Mark paused as their eyes held. It was like a reaching out and touching, he was so aware of her. He swallowed and, trying to relieve the tension that sprang between them, winked. She blinked, smiled back.
Something inside of him turned slowly over then. So many things that should matter didn’t. Against his better judgment, he was falling for her. The signs were clear to him. The urge to touch, the constant seeking out of her company, the feeling of completeness when they were together.
He looked away, breaking the connection, suddenly sorry he had.
She was wrong for him in so many different ways. She gave nothing of herself. She claimed no relationship with God, she had no intention of pursuing one. Her stay here was only temporary; that point she made very clear.
Mark listed all the reasons, trying to be rational about his feelings for her.
He looked at her again, watching her hands, the cuticles of her nails still lined with dirt that he knew would only come out after the season was over.
In his mind he saw again her hands clutching the steering wheel of the tractor as she manhandled it around the corner, leaning into the turn, a smile tugging the corners of her mouth.
In as many ways as she was wrong for him, she was right. She loved the land as he did; the work didn’t bother her. She was independent and self-contained enough to be able to endure being isolated...
“Are you done, Mark?” His mother was asking.
With a jolt he pulled himself back to the present. “Sorry,” he mumbled, handing his mother his plate.
“And where were you?” she asked as she gathered up the remains of the supper.
Mark said nothing, realizing that the question needn’t be answered.
Bible reading followed dessert, Mark studiously avoiding eye contact with Sheryl. When prayers were over, he got up, feeling suddenly self-conscious.
“What’s your rush?” Dale asked as he leaned back in his chair, a cup of steaming coffee resting in front of him.
“With the warm weather we’ve been having, the dew will be off the swaths early tomorrow,” Mark said, pushing his chair carefully under the table. “I want to get an early start.”
“Well, then, maybe you should drive Sheryl home. I had planned on taking her myself, but it would be easier if you did,” Dale said.
“She might not want to come right now...” The excuse sounded lame in his ears. The prospect of having her in the truck with him for another hour, coming so close on the heels of his own discovery, would be awkward.
A silence greeted his remark, and Mark realized the difficult position he’d put Sheryl in. To agree would inconvenience his parents, to disagree would sound ungracious. “I guess it does make more sense, if I take her home,” he amended. Great, Mark, he thought, now she’ll feel like it’s too much trouble.
“Will Elise be bringing you lunch tomorrow?” Lenore asked as he bent over to kiss her goodbye.
“I hope so.” He waved to his father and waited for Sheryl to get up and say her goodbyes, wondering why this reticent girl could make him feel like an inept teenager.
“You’re welcome to come anytime, Sheryl,” his mother said, taking her hand. “Just ask Mark to bring you, he’ll use any excuse to get some of his mom’s cooking.”
“Thank you.” She smiled, said her farewells to Mark’s father and walked past Mark out to the truck.
The ride was made in silence, broken only by the ping of gravel on the truck’s undercarriage.
Sheryl looked out the window, fully aware of Mark lounging behind the wheel beside her as he drove in his usual full-speed-ahead fashion. It still frightened her to see the scenery fly by in a green and blue blur, so she kept her eyes fastened on the mountains above them, which moved past at a more sedate pace.
“How did your visit with your father go?”
Sheryl jumped at the sound of Mark’s voice breaking her concentration.
“It went,” she replied, as a fresh pain clutched her heart at the thought of Ed and his declaration of love. Why now? Had God truly changed his heart? “I didn’t stay long.. .he fell asleep.”
Mark slowed and turned into the Kricksons’ driveway, pulling up to the house and switching off the lights. “Thanks again for helping me.” He half turned, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. “You seem to enjoy the work.”
She shrugged, wanting to leave, yet loath to exchange the cozy intimacy of the cab and his company for her lonely cabin.
Mark studied her, his head tilted to one side as if trying to figure her out. “You know. I’ve heard Ed and Nate talk about you, and I have to confess that for a time I didn’t think particularly well of you.” He shrugged. “I’m sorry about that. Since I’ve met you I know there’s another side to this story of rebellion and mistrust.”
Sheryl sighed, her usual reticence wearing away under the concern and caring shown her by Mark’s family and, yes, Mark himself. “I don’t know if it’s worth delving into. It’s over...”
“Maybe. But whatever happened is affecting your relationships now.” Mark leaned back and smiled encouragingly at her. “Tell me about your first father. Wasn’t his name Bill?”
And in that moment, Sheryl felt she could unburden herself. No one had ever asked about Bill Reilly before. “Bill Reilly,” she replied, pleased that he knew her father’s name. “He was a good father, a caring man.” Sheryl sat back, not realizing until then how tense she was. “We had a ranch in Southern Alberta, the most beautiful part of the country.”
“Prettier than this part?” he asked with a soft laugh.
Sheryl turned to Mark, smiling. “It’s pretty in a different way. The sweep of the land as it moves toward the mountains. It’s majestic, open and different.. .and the same.”
“I do love that part of the country,” Mark said, his voice quiet, his whole posture relaxed. “But this valley is my home.”
“My dad and I went everywhere together. We covered a lot of country.” Sheryl sighed, drifting back to a happy, almost magical time. “He used to take me with him on the tractor, in front of him on the horse. I was an only child, and probably spoiled, though I never felt that way until I moved here. I just know, for that time in my life I was safe, secure and loved.” She clasped her hands in her lap, circling her thumbs slowly. “When he died I felt as if I would never laugh again, never be happy again.”
“That must have been a difficult time for you and your mother.” Mark’s soft voice was sympathetic.
Sheryl only nodded, remembering an old sorrow made less painful by the passage of time.
“So how did you end up in Sweet Creek?”
“My mom’s cousin had a rental house here, and she found my mom a job. So we moved.”
“Why didn’t you stay on the ranch?”
“My dad, though loving to a fault, was not much of a manager. The ranch had to be sold to pay the debts. My mother was ill prepared for making a living, and things got very tight. My mom’s cousin introduced her to Ed, and that ended her brief but short career in the Laundromat.” Sheryl pressed her thumbs together, watching her nails turn white under the pressure. “They got married, and Ed started his campaign to change what he saw as a willful and spoiled child.”
“Didn’t he love you?”
Ed’s words from this afternoon reverberated through her head. She glanced over at Mark. He lay back against his door, one arm resting along the back of the seat his other hand supporting his head.
“I suppose he wanted to,” she continued, reassured by his casual pose. “Though I don’t think he quite knew what to do with me. He loved my mother, in his own way, though I saw early on that she was intimidated by him.” Sheryl sighed, recalling frowns and puzzlement on his part, resentment on hers. “I never wanted him to take the place of my father, and I have to confess that my part in the whole relationship was to defy him just for the sake of staying loyal to my father’s memory and showing Ed that he would never replace Bill Reilly in my life.”
“How l
ong after your father died did you mother remarry?”
Sheryl frowned, thinking. “About six months.”
Mark lifted his eyebrows. “So soon?”
“Like I said, money was tight, and my mother didn’t seem able to cope without a man to support her.”
“And you moved right onto the ranch?”
“I loved it at first. And at first I suppose Ed did try. He taught me how to saddle and care for a horse, something my father always did for me. I was allowed to ride whenever I wanted, as long as my chores were done for the day.”
“And that included baling hay...”
“Among other things. I fed orphaned calves, mucked out the calving pens, helped with the fencing, rode out with Nate to check on upper pastures...”
“And you were ten years old?” Mark lifted his head, frowning at her.
“Yes.”
“And as you grew older...”
“Things went from difficult to worse. I didn’t mind the work at first, but it seemed that the rides became fewer and farther between.” Sheryl pulled her hands over her face as angry confrontations between her, Nate and Ed came to mind. “I would sneak off whenever I could, leaving them to do the work. This of course created more anger and punishment, which meant more chores, which made me more determined to fight them, and away we went. Soon we were fighting over what I wore, how I acted. How I talked to Ed.”
“How did your mother deal with it all?”
“I think she was afraid to oppose Ed and stand up for me. She was a good mother, but not a strong woman.”
“And where did Jason come into the equation?”
“Early on.” Sheryl scratched her head with one finger, sighing. “Jason was exactly the opposite of what Ed saw as fine and upstanding in a young man.”
“I’ve heard about Jason...”
“Everything you have heard is true.” Mark hadn’t moved but his stillness created an air of waiting, listening.
He hadn’t made any judgments on her behavior, hadn’t offered any comments. He just asked those quiet questions that encouraged.
“At first I saw him as a misunderstood young man. But he wasn’t. Those who knew him understood him completely. He was angry, rebellious and sadistic.”
“What do you mean?”
“He used to hit me.” She kept her voice even, glossing over the humiliation.
Mark said nothing, but Sheryl could see his hands tightening on the steering wheel.
“But that was only for the first few years.”
“What do you mean?” Mark’s voice was harsh, controlled.
Sheryl lifted her mouth in a cynical parody of a smile, turning to face Mark as if challenging him. “I started fighting back.”
Mark’s gaze was level, his eyes slightly narrowed. “Why didn’t you leave him?”
“And go where?” Sheryl laughed shortly. “I had no place and no money.”
“Why didn’t you tell Ed? No matter what you may think of him, he would have helped you, let you come back...”
“I tried to tell him...” Sheryl turned away. She had said enough, had said too much. She was venturing too close to the true pain, buried deep where she didn’t dare venture. “Look, I’ve got to go.” She fumbled for the door, unable to find the latch in the darkened cab.
Mark reached across her and opened the door for her and she slipped out.
“Hey wait a minute.” His voice was suddenly quiet.
Sheryl stopped, biting her lip, not wanting to break the moment they had shored, but knowing she had to.
“Aren’t you even going to say thanks for the ride?” he teased.
She turned back, studying him. His hair framed his face, and in the glow of the dash, his features were all angles and shadows. He was handsome and appealing in a very frightening way. His questions had given her a first chance to tell someone her part of the story, and her ensuing confidences had made her feel vulnerable to him.
“You look scared again,” Mark continued, his gray eyes holding her. “It makes me sad for you.”
She said nothing, thinking of Jason, Ed, Nate—men who, as far as she could remember, had never felt sad for her—a painful breathlessness pulling on her chest as she faced one who did. Sighing, she leaned her head against the door, clutching the frame as she felt herself drift into his smoldering eyes.
“My mom was right, you know,” he said, his voice hushed.
Sheryl frowned, not comprehending the direction of his words.
“I don’t think twelve-year-old girls should be driving tractors, either.” His level gaze and serious expression gave Sheryl approbation while creating a newer anger for the pain she now lived with.
“Don’t do this,” she whispered, almost pleading.
“Don’t do what?” Mark leaned forward. “Don’t try to understand what you lived with? Don’t try to figure out what made you who you are now?”
“I can’t do this. I can’t give you what you want...” She pushed down the pain and memories. “I’m not going to delve any deeper and open myself to anyone again.” But she could only look as far as the open vee of his gleaming white shirt as she spoke.
“I still haven’t heard the whole story, Sheryl. I know you aren’t the selfish person Nate led me to believe you were.” He ran a finger along the steering wheel, then looked up at her. “I’m sorry I prejudged you. It wasn’t Christlike, and it wasn’t right. I guess I’ve come to respect you and know there’s more that you’re not telling me.” “Please...”
“I won’t dig anymore. I’ll leave you alone.” He quirked her a wry smile. “For now.”
Sheryl felt again the unwelcome prick of tears behind her eyelids. Why did he do this to her? What did her life matter to him? How did he manage to make her feel vulnerable, when she promised herself it would never happen again?
She slammed the door shut, the sound ricocheting off the buildings in the yard. Without a second glance, she strode away, her hands shoved in the pockets of her skirt, head down. She would finish what she started and thereby
prove to Nate and herself that she was dependable and worthy. Then she would return to Edmonton, back to her studies, back to...
Sheryl bit her lip, her step faltering. Clenching her teeth, she reminded herself of her plans, her first small steps to an independent life.
Chapter 8
As the tractor slowed, Mark watched the last bale clunk its way out of the baler, a grin lifting his mouth. He caught the bale, winked at Sheryl, who watched him over her shoulder, and dropped it on the top of the last stuke.
Relief, fulfillment and just plain happiness surged through him, and with a whoop he jumped off the stuker and ran toward the tractor. He caught Sheryl around the waist just as she was getting down and set her on the ground.
“We’re done,” he shouted. He caught her hands in his, pressing them against his stubbled face grinning at the look on Sheryl’s face. She blinked and smiled back, her sea green eyes limned with dust, her hair sticking out, dust smears on her cheek. She looked gorgeous.
“You are a wonder, my girl,” he exulted, catching her by her slender waist and swinging her up and around, his own happiness overcoming his resolve to be careful with her. Her hat flew off in one direction and her feet in another.
By the time she touched ground again, she was laughing, her white teeth a sharp contrast to her tanned and dirty face. “I don’t suppose you do this to Nate, when the first cut is baled,” she called out.
“Nate isn’t nearly as good-looking as you are.” He winked at her. Giving in to an impulse, he dropped a kiss on her forehead. He thought she would jerk away, but to his surprise she only blinked and then smiled back. “I don’t know if I’ve said it enough, but thanks,” he added, suddenly serious.
“I enjoyed it.”
“I know.” He couldn’t seem to stop himself—the need to connect with her was too strong—and he reached up and palmed her hair away from her face, cupping it gently, his gloved hand looking incongr
uous against her delicate features. “I’ve never met anyone like you before.”
“I believe that.” She stepped away then, breaking the contact. “Here come Rob and Conrad.”
Mark glanced over his shoulder at the approaching tractor, frustrated at the intrusion.
Rob drove, and Conrad hung from the cab, singing. They pulled up beside Mark with a hoot.
“All done, slave driver.” Rob called down from his perch. “We’ll bring this rig to your place and then me and Conrad are heading to town.”
Mark pulled his gloves off and shoved them in his back pocket. “I’llhave a cheque for both of you in the mail in the next couple of days.”
He sighed as they jumped back on the tractor, wondering again at the exuberance and stupidity of youth. They were probably headed off to the bar where they would promptly drink away half of what they made in the past week.
“I guess baling’s thirsty work,” said Sheryl with a wry note in her voice. “I wish they could see what they are wasting.”
Mark glanced over at her, and she caught his look. With a deprecating shrug she turned back to the still-running tractor. “We should get this unit back to the farm. I imagine you’ll want to service the tractor, return the baler...” Mark caught her arm, and she turned to face him, her eyebrows lifted in question.
“Thanks a lot for helping.”
“You already said it.”
“But I don’t know if you realize what this means to me and to Nate.”
“I didn’t do it for him, I did it to help you out. I like the work.. .I love being outside.” She laughed shortly and turned her gaze back to him. “I guess I just spent too many years here, hating it when I had to help, hating where I lived, that I never really appreciated it like I should.”
“You probably didn’t have a chance to appreciate it.”
Sheryl shrugged. “You don’t need to defend my actions. In a way Nate was right. I wasn’t always dependable.” She smiled at Mark. “Now I’ve made up for that.”
Back at the farm Sheryl helped him clean up the baler, grease the tractor and gas it up. She hadn’t forgotten what needed to be done and was quick, efficient and capable. Nate and Ed had taught her well, Mark conceded.
Homecoming (Sweet Hearts of Sweet Creek Book 1) Page 11
