by Linda Ford
"This reminds me of some books I read when I was a kid," Darcy said. "Something about a giggling brook and laughing trees. I liked pretending the things of nature were human."
Amy squatted in front of her, eyes sparkling with interest. "Tell me some more."
Darcy couldn't remember any more. "We can make up our own. See the sun catching off the ripples like eyes winking? Winking river. Or—" She pointed to the leaves. "They're telling each other secrets. Whispering leaves."
Blake leaned on his elbow. "My dad used to bring me here. I'd forgotten all about it. We floated bark boats."
Amy bounced up. "How? Show me how."
Blake pushed to his feet and strode toward the trees. He showed Amy how to select bits and pieces of wood, then they went to the river and had boat races, Amy squealing with excitement.
Darcy found a piece of bark and joined the race, yelling and screaming as her boat crossed their arbitrary finish line ahead of the other two. "I win. I win." She grabbed Amy's hands and danced around with her. Blake's boat had been last. She danced Amy up to Blake and chanted, "You lose. You lose."
Blake jammed his fists on his hips and gave her a mock scowl. "Nobody likes a poor winner. Besides, what kind of an example are you setting for little Amy?"
"A fun one?"
Amy dropped Darcy's hands, crossed her arms across her chest in a militant stance and glowered at Blake. "I'm not little. When are you going to stop treating me like a child?" She stomped away.
Blake stared after Amy like she'd developed two heads. "Where did that come from?"
Darcy whooped with laughter. Her little sister certainly had a good dose of moxie.
Blake's deep chuckled joined her.
After that, they couldn't seem to stop laughing. They played a game of tag with Amy. Then they walked, three abreast, along the river. Amy broke away to pick up shiny stones and it seemed the most natural thing in the world for Darcy to take Blake's hand.
"This was a real good idea," Blake murmured as they watched Amy filling her pockets with rocks. "I can't believe I haven't been here since Dad died. We used to come often."
"Maybe it's time to let yourself have some fun once in awhile." He didn't answer, and she continued softly. "I understand life hasn't been easy for you. You've had to shoulder far too much responsibility far too young. But you can't let it keep you from enjoying life at the same time."
"I thought I was until you came along."
"Oh dear. That doesn't sound good."
"Believe me, it is." His stomach rumbled. "Did you bring enough food for me or should I go home for supper?"
"There's lots." She'd give up her own share if it meant he'd stay a bit longer.
They called to Amy and headed back to the blanket. Darcy divided the sandwiches and handed out boxes of juice. She was glad she'd baked cookies the night before and had generously filled a bag.
After they'd eaten, Amy sat at the edge of the river and tossed rocks into the water. Content with life, Darcy lay on her stomach next to Blake.
"A person could get used to living in the country," she said then wondered where the thought had come from.
"I can't imagine living anywhere else," Blake murmured. "My great, great grandfather, Cyril Thompson, came here before the government opened up the land for settlers. He had a thousand cows roaming freely. He built a log house for his wife and family."
"Sounds like Amy's story." She couldn't imagine roots going down four generations. The longest she'd ever lived in one place was the last three years in her own little apartment.
"My grandpa used to tell me all sorts of stories." Blake leaned on one elbow so he could look at Darcy. "I don't know how many of them were really true."
"Like what?"
"Well, he had this one wild story about a man who lived in the mountains. He used to point to a place where you could see a bit of valley and say, 'Right about there.' He said the man kidnapped a young woman right out of her own yard with the intention of forcing her to become his wife."
Darcy gasped. "Why would he do that? Did she get away?"
"Story goes he brought her back. I guess she wasn’t too cooperative."
"Poor girl."
Blake chuckled. "Maybe poor man. But in the end, they did marry. It seems the man had a scar on his face he thought made him ugly and figured the only way to get a wife was to force someone to marry him, but it seems the young lady saw past his scar to his heart."
"How romantic."
"Yes, indeed."
She narrowed her eyes and studied him. Was he mocking her? "Don't you believe in love?"
"Of course I do. I just don't think it has to be so dramatic. With my parents and with Rob and my mom, I saw it more as deep and steady. The kind of thing that is like a solid foundation."
Darcy studied the rippling water. Blake knew where he belonged. And always had. He knew where he'd be at the end of his life. Right here with his children and grandchildren gathered around him. Darcy shook her head.
"What's the matter?" Blake asked.
"It's just so foreign to me. I can't imagine a place that's been in the family for generations. I can't even remember all the places I've lived." As to love that formed a foundation—well, she knew it existed. And she dreamed of the possibility in her own life, but she didn't have the calm assurance it was ordinary and expected. Not like Blake. For her it was a dream, and she'd learned long ago not to put too much hope in dreams.
"Not everyone wants that sort of belonging. The very idea would give my mother hives. She liked moving on a regular basis. I think she found it exciting to look for a new place and welcomed the challenge of negotiating all the details."
"How about you?" His voice was low, serious, as if this was more than casual conversation. She slid a quick glance at him, seeing the warmth in his chocolate colored eyes. Then she forced her gaze back to the river.
"How do you feel about staying in one place?" His voice was soft.
She didn't answer right away. She was thinking of the house her father left her. The idea still seemed impossible. She wanted to clutch at her ownership like a child refusing to let go of the penny needed to make a purchase. She didn't belong out here even though she felt drawn to the place. And the people. Especially Amy. And yes, Blake. But long ago she'd learned how disastrous it was to pin her hopes on one person expecting him to provide her security. She'd learned to stand on her own feet and trust God for what she needed. She had a good, satisfying job back in Seattle. She knew what was expected of her. And she wasn't about to let any of her coworkers and friends down. She'd return. Run the half marathon and win it. And she'd resume her duties.
Blake got tired of waiting for her answer and dropped his chin to his hands. "I guess belonging doesn't appeal to everyone."
She didn't respond. How could she begin to explain the difference between them? The difference between knowing and dreaming.
9
Darcy woke from a sound sleep and lay staring into the darkness. What wakened her? She strained into the silence. Usually she could hear the fridge or the clock on her bedside table. But the numbers on her clock had disappeared. She reached for the lamp and flicked it. Nothing. The power must be off. She shivered and snuggled deeper into her covers. And then she heard it. The roar and moan of the wind. A storm. Already the cold was enough to make her feet cramp. She supposed it would be a good idea to light the fireplace.
She gathered the bedclothes around her and padded into the living room, stumbling into the couch in the darkness. She peered out the window, but the darkness was impenetrable. Not a flicker of light anywhere. She'd seen a flashlight somewhere but didn't have a clue where and knew she'd never find it in the dark.
The fireplace was hard to miss. She stubbed her toe on the hearth and dropped her blankets as she grabbed the offended member of her anatomy. The cold hit her like a blast and she reached for the blankets.
She fumbled for wood and found the stack to the right of the fireplace. A log r
olled off and dropped on her foot. Darcy grunted but this time she wasn’t dropping her covers. She managed to open the fireplace screen and jab the log in.
Great. A fireplace and a log. But what she really needed was a fire. Which required matches. She patted her hips and chest as if she had pockets that might contain matches or lighter, and giggled. Here she was doing the Macarena alone and in the middle of a cold, dark night.
She edged her way to the couch and cuddled up under the blankets. It surely wasn't cold enough to pose any real threat, but bony fear trickled across her neck and raced down her spine.
Not to be melodramatic or anything, but how long did it take to freeze to death? She'd heard you fell asleep and didn't wake up. That didn't sound too bad. She laid her head against the back. Suddenly, she sat up. No way was she going to let the cold get to her.
She marched back to her bedroom, bumping her shins on the corner of the coffee table and banging her head into the door but she only muttered under her breath. She pawed through her drawers and found a heavy sweater, pulled it over her head then found jeans and warm socks. Reaching out until she found the bed, she sat down to pull them on. She toed her way into her shoes, giggling as she tried to put one on backwards.
Using her hands to guide her, she found her way to the back door and pulled down a heavy coat from the hooks. She caught a hint of Blake's lemony-leathery scent as she burrowed into it. It took a few minutes for the icy lining to get warm.
She'd survive. As soon as morning came, she'd find matches and start a fire. It would be an adventure.
How were they managing up at the other house? Was someone making sure Amy was warm enough? She could imagine the child curled against Blake's chest, warm and cherished. A long, slow ache filled her. Try as she might, she couldn't dismiss it as cold. Truth was, she felt shut out. Alone. Unwanted.
She stamped her feet up and down. She wouldn't allow self-pity. She recited the verses Mrs. R encouraged her 'girls' to memorize. 'For all have sinned and come short of the glory of God,' might not be the most comforting passage. She mentally shifted to the Psalms. Chapter Twenty-three. The shepherd psalm. 'The Lord is my shepherd...' By the time she'd recited the whole passage, her fear and loneliness subsided. She would never be alone. She had God's comfort.
She edged toward the window, hoping for a glimpse of the house. Did she see a faint flash of light? She strained into the darkness. It had to be her imagination. That's one thing she shared with Amy—her all-too-vivid imagination. And blue eyes, though she doubted hers were as lively as Amy's. Plus a stubbornness that could cause others to grind their teeth.
She smiled into the unrelenting darkness. It was tons of fun to share similarities with a little sister.
She heard feet stamping on the wooden deck, the sound muffled by snow. Her city instincts kicked in, and she shrank back fearing an intruder.
But she wasn't in the city. She was on the Bar T Ranch. And who would wander around in a blackout and a raging storm?
The door rattled as someone tried to open it.
"Darcy, open up. It's cold as the North Pole out here."
"Blake?" she whispered. "I'm coming," she called, not caring a bit that she cracked her knee twice in her rush to unlock the door.
Cold, like a blast from the Artic, hit her in the face, and snow stung her eyes. Blake shone a light in her face then shoved her aside and pushed the door closed.
He stamped his feet and brushed snow off his coat. "Are you okay?"
Little tickles of warmth, like the first cup of morning coffee filled her. "You came out in this storm to check on me?" It was the cold making her voice so husky. Yeah. Like she believed that. She wanted to hug him for his concern. Except for his snow-covered coat. She stepped back from the cold coming off him. "I'm okay."
He again shone the light in her face. She closed her eyes until he lowered the beam down her body. "I see you found my old coat."
"I was desperate."
He chuckled. "I haven't worn that in ages. I outgrew it. Looks good on you though."
From the glow of his flashlight she could see his face in sharp planes, his wide smile, his hair hidden under a shaggy fur hat and she giggled. "Has the wind blown us to Russia?"
He touched the hat. "You mean this? You like it?"
"Very aristocratic."
"Thank you." He bowed deeply. Then grew serious. "I wondered if you'd get a fire going."
"I'm not much of a Girl Scout. I wasn't prepared. And I couldn't find any matches." She did the Macarena again, patting pockets.
"The forecast is for the storm to last three days."
She shivered. "Not only am I a poor Girl Scout; I'd be a lousy pioneer. I can't imagine three days without heat."
"Fortunately you don't have to. We have a roaring fire in the fireplace at the other house. It's reasonably warm. Grab a few things and I'll take you there." He pulled another flashlight out of his pocket. "While you do that, I'll crack open the taps so the water won't freeze."
She hurried to her room, humming as she threw some clothes and toiletries into a small bag. She was going to spend three days at Blake's house shut in by a storm. Lots of time to talk and share.
Blake stood in the middle of the kitchen. She shone her light in his face. He turned aside to avoid the brightness. The fur hat was pushed back on his head..
"All ready?" he asked.
"Ready and waiting."
He took her hand and pulled it through his arm. "Hang on and whatever you do, don't let go. I wouldn't want to lose you out there."
She wouldn't want to get lost. And she certainly didn't mind keeping her arm tucked into his.
They stepped outside into a wall of snow and wind. She forgot everything but hanging on for dear life as they walked head on into the storm. How did Blake know where to go? Fear made her stumble. What if they got lost? How long would they wander out in this wretched storm before they were buried in snow? Would they lie there until spring thawed out their lifeless bodies? The Lord is my shepherd.
Blake pulled her closer and forged ahead. She clung to him and trusted he knew the way.
The pressure of the wind stopped so suddenly she almost fell.
"We're at the house," Blake shouted in her ear. "We're out of the wind here." She stumbled inside. He closed the door firmly after them. A battery-powered lamp provided a golden glow.
She slipped out of her coat, shook it before draping in on a hook. She'd slipped on a pair of boots and she unlaced and pulled them off and stuck her feet in her slippers as he shrugged out of his coat.
"Come on. Let's get in where it's warm." He took her hand and drew her past the dark kitchen into the living room where a fire roared and crackled in the big stone fireplace. Amy slept on the love seat. Aunt Betty lay on one couch, her eyes closed.
Blake didn't drop her hand until they stood facing the fire then only so he could stretch his hands to the warmth. Darcy did the same. "Fire," she murmured. "Man's greatest invention."
Blake looked around the room. "Everyone is safe and sound."
Darcy stared into the flames. Was that all it was for him? Taking care of responsibilities?
Blake reached over to the end of Amy's couch and picked up a stack of blankets and a pillow. "You might as well get comfortable. We're here for the night."
She glanced around the room. One couch and a recliner left.
"You take the couch," he said.
"I couldn't do that. I'll take the recliner."
"No, I need to keep an eye on the fire." He made a bed for her. "There you go."
She felt uncomfortable. "I'm not really tired."
"Would you like something warm to drink?"
"How—"
He lifted an old kettle off the hearth. "Fire. Man's greatest invention."
She grinned.
"Hot chocolate?" he asked.
"Sounds good."
He brought two mugs and instant drink powder from the kitchen. He pulled the couch around so it faced
the fire and they sat with their feet propped on the hearth.
"Maybe the pioneers didn't have it so bad." She sipped the hot, sweet drink. "This is kind of nice."
"It's inconvenient if it lasts three days."
"Could it really?"
"Been known to happen."
"Amy's snoring. She sounds like a kitten purring." She met Blake's gaze and they chuckled.
Aunt Betty shifted on the other couch and groaned.
Darcy settled back against the couch. Blake kept his arm across her shoulders. She decided she liked the feel of it. She could pretend he was being protective. She stared into the fire. "This is like camping only cozier. You know, with the couch and everything."
"Have you done a lot of camping?"
"I once went to a summer camp in a wilderness area. But I never managed to learn how to be Ranger Sue. The only way I can start a fire by rubbing two sticks together is if one of them is a match."
He chuckled. "So you failed the survival skills test?"
"I never even qualified for the test. They begged me to pretend I hadn't taken the course. They offered me a lifetime membership to the shoppers club if I kept it a secret. I suppose you have all your Boy Scout badges?"
"Nope. Didn't even go. But I can change the oil in a tractor in record time. And I can find my way from point A to point B without a map."
"From what I hear that isn't so much a skill as a denial mechanism for men."
"You think I'd sooner wander around lost than ask for directions?"
"Would you?"
He got up, put some more wood on the fire and made them more hot chocolate, then stood with his back to the fire, leaning back on his heels, backlit by the glow of the fire.
"I might not bother if it was just me but I would never drag around Amy or someone I care about. For their sake, I would certainly ask directions."
She tipped her head back to see his face. His jaw set firmly. She couldn't see his eyes but she suspected they were hard and determined. He took this protective business seriously.
He'd included Amy in his 'cared for' category. She wondered who else he'd include. Aunt Betty for sure. Maybe herself as well? After all he'd come to rescue her from freezing to death. Okay, maybe that was a little too dramatic. But he'd cared enough to bring her to a warm place. Was it just responsibility? Or was it more? Like caring.
