Love Is Patient Romance Collection

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

  Matt gripped two of the pickets, hanging his head. His gut muscles clenched. The scene by the riverbank played itself over and over in his mind. Had he made a mistake? Was she telling the truth, that Jackson had caught her unawares and forced his attentions on her? Was he being unfair by lumping her in with Edith without giving her a chance to explain? Would she believe him if he told her the truth, and would she forgive him if he did?

  The last thing he wanted to do was dredge all that up again. And yet, he wanted to be free of Edith and all the hurt she’d caused. He wanted peace and a chance to be happy. And he wanted to hold Gwendolyn in his arms, with no suspicions or accusations between them.

  Edith’s ivylike vines had imprisoned him for far too long, binding his thoughts and actions. Guilt, disgust, anger, bitterness, and no matter how he slashed at them, they grew back with longer thorns and stronger boughs.

  And at first, he’d seen Gwendolyn the same way, trapping, scheming, plotting. But now, when he thought of her, there were no entangling thorns or entrapping vines. Gwendolyn meant wildflowers in the breeze, sunshine and light, laughter and hope.

  His heart craved some hope. It had been a long, dry spell.

  Chapter 7

  You can’t leave.” Betsy reached out her fragile, pale hand and stopped Gwendolyn from putting another folded garment into her valise.

  “I have no choice.” She choked back the tears that wanted to fall. No way was he going to see how he’d hurt her. She refused to cry. This very day she’d promised to let God be her refuge and tower. Well, she would. If it killed her. No more trusting in men.

  “But where will you go?”

  “Evelyn’s, I suppose. After that, I don’t know.”

  “This is ridiculous. If you’re going, I’m going with you.”

  Gwendolyn stopped cramming things into her luggage and sagged onto the side of the bed. “You can’t. Matt needs you here.”

  “He needs you here, too; he’s just too dumb to see it.”

  Weary beyond anything she’d felt before, Gwendolyn wrapped her arms around her waist. “I can’t do this anymore. I’m fighting shadows, wild accusations, and half-spoken thoughts. I’m left to imagination and supposition. He doesn’t trust me. How can I win against something I can’t see, someone I don’t even know? Nobody will talk about this Edith woman and what she did. At first, I didn’t want to pry, and then I was afraid to. It was almost as if she was still here, still holding sway. I have so many questions, but Matt’s locked everything up behind a wall of prejudice I can’t break down.”

  The bedroom door eased open. She raised her eyes. Matt stood in the doorway, his expression sad and watchful. Jumping to her feet, she began packing once more, blinking hard and commanding herself not to cry.

  “Matt, this has gone on long enough. Either you tell her about it or I will.” Betsy backed her chair up to make room for him to enter.

  “You don’t have to preach anymore, Betsy.” He sounded weary, beaten down. “Gwendolyn, we need to talk.”

  Gwendolyn’s heart went out to him, captured by the sorrow in his blue eyes and the way his shoulders drooped, but she steeled herself, not wanting to get hurt further. He stepped aside to allow her to pass through the doorway and motioned for her to head toward the kitchen.

  “Can we go outside? I have a few things to say that I’d rather Betsy not hear.” He held the back door open for her.

  Instead of stopping in the backyard, with its washtubs and clothesline, Matt grabbed her hand and took off walking, heading away from the house and the creek to her favorite rise a few hundred yards from the buildings. He followed the path her feet had created on multiple trips up the hillside. The long twilight held, but a few stars peeked from the eastern sky.

  When he finally stopped, he let go of her hand and walked a few paces away. She waited, running her fingertips across the airy fronds of wheatgrass stalks. She was finally going to get some answers, but her heart quailed at the thought that they might not be the answers she wanted to hear.

  He stood with his thumbs in his belt loops, legs braced apart, staring out over the prairie. The wind rippled through the grass and fluttered his shirtsleeves. She couldn’t help but step closer and only just refrained from putting her hand on his back to offer solace. Fear of being rebuffed kept her from touching him.

  “I owe you an apology. Several of them, actually.” His voice rumbled in his chest, as if the words had to work hard to come out.

  She took his elbow and tugged gently. “Come sit.” Leading him to the little bench Pete and Mike had built for her, she braced herself and told herself not to hope. She turned so she could see his profile, put her hands in her lap, and waited.

  He took a deep breath and plunged into his story. “Three years ago, right after we moved here from Texas, my dad made a trip down to Denver to buy cattle. He left me and Betsy and Granddad here to look after things. Betsy wasn’t so bad then. She could get around with a cane most of the time. We had a little cabin, just a couple of rooms. Betsy slept on a bed in the front room and me and Granddad and Dad had bunks in the other room. It wasn’t much, but we were happy. We’d saved and worked hard to get started ranching here, away from the divided loyalties and backlash of the war in Texas. A place where we could start over.”

  He had a faraway look in his eye, and his voice held a touch of longing.

  “Dad came back from Denver with a herd of cattle, a half-dozen ranch hands, and Edith, his new bride.” His hands fisted on his thighs. “She was about ten years older than me and about as ready to rough it on a ranch as she was to sprout wings and fly. Fancy clothes, fancy talk, fancy manners. Real handsome, and Dad was head over heels. At first she gushed over everything and played nice, but the rot set in pretty quickly. She hated it here, hated the people, the prairie, the animals. The cabin appalled her, even though Granddad and I moved into the bunkhouse with the ranch hands to make room for her and all her belongings.

  “The first thing she demanded was a new house. Dad tried to put her off, get her to wait a while so we could build up the herd, but she wouldn’t let up about it. Finally, he gave in, had all the materials freighted out here, and hired builders. For a while she seemed happier, picking out wallpaper and paint and rugs and such, supervising the construction. When it was finished, Granddad and I moved in with them and Betsy again. She wanted to go to Denver on a shopping spree to furnish the place, but Dad told her the house had cost more than he’d anticipated, and she could only decorate a couple of rooms. The rest would have to wait until we had cattle to sell. She pored over the catalog and spent right up to the limit.”

  That explained the parlor.

  He seemed to read her mind. “Yeah, the parlor. And one bedroom upstairs. The places Edith was most likely to be. The rest of the house looks like the kitchen and Betsy’s room did when you first got here. No decorations, nothing soft or pretty. We weren’t even allowed into the parlor, not that any of us wanted to be in there. We weren’t good enough.”

  She held her tongue, not wanting to interrupt him. The longer he spoke, the easier the words seemed to come.

  He pursed his lips and shifted on the bench. “You know Granddad and I used to argue about pretty much everything? We knew it didn’t mean anything, flare up and be done with it. But Dad was different. He never argued, just kept everything bottled up inside. And the more Edith complained, the more silent he got. She whined she was wasting the best years of her life in this forsaken place and wanted him to leave the ranch. He’d tell her his life was here and that she’d get used to it after a bit. She just needed to ‘settle in.’”

  Gwendolyn flinched at this phrase that she’d come to loathe. No wonder he’d said it to her so often.

  He glanced her way. Grim lines bracketed his mouth. “A few months after the house was finished, Edith started acting strange. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but she seemed to be there every time I turned around. Watching me, paying compliments, using any excuse to be close. At fi
rst, I didn’t want to believe it. I mean, she was my stepmother. But after a while, I couldn’t ignore it. I ended up putting a lock on my door.” A dusky red crept up his neck. “I was afraid she’d come into my room one night.

  “I couldn’t talk to Dad. He defended her at every turn. In spite of how unsuitable she was for the life here, he was in love with her. Then one day when I was coming in off the range, I forded the creek down where I found you today. I stopped to water my horse, and … I’d made up my mind to have it out with Dad about Edith. I knew she was giving Betsy a rough time, though Betsy didn’t say anything, and I’d had enough of Edith’s maneuvering.” A shudder rippled through him.

  “I was just getting ready to mount up and head for home when I heard someone crying. It was Edith, huddled in the grass, bawling.” A grimace twisted his lips. “I wanted to ride away and leave her there. I wish now that I had.”

  Gwendolyn squeezed her laced fingers together. Pieces of the puzzle began to fall together, creating a picture of tension, conflict, misery, and mistrust. Poor Matt.

  “Like a fool I squatted down beside her. I wanted to make sure she wasn’t hurt. She threw herself into my arms, crying about how miserable she was, about how she’d never loved my father, she’d just wanted to get out of Denver.” He shook his head, shrugging. “I didn’t know what to say to her, and I tried to get loose, but she held on tight. Then she came at me, trying to kiss me.” He swallowed.

  “I shoved her away and tried to leave, but she came after me, saying she was in love with me, that her marriage was a mistake. When I wouldn’t give in to her, she got ugly, screaming and calling me names. Then she went all quiet. I don’t know how to describe it. It was like she went cold inside, her eyes kind of glittered. Then she said real loud, ‘We’ll have to tell your father. I can’t go on deceiving him like this. He deserves to know we’re in love.’ I know now that she’d seen my dad coming down the bank. I was so stunned I couldn’t move. And then she kissed me again.” He rubbed his hands down his face. “I’ll never forget the look on Dad’s face. I pushed her away, and she fell down. Dad turned around and headed back toward the house. Edith started laughing, and I went after Dad, to explain.”

  Gwendolyn’s chest squeezed as if caught in a vise. Biting her lip to keep back the questions, she kept her eyes glued to his profile in the fading light, his chiseled lips, straight nose, stubborn chin. She loved every plane and angle of his face, and her heart ached for what he’d been through.

  “He didn’t believe me. I suppose he couldn’t bring himself to. I guess it was easier to believe his son had betrayed him than to believe his own judgment had been so flawed. I knew I couldn’t stay here. Dad left the house, and I went upstairs to pack. When I came down, I went to say good-bye to Betsy and Granddad. I prayed I wouldn’t run into Edith, because I don’t know what I would’ve said or done. Then I heard the shot.”

  Gwendolyn took his hand between both of hers. “Matt, I’m so sorry. You don’t have to say any more.”

  “I do. I have to tell you the rest of it, so you can decide what you want to do.” He studied the horizon. “I’ve never forgiven myself for not trying harder to convince Dad of what really happened. I should’ve gone to him the minute I first suspected what Edith was up to. I should’ve cut and run when I found her crying by the creek.”

  “This isn’t your fault, Matt.”

  “I never thought he’d do something like that.”

  “Is there any chance that it was an accident?”

  “I don’t know. That’s what folks assumed, and I never told anyone until today what really happened between the three of us, though I think some of the ranch hands suspected.”

  “What happened to Edith?”

  He heaved a sigh. “Dad had turned over the ranch bookkeeping to her pretty early on, because she asked if she could help. By the time we found Dad’s body downstream and got back to the ranch house late that night, she’d cleaned out the cashbox and disappeared. We found out she rode straight to Sagebrush and withdrew every last cent from our account there. Last I heard, she was back in Denver, married again.”

  “And Betsy knows none of this?”

  “How could I tell her? She was just a kid, still is, and she has her own problems. I didn’t want to disillusion her about our father, and I didn’t want her ever to have any doubts about me. I never even told Granddad, though I think he suspected there was more to the story. Then he died, and Betsy got worse.” He gave a rough laugh. “And before I could hardly draw a deep breath, you landed on my doorstep out of the blue.” Giving her hands a little shake, he released her and stood, pacing the area in front of the bench. “A mail-order bride I didn’t order. I thought you were like Edith, grasping, conniving, finagling your way into an old man’s affections, coming out here to see what you could bilk him out of.”

  Gwendolyn moistened her lips, for the first time seeing things from his point of view.

  “Every time you tried to help, I accused you.” He stopped pacing. “I thought history was repeating itself. But gradually, you were winning me over. The way you took care of Betsy and the house, the way you never asked me for anything or complained that the house wasn’t big enough or that you were lonely. You seemed to get joy from such simple things, like those ridiculous weeds you planted today.” He chuckled. “I was falling in love with you, but I was still fighting it.”

  Her heart swelled, and her breath snagged in her throat.

  “Then, I went and ruined it by throwing your offer of help with the bookwork back at you.” He closed his eyes, turning his face toward the darkening sky. “Then I found you with Jackson, and it looked like all my suspicions were being proved. I was so angry, I wasn’t thinking right.”

  She rose and went to his side, touching his arm. His eyes opened, and he looked down at her. “You do believe me, right? That it was Jackson forcing his attentions on me?”

  His hands cupped her shoulders. “I do. I of all people should know what it’s like to be falsely accused. Jackson and Edith sound like two of a kind. But I don’t want to talk about them anymore. Gwendolyn, I want to start over. I’m tired of fighting how I feel about you.” He shoved his hat to the back of his head and starlight illumined his eyes. “I love you, and I don’t want you to leave. I regret every harsh word I ever said to you. Please say you’ll forgive me and that you’ll stay.” His grip tightened. “Tell me that when Cummings comes back, you’ll marry me. I don’t want to live without you.”

  Tears burned the backs of her eyes. “Oh, Matt, I love you, too.” She went into his embrace, wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing her cheek into his chest. The thundering of his heart and the harshness of his breathing matched her own. Now that she knew the whole story, forgiveness came easily. She raised her face to stare into his eyes. “I’ve been waiting forever for you to ask me to stay.”

  He lowered his lips to hers, and her eyes fluttered closed. Gathering her even closer, he kissed her with all the ardor and passion her heart could hold. As starbursts of happiness broke behind her eyelids, she knew she’d found her knight in shining armor after all.

  ERICA VETSCH

  Even though Erica Vetsch has set aside her career teaching history to high school students in order to homeschool her own children, her love of history hasn’t faded. Erica’s favorite books are historical novels and history books, and one of her greatest thrills is stumbling across some obscure historical factoid that makes her imagination leap. She’s continually amazed at how God has allowed her to use her passion for history, romance, and daydreaming to craft historical romances that entertain readers and glorify Him. Whenever she’s not following flights of fancy in her fictional world, Erica is the company bookkeeper for her family’s lumber business, a mother of two, wife to a man who is her total opposite and yet her soul mate, and an avid museum patron.

  A Birthday Wish

  by Darlene Franklin

  There is one alone … yea, he hath neither child nor brother
;

  yet is there no end of all his labour;

  neither is his eye satisfied with riches….

  Two are better than one;

  because they have a good reward for their labour.

  ECCLESIASTES 4:8–9

  Chapter 1

  Gladys checked the baskets on the kitchen table. Red calico bows she’d festooned with small white flowers peeked out between juniper branches. Such cheerful decorations should improve even crotchety widower Norman Keller’s spirits in the middle of the miserable Kansas winter.

  Ma carried a couple of baskets to the family wagon, together with garlands of fragrant juniper branches. “Maybe it would be good if I came with you.”

  Gladys came close to agreeing when she remembered the last time she had knocked on Mr. Keller’s door. The growl with which he had greeted carolers could have passed for Ebenezer Scrooge’s. “I’ll see how it goes today. I’d like to do this on my own, if I can. I’ll be back in time to help with supper.”

  Grateful for the January thaw that made an outdoor project possible, Gladys buttoned up her winter coat and drew on her mittens before heading out to the wagon. When she’d decided to reach out to Norman Keller, she hadn’t considered how to keep her activities a secret. To avoid attention, she would keep her wagon off Main Street.

  A few minutes later she came to a stop in front of the imposing three-story structure that Norman Keller called home. As far as Gladys knew, he was the only one who lived there. His wife had died, and his children never visited. Rather than knocking on the front door and risking Mr. Keller’s rejection before she even started, Gladys approached the house from the back. She tied the horse to the railing and carried the baskets to the wraparound porch. A closer inspection of the once-magnificent structure revealed sagging boards and peeling paint. Such neglect by the richest man in town befuddled her. She hoped he would feel better after she’d hung enough baskets for him to see one no matter which window he looked through.