It surprised him somewhat, the relief he felt after escaping the congested rooms. In the midst of such parties was where he used to feel the most at home.
He strode along the veranda that fronted the lodge and curved around to one side. Wooden chairs with slatted backs were placed in groups on the covered portico, as if to invite people to lounge and visit with one another. He made his way to the far side and settled onto one of the chairs, pulling another up close and propping both of his feet onto its seat. Then he closed his eyes, thankful for the cool night air against his skin.
Cleo had seen Woody slip outside more than half an hour ago. When he didn’t return, she decided to go look for him. She told herself she didn’t want him to get lost in these mountains, wandering around in the night. It was as good an excuse as any to escape the hubbub.
Of course, as soon as she was outside, she discovered it wasn’t any too dark around the lodge. Light spilled from almost every window of the massive structure, illuminating the surroundings.
She made her way first to where the buggies, wagons, saddle horses, and several motorcars stood waiting for their owners to return. No sign of the dude in the back of the Arlington wagon. Maybe she should look for the boys. Randall or Stitch might know where Woody was.
She sure didn’t want to hike very far in this confounded dress her sister had fastened her into. Breathing was enough of a chore just standing and nodding to folks. How did society folk put up with such nonsense? Any woman who did a lick of work sure couldn’t mess with them. Why, she could barely sit down in this stupid corset that ran from bust to thigh.
Cleo moved toward the lodge, and that’s when she saw a man seated on the side veranda, light from indoors outlining his form. She walked in that direction until she knew for sure who it was.
“I thought we’d lost you, Woody,” she said as she approached the steps.
He didn’t move. “Sorry. You’re out of luck, Miss Arlington. I’m not lost.”
A smart quip rose to her lips, but before she could speak, another man’s voice—a familiar one—stopped her.
“Cleo?”
She turned around.
“Well, if that don’t beat all. It is you.”
“Hello, Mr. King.”
Tyler King whistled softly. “Look at you.” His gaze traveled up and down in a way she didn’t much care for. “Never knew there was that much woman hiding underneath your usual getup.”
She flinched, his words carrying a sting she hadn’t expected. “Are you here for the grand opening?”
“Me? No. That’s not my kind of shindig. I came up to see a friend who works here. Didn’t expect there’d be such a party.” He smiled that smile of his, the one that used to make her pulse race. “You need some company? Pity to be out here all by yourself, looking the way you do.” He took a step closer. “I’d be glad to sit and talk with you a spell. After all, we’re friends, you and me.”
How was she supposed to answer that? He was married and his wife was expecting his baby. While supposedly courting Cleo, he’d been taking Henrietta Hamilton, a girl of eighteen, into his bed. And now he thought they were friends? Did he have any idea how many tears she’d shed over him after she learned the truth? Did he know he’d broken her heart? Didn’t he—
“I beg to differ with you, sir. Miss Arlington is not out here by herself. She is with me.”
Surprised, Cleo glanced over her shoulder toward the veranda where Woody now stood, his hands resting on the railing, his gaze fastened on Tyler. Later she would have to analyze why Woody bothered to help her. But right now she wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Lifting her chin, she turned back to Tyler. “As you can see, I’m not in need of your company, Mr. King. Now if you’ll excuse me…”
She climbed the steps, shoulders straight and head high, to where Woody awaited her. When he offered his arm, she took it and the two of them headed for the lodge entrance.
He couldn’t possibly know what he’d done for her. Nor could she adequately express her gratitude. “Thank you, Mr. Statham,” she whispered after they turned the corner on the veranda.
“Don’t mention it, Miss Arlington.”
EIGHT
Despite not falling into bed until well after one in the morning, Cleo awakened at the usual time, the remnants of a dream fading away. She remembered nothing except that Woody had been in it. It didn’t take much to figure out why he’d been there. He had rescued her from her careening emotions last night. He hadn’t known a thing about her and Tyler, and yet somehow he’d understood she was distressed, caught between anger and the danger of tears.
She frowned. Why did Tyler still have the ability to upset her, all these months later? The wound he’d inflicted on her heart hadn’t been life threatening. In truth, she’d come to understand that she hadn’t loved him after all—not a deep and abiding love, not the kind that Gwen and Morgan felt for each other. Perhaps she’d suspected Tyler’s nature wasn’t all it appeared to be, even before she’d learned the truth. Perhaps God’s Spirit had warned her to beware.
And yet, when he’d said those things to her last night…
Again she recalled Woody’s rescue. How had he known she was upset? Her back had been to him and she’d been shadowed by the night. And yet he’d known.
“Miss Arlington is not out here all by herself. She is with me.”
Cleo rubbed her eyes with her fingertips as a sigh slipped through parted lips. She would have to thank Woody again when she got back to the ranch later today She and her father had spent the night as guests of the resort rather than travel home in the dark as so many others had, Woody, Stitch, and Randall included. Good thing he’d been with the boys from the ranch. She didn’t have to worry that he’d gotten himself lost.
“You must not think me very bright, Cleo, if you feared I would lose my way.”
She winced at the memory. He was right. Sometimes she treated him as if he had no smarts. She needed to stop it. Unhappiness with the task of supervising his work, of trying to turn an English dude into an American cowboy, was no excuse for the way she acted around him most of the time. She ought to give him some credit.
“I’ll do better,” she whispered as she shoved aside the blankets and sat up on the side of the bed.
Light filtered through the curtains at the windows, falling upon the pink gown she’d worn the previous night. Thank goodness she wouldn’t have to wear that wretched thing—or the required corset—again. She would leave them both here when she and her father left this morning. The dress was much more suited to Gwen than to Cleo. Her sister could have it shortened and let out in the bust and wear it herself
Cleo’s stomach growled, and she realized she was famished. She hadn’t eaten a thing last night because of the tightness of the dress. She hoped the dining room was open this early. If not, she just might look around the kitchen herself.
Cleo made short shrift of her morning ablutions before donning her Sunday dress—oh, how she wished she could slip into her boots and trousers instead—and heading down the stairs to the dining room. She supposed most of the resort’s guests would sleep late and take breakfast in their chambers, and she was right. Only two other people had reached the dining room before her. She wasn’t surprised by who they were.
“Morning, Dad. Morning, Daphne. Have you two been downstairs long?”
Daphne answered, “Not long. We just placed our breakfast order.” Morgan’s sister looked as lovely and put together as she had last night. “Did you sleep well?”
Cleo kissed her father’s cheek before sitting on the chair beside him. “Yes. But I wouldn’t have minded sleeping longer.”
“Wasn’t it a wonderful party?” Daphne lifted a cup of coffee with both hands and took a sip.
Cleo made a noncommittal sound in her throat as she watched a waiter approach the table. She recognized him as one of the servants who had catered to the guests last night. If she was tired, think how worn out he must be. The staff must have worked throug
hout the night putting the downstairs in order.
“Good morning, miss.” He smiled at her, all crisp politeness, as he poured coffee into her cup. “Do you know what you would like?”
“I’ll have the same as my father, whatever he ordered.”
“Very good, miss.” The waiter nodded, gave her another brief smile, and walked away.
Cleo chuckled. “Mighty la-di-da, isn’t it?”
Her father raised an eyebrow.
She shook her head. “This may be all well and good for Morgan’s wealthy guests, but if he means to bring ordinary folks in who can’t afford resort prices, he’d best think of ways to make them feel comfortable. I know I feel like a duck out of water in this dining room, let alone the rest of the place, and I’m family.”
Looking thoughtful, Daphne met Cleo’s gaze. “I hadn’t considered that.”
Cleo shrugged. Of course Daphne hadn’t considered it. Like her brother, she’d been raised in the lap of luxury. She was used to servants and big fancy houses and the best of everything. If Cleo understood her brother-in-law’s intentions, he’d be bringing in the poor and disadvantaged to receive treatment from the spa’s physicians and therapists. And this place would make plenty of them feel lost and more than a little lonely.
“You should tell Morgan,” Daphne said.
“Maybe I’ll do that. After church, I’ll have a talk with him.”
Sherwood must have been more than half asleep last night when Stitch asked if he would like to accompany him to church in the morning. That’s the only reason he could think of for saying yes.
So here he was, riding on this miserable buckboard for the second time in little more than eight hours when he could have been lying on his bed in the bunkhouse, enjoying a leisurely morning without chores.
“You’ll like Reverend Barker,” Stitch said, breaking the silence that had stretched between them for a number of miles. “He’s a fine preacher. I’ve been attending the Methodist church right along with the Arlingtons since I first came to work at the ranch, and the people there are friendly to everyone. They’ll make you feel right at home. I reckon you’ll be glad you came.”
Stitch was wrong. Sherwood already regretted whatever moment of weakness had put him on this wagon. And no matter how nice the Arlingtons or the McKinleys or anyone else was to him, he wouldn’t feel at home. Nothing would feel normal to him until he was back in England where he belonged. Where the air smelled of rain on a morning’s breeze. Where the countryside lay a deep verdant green. Where the taste of food was familiar. Where the sound of voices didn’t grate on his ears. And where he knew exactly what was expected of him—the youngest son of a duke—whether or not he chose to do it.
The first thing a person saw on the road that led into Bethlehem Springs was a church, but as Stitch pointed out, it was the Presbyterian church. They were headed for the Methodist church. The cowboy turned the wagon onto Wallula Street and they rolled past the mercantile where Sherwood had bought his new work clothes almost a week ago. Two uneven blocks after that, Stitch guided the team around a sharp turn onto Shenandoah Street.
“That’s the boarding house on the right there,” the cowboy said. “School’s up there on the left. And that there’s our church.” He pointed with his right hand.
The Bethlehem Springs Methodist Church was small and square, made of white clapboard with a simple steeple above its narthex. Horses and buggies were tied to posts on the side and behind the building, and people could be seen walking toward the front entrance from several directions. Very different from the gray stone chapel on the Dunacombe estate, only rarely attended by any of the Stathams and not a great number of employees and tenants the rest of the time.
Stitch stopped the wagon, and the two men got down from the seat. It wasn’t until they were almost to the front door of the church that Sherwood saw Cleo Arlington on the sidewalk, talking to two women in simple shirtwaist dresses, pale tops over dark skirts, very similar to her own. When Cleo glanced up and saw him, there was no mistaking the surprise in her eyes.
It almost made the miserable trip into town worth it.
She said something to her friends and then walked toward him and Stitch. “Morning.” Her gaze flicked between them but settled on Sherwood. “I didn’t know we would see you in church today.”
“I didn’t know you would either.”
Stitch cleared his throat, excused himself, and went inside.
“You must have gotten to bed mighty late last night. That’s a long ride back to the ranch from the resort.” She sounded uncertain.
“It was quite late, indeed.”
She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. “Folks are real excited about the opening of the resort and all the guests who are staying up there. Everyone in town’s talking about it. I’m so glad for Morgan and Gwen.”
Sherwood nodded.
“We…we should go in.” She glanced toward the doorway. “The service will begin soon.”
“Then I suppose we should.”
“Woody…” She looked at him once more. “I…I’d like to thank you again for what you did last night.” Her cheeks grew pink.
“It wasn’t anything.”
“Yes, it was something. You did me a kindness, and I’m grateful. I won’t soon forget it.”
He was seeing a new side of Miss Cleo Arlington. No swaggering confidence here. Maybe it was the dress. She’d been uncertain last night as well. Maybe when you took away her boots, trousers, and hat—
“We’d best go in,” she repeated, starting for the door with that long stride of hers—a stride unchecked by the hem of the skirt that whispered about her ankles.
Not so different after all.
Cleo was glad when Woody didn’t follow her up the aisle to the Arlingtons’ usual pew. When she glanced over her shoulder, she saw him settled into the back row next to Stitch. Good. She didn’t want anyone thinking they were together. It was bad enough a few people from town had seen her last night reentering the lodge on his arm. She didn’t want any busybodies getting the idea that she was sweet on some dandy greenhorn. Which she most certainly wasn’t.
Kenneth Barker, the minister at Bethlehem Springs Methodist Church, was in fine form that morning. His sermon was out of the Gospel of John and carried a warning against a person looking over his shoulder and asking Jesus, “What about him?”
“Whenever we do that, whenever we compare ourselves with another or wonder why that other person doesn’t seem to suffer as we do, Jesus will always answer us in the same way He answered Peter. ‘What is that to thee? Follow thou me.’ It’s important that we keep our eyes focused on what God wants to do in our lives. When we follow and trust Him, we can never go astray.”
Cleo found herself nodding. Of course it was never good to compare. Wasn’t that why she didn’t want anyone trying to change her to be like her sister or, for that matter, any other woman? She’d never heard the Lord telling her that she needed to wear a dress in order to follow Him. Naturally she dressed nicer when coming to church, but this wasn’t where she lived and worked, day in and day out. Imagine being in this getup while shoeing a horse or breaking a bronc. Ha!
She wondered what Gwen would have to say when they discussed the sermons over Sunday dinner. Gwen and their father could debate the fine points of theology until the chickens came home to roost and love every minute of it. Cleo didn’t mind listening to them for a while, but there had been times in the past when they’d worn her out with it. Now that Morgan and Daphne were part of the family, those discussions had grown much shorter in duration. Thank goodness.
The congregation rose to sing one last hymn while the reverend walked to the front door so he could shake the hands of everyone as they left the church. Even before the final strains of the pump organ faded from the air, Jedidiah Winston, the Crow County sheriff, stepped across the aisle to shake Cleo’s father’s hand.
“That was quite the event up at the resort last night,” he sai
d.
Griff answered, “Yes, it was. A fine evening.”
The sheriff looked at Cleo. “And you, my good woman, were a surprise to one and all.”
“If you mean the dress, that was Gwen’s idea.”
“A nice one, I must say.”
“You wouldn’t think so if you’d had to wear it.”
The two men broke into laughter. Well, they could laugh. No one would ever try to stuff them into anything like it and think they were doing them a favor.
Cleo slipped from the pew and started down the aisle toward the exit. Up ahead of her, she saw Stitch introducing Woody to a number of other men. She also noticed Rose Winston, the sheriff’s unmarried daughter, look at Woody, see the angry scar, and look quickly away, an expression of revulsion on her face as she scurried past him.
As if he has a contagious disease or something.
Was that how most folks reacted when they looked him in the face? She hadn’t considered that before. She’d thought mostly about his leg, how the pain and stiffness affected his life. Sure, the scar was red and ragged, but it was just a scar and she’d seen worse ones. How about old man Hampstead, who’d been mauled by a grizzly over in the Tetons country five years back? Or Mooney O’Rourke, who’d been caught in the mine collapse back in aught-three? Seemed to her Woody had plenty to be thankful for. From the look of it, he was lucky he hadn’t lost his eye.
The subject of her thoughts glanced away from Stitch and the others, saw her approach, and gave a slight nod.
She hadn’t meant to speak to him again. She’d already said all she had to say before the service began. She’d thanked him for his kindness the previous night. She’d made him welcome to her church. That was plenty. But despite her former intentions, she stopped and said, “What did you think? I told you Reverend Barker was a fine preacher.”
“Yes. Indeed.” He glanced beyond her shoulder. “Good morning, Griff.”
Her father extended a hand. “Welcome to our church, Sherwood. Glad to see you here.”
Sometimes in life there’s that split second when a person knows beyond question what’s going to happen next. That’s how it was for Cleo.
The Sisters of Bethlehem Springs Collection Page 28
