seemed. . . .

  And until recent days, until Rand—her throat tightened to an ache—she’d not allowed herself to imagine what it would be like to have that kind of love in her life again.

  “May I escort you to your chair, madam?”

  Blinking back tears, she nodded, warming beneath Rand’s attention. He showed her to her seat and lingered for a second, tenderly caressing her shoulder before taking his chair.

  Servers promptly appeared with delicate crystal bowls of chilled fruit—bits of apples, oranges, and pears—all covered with a tangy sauce that tasted of summer and of warmer climes. Next came an entrée that Rachel didn’t recognize, but that Francesca, the woman serving them, explained was the specialty of the resort.

  “It is called lasagna, madam,” she said, her accent thick and her enunciation flawless. “The recipe belonged to my great-grandmother—God rest her soul.”

  Rachel’s mouth watered at the layers of melt
ed cheese, meat, and noodles. “It looks delicious.” And the aroma . . . heavenly.

  Servers replenished baskets of hot crusty bread and butter before they were even emptied, and Rachel knew her boys would be talking about this meal, and this evening, for weeks to come.

  Ben grinned from across the table, raising his wineglass. “It’s good eatin’ here, isn’t it?”

  Rachel laughed and lifted hers in suit. “It most certainly is.”

  In the midst of her laugh she caught Lyda’s gaze, and they stared at one another for a moment, the conversation and laughter swirling about them. Instinctively she knew what Lyda was thinking and could almost feel the solid tick-tick-tick of the clock, and of the passing of their time remaining with Ben.

  Then Lyda blinked. Focused joy returned to her eyes. And again Rachel understood. Lyda didn’t want to think about any of that tonight, about life without Ben. And neither did she.

  Somewhere between dessert and coffee, when listening ears and watching eyes were occupied, Rachel leaned close to Rand. “Thank you,” she whispered so only he could hear. “And to answer your earlier question . . . yes, Rand, I trust you.”

  Later, seated by the hearth in the Health Suite, Rachel giggled as she watched Rand and the boys huddled together over a microscope.

  “Dr. Brookston, I can see his legs!” Kurt peered down through the lens at the bug. “And they’re hairy!”

  “And look at his eyes,” Mitch added, jostling his brother out of the way for another quick peek. “His eyes are huge!”

  Enjoying their banter, Rachel glanced at the patient room where Ben and Lyda had stayed for almost two weeks. The absence of light beneath the door told her they were already in bed. They’d enjoyed the evening as much as she had and appreciated what Rand had done, but Ben was ready to go home. He’d said as much to her following dinner. Lyda was ready too, in a way, but Lyda also wanted Ben to be where he could receive the best care, which was at the resort, with Rand, for the time being. A cough had started deep in Ben’s chest, and Rachel feared his being up and about had taxed his strength more than he’d let on. Still, she was grateful Rand had included her dear friends. It couldn’t have been a more perfect evening.