Homespun Hearts

by Caroline Fyffe

  “I hope he’s concentrating on his studies and not all the ladies in town,” Flood tossed in.

  “John’s a sensible young man, darling,” Mrs. McCutcheon said, patting his hand. “No need to worry.”

  Charity smiled mischievously as she passed the gravy boat. “He said two girls were fighting over him, so he’s sparking them both.”

  “Now, there’s a sensible fellow,” Flood boomed. “A true McCutcheon.”

  His wife cleared her throat, obviously embarrassed.

  Faith intensely felt Luke’s presence. He was so close. Every once in a while his knee would accidently graze hers—or was he doing that on purpose? His hand, resting on his thigh, was so close she could touch it if she stretched out her pinky.

  “Faith?”

  His voice snapped her out of her thoughts. She looked at him in question.

  “Ma just asked you where you’re headed.”

  “Oh, I’m s-sorry,” she stammered, feeling her cheeks burn. “I’m going to live with my Aunt Penelope—” She froze midsentence. Luke, Matt and Mark knew that her aunt was really a cow.

  Luke’s mother didn’t seem to notice that she hadn’t finished her sentence. “That’s lovely. Family is so important.”

  Her creamed corn soup was now as appealing as curdled milk. She couldn’t breathe. All she wanted to do was run up to where Dawn was sleeping and close the door.

  Glancing up, she caught Charity scrutinizing her. The girl’s auburn hair draped her shoulders and elegantly framed her face. With a striking mixture of breeding and beauty, her emerald eyes snapped in challenge as they strayed from her to Luke and back again. The looks were far from kind.

  “Mrs. Brown,” Luke’s sister said, reaching for a basket of bread and taking a slice. “Where’s Mr. Brown?”

  Faith sat up straighter and wiped her mouth. She returned her napkin to her lap and gathered her thoughts. She was no match for this bright, educated girl; she felt it as sure as the sun rose each morning. But that didn’t mean she should let Charity McCutcheon trample her underfoot. When Samuel had taken his fall and died, she’d vowed she was done with cowering. “I’m a widow.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” the girl said. “How long has he been dead?”

  “Charity!” Luke’s tone was irritated. “Faith is tired. It’s been a long, hard week traveling with the herd. Why don’t you save your questions for later?”

  “I don’t mind answering, Luke,” Faith spoke up. But the piece of bread she’d been eating felt like sandpaper in her mouth. “It’s been three months since Samuel’s death.”

  With excellent timing, Dawn chose that moment to wake up. Her cries were clear from the upstairs bedroom. But when Faith started to rise, thankful for the chance to leave, Luke stopped her.

  “Stay put and eat. I’ll get her.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Luke eyed the baby girl from the bedroom door. Hesitating, he watched as her arms and legs pumped wildly in the air as she belted out another wail. The crying seemed much louder up here, and he was amazed again at how much noise this tiny creature could make.

  He eased forward and leaned over her. “Shh, little one,” he murmured, sitting gingerly on the bed. Her face was scrunched and her eyes tightly closed.

  The movement startled the baby and she looked his way. When she saw him, she stopped crying. Relieved, Luke went to pick her up, but instantly she resumed her wails with gusto.

  “Hush now, peanut. It’s not that bad.” He carefully positioned her in his arms and tried rocking her as he’d done with Billy and Adam. She squirmed and howled, so he lifted her to his shoulder and patted her back. She was so tiny. Certainly, though, what she lacked in size she made up in strength.

  A loud burp sounded next to Luke’s ear. Instantly Dawn calmed and laid her head against his shoulder. She gave a little shudder, and he felt her body relax. A fine feeling of satisfaction welled up within him. Tender yet protective, he rubbed her tiny back.

  “That’s my girl,” he said, smiling. “That was one fine belch—one that could rival Smokey’s, and you’re only eight days old. Just think what you’ll be able to do in a few weeks.”

  Turning, Luke caught sight of their reflection in the mirror that hung over the chest of drawers. Walking closer, he turned his shoulder so he could see the baby’s face, rosy and damp from her strenuous crying. She lay contentedly now, as her moist eyes roamed. Her hand was nestled next to her face and she sucked on it. She was pure sweetness.

  Instantly Luke felt as if he’d just taken both feet of Dusty, the ranch mule, directly in the belly. Faith and Dawn would be leaving soon, whether to Priest’s Crossing or back to Nebraska with Ward Brown was yet unclear. Possessiveness inched its way inside him, and giving way to its lure, he tightened his hold on the infant.

  “Maybe your ma is about ready to do some talking,” he said, running his hand across the baby’s velvety hair. He swung her around so he could kiss her cheek, but with a jerk her little wet fist came up and bopped him in the eye. Chuckling, he shook his head. “What do you say, princess?”

  He returned to the table with the baby nestled in the crook of his arm and sat. Picking up his fork, he stabbed a piece of beef and glanced around the table. The clatter of utensils on food platters ceased. Everyone was looking at him: his mother warmly, Charity surprised, and Faith…well, her look of longing tore at his heart.

  After supper, Matt and Rachel disappeared almost immediately, leaving Billy and Adam in the big house to keep Colton company. Esperanza went about cleaning up, and everyone else retired to the parlor. The ladies took in cups of tea, while the men imbibed something a bit stronger.

  “This man, Brown, the one who helped pull Mark from the river and was hurt. Who is he?” Flood asked from his big leather chair. He took a cigar from his pocket and clipped the end. Rolling it in his fingers, he eyed Luke.

  Glancing at Faith, Luke sipped his brandy, taking pleasure as the warm liquor slid down his throat. “Ward. He’s a farmer I met in Pine Grove, and since I fired Earl, I hired him on until we reached the ranch.”

  Flood’s eyebrows arched up in surprise. “Earl? Why?”

  “A number of reasons, the main being he was caught cheating in a game of poker the night in Pine Grove.” Luke thought about Ward. The man had stepped up and risked his life today in the river. Being a stranger, no one would’ve expected it of him. Was he really as dangerous as Faith claimed?

  Flood nodded his approval. “You did right, Son. If a man will cheat his friends, he’ll cheat anyone. How badly was the new man hurt?”

  “His leg was bruised and he has several lacerations,” Luke answered. “Not too bad.”

  “It was just meant to be,” Claire spoke up. “I hate to think of what might have happened if he hadn’t been there. Mark wasn’t the only one in danger. Luke, you could have drowned, too.”

  “Not likely,” Luke answered gruffly. He tossed back the contents of his glass and strode into the dining room for a refill from a crystal decanter atop a large dark maple side table.

  “Might he be looking for steady work, now that he’s here?” Flood called out. “We can always use a good hand after his leg heals.”

  Faith was sitting between Charity and Luke’s ma. She looked pale and tired, and a bit edgy. At Ward’s name her gaze darted his way.

  “No. He’s anxious to get home,” Luke answered.

  “Well, before he leaves, you be sure to bring him up to the house. I want to thank him personally for what he did,” his mother added.

  “I want to thank him, too.” Charity looked up from her knitting. “Is he handsome?”

  Mark, who’d been dozing by the fire, stretched and yawned. “He’s too old for you, Char.”

  “I’m the same age as Mother was when she first met Pa,” Charity protested. “How old were you when you got married, Faith?”

  Faith lifted Dawn up to her shoulder, patting the child’s back in a rat-a-tat-tat rhythm. Luke wondered at the briskness of
it, but the baby seemed pleased. Remembering Faith’s outburst when he’d questioned her about Penelope the cow, he bit the inside of his cheek and tried not to laugh. Charity better watch her p’s and q’s if she was going to dig for information.

  “About a year ago when I was twenty-two,” Faith said.

  Luke tried to keep the surprise from showing on his face. What about Colton? The boy was eight. That would mean she’d had him when she was somewhere around fourteen, and unmarried. That was awfully young. Or…had she been married to somebody before Samuel Brown?

  Charity’s eyes went wide. “Ol— Oh?” she corrected.

  “Charity,” Mrs. McCutcheon said with a sigh. “It’s getting late. Please round up the boys and put them to bed in Mark’s old room. I want their parents to have a little privacy tonight. Colton can sleep in there with them…if that’s all right with you, Faith?”

  Faith nodded.

  “Yes, Mother,” Charity said, standing. “Luke, don’t you dare run off before I get back. I want a chance to talk.”

  “Where would I run off to?”

  She shrugged. “You always seem to find somewhere,” she tossed back as she flounced dramatically off into the kitchen.

  “Faith, dear,” Mrs. McCutcheon said kindly. “Please forgive Charity. She’s very spirited.”

  “Spirited?” Mark rolled his eyes. “She’s downright spoiled. And she’s getting worse every day. Somebody needs to take her in hand.” He stood and looked to Amy. “I’m tired. What do you say about calling it a night?”

  His wife nodded and stood, waiting for Mark to get his hat.

  “I think that’s a good idea,” Flood agreed. “Everyone here looks exhausted.”

  Luke’s mother stood and set her teacup on the tray. “Come along, Faith. I’ll get you settled better upstairs.”

  “Please, I don’t want to be any trouble. I was intending on sleeping in my wagon.”

  “Nonsense. I love guests, the more the merrier,” the older woman answered as she led the way. “It reminds me of when all the boys were still living in the house. It was in such uproar all the time.”

  Faith disappeared up the stairs, and Luke fought disappointment. He’d hardly had the chance to say more than two words to her since their arrival. Shoving those feelings aside, he went back into the dining room and refilled his glass. He took the liquor in one swallow. He repeated the process. Pouring one last belt for good measure, he took it back to the fire to enjoy slowly as he nursed his unsettling feelings.

  He wasn’t feeling sorry for himself, exactly, it was just that he’d always been different. Never quite fit in with everyone else. Flood loved him as if he were his own; Luke knew and appreciated that. It was his own stubbornness that made it tough to get past their differences.

  He wasn’t ashamed of his heritage; he just didn’t like being different from the rest of his family. Some of the finest men he knew were Indians, and he’d even toyed with the idea of finding his real father one day. But his responsibilities didn’t leave much time for anything else besides the ranch.

  Bringing the heavy crystal tumbler to his lips, he let more smooth liquor slip down his throat. It pooled like fire in his stomach. Laying his head back against the chair, he closed his eyes and enjoyed the solitude of the empty room.

  Faith needed to level with him. He wanted the truth. He couldn’t let her go off without knowing she and her children would be safe. This fright of hers, of her brother-in-law—could it possibly be made up? Ward seemed like a pretty decent man. He hadn’t done anything blatantly wrong. Hell, he’d even helped save Mark’s life. He could see his sister doing something like this to get her way. Was Faith so different?

  His head nodded wearily, then slowly lowered until his chin rested on his chest.

  The clock chimed before Luke next opened his eyes. Rubbing the stiffness in his neck, he stretched his cramped legs. How long had he been sitting here? The fire had burned down to nothing but coals; everyone had gone up to bed and the house was dark.

  “Well, Charity never made it back. Does that surprise me?” he mumbled to himself. “May as well turn in.”

  He banked the fire, stirring the coals and causing sparks to fly about. After everything was secure, he made his way to the stairs and slowly climbed to the top. As he placed his hand on the knob of his door, he looked across the hall to Matt’s old room. That’s where Faith would be.

  Pausing only briefly, he stepped across the hallway and tapped softly with one knuckle.

  Faith sat up in bed and pushed the hair from her eyes, wondering what it was that had awakened her. When the tapping came again, she grabbed the wrap Mrs. McCutcheon had lent her and quickly put it on. She sneaked quietly past the cradle where Dawn slept. “Who’s there?” she whispered beside the door.

  “It’s me, Luke.” There was a huskiness in his voice that Faith had not heard before.

  “What do you want?” she responded.

  “Come out here so we can talk.”

  “No, Luke. Your sister and parents are just down the hall.” She thought about her and Luke in the moonlight and was tempted to turn the knob. “Go to bed. We’ll talk in the morning.”

  “It’ll only take a minute.”

  His voice was louder, and Faith feared he would wake the baby and the whole house. Cracking the door open, she peeked out. The unmistakable sweet scent of alcohol wafted in, setting off warning bells in her head. Samuel had been mean when he was drunk, and she didn’t want to see how Luke might change.

  “If you’re not coming out, I’ll just have to come in.” He pressed open the door easily, even as she strained to stop him. He closed it behind him.

  Faith reached for the knob to let him right out again, when he took her wrist and stopped her. She glared into his face.

  “You look mad.”

  “I am!” she whispered. “What if your mother hears us and gets up to check? What will she think?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe that I wanted to talk and came and woke you up.” He led her over to the window.

  “Luke,” she protested, “you’ve been drinking.”

  “A little. But I’m far from drunk.”

  “What do you want to talk about that can’t wait until morning?” she asked, still hopeful he might leave sooner rather than later. “Besides, we can’t seem to have a conversation anymore without it turning into an argument.”

  He gazed at her. “You know? At this moment I can’t rightly remember.” He chuckled as he played with a strand of her hair. “Give me a minute.”

  A few seconds ticked by and Luke still didn’t say anything. He just stood there staring. Making her feel intensely…what? Uncomfortable? No. Definitely not uncomfortable. Something very different.

  A sudden desire to be nearer Luke surprised her. She stepped closer and saw the surprise in his eyes and the corners of his mouth curve up. Studying his lips, she realized she wanted to kiss them.

  “Luke?” she whispered, nudging in closer.

  Dawn picked that moment to start fussing. Disappointment bloomed. But as Faith started to go, Luke caught her arm and brought his face to hers.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Their lips touched. At first it was as soft as a breeze, and Faith just stood there waiting for more. His lips were warm and a bit dry. She relaxed, letting him gather her closer. The kiss changed, deepened. She tasted the rich flavor of the brandy he’d been drinking. It was good. She shivered.

  He seemed to be in no hurry. She pressed gently forward, smiling at the happiness it brought. Kissing him felt as right as a gentle rain on a hot summer day. It was pure joy.

  He pulled back and looked at her. “What?”

  “Nothing,” she whispered, fearful he’d stop kissing her and start talking.

  “There’s something,” he said, not taking his mouth far from hers. “You’re laughing.”

  Not laughing, smiling. Kissing you makes me happy. Unable to stop herself, she pressed her body to his.

&nbs
p; There was a light tapping on the door. “Faith, dear,” Mrs. McCutcheon called. “Is everything all right?” She tapped again. “Dawn’s crying.”

  Faith pulled back, the magic spell broken. For one brief moment she stood staring at Luke, liking very much the way his gaze made her feel; she called back, “Yes, Mrs. McCutcheon, everything’s fine.”

  She scooted over to the cradle and picked up the baby. As quickly as she could, she went to the door. After Luke ducked to the other side of the room where his mother couldn’t see him, she opened it.

  Mrs. McCutcheon’s hair was down around her shoulders, and concern filled her eyes. “I’m sorry to have disturbed you, ma’am,” Faith said. “I’ll try to keep Dawn quieter.”

  “Oh, I don’t mind her crying, Faith. We’re used to that. I just got a little worried when she didn’t stop.”

  “She’s fine now,” Faith promised, still rattled. The fact that Luke stood just inches away didn’t help matters. “I just need to change her diaper and feed her. I guess she’s hungry already.”

  “Good night then. If you need anything at all, just call me. I’m a light sleeper.”

  “Thank you,” Faith replied.

  She closed the door and turned back to Luke. She was shivering again. Was she cold, or was it her reaction to him? He looked uncertain. She felt the same.

  She laid Dawn on her bed and swiftly unhooked the safety pins that held the child’s soggy diaper. With the diaper off, Dawn began kicking. Each time Faith tried to fasten a new one, the baby pumped her legs happily, partial to the freedom of a naked body.

  Faith finally got a new diaper secure, but when she tried to lay her back in her bed, the child started to cry. She said to Luke, “I didn’t think she’d go back to sleep on her own. I’ll need to feed.” She avoided his gaze.

  “Right. Feed her.”

  He headed for the door. Faith couldn’t help but feel she’d lost something.