Reluctant Brides Collection

by Cathy Marie Hake

  Hans stood up. “I’ll go now.”

  “Sit down,” Lane said abruptly. “You’re not going anywhere.”

  Hans sank back into the seat.

  Angie sat next to Lane. “What about the gold?” she asked.

  “You found it?” Hans blurted out.

  “Yesterday,” Lane told him. “It was buried in the cellar where you were just digging.”

  “Amos left a drawing to help us find the spot,” Angie added.

  Hans sagged with disappointment. “I thought it might be behind a couple of loose bricks in the fireplace,” he said, his face creased in misery, “or under a loose floorboard. Oh, what a fool I was. I’ve betrayed you good people after you were so kind to me. What a rotten man sits here before you. You should whip me and send me away into the night to freeze.” He pulled a red bandanna from his pocket and blew his nose loudly.

  “Judy found the letter and the drawing,” Angie told him when he fell silent. “Then Lane and I found the gold.”

  Lane paused, watching the picture of dejection before him, considering his next move. “How about if we divide it?” Lane asked. “You get half, and we get half.”

  Hans stared. “You’d give half to me?”

  “Of course. You took care of Nissley’s wife and son while he was gone, didn’t you? You earned it.” Lane leaned his forearms on the table. “I don’t understand why he didn’t give you more to help you get a start when he sent you away.”

  “He thought the gold was cursed,” Hans said. “I’ve never seen a man so beside himself with grief. He blamed himself for leaving them. He wanted to die, too.”

  “Poor man,” Lane murmured, gazing into the darkness.

  “You’re wrong. I don’t deserve anything,” Hans said, more spirited. “I don’t deserve anything at all.”

  Angie spoke up. “Hans, we don’t always get what we deserve. If we did, none of us would be very happy, would we? God sent His only Son, Jesus, to die for us when we didn’t deserve it. The Bible says, ‘But God commendeth his love toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.’ He loved us when we were wicked sinners, Hans.”

  The German man’s eyes filled with tears. “That’s so beautiful. My mother was a church-woman in Germany. She used to read the Bible to me every night. That same passage sometimes.” He shook his head. “I didn’t pay attention to what she was trying to tell me. When she died, I sold the cottage and bought a ticket to America. All I could think about was getting rich. People said that the streets in America were paved with gold.

  “Gold again,” he went on. “After almost thirty years, I’ve found nothing but hard work and heartache. I wish now I’d stayed in Germany and worshipped my mother’s God. She was poor but so happy.” A single tear slid down his cheek.

  “You can still believe, Hans,” Angie said. “You can trust Christ now, tonight. We can pray together right now.”

  “I would like to,” Hans whispered. He leaned his face into his hands. Quietly he said, “Dear God, I know I don’t deserve anything from You but punishment. I’m ashamed to pray to You. There’s no one left to help me. Please forgive me of my wickedness. I don’t want the gold anymore. I only want to take Jesus for my Savior. I know You will take care of me.” He stayed in silence for a moment then blew his nose again.

  Angie swallowed back her own tears. The night had ended far differently from how she had expected.

  Lane spoke, and Angie glanced at him. She was surprised to see his eyes glistening. His expression had turned from anger to compassion. “It’s late, Hans,” he said. “We’re all tired and wrought up. How about if we settle this tomorrow? Go on out to the bunkhouse and get some rest.”

  Hans’s gray head bobbed. He dabbed at his eyes. “Ya, Mr. Lane. Ya. And thanks again.” He stood and grasped Lane’s hand, pumping it rapidly. “Thanks a hundred times.”

  Lane freed himself from the man’s strong grip and stood. “Get some sleep now. We’ll settle everything tomorrow.”

  When Hans left, Angie stayed at the table. Lane stood in the center of the room as though uncertain of his next move. He gazed at Angie as if he wanted to say something but didn’t know the words. Finally he moved toward the hall. “I’m dead on my feet, Angie. I can’t think straight. I’ve got to get some sleep. Good night.”

  Picking up the lantern, she followed slowly. Her bare feet were numb blocks of ice. After all the excitement, she doubted she’d sleep before dawn. And there was still so much baking to be done. She’d be dozing over her pie dough in the morning.

  In her room she blew out the lantern and crawled under the quilt with her robe still on. Her toes touched the still-warm brick at the foot of the bed, and she sighed deeply. The next instant she was asleep.

  When she opened her eyes, the sun peered over the horizon, and Judy was nowhere to be seen. Angie dressed and hurried downstairs. “Sorry I slept so late,” she told Saundra when she reached the kitchen.

  “Don’t worry,” the German woman replied, smiling. “Judy and I have everything under control, don’t we?”

  Judy had flour on her nose and right cheek. “Right!” she said proudly. “I crimped the edge of the piecrust by myself. Saundra showed me how.”

  Angie was impressed. She picked up a lump of dough and dropped it to the table. “Looks as if I ought to have a lesson on that myself, Saundra. I usually just push a fork into the dough at the edge of my pies. How do you make such an even rope like that?”

  They worked steadily until four pumpkin and three apple pies stood on the counter to cool, and it was lunchtime.

  Lane was first inside to wash up. Drying his hands on a towel, he moved near Angie at the stove. No one else was close enough to hear. “I divvied up the you-know-what with Hans,” he whispered to her. “He didn’t want it, but I talked him into taking half. Everything’s settled. He’s staying on for a while.”

  “Good!” Her voice was low but intense, filled with relief.

  “What are you talking about, Daddy?” Judy asked, coming closer.

  He tugged at one of her braids. “No questions—”

  “I know, no questions this close to Christmas,” she finished. She moved to the table and plopped into her seat.

  Lane shared a secret smile and a wink with Angie. He took his seat at the head of the table. Just then Hans came in with Barry. He had a quietness about him that hadn’t been there before.

  After washing his hands, the German man came to Angie and held out his hand. When she clasped it, he said, “You saved my life, Miss Angie. I’ll never be able to thank you enough.”

  “Hans, I’m so happy for you.” Angie squeezed his hand. “You were right. God did send you here. I’m so glad He did.”

  He turned loose of her hand and pulled out his chair. Already at the table, Saundra watched Hans sit down then looked a question at Angie. The look on Saundra’s face told that she knew something significant had happened, but she couldn’t tell what it was.

  Lunch conversation was subdued, as though everyone sensed that something had changed. Near the end of the meal, Lane speared his fourth biscuit and reached for the apple butter. “Saundra, do you have time to come to the barn with me one last time after lunch?”

  “Of course, Lane.” She finished her coffee and pushed back her chair. “I need to fetch something from my room first.”

  Immediately Barry’s expression soured while Hans’s turned watchful.

  Angie had an overwhelming urge to giggle. Those men were like a picture book with no words to tell the story. No words were necessary. She glanced at Saundra. The woman had captured the heart of every man in the house except the one Angie had intended for her. Angie turned her eyes toward Lane, who finished off his biscuit and reached for his coffee cup.

  On the other hand, maybe Lane was smitten, too. Who could tell? Why wouldn’t he love Saundra? She was beautiful, refined, sweetly feminine. All the things Angie wasn’t.

  Her mind went back to the warm moments she’d s
hared with Lane during the past week. What did they mean? Probably nothing, she told herself. Angie girl, you have a good imagination.

  Warmly wrapped in coat, cape, and scarf, Saundra left the kitchen with Lane, her face turned upward to smile at him. Angie tried not to watch, but she couldn’t help a peek out the window after they left. She watched Lane carefully skirt the large patch of ice in the center of the yard where a mound of snow had melted and puddled during a few warm hours yesterday afternoon and then frozen solid last night.

  “I’ll fetch wood for the pile beside the house,” Hans said, setting his empty bowl on the counter by the washbasin. “The cookstove has a raging appetite this time of year.” He shrugged on his coat and was gone.

  Pausing beside the door, Angie took her first good look at Barry since the meal began. He sat, shoulders slumped, chin on his hand, toying with the last bit of shepherd’s pie on his plate.

  Hopeless irritation swept over Angie. “Stop sulking, will you, Barry? You’re acting like a child.”

  His expression darkened. “What do you know about it?”

  “I know you’re making a fool of yourself. Try to take things in stride for once in your life. Everything is a crisis to you.”

  Judy looked from Barry to Angie, her mouth open.

  Scraping back his chair, he grabbed his coat, shoved one arm into a sleeve, and lunged outside. Huffing out a white cloud, he paused on the porch to finish pulling on his coat and button the sheepskin garment about his throat.

  Angie stood by the window and wished back her words as she watched his stiff back move toward the porch steps. If she hadn’t been so tense herself, those heated words never would have been said. Why did she always take out her own frustration on others?

  Judy joined her at the window. “Why are you and Barry so mad?”

  “We’re not mad, Judy.” Angie sighed. “It’s hard to explain. Sometimes things happen to make people’s nerves get frazzled, and then they snap at each other.”

  “What are you frazzled about?”

  Angie touched Judy’s nose. “What are you, a question box?”

  Angie’s gaze wandered back to Barry. He circled around the wide patch of ice in the center of the yard. Glancing up at a row of long icicles hanging from the roof before him, he rounded the corner of the barn.

  At that moment Lane and Saundra entered the ranch yard. Saundra no longer held Lane’s arm. Smiling, delighted, the German woman pointed toward the house’s roof, glanced at Lane, and looked back up. Still pointing, she veered away from his side toward the center of the yard.

  Sighting along the angle of her upraised finger, Lane spoke to her and laughed.

  Suddenly Saundra’s arms went up as her feet slid out from under her. She landed on the ice in a most unladylike position.

  Chapter 20

  Oh, no!” Judy cried. “Did she hurt herself?”

  Angie raised fingertips to her mouth, her face close to the pane, concerned that Saundra was all right but at the same time wanting to laugh at the shock on Saundra’s face. It was so out of character for the little lady.

  Stepping carefully to keep himself from falling, Lane reached Saundra and tried to help her up, but she went down, screaming, a second time.

  Barry jogged into view. Heading for Saundra, he knocked Lane over and sent him sprawling full length. Barry knelt beside Saundra, taking her hands.

  Lane lunged up. He had his feet planted far apart, elbows back, chest out. Angie slid into her coat and yanked her cape from its peg. She flipped it over her shoulders as she stepped through the door. Judy found her coat and soon followed.

  “What do you mean shoving me like that?” Lane demanded, stepping close to Barry. Angie had never seen Lane so angry.

  “Why did you let her fall?” Barry said, thick accusation in his voice. He stood and helped Saundra slowly to her feet.

  She brushed off her skirt. “My ankle hurts.”

  Barry put his arm about her waist. “Here, lean on me.” He glared at Lane. “You don’t seem to care much about what happens to her. All you’re worried about is yourself.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Lane demanded. “You came charging in here like a loco bull and knocked me flat. What do you expect me to do, forget about it?”

  “When a man’s in love, he should look after his lady,” Barry bawled, “and you haven’t.”

  “Who said anything about me being in love?” Lane growled back.

  Saundra froze. She watched Lane with a wary expression.

  Angie’s fears came into full bloom. There was Barry overreacting again. She wanted to run across the yard and clamp her hand over his mouth. Instead she gripped the porch railing and stared.

  Lane spoke each word slowly and distinctly. “I haven’t gone after a woman since Charlotte died.”

  Barry flushed and didn’t answer.

  Angie’s heart pounded like a tom-tom. Judy gripped her hand until it hurt.

  Saundra suddenly found her tongue. “What about all those love letters you wrote me?” she demanded, her voice growing more intense with every word. “What about asking me to come hundreds of miles to meet you and see your ranch?” The German accent grew thicker with every word.

  Lane’s eyes grew round. “You must have been dreaming, ma’am. I haven’t written a letter in ten years.”

  Saundra’s mouth formed a perfect O. She drew in two hard breaths, her breast heaving, took a shaky step, and slapped Lane full in the face.

  Grasping her arm, Barry pulled her a short distance from Lane, looking from Lane’s red cheek to Saundra’s flashing eyes. “Say, what’s going on between you two?”

  Lane’s lips formed an iron line. He said to Saundra, “You were writing to Angie. She’s your pen pal. Right?”

  Her voice shook when she answered him. “No! You are.”

  All eyes turned toward the porch. Angie stood in a pool of misery, its icy waters washing over her until she thought she’d drown. She couldn’t say a single word. Beside her, Judy started to cry.

  Skidding on the ice like a fledgling ice skater, Lane reached the edge of the frozen puddle and stretched his long legs toward the barn. Angie led Judy inside the warm kitchen, hugging her and trying to hold back her own tears.

  “Go to your room,” Angie whispered to her. “I’ll take care of everything.”

  Sniffling, the girl set off toward the stairs. Angie sank into a chair, covered her eyes, and waited for the ax to fall.

  Moments later Barry and Saundra stepped into the kitchen with Hans close behind them. They stared at Angie as if she’d just sprouted a second head. Saundra had tears on her cheeks.

  Staring at the tabletop, Angie spoke softly. “I put that ad in the paper because Lane was so horribly lonely. Judy needed a mother. And”—tears sprang up—“I wanted to have a life of my own.” She paused, groping for words. “I never meant to hurt you, Saundra.”

  “Lies always hurt.” Her words were heavy and guttural. She looked from Barry to Hans. “One of you will take me to town, no? I can’t stay here another day.”

  Chin high, Saundra mounted the stairs as scalding tears spilled onto Angie’s cheeks. Her shoulders shook with silent sobs.

  “I’ll take her in the buggy,” Barry said.

  “No, I will take her,” Hans countered. The men stood toe to toe. Each had a determined look in his eye.

  “I’m taking her,” Barry insisted.

  Hans let out a stream of German. Without pausing, he switched to English. “I will take Saundra anywhere she wants to go. Anywhere. Even if it’s California.”

  Barry raised a tight fist. “What did you say?”

  Saundra’s voice broke into their argument. “Hans will take me to the hotel in Chancyville,” Saundra said. “Barry, would you kindly help him with my trunks?”

  With a final glare at Hans, Barry sidled past Saundra and headed for the stairs. Hans was close behind him.

  Drumming hooves pounded across the yard. Angie darted to the wind
ow. Through bleary eyes she saw Lane astride Dan, galloping across the field toward the timberline.

  What must he think of her now? If only she’d prayed and waited instead of manipulating the situation herself. What a tangle! What a disaster!

  Saundra moved closer to the window. She watched Lane ride away then moved to stand beside the cellar door, her face turned away from Angie, as still as a statue.

  The men brought down the trunks and set them on the porch. Saundra walked with them to the barn.

  Angie hurried upstairs to hold Judy, who was still crying, and rock her gently as though she were two years old again. When her sobs subsided, Angie lay next to her on the bed, eyes closed. What would become of Judy now? What would become of scheming Angie?

  A few minutes later Judy whispered, “They’re going.” Her breath came in hiccups. Her head lay on the pillow. “Hear the horses?”

  Angie moved to the window. “Barry’s got Dan and Sheba hitched to the buggy. I hope Hans doesn’t have any trouble with them. Sheba doesn’t take to strangers, and Hans hasn’t been here very long.”

  Soon after the buggy disappeared down the lane, Barry cantered away on Molasses, his own horse. Watching him go, Angie wondered if he would ever come back. Poor Barry had suffered a lot at her hands as well.

  “Angie,” Judy wailed, drawing Angie’s attention back to her, “I’m so scared of what Papa will say when he comes inside.”

  “I know.” She smoothed the girl’s tawny hair, trying not to think about Lane out in the woods. She dreaded his return almost as much as his daughter did.

  “Judy, what we did was wrong. I should have never pretended that your father put the ad in that paper. I should have never signed his name to those letters.”

  “What’s going to happen to our happy Christmas?” Judy asked, tears flowing afresh.

  “I don’t know. We’ll have to wait to hear what your daddy says when he comes home. All we can do now is pray.”

  Holding Judy close in her arms, Angie squeezed her eyes shut and cried out to her heavenly Father. “Dear God, I know I did wrong. I confess my lies and my scheming to You. Please forgive me and work this situation out for good. In wrath remember mercy.”