The Sisters of Bethlehem Springs Collection

by Robin Lee Hatcher

  “Will you join us for Sunday dinner at Morgan and Gwen’s?” her father asked. “You’ll have a chance to get acquainted with Daphne, Morgan’s sister. She told me this morning she never got to meet you last night.”

  “That’s jolly good of you, sir, but I—

  “We’d love to have you. Wouldn’t we, Cleo?”

  She felt like reminding her father that they weren’t in the habit of inviting any of the other ranch hands to Sunday dinner with the family, but she couldn’t very well do so right in front of Stitch and Woody.

  Stitch grinned as if he’d been given a gift. “Go with Griff, Sherwood. I’ve got a lady friend here in town, and I just might get my own Sunday dinner invite, if I play my cards right.” He winked at Griff.

  Woody looked uncertain. “I wouldn’t want—”

  Stitch placed a hand on Woody’s shoulder. “You’d be doin’ me a favor. I can’t very well go calling with you along, now can I?”

  “It’s settled, then.” Griff grinned. “You’ll stay and have dinner with us, then we can all ride back to the ranch together.”

  Cleo swallowed a sigh. For whatever reason, it seemed that Woody was being admitted into the inner circle of the Arlington family and there was no stopping it. Why was beyond her. He was a stranger to everyone but Morgan, and even Morgan didn’t seem to know him all that well. It wasn’t like they’d been bosom buddies or anything. Woody only worked at the ranch because her brother-in-law was doing a favor for somebody half a world away.

  It took another twenty-five minutes before the Arlingtons and their British ranch hand made it to the buggy. There were always lots of friends to talk to after church, and everyone seemed to have questions about the resort and the previous night’s big event.

  When at last they reached their buggy, Cleo was about to step into the backseat, knowing it would be more difficult for Woody to do so, but he stopped her.

  “I’ll sit in back.”

  She glanced over her shoulder. “I don’t mind. It’s—”

  His voice was firm. “I’ll sit in back.” He held out his hand, offering his assistance.

  She didn’t need his help. In fact, she would have liked to tell him not to be stupid. But after a moment’s hesitation, she placed her hand on top of his and held on as she stepped into the buggy. Maybe it was being in a dress that did this to her. She couldn’t be herself, couldn’t seem to think straight when she wore a skirt.

  Tarnation, but it was inconvenient.

  NINE

  This was the third time since his arrival eight days earlier that Sherwood had sat down for a meal with the extended Arlington family. He was growing more used to their lively conversation and teasing banter, their frequent bursts of laughter, even the occasional odd turn of phrase that left him trying to decipher its meaning.

  Now, as they awaited the serving of dessert, Griff and his son-in-law and two daughters sat deep in discussion about a state law that was expected to pass and how they thought it would affect the citizens of Bethlehem Springs.

  Daphne McKinley, seated on Sherwood’s left, leaned closer and said, “I hope we aren’t boring you.”

  “Boring me? No, Miss McKinley. On the contrary, I find I’m never bored when with the Arlingtons.”

  Her eyes twinkled with mirth. “That’s exactly how I felt when I met them. I came to visit my brother for the summer, but I liked his future in-laws and Bethlehem Springs so much that I decided to stay. And since Gwen no longer needed her cozy little house on Wallula Street, I promptly made it my own and have never been so content.”

  Settling here seemed an odd choice for a pretty, intelligent, and wealthy young woman, but Sherwood kept that opinion to himself.

  Daphne McKinley was a great deal like her brother in both looks and temperament. She shared his coloring—black hair, brown eyes, medium-toned complexion—and there was something about the look in her eyes that said she never missed a thing, that she was always watching, observing, processing, analyzing. As he recalled, she was ten years younger than Morgan; at the time Morgan and their mother, Danielle McKinley, were at Dunacombe Manor, Daphne had been in boarding school.

  “I’m told you’re a friend of Marjorie Lewis,” she said, intruding on his train of thought.

  He pictured the young woman he’d seen at last night’s celebration. Friend? Hardly. “Miss Lewis and I were introduced four years ago when she was in England.”

  “How very gentlemanly of you, not to contradict her claim to friendship.” Daphne smiled. “Marjorie is prone to exaggeration.”

  He gave a small shrug.

  “I am sorry you and I didn’t have a chance to become acquainted before today. Mother spoke fondly of you and your family. She was so grateful for your many kindnesses to her during her stay in England.” The sparkle in her eyes faded, and she lowered her gaze to her hands, folded before her.

  “I was sorry to learn of your mother’s passing.”

  “Thank you,” she said softly. Then she drew a breath, straightened her shoulders, and looked up again. “At least we know she’s in heaven, and Morgan and I shall see both her and our father again. That brings us great comfort.” A whisper of a smile curved her pretty mouth, as if to prove her point.

  Sherwood thought of the men he’d seen die in France, but he found no comfort in picturing them in heaven. Their deaths had been brutal and bloody, painful, and, most of all, senseless. They’d been young men with their lives still before them. What purpose had been served by their deaths? What purpose would be served by the deaths of those still to come on the western and eastern fronts? Didn’t God care what was happening? And if He did, why didn’t He put an end to it?

  “Lord Sherwood, where did you go?”

  He met Daphne’s gaze. “I’m sorry. I was…thinking of something else.”

  Perhaps his expression revealed more than he wanted it to. Or perhaps his dinner companion merely thought it time to change the subject to something more cheerful. Whatever the reason, she glanced across the table and said, “Wasn’t Cleo a vision in that evening gown she wore to the party?”

  Cleo must have heard her name, for she turned her attention from her father and sister to Daphne and Sherwood.

  Daphne grinned. “I was saying to Lord Sherwood how beautiful you looked last night. That shade of pink becomes you as much as it does Gwen.”

  Cleo rolled her eyes.

  Grimmer thoughts gave way to amusement. “I believe, Miss McKinley, that look she’s giving you means Cleo was miserable in the aforementioned gown.”

  “Why does everyone go on about it so much?” Cleo glared at the two of them. “There were gowns a whole lot fancier in those rooms last night. It was just a dress, for pity’s sake. Has anybody made a point of saying that you looked handsome in your tuxedo?”

  “You thought I looked handsome?”

  Her mouth opened and closed as her eyes registered several emotions by turn. Astonishment. Dismay. Embarrassment.

  He hadn’t meant to upset her. He’d been teasing, the same way the family around this table always seemed to tease one another. In truth, her comment had given him a moment of pleasure. That anyone should think him handsome for any reason seemed an impossibility. That it should be Cleo—

  She shoved her chair back so hard it fell over. “You’re as full of wind as a horse with colic if you’re thinking I called you handsome.” She threw her napkin at him. “I’m going for a walk.”

  A few moments after Cleo left the dining room, the slam of the front door echoed through the house, amplified by the silence that had gripped those remaining around the table. All eyes turned toward Sherwood.

  “I do apologize,” he said, looking at Griff. “I didn’t mean to upset her.”

  Daphne touched his shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault, Lord Sherwood. It was mine. I was the one who brought up the dress.”

  “So that’s what got under her craw,” Griff said softly.

  Gwen rose from her chair. “I should go afte
r her. It’s my fault she’s upset. I’m the one who bought the gown for her. You know how much she wants people to like her the way she is.”

  Griff stayed her with a shake of his head. “Leave her be. Let her walk it off. You can talk to her when she gets back.”

  Cleo strode along Skyview Street, every so often kicking at a rock with the toe of her boot. She was ashamed of herself for losing her temper and storming out, but she wasn’t ready to go back and tell anyone so. Not yet. She needed to calm down first.

  “You thought I looked handsome?”

  That wasn’t what she’d said, and it sure wasn’t what she’d meant. Handsome? She didn’t give two hoots about Woody’s appearance, one way or the other. And it wasn’t because of that scar either. She just didn’t care what he looked like because he didn’t matter to her. He was a silly dandy who’d disrupted her life for the next year. That was all.

  She felt a twinge of discomfort. He wasn’t silly. He’d done her a favor last night, and she’d intended to be nicer to him because of it. She’d meant to stop judging him, to quit treating him with disrespect. But it wasn’t like they were friends or even needed to be. He worked for her father, and she was his boss. Should he be asking his boss if she thought him handsome?

  When she reached the cross street, she had the option of turning right and going down the hillside into town or turning left and following the road up the hillside into the forest. She turned left.

  Soon, the only sounds she heard were her own footsteps, the chatter of chipmunks, and the chirping of birds. The underbrush had come to life with the arrival of spring, green buds shooting up everywhere, and the air was thick with the scent of pine. Here in the forest, the temperature was a few degrees lower, and that seemed to help cool her temper. She stopped walking and looked up through the towering lodgepole pines. “I’m sorry, God. I know I should check with You first thing when I start to get angry. And I don’t mean to be thin skinned. But if Woody hadn’t said what he—”

  She shut her mouth, cutting off the excuse. Was she trying to repent of her behavior or trying to justify it instead?

  “I’m full of good intentions.” She began walking again, hands now clasped behind her back, and her gaze lowered. “What is it folks say? The road to hell is paved with good intentions? Reckon they’re right about that.”

  With an inhaled breath, she turned around and started back toward the McKinley home. No point putting off what had to be done. If she’d learned anything in her lifetime, it was that obedience really was better than sacrifice, just like the Good Book said. Once she knew what God wanted done, it always made sense to act on it right away. Right now He wanted her to get right with her family—and Woody too.

  Somehow she’d known she would find Gwen sitting on the veranda swing, waiting for her return. Cleo gave her a meek smile, and her sister nodded in understanding.

  As Cleo went up the steps, she said, “I’m sorry for storming out that way, Gwennie.”

  “And I’m sorry I coerced you into wearing something you didn’t want to wear.”

  “The dress wasn’t all that bad. I shouldn’t’ve made such a fuss about it.” Cleo drew a deep breath and let it out. “I reckon I’d best go in and apologize to the rest of them while I’m at it.”

  “It can wait.” Gwen patted the seat beside her. “Come and join me.”

  Cleo shrugged, then moved toward her sister.

  “It’s a beautiful day.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Can you believe that a year ago none of us had met Morgan or thought much about the resort? I certainly never dreamed that I would be doing anything other than teaching piano and writing for the newspaper. So much has happened in such a short space of time.”

  “True enough.”

  Gwen placed a hand on her stomach. “And more changes are coming.”

  “You haven’t told anybody but the family, have you? About the baby, I mean.”

  “No, other than Doc Winston, just the family knows. I’m not too sure how some members of the town council will meet the news of my pregnancy. Not all of them are delighted to be working with a woman mayor in the first place. I don’t want to give them another reason to doubt my abilities.”

  “Land o’ Goshen! That just doesn’t make sense. They’ve had the better part of a year to find out what you can do. What’s having a baby got to do with you having a brain and the sense to use it? Makes me mad enough to spit to know they still haven’t accepted you the way they ought.”

  Gwen laughed softly. “You expect too much too soon, Cleo. Remember, most women in America cannot even cast a vote. I’ve only been in office nine months. Those men have a lifetime of thinking to change.”

  “I guess.” Cleo gave a little push with her foot to set the swing in motion. “All the same…” She let the sentence fade into silence, unfinished. Gwen was right. Change took time. But an apology was always best when made sooner rather than later. “I’d better go speak my piece.”

  Gwen stopped the swing. “I’ll go with you.”

  Inside, the remainder of the party had moved from dining room to parlor. Morgan was playing the piano while his sister looked over his shoulder, humming the melody. Woody and Cleo’s father were seated at the far end of the room, deep in discussion, leaning toward each other in their chairs.

  Cleo drew in a deep breath and strode across the room. Her father saw her and straightened. A moment later, Woody did the same. She met his gaze and said, “Woody, I’m right sorry for taking out my frustration on you. It wasn’t right. I’m ashamed for snapping at you the way I did. I hope you’ll accept my apology.”

  He stood. “I believe it is I who must apologize. I shouldn’t have teased you. It isn’t my place.”

  Sherwood rather liked watching the play of emotions that crossed Cleo’s face. She had such expressive dark-blue eyes. Mediterranean blue, like deep, deep waters. When she was angry, one could see the storm clouds gather in them. And when she was amused, they sparkled like stars in the heavens.

  He gave his head a slight shake to clear his thoughts. “I accept your apology, Cleo, as I hope you will accept mine.”

  “Done.” She held out her hand.

  He wondered if he would ever get used to her forthright manner. Probably not. But he could cope with it for the next year.

  “Done,” he said as he took her hand in his and shook it.

  TEN

  Cleo tossed the saddle onto the gelding’s back and reached beneath his belly for the cinch. The horse snorted and sidestepped.

  “Easy, Buddy.”

  The black gelding was young and inexperienced, but he had lots of potential as a cattle horse. He was built for quick turns and had good stamina, the kind a cowboy needed when he was chasing strays up in the hills. Today Cleo planned to give Buddy his first lesson in herding cows.

  As she slipped the bit into the horse’s mouth, she heard men’s laughter coming from the barn. Her father’s and Woody’s. She was tempted to join them, to find out what they found amusing, but she decided against it. They might have time to stand around jawing. She had too much work to do.

  She took the reins in her left hand and swung onto the saddle. Buddy tossed his head and sidestepped again, and Cleo nudged his right side with her thigh and heel, moving him back to the left. Only after he was quiet and listening to her did she loosen the reins and allow him to start walking. Buddy was none too happy with the slow pace, but Cleo kept a firm rein. She made sure he understood that she was the boss.

  Horse and rider followed the fence line for a good mile before Cleo gave Buddy leave to canter. The air, fresh with the green of spring, tugged at her hat and flowed cool over her cheeks. A grin curved the corners of her mouth. There was nothing in the world more satisfying than a fast ride on a good horse. Absolutely nothing.

  The meadowland where the Arlington cattle grazed produced a high amount of forage every year, even without irrigation. The terrain was gently rolling, and the grasses waved in th
e breeze like the sea. Or at least like Cleo imagined the sea rolled; she’d never made it to the Pacific or Atlantic oceans. Gwen, raised in New Jersey, had told Cleo about her visits to the shore every summer. Maybe someday Cleo would see it for herself. But she had a hard time believing anything in the world could be prettier than what she was looking at right this minute.

  Buddy had covered about five miles when Cleo reined in, bringing the gelding to a halt. She patted his neck and talked softly to him. “See those cows over there?”

  The horse’s ears flicked forward and back.

  “Let’s see if we can move one of them to the other side of the creek.”

  She pressed her heels to his sides, and after a few steps, Buddy broke into a jog. The cattle ignored their approach until they were about thirty or forty feet away. After that, heads came up and doleful eyes turned on horse and rider.

  Cleo watched for the first cow to break. When it did, she sent Buddy after it, guiding him with the reins, her shifting weight, and the pressure of her legs. As she’d expected, the horse was a quick study. He cut off the heifer’s escape, then spun on his back legs and darted in the opposite direction. Repeating the action time and again, they drove the young cow to the bank of the stream and finally across it. Cleo was breathing as hard as Buddy by the time they rode out of the water. The heifer cried her complaint as she trotted a safer distance away from her tormentors.

  “Buddy.” Cleo patted the horse’s neck, “Next to Domino, you just might turn out to be the best reining horse we’ve got.”

  The gelding snorted.

  She gave the horse his head, letting him set the direction and pace, and unlike when they’d started out, Buddy seemed to prefer a sedate walk. That suited Cleo just fine. It gave her time to enjoy the scenery.

  Although it was early in the season, some wildflowers were in bloom. Anemones, she thought they were called, lavender ones and white ones with bright yellow centers. They spilled across the mountain slopes and grasslands, splashes of vibrant color amidst the green.