Love Is Patient Romance Collection

by Vetsch, Erica; McDonough, Vickie; Barton, Janet Lee

  “You are a real person, and I’ll clobber anyone who says different.” He gave a mock growl, but he knew just what she meant. How many times over the years had people’s eyes just slid right over Betsy? First the leg braces and canes, and now the wheelchair. Even the ranch hands were uncomfortable around her, not knowing what to say or do.

  In that, at least, he couldn’t fault their visitor. She’d certainly spoken to Betsy with more friendliness than she’d directed his way. Not that he could blame her. He hadn’t been exactly cordial himself.

  “It’s been a long time since I had a girl to talk to.” Betsy sighed, her eyes beginning to drift shut. “I really couldn’t talk to Edith. She acted as if I wasn’t even there.” Her words slowed as she fell asleep.

  Maybe, for the time being, having Gwendolyn here wouldn’t be all that bad, not if she could bring a little happiness into Betsy’s life.

  He shook his head and left the room, easing the door almost closed so he could still hear if she called out. One glance into the crowded parlor brought him back to reality. No way was he going to be made a fool of. Women like Edith and Gwendolyn were only after one thing by marrying a man they didn’t even know, and if that little miss thought she was going to sink her claws into him the way Edith had done to his father, she had another think coming.

  When he returned to the kitchen, he stopped in the doorway. Gwendolyn stood at the dishpan, up to her elbows in soapy water.

  “What are you doing?”

  She glanced over her shoulder. “Is that rhetorical, or have you never seen anyone wash dishes before?”

  Leaning against the door frame, he crossed his arms. “Got a little vinegar to you, don’t you? And quite a vocabulary. You don’t look old enough to have been a schoolteacher.” He didn’t know why he felt compelled to taunt her, unless it was to show her he wasn’t fooled by her pretty ways and willingness to help out. Edith had been a new broom that swept clean, too. Before the rot set in.

  “A schoolmaster’s daughter.” Cups sloshed through the soap and into the rinse water.

  “And what does he think of you moving out here to marry an old man?”

  “Like your grandfather, my father is dead, and fairly recently, too. That’s why I, along with my sisters, was forced to advertise for a husband. We were being evicted from our home in Massachusetts at the boarding school where my father taught. I didn’t know Zebulon Parker was a grandfather. I didn’t know anything about him except that he lived in Wyoming Territory and was—I thought—looking for a wife. There wasn’t time to learn anything else about him. We had no other options open to us. His telegram and the letters from the other three men were godsends, or so we thought.”

  He didn’t miss the wry twist to her voice, but he wasn’t going to rise to the bait. He wasn’t anyone’s godsend, thank you very much, nor did he want to be. “You didn’t ask any questions or try to find out anything about the man you thought you were going to marry? No exchange of photographs, no letters? Not even an inquiry into his financial situation? You might’ve been jumping out of the frying pan and into the fire.” Nobody would be that naive. Surely she’d probed Granddad’s prospects before agreeing to marry him.

  “My correspondence with your grandfather was by telegram only, and long telegrams cost more than I had to spend. I assumed that if he had the money to pay for my train fare, he couldn’t be on his beam ends, and if he was a friend to the other gentlemen who wrote to my sisters, he must be all right. All we asked was that the gentlemen be God-fearing and live close together. Reverend Cummings assured us of the God-fearing part, though we’re coming to realize a bit too late that our interpretation of ‘close together’ doesn’t exactly match those of the ranchers out here.”

  He marveled that she didn’t even try to hide her penniless state. Well, she wasn’t going to get her hands on any Parker money, no matter what Granddad might’ve promised her. He glanced over his shoulder toward Betsy’s bedroom door. His sister had taken an immediate shine to Gwendolyn, something she didn’t normally do. Of course, she didn’t have much of a chance to meet folks out here.

  “I appreciate the way you’ve treated Betsy, but I’ve cautioned her, and I’ll caution you again. You’re not staying. Don’t encourage any of her fancies. She’s got a head full of romantic notions, and I don’t want to see her get hurt.”

  Her hands stilled, and her shoulders drooped. Guilt at his harshness plucked his conscience. She had to be bone weary, coming all the way from Massachusetts to Sagebrush, bumping across the prairie in Cummings’s wagon since before daybreak, and then landing in the middle of the Parker woes where all her plans had burned to cinders.

  Before he did something stupid like apologize for telling the truth, he wheeled and headed up the narrow stairway to the top floor. He braced himself before the door to the bedroom across the hall from his. This room, like the parlor, went unused, tainted by the memory of Edith. He thrust those thoughts aside and entered. Her stamp was everywhere in the ornate furnishings. A four-poster bed with velvet drapes, dressing table, fly-spotted and dusty mirror, rugs—he should’ve tossed out the lot when Edith scarpered.

  Ignoring the oppressive, cloying feel of the room, he crossed the carpet and pulled open the wardrobe. A set of plain sheets lay on the top shelf, but he pushed them aside and withdrew the set of bed linens farther back. Fine, expensive, snowy material with fancy stitching on the pillow slips. He might not’ve given her the warmest of welcomes, and he might have no intentions of letting her stay, but the Parkers could show a bit of hospitality to the stranger in their midst.

  He returned to the kitchen, where she had finished washing the dishes and now leaned over the table, wiping it down. The nape of her neck caught his eye, vulnerable, soft, with wisps of golden hair teasing it. He swallowed. She’d removed her jacket, and to his way of thinking, her blouse fit her just fine. She straightened, and he wrenched his gaze away, chagrined to be caught staring.

  “You can make up your bed with these.” He held out the bundle of bedclothes. “I’d best go see about fixing that threshold.” Thrusting the sheets at her, he stalked out the back door toward the barn. What on earth had come over him? He was acting as if he’d never seen a pretty girl before.

  Chapter 3

  So legend has it that’s why the Knights of the Round Table wear green sashes, in honor of Sir Gawain’s adventure with the Green Knight.” Gwendolyn finished buttoning up Betsy’s shoes for her and pushed herself up from the kitchen floor. Betsy insisted on doing as much as possible for herself, but this morning the buttonhook had refused to cooperate.

  “That’s the most wonderful story. How do you know all these tales?” Betsy brushed her hair, slowly separating it into three hanks to braid.

  “I’ve heard them for as long as I can remember. Tales of Guinevere, Arthur, Lancelot, St. George. Father was a medieval scholar and professor, and my sisters and I just mopped it up.” She quickly made Betsy’s bed and straightened up the room for the day. “I used to dream of a knight coming to my rescue, saving me from the dragons and declaring upon his sacred honor his everlasting devotion to me.” She laced her fingers under her chin and batted her eyes.

  Betsy snickered. “Can you imagine Matt clanking around the ranch in a suit of armor?”

  Gwendolyn grimaced and shook her head. She affected a gruff, deep voice, one hand on her hip, the other pointing at the window. “Hark, fair maiden, hast thou not been forbidden to settle thyself in at this castle? What is this I espy? Draperies?”

  More laughter from Betsy as they relived the moment yesterday morning when Matt had caught them hemming pretty yellow fabric to adorn the kitchen panes. The fuss he’d kicked up over something so innocuous had baffled both the girls, but Betsy had declared the whole enterprise her idea, and he’d collapsed his protests like a stepped-on bellows.

  “What is going on in here?” Matt eased the half-open door aside.

  Gwendolyn jerked around, lost her balance, and grabbed for a c
hair back to steady herself. How much had he heard? She fought to keep her color down.

  Betsy covered her mouth, but helpless giggles escaped. Matt’s cheeks creased in a rare smile, and he laughed. The rich, mellow sound did strange things to Gwendolyn’s insides, and she forced herself upright, smoothing her skirts and hair. He tugged on Betsy’s newly fashioned braid. “It feels good to hear you laugh again, Bets. What’s so funny?”

  “Gwendolyn.” Betsy’s shoulders quivered, light dancing in her brown eyes.

  “We were just talking.” Gwendolyn hustled to the stove, chagrined to be caught giggling like a schoolgirl. “I’ll have breakfast ready in two shakes.”

  A breeze fluttered the curtains at the kitchen window, but she hid her grin. He really had been grumpy about them. But what harm could it do? Aside from that chock a block full parlor, the other rooms in the house were rather stark and uninviting. Surely a few womanly touches wouldn’t hurt anything.

  Matt washed up and sat down at the head of the table. Gwendolyn turned the bacon and cracked a couple more eggs into the skillet. The warm, inviting smell of biscuits curled through the room when she opened the oven door. Neither Matt nor Betsy had complained that she had taken over the meals, and Betsy tried to help as much as she could.

  “Ah, perfect.” She whipped the biscuits onto a platter and set them on the table then slid the eggs and bacon onto plates before placing them in front of Matt and his sister. She took her own chair and bowed her head.

  Matt offered his hands to each of them and bowed his head. A flutter started just under Gwendolyn’s heart, the same way it did every time they happened to touch, and she chided herself to keep her mind on the blessing.

  His simple prayer of thanks warmed her as it always did. There was something so straightforward about Matt. Hardheaded, but straightforward. He hadn’t budged on the idea of her staying, but at least he no longer looked at her as if she might steal his wallet.

  As he tucked into his food, she observed him from under her lashes. Square jaw, straight nose, and that thick, slightly wavy reddish hair that just begged her to touch it. His muscles moved under his worn blue shirt when he reached for the jar of honey, and a light dusting of ruddy hairs sprinkled his forearms and the backs of his strong hands.

  His lips, which could be hard and uncompromising one moment and soft and smiling the next, drew her attention. Then there were his eyes. The same shape as Betsy’s. Brilliant blue and slanted a bit at the corners, often filled with care or concern when he looked at his sister and consternation or confusion when he looked at her.

  What would it be like to have him look at her with tenderness, or even just friendliness?

  “Do I have dirt on my face?” He sat back and rested his knife and fork on the edge of his plate.

  She blinked and looked away. “Um, no. I’m sorry. My thoughts were wandering.” And into a region she should keep them well away from. “What are your plans for the day?” She helped herself to another biscuit, though she hadn’t finished the first—anything to cover up being caught staring like an infatuated twit.

  “I thought I’d slap another coat of paint on that fence today.” He resumed his breakfast.

  Betsy, who had been quietly pushing her food around on her plate, frowned. “Isn’t it about time for the spring roundup? Shouldn’t you be out on a horse somewhere?”

  He shrugged. “The boys are handling it. They rode out a couple of days ago.”

  Her brow scrunched further. “This is because of me, isn’t it? You’re staying here because you’re afraid to leave me now that I’m stuck in this chair and Granddad isn’t here. You should’ve gone with the men. You always go on the roundup.” Tears filled Betsy’s eyes, a surprise to Gwendolyn, for she had a feeling Betsy fought hard to always be cheerful and staunch. “I don’t want to be a burden to you, Matt. You have a ranch to run, and you can’t do it from inside this house.”

  “You aren’t a burden, so get that notion right out of your head. I’ve got plenty of work to keep me busy around the ranch, and I have a whole crew of men to help me do it. I just feel like painting today, that’s all.” Matt frowned.

  Betsy sat back, letting her fork clatter to her plate. “Matthew Parker, you’re lying. You hate that picket fence. When Edith insisted on it, you called it the most nonsensical contraption ever to hit Wyoming Territory. ‘A maintenance headache that serves no useful purpose.’” She tugged a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed her eyes, her lip quivering. “And you’re lying when you say I’m not a burden. I can’t even button my own shoes.” Tossing the handkerchief into her lap, she backed her chair up and turned, bumping into the table leg and rattling the dishes before rolling toward her room.

  Matt shoved back his chair to go after her, but Gwendolyn touched his arm. “Leave her be.”

  His shoulders slumped. “What did I say? She was so happy just a while ago, giggling and laughing with you. Now she’s crying. Betsy never cries.”

  Gwendolyn tugged on her lip, unsure how far to go. “I don’t know her as well as you do, but I suspect she might cry more often than you think; she just doesn’t want you to know it. She would rather stifle her feelings than ever cause you hurt. I suspect she’s already regretting tearing up in front of you.”

  “She’s not a burden.” He sat back, an indignant scowl creasing his brow.

  “Well, she is and she isn’t.” She rose to clear the table. Clearly they’d all lost their appetites. “It’s true there are plenty of things she can’t do for herself, and it’s also true that because you love her, you don’t consider doing things for her a hardship. From the little bit Betsy has told me, her illness has been advancing gradually for the past several years?”

  He relaxed a little and leaned forward, turning his coffee cup in circles on the tabletop. “It started a few years back as a bit of weakness, then numbness, and now she can’t feel much of anything in her lower limbs. The sickness is affecting other places, too. Her fingers won’t always do what she tells them to. At first, she could get around with a cane, and she still went to school, but as things got worse, the doc switched her to leg braces and crutches. Just a couple of weeks ago, the day before Granddad passed away, in fact, she had to go into the chair. We knew it was coming, but that didn’t make it any easier. Then Granddad died, and since then, I’ve been afraid to leave her. I’ve been working around the house so I can keep an eye on her, and I’m doing all I can to make things easier for her.”

  “Like building the ramp?”

  “Yes, and moving her clothes out of the top drawers in her dresser and putting her brushes and fripperies on that low table in her room so she can reach them. I just wish there was more I could do.”

  “I know.”

  “No offense, but how could you possibly know what it’s like?” He raised one eyebrow, draining his coffee cup as he stared at her over the rim. Scraping back his chair, he rose and brought his dishes to the dishpan.

  She shaved some soap chips into the pan and lifted the kettle from the stove. “My father had something similar, though not until much later in his life. He was in a wheelchair for the last five years, since I was about Betsy’s age. I’m just glad the school kept him on. So often people seem to think if someone can’t use their legs, they can’t use their brain either. They get cast aside or relegated to the poorhouse. I’m thankful that didn’t happen to him and he was able to keep teaching right up until the day he died. His work was his life.”

  A few lines in Matt’s forehead cleared. “So that’s why you were so natural around Betsy right from the start. I guess I don’t need to tell you how cruel folks can be, just through pure ignorance sometimes. Last time I took Betsy to town, I promised myself I’d never do it again. Several folks said right out in front of her that I should send her to an institution back East.” His lips hardened.

  He stood so near, her concentration wavered. The care of an invalid was a huge burden to shoulder alone. She had shared the task with three sister
s, and it hadn’t been easy. His troubled eyes scanned the horizon through the curtained window, and his compassion for his sister touched her heart and gave her courage.

  “Matt, Betsy is right in one respect. You do have a ranch to run, and if you neglect it to care for her, she’s going to feel terrible, not to mention see right through your feeble smoke screen.” She smiled. “That picket fence is already whiter than a summer cloud. It needs a new coat of paint like the sky needs more blue.”

  “I know, but what can I do?” He shrugged. “She needs me.” Sinking onto his chair once more, he rested his forehead in his palms. His plight and his posture made her offer easier to voice.

  “Of course she needs you, but what about me? I can take care of her while you’re working. I’ve had plenty of practice, and even though you harbor doubts as to my motives in coming out here, I promise you I’d never do anything to hurt Betsy.”

  He appeared to wrestle with her words, his shoulders stiffening and his back straightening. “I don’t have any right to ask it of you. It’s not as if we were married or anything.”

  That reminder stung, but she forged on. “You’re not asking for anything. I’m offering.”

  For a long moment, he studied his hands, and she was afraid he would refuse her, but then his muscles slackened and he sat back.

  “It surely would take a load off my mind.” He raised his head and smiled at her for the first time, his eyes captivating her. “I could pack and head for the cow camp today. And Pete and Mike would be here if you got into trouble. They stayed behind to take care of the livestock and chores.” She could see his mind was already racing with things he needed to do, but then he stopped. “You’re sure? I don’t have to go. And roundup lasts for at least two weeks, but closer to three. That’s a long time. Maybe I should just ride out there and check on them and come right back.”

  “Nonsense. You need to be where the work is, and Betsy and I will be fine. As you say, there are two ranch hands here if we need anything, and it’s only for a couple of weeks.”