She’d come to Jubilee expecting to make her mark in the newspaper world with these articles, so different from her society-page items. She’d never foreseen that what would happen would be that she’d find the love of her life and then destroy him.
Nor had it ever crossed her mind that she’d lose her heart to man who was a murderer. Or was he?
She still hadn’t heard from Evelyn Roller, her research assistant. There was the chance, after all, that Charlotta Allen had gotten the story garbled. She seized on the idea and held it close to her heart.
If that were the situation, it would solve everything. She would announce that she’d been mistaken, she’d gotten wrong information, and it wasn’t actually this Eric Johansen who’d killed someone, and within minutes the entire populace of Jubilee would know. In this prairie town, news spread like wildfire through dry grass.
She’d be forgiven, Eric would be forgiven, and she could stay in Jubilee.
Stay in Jubilee. She smiled. It was exactly what she wanted to do. She wanted to stay in Jubilee with Eric—if he would have her.
Maybe an answer had come while she was gone. Suddenly she needed to get back to the telegraph office to see if Evelyn had discovered anything yet.
Big Ole plodded along more slowly as the snow covered the ground. She flapped the reins at him and shouted over the wind, “Let’s go!”
The huge horse came to a complete stop, dropping his head against the wind-driven snow. Rose snapped the reins again, and then she saw the problem. Big Ole’s harness had come apart.
She got out of the wagon and waded through the rapidly accumulating snow. She took off her gloves and held them in her teeth as she tried to reconnect the metal grommets and the leather straps.
“If I could see what I was doing,” she said to Big Ole, who stood patiently, his ears twisted back as he listened to what was going on behind him, “I might be able to do something.” But as fast as she could work, the airborne snowflakes landed faster on her eyelashes and her hands and the gear.
She leaned against Big Ole’s warm side. “I can’t fix it well enough to get us back to Jubilee. We’re closer to Eric’s house.” She led the horse in a U so that they were heading back toward the farm.
For a while she walked with him, guiding him with his bridle until she realized that he’d probably be better off without her assistance.
“Big Ole, I don’t know if horses pray, but people do.”
She buried her face against his flank. My life has become one long series of trials, God, and here I am, in trouble again. I shouldn’t have gone to Eric’s house, and then I shouldn’t have left it. Guide us home. Big Ole neighed softly. Both of us. If not for me, for Big Ole. He shouldn’t have to suffer just because I’m a ninny.
Rose climbed back into the wagon and dusted the snow off the seat as best she could. “Take me to Eric,” she called to the horse. “Take me to the farm.”
Big Ole tossed his head and began his slow, ponderous walk, taking them, she hoped, to safety.
Eric paced in front of his fireplace. Rose’s words spun around him like bees. She loved him! She’d said she loved him!
He’d been so wrapped up in his own anger that he hadn’t let her words penetrate. She loved him!
Stunned by this revelation, he sank into the lone chair in his living room. If she loved him, and he loved her, then maybe, just maybe, their problems could be resolved.
Oh, who was he kidding? He’d just told her to leave.
He’d stood at the window and watched her ride off. She hadn’t looked back at all. Once, a patient had told him to turn his face to the future, not to look over his shoulder all the time at the past.
That patient had been the one who had changed his life in so many ways. She was so intricately enlaced in his life that every moment she was there. At night, her pale face, drawn with illness, haunted his dreams. During the day, she trailed his footsteps, asking if he regretted what he had done.
He pushed the memory away. She’d been right. What was in the past were only shadows. He needed to turn his eyes toward the future.
Rose had said she loved him. Then she would understand. He would tell her the truth, tell her what had happened in Boston.
One of the first Bible verses he’d ever memorized as a child came back to him: “And ye shall know the truth and the truth shall make you free.” He smiled. That was the way he’d learned it, without punctuation or pause, all done in one breath.
He’d tell her—if he got the chance. Somehow they’d work this out.
It was as if a load had been lifted from his shoulders. What was it he’d heard many times? A weight shared was a weight lifted?
If—and he realized how tentative the word was—she agreed to talk to him again, he could stay here in Jubilee. This was where his heart was, not on the road trying to escape the past.
The resurgence of hope was a wonderful thing, he thought wryly as he looked at his nearly empty house, but it often had terrible timing. Well, he mused, perhaps he could get back his furniture and his plow. Knowing the postmaster and Arvid, they’d be willing to return his belongings.
The ducks were still here, including Downy, who’d taken over the farmyard completely. He smiled. A duck, a silly duck, had taken a place in his heart right next to the woman who had named it, and he’d had a harder time making arrangements to part with the ducks than with the household belongings he’d had for years.
The room was growing colder, and when he reached for the poker to stir the logs in the fireplace, the house shook as a fierce gust of wind caught it in its grasp.
In three steps, he crossed to the window. This storm had come out of nowhere, and it was intense. He couldn’t see his own wagon in front of his house. The world was white, all white, no matter where he looked.
This wasn’t the first blizzard he’d experienced since moving to the Dakota Territory—but it was Rose’s first. With horror, he realized she couldn’t possibly have made it to Jubilee before the storm struck.
Stupid, stupid! He should have been paying more attention to the weather. He’d lived here long enough to know the signs—a white sky that hung low, the first flakes of snow, and a rising wind. But he’d been too caught up in his own anger to see what was happening around him.
He tried to figure where she’d be right about now. Midway between his house and Jubilee. At the point of no return.
He reached for his coat but stopped. The storm was so fierce that he’d be lost in it, too, if he went out.
The best thing to do with a blizzard was to stay inside. He’d seen enough cases of frostbite to know all too well what exposure would do. If a man was lucky, he lost feeling in his cheeks. If he weren’t so lucky, he’d lose his life.
Like all homesteaders out here, he’d quickly learned to anchor a rope to his house near his front door. The rope, the length of the distance from his house to his barn, would be his lifeline in an extended storm. When he’d first arrived, he’d been plied with stories of men who didn’t have the rope, or who had but neglected to tie it around their waists when they went out. Once dropped, he was warned, the rope would whip away in the blizzard’s gusty winds, and the homesteader would be left to wander in the icy blasts.
He didn’t have to worry about his animals.
His horse and the ducks were in the barn, safely insulated against the storm’s fury. The ducks liked to get into the horse’s stall, probably because of the warmth, he figured, but lately they’d gotten so fat they couldn’t squeeze under the gate. Instead, they’d taken to roosting in the loose hay he’d spread in their enclosure, which he’d moved inside when the nights’ temperatures had dropped below freezing.
The only one out in the storm was Rose. He squeezed his eyes shut as he remembered what she was wearing: her usual black coat, a large reddish-pink scarf, and thin kidskin leather gloves. He could only imagine what she was wearing on her feet. There probably wasn’t a blanket in the wagon—Clanahan was too stingy to provide s
omething like that—and he was sure she hadn’t brought one from the hotel.
Would she know what to do? If she got lost and tried to walk somewhere, she’d be disoriented in this storm almost immediately. In a whiteout, when the snow isolated a person totally and obliterated any points of reference, she could be standing right next to the wagon and not see it.
Please, God, lead her back to me.
Big Ole’s steps slowed until at last the big horse stopped. Rose climbed out of the wagon, bracing herself against the frigid wind. She clung to the harness and made her way toward him.
Her feet sank into a drift, and she realized with horror what had happened. The wagon was stuck in the snow. She knelt and dug furiously with her hands to free the wheel, but to no avail. All she accomplished was getting her vastly expensive kid leather gloves soaked beyond repair.
She stood up and grimaced as the wind caught her scarf and blew it off her face. She seized the end just as it was vanishing from sight. The wind was too strong to tie the scarf back on, so she stuffed it into her coat. Surely somewhere along the way, there would be some shelter where she could put it back on or at least find a break in the blizzard winds.
Her coat collar raised in a nearly futile effort to keep the snow from being driven into her face, she floundered through the drift to Big Ole. “I don’t know how I’m going to do this,” she said to him, “but I think I’m going to have to ride you back to Eric’s farm. I’m going to unhitch the wagon, and we’ll have to leave it here.”
She unhitched one side of the harness. “Mr. Clanahan can charge me whatever he wants for this, but the fact is, Big Ole, we’re not going anywhere except to heaven if we stay here.”
She reached across and tried to detach the other side, but her fingers were too cold and stiff.
Awkwardly she clambered across the tongue of the wagon, talking to Big Ole the entire time. “Just let me unhook you from this side, and we’ll be on our way. I have to confess that I’ve never ridden without a saddle, and I’ve certainly never ridden any horse as big as you.”
The harness had started to slide, and she ducked under Big Ole’s belly. “There, I think I’ve got it now. Just let me get my bag out of the wagon. It’s on the seat, just…”
The tiny purse was there, but now it was a snow-covered mound. It was close enough to reach if she just stretched. But as she did, her feet lost their traction in the snow, and her body twisted. She felt the sharp pain in her ankle just before her head made contact with the wagon’s edge, and then all was black.
Eric paced the length of his living room. He could cross it in five steps, and he found himself counting them aloud. “One, two, three, four, five, turn. One, two, three, four, five, turn.”
She had to be safe. He wouldn’t think of anything else. At the very least, she would have found shelter in another homestead. Thinking of anything else was too dire to even consider.
“One, two, three, four, five, turn.”
He couldn’t stand it. He was driving himself insane. He had to go look for her. It was foolhardy to go out in this storm. He knew that.
But he was a fool.
He sank to his knees and buried his face in his hands. “God, what should I do? Do I go out there and look for her? How will I find her? Please, dearest Lord, I need some guidance, and Rose—Rose needs Your hand to shelter her from this storm. Please keep her safe.” He ran out of words. “Please, God. Please.”
With renewed wrath, the blizzard shook the house with a mighty roar. He got to his feet and looked out the window at the snowstorm that was keeping him from her.
The world was entirely white. The sky, the ground, the trees, everything was white. There was no way—
For just a moment, the wind subsided. He blinked and leaned closer to the windowpane to make sure.
Yes, there was something out there, a dark shape that moved, just a bit.
Big Ole!
He yelped with happiness.
The horse had more sense than both of them, and he’d brought Rose back to him.
Chapter 14
Winter is a deadly season wearing a beautiful dress of white diamonds.
It is deceptive and demanding. Do not underestimate its beauty—or its power.
Eric threw on his coat, buttoning it crookedly in his attempt to get it on in a hurry. Hat, gloves, scarf—all went on in a blur.
Rose was back!
He picked up the rope that was already anchored to the porch pole and tied it around his waist. He’d try to get both Rose and Big Ole into the barn and out of the storm. The barn was dry and out of the wind and snow. After she’d recuperated a bit, he’d bring her into the house.
The winds flung icy particles right into his skin, but he didn’t feel the bite. Nothing was on his mind except one thing, bringing Rose back safely. If something happened to her, he could never forgive himself.
But God had led him to her.
Thank You, dearest God! Thank You! Now please guide me to her. Let me get her and bring her to me. I can’t lose her. I can’t.
“Rose! I’m coming! Rose!”
The winds picked up again, but he felt safe, tethered as he was to the house. He’d find her and take care of her. Big Ole was swallowed up by the whiteout, but Eric called, and the horse neighed back.
Good. He was headed in the right direction.
“Rose! I’m coming!”
A tug at his waist told him he had reached the end of the rope. “Rose!” Big Ole snorted, and Eric’s spirits sank.
The horse must be a good twenty yards away. It was impossible to judge distance in the storm; every sound was distorted. The rope wasn’t long enough.
He didn’t dare pray on his knees or even shut his eyes. It was too cold. He shook his hands and tromped his feet, keeping the blood running as he prayed out loud. “What do I do now?” he asked God as he rubbed his hands together. “If I take off the rope, I might be lost, too.” He rubbed the snow from his eyes. “But if I don’t have her, I’m lost anyway. God, be with me. Stay with me.”
The image of Rose, earlier in the summer, sitting outside the barn, going through the harness pieces, sprang into his mind. He’d never really finished that project, and right now the bag was still in the barn, filled with—
“Thank You, God!” he shouted as he made his way to the barn.
He looped and knotted the rope around the latch on the barn door. As he dragged the bag to the door, Sir Gray whinnied from the stall behind him.
“Yes, I’m going to make a rope long enough to take me to Jubilee if I need to,” he said to the horse as he spread the contents of the bag on the ground.
He ripped off his gloves, blew on his fingers, and rubbed his hands together. “This goes with this. Buckle this. Tie here.” The words ran like a murmur from him as he pieced together the parts.
When at last he had a sufficient length, he untied the rope from the door and knotted it to the leather pieces.
“This should work. It has to work.” He anchored the free end to his waist, pulled his gloves back on, and ventured out again.
Walking in a whiteout was unsettling. Without visual landmarks to direct him, even one misstep could spell his doom. He could be headed for the stream, or for the barn, or even back to his house.
Wham! Or for Big Ole. He’d walked right into the large horse, and he laughed with relief. “I’ve never been so glad to see a horse before in my life.”
The huge horse was standing by the wagon. “Stay here,” he told the horse as he felt his way to the wagon. “It’s unhitched,” he muttered to himself as he realized that Big Ole was standing next to the wagon, not in front of it. “How odd.”
“Rose?” he called. “Rose, I’m here. Where are you?”
There was no answer, and he began to sweat despite the cold.
He came to the wagon and climbed in it. He sprawled over the bench on his stomach and felt under it, hoping to come in contact with her black cloth coat, but she wasn’t there.
> Then he felt something under his leg. It was something small, and almost immediately he knew what it was.
Rose’s bag. He pulled it out of the snow and held it to his cheek. It was all he had of her.
“Rose!” he called, but the wind tore the word out of his mouth, and it vanished into the distance.
With sinking hope, he climbed into the back and searched there. Again, Rose wasn’t there.
Could she possibly be under the wagon? He peered underneath it but saw nothing.
The winds broke a bit, and he saw that he wasn’t far at all from the barn. Anxiously he scanned the area, hoping to catch a glimpse of a black coat or a reddish-pink scarf or even—he shuddered—a small bump on the ground that hadn’t been there before.
There were drifts but nothing else. There was no way to look for her footprints. The wind had already erased his own.
Rose wasn’t anywhere in sight. Could she have made it to his barn? The thought buoyed him.
“Come on, boy,” he said at last to Big Ole. “Let’s check in the barn. Maybe she’s there. We’ll get you warmed up, too.” He grasped the bridle to draw the horse with him, but the horse pulled back in objection.
“What’s the matter?” He ran his hands over Big Ole’s body. “You don’t seem to be injured. Come with me. You can—”
The horse again refused to go.
“Big Ole, move.” He pulled with all his might, and the big horse reluctantly moved away. “Get away from the wagon. I don’t know why—” The reason Big Ole wouldn’t move was right under his feet. Rose was crumpled in the snow beside the wagon, and Big Ole had been standing over her, protecting her from the blizzard.
Eric dropped to her side. Her face was fearfully white, but she was breathing. He scooped her up cautiously and put her across Big Ole’s back. “This is precious cargo,” he said to the horse. “Let’s take her to the barn.”
Reluctant Brides Collection Page 62
