Only the Heart Knows

by Lena Goldfinch

  Her mother and father were right there, standing over there on the side. Not dancing. Curious.

  And none of that was a dream. It was real.

  Adam caught and held her once again before he spun her away, letting her go for excruciating seconds. And then they were back together.

  He grinned at her, one brief moment before he spun her again, her ribbons flying. She laughed, breathless and alive. She almost felt pretty.

  They couldn’t very well talk—the set they were dancing had become too fast and the music too loud—but his glances seemed to say things, things that made Mandy blush. Things that made her feel as if she were truly alive for the first time. Things she couldn’t put into words, not even to share with Mama or her sisters, or Darby. She could never. Not even in her private journal.

  These sorts of things were meant only for memories.

  She wanted to hold them close. Bring them home with her. Marvel at them when she was alone. With no one watching. With no one to mock her. Maybe days later when she was walking through the pretty blue Columbines behind the stables, maybe then she could relive this moment. And she’d think of Adam.

  Chapter 8

  Mandy danced the next set with Adam. And the next. Much to the dismay of her mother, surely, but she didn’t care. She didn’t even care that folks might be whispering about them. When he remained right by her side after the last set, she simply held her breath and didn’t dare move. He stayed right where he was even when Ezra Campbell, owner of the Cross Creek Mill, called for a three-legged race. Ezra’s carnival voice rang strong and true through the air, capturing Mandy’s attention.

  “Ten minutes! Find your partners! Tennnnn minutes!” he called.

  The Girard brothers immediately paired up.

  Mandy could have sworn from the confidence in their eyes that they’d been practicing back home along their driveway.

  Darby paired off with his old school friend, Luke Douglas. They’d make a good team, both of them fit and coordinated. But they wouldn’t have the benefit of practice—like the Girards had—which could be their downfall if they couldn’t match their strides right off. Say, if they fell a time or two in the confusion.

  Adam’s two ranch hands drew close, looking fully prepared to race. They looked determined. They could easily be a threat to Russell and his brother.

  Russell was his same old self, Mandy noted. Tall. Redheaded. Freckled. With a slight sneer she knew all too well. Smug. He’d always been a little smug. He’d delighted in tormenting her, ever since they were children. He raised his brows now, challenging her. Knowing she was in a frilly dress with this ridiculously frilly bonnet, its frothy lace edging flopping into her vision—which was distracting, however pretty it had looked in the mirror back home.

  Russell said something to his brother and they both laughed, eyes on her.

  And right then Mandy was twelve all over again.

  She had to race—had to—never mind her dress and bonnet.

  She tightened the ribbon under her chin purposefully. Emma and Juliana stood close by, most likely with a view to stepping back with the other spectators.

  Mama stood a little farther away with Papa. There was something strange about them that made Mandy pause, disturbed. What was it? Just the way they were standing, she supposed. Where normally her father would’ve had his arm around Mama, he simply stood beside her, with a gap between them. It looked...unnatural. And Mama’s face seemed strained. There was an uncomfortable tightness about her mouth and fine lines at the corners of her eyes.

  This wasn’t the first time Mandy had seen them this way. Memories tickled at the back of her mind. She’d seen them at church standing just like that: Mama looking unhappy, Papa standing stiffly, pretending nothing was different.

  But something was different. And Mandy didn’t like it, not in the least.

  Someone was going to have to ask Papa about it, and knowing the workings of her family, she was likely the only one, besides Mama, who had noticed the change.

  Something was going on between them.

  Mama was unlikely to say anything about her own unhappiness where Papa was concerned—it simply wasn’t her way. She might manage Mandy and her sisters like a circus master, but she had a sensitive heart when it came to matters of the heart and how Papa treated her. She was more likely to pretend nothing was bothering her.

  Mandy sighed. She was going to have to do it herself, wasn’t she? It wouldn’t be easy or pleasant, but, of everyone, she was most likely the only one Papa would accept broaching such a delicate topic.

  But not now.

  Now she had a race to run. She simply needed a partner.

  She immediately cast aside the idea of asking one of her sisters. With either of them, she’d be terribly mismatched in height, not to mention that these days neither of her sisters could run from the house to the stables without getting winded.

  Besides, the person she most wanted to race with was at her side, his presence like a coal stove radiating heat in the winter, warming her from the outside in and back again.

  His very presence demanded her full attention at the most awkward times. He consumed a lot of her thoughts even when he wasn’t standing right next to her—like he was now, his sleeve lightly brushing hers, sending little shivers of pure awareness through her. There was something about Adam Booker that made her feel more alive. Lit up. The fact that he’d stayed behind after their dance to watch the games with her was a wonder.

  Did it mean something?

  Did it mean he enjoyed her company?

  Did he like her? Or perhaps he’d stayed merely out of convenience. Or politeness... What did he truly know about her? She certainly knew far more about him than he ever would have told her if he knew she was Ask Mack.

  He’d likely be irritated with her—or worse—if he ever found out.

  He’d likely never ask her to dance again, for one.

  And that would be a disaster, to Mandy’s mind. She liked him very much, and perhaps more than ever today.

  She liked being near him.

  She didn’t want to offend him or push him away. Ever.

  But she desperately wanted to race. She desperately wanted to wipe that oh-so-smug smirk off Russell Girard’s face. And she wanted Adam to be her partner. A thousand tiny fears danced at the edges of her consciousness, ready to join forces and pounce on her.

  “Mr. Booker,” Mandy blurted out before she could think through the repercussions of her actions, “can you run?”

  Adam blinked once, perhaps startled by her question or by the real challenge she was silently presenting him with—would you race with me?—but he didn’t frown in disapproval at her or back away. He didn’t look offended or scandalized either. Not in the least. His eyes simply twinkled in amusement.

  “I can,” he said, straightening.

  In fact, he looked prepared to race all the way back to his ranch if he needed to.

  It was impressive. Thrilling, even.

  Mandy could’ve kissed him right then.

  She swallowed, afraid her emotions were chasing across her face for him to see.

  “All right,” she said briskly. “Let’s race.” Turning to her sisters with a sense of purpose, she said, “Emma, grab one of those cloths from Mr. Campbell. You’ll have to tie it for us, right at our ankles.”

  Emma hesitated, but then grabbed a long white strip of cloth from Mr. Campbell as he passed by. She stood with it dangling from her hands, what looked like a piece of cut-up old sheet.

  Mandy lifted her arms, silently cursing the confining fit of her pretty dress, and began to untie the constricting bow beneath her chin, deciding she wasn’t going to wipe that look off of Russell Girard’s face with her bonnet on.

  “What are you doing?” Emma asked, going wide-eyed with alarm. Of the three of them, she was the one most worried about what was proper or not, and less concerned about what needed to be done.

  Mama hurried over in that way of Mama, not se
eming to hurry at all, but she was at their side in an instant, breathing only slightly faster than normal.

  She drew in close to Mandy. “What is this?” she asked in a sweetly curious undertone, no doubt for Adam Booker’s benefit, in case he should overhear.

  “I’m taking off my bonnet.”

  “I can see that.”

  “I’m going to run the three-legged race with Mr. Booker,” Mandy told her firmly, not wishing to be dissuaded. Her heart was bumping along quite nicely because he hadn’t flinched at the idea of running a country race with her.

  Her mother went very still, her hands poised at her waist, causing Mandy to think she had the desire to wring her hands fretfully but had stopped herself just in time. Mama would never do such a thing at a public event with all the church here and her friends and neighbors watching.

  Seeing an undercurrent of alarm in her mother’s eyes, Mandy felt a twinge of conscience. The night of the motherly chat—as she’d come to think of it—flashed through Mandy’s mind. Her mother had expressed her disapproval of Mandy’s sporting nature. Or rather of her “shaming the boys.” But she wasn’t doing that now, surely?

  Even if she had in the past, unthinkingly, she had no intention of doing so again. She wouldn’t gloat at all when she and Adam won.

  “It’s all right, Mama,” Mandy said in her most reassuring tone. “It’s just a country race. I’ve run a hundred of them.”

  “When you were a girl,” her mother whispered in her ear. There was a sort of tight disapproval in her voice and a trace of urgency that gave Mandy pause.

  “Adam said he’d race with me,” Mandy whispered back. “I can’t refuse him now. How would it look?”

  Mama swallowed. She tightened and flexed her hands, then let them fall gracefully to her sides, as if she’d merely needed to stretch her fingers out. She was a woman to emulate, Mandy realized, tucking the information into her mind to ponder. Later. For she had a race to run.

  With Adam Booker.

  Mama waved Emma and Juliana closer, her motions fluid but efficient. “You’re running the race,” she announced, taking charge.

  “But I don’t want to run in any old race,” Juliana protested, reverting to a more childish version of herself. She had never much enjoyed the games.

  “Remove your bonnets,” Mama said pleasantly, ignoring her youngest daughter’s protests.

  “What?” Emma was still standing before Mandy with a strip of white cloth in her hands. “But my hair.” She cast a self-conscious glance at Adam Booker who seemed to be endeavoring to remove himself from their private family drama without actually moving away.

  Mandy decided it was just one more thing to like about him. He wasn’t the sort of man who’d expose their family secrets to the whole town. Meanwhile, Mama was addressing Emma with some impatience.

  “Oh, just take it off,” she said. “I’m taking mine off as well, see?” Indeed, she had reached up to untie her pretty bonnet and was carefully extracting the gauzy swath of fabric from under her chin. Her upswept hair was slightly mussed, but she simply laid her bonnet and all its trappings down on a picnic blanket nearby and smoothed a few loosened strands of hair down. She looked at Emma and Juliana with an air of expectancy.

  They sighed almost in unison and removed their bonnets too, casting disgruntled looks at Mandy.

  Mandy knew Mama was attempting to make Mandy’s impulsive actions appear to be part of a family decision: the MacKenna’s had—for fun—all decided to take part in the race, not just her, the most competitive of them all.

  Mandy smiled apologetically at her sisters

  “It’ll be fun,” she said, hoping to encourage them. Mentally, she also determined they posed no threat. Emma and Juliana would immediately fall to the back of the racers and mince their way to the finish line. And about twenty or so young men would enjoy every second of watching that. In fact, more than a few pairs of the racers just might lag behind to cheer them on.

  Mama turned her gaze to Papa, who was hanging back, watching with a nonplussed expression.

  “William, we’ll race together.” She held out her hand to him.

  He looked oddly torn, pulling his lips to one side, then said, “My back’s been bothering me a mite.”

  Mama withdrew her hand, looking stricken.

  Papa had to have seen her expression, but he left her standing there. Mandy caught a glimpse of regret in his eyes, but whatever promptings he felt inside to go to Mama, he paid them no mind. Instead, he strode purposefully to the edge of the crowd, which was forming a half circle around the area staked out for the games. He took his place between two other ranchers his age and crossed his arms over his chest. In their string ties and summer-weight suits—in earthly tones of tan and brown—the three of them looked every inch the successful older ranchers they were. In fact, with the addition of a few holsters and six-shooters, they could’ve easily passed for a wanted poster for a band of desperados, unapproachable, manly. Squared jaws. Stetsons pulled low on their brows. Cowboy boots planted firmly on the lawn, crushing the individual blades of grass underneath them.

  Mandy flashed a reproving glance at Papa. What in the world had gotten into him?

  She didn’t have much time to think about it though, for the preparations for the race were speeding along without her. She and Adam needed to get ready to run.

  The Girards were already practicing their strides up and down the church lawn, where some sticks and streamers had been strung off marking the start and the end. The two brothers looked terribly coordinated.

  Mandy wished Emma would hurry and get the cloth tightened around her and Adam’s ankles so they could practice as well, but her sister was tying the cloth around her and Juliana’s ankles instead, a task made difficult by the width of their skirts and the constraints of a tightly laced corset, most likely.

  “Emma!” Mandy protested.

  “Sorry, Mandy, Mr. Booker”—she smiled prettily to Adam, acknowledging him too—“but Mama said we have to race. So I’m afraid you’ll have to get a tie for yourself.”

  “I’ve got it,” Adam jogged over to Mr. Campbell and quickly returned with a long strip of white cloth. Mandy moved the hem of her skirts aside, and he bent and deftly bound their ankles together, lashing the cloth securely around the top half of her left dress boot, without any untoward touching.

  He straightened and grinned at her. The flash of a dimple in his cheek made her mouth go completely dry.

  “May I?” he asked, placing a hand at her back.

  “Of course,” she said in a practical accepting manner, even though the solid warmth of his hand very nearly burned a hole clean through all the layers of her dress and everything underneath.

  It wasn’t that he was much closer than he’d been while they were dancing, not closer at all, in fact, but this was different in some way, more intimate. With all the butterflies dancing in Mandy’s stomach in anticipation of the race, the combined effect very nearly made her too lightheaded to run. But not quite.

  “Now, Mr. Booker,” she said, perhaps a little breathlessly, “we are going to run, sir. We are not going to walk. And we are not going to fall behind. We are especially not going to fall behind the Girard brothers—not even for one moment—for they’ll take off like the wind.”

  He nodded, his eyes narrowing on their competition in a satisfying manner.

  “My cousin Darby and Luke Douglas could be a threat too,” she added, “so we must keep an eye out for them.”

  “Cal and Junior too,” he agreed. Nodding to the two young ranch hands she’d seen earlier.

  “Those are two of your men, aren’t they?”

  “They are indeed. And they could pose a threat,” he said in all seriousness, joining in with her plotting and making her giggle helplessly.

  She swallowed her mirth though at the sight of her mother still standing there looking lost, her bonnet laying on the picnic blanket nearby, signaling her intention to race. And Papa over there wi
th the other men, signaling his intention to not race.

  What on earth was wrong with that man?

  And what about Mama? Would she have to lose face and return to the other married women watching the race from the sidelines? Retrieve her bonnet on the way, place it awkwardly on her head without a mirror to help her...

  Mandy could have cheerfully strangled her father right then.

  “I’ll be your partner, Mrs. MacKenna.” It was young Lacy, drifting toward Mama across the grass, shy as a shadow.

  Mama smiled at her with real relief, as if she’d been flailing in a fast current and Lacy had thrown her a rope. “Why, thank you, Lacy.”

  Mandy shot Lacy a quick smile as well. She’d always liked the younger girl, a quiet thing with a fondness for stray dogs and cats.

  Feeling some measure of encouragement that her mother was being cared for, Mandy slipped her arm around Adam’s back.

  He looked at her, perhaps surprised.

  “So we can keep our pace up,” she explained, more than likely turning a deeper shade of pink.

  “Oh, we’ll keep our pace up, all right,” he assured her, as if he fully intended to win this race. With her.

  Mandy thought she just might love this man. She felt his hand pressing more securely against her back. Warm tendrils curled up her spine.

  “Shall we take a few practice steps?” he asked.

  “We’d better.” Lordy, she’d better get a hold of her breathing, Mandy thought. She’d need all the air she could get to run.