“Leave her pie, Emma. As soon as she reassures herself that Danny’s all right, I’ll go up and fetch her to finish it—even if I have to carry her back here slung over my shoulder.”
Sarah glanced up from the dough she was kneading, her gaze scanning the bright, sunlit kitchen. Beside her at the big work table, Manuela was carefully pressing a large circle of piecrust into a tin. Over on the cookstove a large pot of potatoes boiled. Next to it simmered snap beans seasoned with bacon.
The aroma of roast chicken wafted from the oven, setting Sarah’s mouth to watering. She raised a flour-dusted arm to brush back a damp tendril of hair. The kitchen was hot with the cookstove going full blast, and only a freshened breeze blowing through the open window made the morning’s work bearable.
Through it she watched Danny playing with a litter of kittens while their mother, the resident barn cat, lolled nearby in the sun. A soft, tender smile curved Sarah’s lips. It was hard to believe that just the day before yesterday he’d been so violently ill. The good food and loving attention were already working their healing magic. If she looked closely, Sarah could almost imagine a faint glow to her brother’s cheeks.
He already fit in as if he were part of the household. But then, who wouldn’t like Danny? Merry, irrepressible, yet so dear and loving, the boy could wind his way around the hardest of hearts. She marveled at how close Cord and he had become in the past two days. Danny, after only a brief hesitation in which he’d quickly discerned Cord wasn’t really mistreating his sister or that she truly needed “rescuing,” had given his full trust and affection to the tall, grim man. And Cord seemed equally as taken with her little brother.
Danny glanced up just then and caught her eye. A grimy little hand waved in greeting, and his freckled face widened into a broad grin. Sarah waved back, then, shooing away a maddeningly persistent fly, returned to her kneading.
It was already midmorning and there was still so much to do. There would be guests today, and, according to Emma, dinner would be a more elaborate affair than usual. The housekeeper had requested her help when she’d brought up their breakfast this morning. Sarah, heartily sick of being cooped up in the bedroom for two days with her brother, was delighted to offer her assistance.
“Mama, Mama!” Pedro burst into the kitchen, startling both women from their tasks. “Come quick! The lady. The one with the cold eyes. She’s already here to see Mr. Cord!”
Manuela sighed loudly and put down the can of cherries she’d been scooping into the crust-lined pie tin. “Madre de Dios!” she grumbled as she hurried after her son. “Am I the only one in this house? Must I drop everything to wait on the likes of her?”
Smiling as the exasperated mutterings faded, Sarah returned to her kneading. The day, up to now, had been far from unpleasant. The small, close-knit group of house staff treated her kindly, buffering the rare but jarring interactions with their master.
For that, above all, Sarah was grateful. Cord Wainwright was far too disturbing, too attractive, too . . . too intimidating with his dark good looks and pantherlike grace. And, adding insult to injury, there were times when she found she very much liked him.
Yes, Sarah thought with a small shiver, Cord Wainwright is a very compelling man. Even her fledgling woman’s instincts warned her to stay clear of him. They hadn’t anything in common. She was so far beneath him in everything that would matter to a man like him. Nothing good could come of getting to know him better. Nothing good at all . . .
And it doesn’t matter anyway, she quickly reminded herself. Danny and I will be leaving soon. Any day now, Papa’s bound to send some message. Any day now, Gabe Cooper will return.
And any day now the ranch hands, including Cord’s father, would arrive. In the hustle and bustle of their return, Cord would quickly forget about her. Until then, however, life was peaceful and pleasant. She could dream, pretend all this was hers and Danny’s, tasting for a fleeting time the kind of existence that, in reality, she knew could never be.
Emma bustled in just as Sarah was setting the loaves aside to rise, a laundry basket full of fresh-smelling sheets in her arms. The older woman glanced around the kitchen. “Where did Manuela wander off to? I’d hoped she’d have a spare moment to put these away.”
“She left with Pedro to see to one of Mr. Wainwright’s guests.” Sarah removed her apron. “I’d be glad to do it for you, Emma. All my chores in here are done until time to bake the bread.”
“Oh, would you, dear? I’ve still got a hundred things to do before dinner.” Emma handed her the basket. “Just put them in the linen closet at the end of the hall off the cellar stairs.”
Sarah took hold of the basket, but the housekeeper’s hands stayed her. “You like it here, don’t you, child?”
“It’s a beautiful place,” Sarah replied, feeling a pang of guilt at the admission. “And everyone is so kind, even Mr. Wainwright.”
Emma’s brows lifted in amusement. “Is that such a surprise? Cord’s hardly a monster just because he’s a Wainwright.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean that I think of him as some ogre anymore,” Sarah said, flushing. “It’s just that after all the problems I’ve caused . . .”
“He understands why you did what you did, even if he’s still upset about the loss of the money. Give him time, Sarah. He’s a good man.” She chuckled. “And, if I haven’t missed my guess, I’d say he very much likes you.”
Sarah gaped at her in shock, clamping down hard on the urge to ask Emma to explain herself. “I . . . I think I’d better get these sheets put away,” she stammered instead, deciding in this case flight was definitely the better part of valor.
Emma smiled. “Then off with you, child. It’s time I saw to the rest of my chores too.”
Sarah hurried from the kitchen, relieved at the ease with which they’d both managed to terminate what had promised to become a most uncomfortable conversation. Cord Wainwright liked her? Why, it was too ridiculous even to contemplate. She clasped the basket of sheets to her, glad for something to do to distract her suddenly chaotic thoughts.
She didn’t mind the chores—actually, she was thankful for them. All Sarah had ever known was work, and lots of it. Besides, in some small way, the work here seemed to lighten a bit of the burden of debt she now owed Cord Wainwright.
As Sarah passed through the entrance hall, a commotion outside caught her attention. The huge double doors were thrown open in an attempt to cool the house and, through their opening, she saw Cord walk toward it with a trim, stylishly dressed woman.
Even from the distance of the foyer, Sarah could tell the woman was young. Her hair, topped by a green, curved brim hat adorned with ribbons and feathers, was a glorious mass of rich chestnut brown, contrasting dramatically with her delicate, alabaster features. The emerald-green-and-white-striped cotton dress with a boned seamed bodice and long skirt, looped up at the sides and back, lovingly hugged her slender form.
The woman smiled up at Cord, the action intimate and possessive. In that instant, Sarah recognized her. Allis! Daughter of wealthy merchant Maurice Findley, Allis was the reigning queen of Ashton’s society.
Distaste surged through Sarah, bitter as gall. She didn’t like the woman, never had, ever since that frustrating time spent trying to befriend Allis after her family had first moved to town. In those days shortly before her mother’s untimely death, Sarah and her family had still lived close to Ashton. Thirteen-year-old Sarah and her two older brothers had, at their mother’s insistence, faithfully attended the town school.
Though Allis had been two years older, Sarah had made every attempt to make her feel welcome. Yet, from the start, the other girl had rejected all overtures of friendship, turning up her nose at Sarah’s plain, oft-mended clothes and lower social status. Sarah’s consistent place at the top of the class hadn’t helped, either. Allis had been the oldest girl in school and didn’t deal well with coming in second to anyone.
And now, grown into a woman as spoiled as the girl Sar
ah had once known, Allis had apparently set her sights on Cord Wainwright. The realization sent a strange pain lancing through Sarah, a feeling she swiftly, fiercely, swept away. What did she care who Cord Wainwright chose to court? In actuality, they probably deserved each other!
At the memory of his kindness to Danny, remorse quickly rushed in to replace the uncharitable thought. Cord had been more than generous with them. He deserved better, much better, than Allis Findley.
The couple headed toward the front steps. With a small gasp, Sarah fled across the foyer. If Allis saw her here she’d die of shame. Once safe in the hallway, Sarah paused to catch her breath. As she did, a passing sound reached her ears.
She listened intently. There it was again. Though faint, it sounded like a cry for help. But from where was it coming?
Laying aside the basket, Sarah carefully inched her way down the hall, her head cocked in an effort to discern the cry’s origin.
“H-help!” a deep voice groaned.
Sarah’s pace quickened. It was coming from the room at the far end of the hall. She reached the door to the room and heard scrabbling movements on the other side, then a crash as some heavy object fell to the floor. She grasped the doorknob. Dare she open it? Maybe it was better if she fetched Cord or Emma.
“Please, someone . . . anyone. Help me!”
The entreaty was pain-wracked and made Sarah’s decision. She opened the door and walked in. An overturned wicker wheelchair and a man sprawled on the floor several feet beyond it greeted her. He lay there, unmoving. For an instant, Sarah thought him unconscious. Then he groaned.
She moved to his side and knelt. “Are you all right? Shall I fetch help?”
With a mighty effort, the man rolled over. Legs, limp and useless, followed without any volition of their own. He stared up at her, his handsome, pain-twisted face vaguely familiar.
“The laudanum,” he gasped, gesturing toward a table upon which sat a small glass bottle. “Bring it here. I need it!”
Sarah rose and retrieved the bottle, along with the spoon that lay beside it. “How much? How much do you need?”
“Th-the whole bottle would be nice right about now,” he said, even as his teeth clenched with yet another spasm of pain, “but two teaspoons will suffice.”
Sitting down beside him, she lifted his head to lie on her lap, then carefully doled out the precious fluid. From the years spent nursing her family through their various injuries and illnesses, Sarah knew the laudanum must be allowed to get into this man’s system before any thought could be given to moving him. Lightly, soothingly, she began to stroke his brow.
“Ah, that feels good,” the man murmured, his taut form already beginning to relax. “You’re an angel sent straight from heaven.” He glanced up at her. “Sarah’s the name, isn’t it?”
She started, surprised that he knew her. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, with deep blue eyes and wavy brown hair lightly streaked at the temples with gray. Though his brow was lined and the flesh about his mouth furrowed, his gaze was serene. She was instantly drawn to him, unconsciously returning his warm smile.
“Yes, it is. I can’t say that I’ve made your acquaintance, though you do look familiar.” As sudden recognition struck her, Sarah’s voice faded and the blood drained from her face.
“It probably has something to do with the strong family resemblance,” he replied with a chuckle as he extended his hand. “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Nicholas Wainwright, Cord’s older brother.”
5
Sarah inhaled sharply.
“What’s wrong?” Nick asked. “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”
She gave an unsteady laugh. “In a sense, I guess I have. After all that . . . happened, I just never thought I’d meet you. Or, more to the point, that you’d ever want anything to do with me. Papa never talked much about . . . that night . . . except to say he’d have to live with what he’d done to you to his dying day. He was drunk, you know. And he never meant to shoot you or anyone, for that matter. He just thought the gun would convince your father to give him back his ranch.”
“I never imagined for a moment your father was the kind to shoot an eight-year-old boy in cold blood, Sarah.” His grip tightened on her hand as Sarah pulled back, suddenly realizing they were in an uncomfortable and potentially compromising position on the floor. “Hey, hold on, little angel,” he exclaimed in mock alarm. “Where do you think you’re going?”
Her lashes lowered in embarrassment. “I . . . I thought I’d fetch someone to help you.”
“Well, I don’t need anyone else just yet. Let’s give the laudanum another ten or so minutes to work. Then you can find someone to help put me back in bed. Meanwhile,” he added with a most engaging smile, “I’d like very much to spend the time with you. That is, unless being alone with a strange man in his bedroom disturbs you.”
An unwelcome blush crept into her cheeks. “Oh, I wasn’t thinking that at all,” she lied. “I know you’re a gentleman. It’s just . . . just that I thought, knowing who I am, you might feel better if I left. After all, I am a Caldwell.”
“Nice try, Angel,” Nick said with a chuckle, “but I know a sweet, innocent, and well-bred girl when I see one. Besides, I don’t hate you, if that’s what you’re implying.” His smile faded. “Not only does the Lord ask us to forgive those who wrong us, but you weren’t even born when all the trouble began. So what’s there to forgive?”
She shook her head, confused. “I know I’m probably not making much sense. It’s just that there’s been such hatred and bitterness on both sides for such a long time. It has to spill over onto everyone a little.”
“On the contrary, Angel.” He crooked his head to look at her better. “It’s a choice, whether you allow hatred to gain control of your heart or not. A choice everyone makes whether they admit to it or not.”
Sarah eyed him warily. What is this man about? Is he really all he seems to be on the surface? Well, there’s only one way to find out.
“True enough, I guess,” she replied with a shrug. “Problem is, how to convince everyone there’s a better way to handle things.”
His mouth quirked at one corner. “Maybe it’s time we join forces and help everyone learn exactly how to do that. Maybe you’re the answer to my prayers.”
“Your prayers? I don’t understand.”
“It’s simple really. I’ve been asking the Lord for a long time now to put an end to this feud, to heal everyone’s hearts.” Nick sighed. “Believe it or not, there’s a lot of pain on both sides.”
She stared down at the Wainwright eldest son. He wants to put an end to the feud? He wants to heal everyone’s hearts?
The realization filled her with wonder. Here he lay, lifeless from the waist down, a man in his prime who’d likely never experience the joy of marriage much less fatherhood. Yet he’d already forgiven when others, far less damaged by the events of a tragic night long ago, stubbornly refused to let go of their anger or consider another course. A tender regard for Nicholas Wainwright welled within her.
Sarah smiled down at him. “I’d be honored to ‘join forces,’ Mr. Wainwright.”
“Nick,” he corrected her. “Please, call me Nick.”
“Then Nick it is.” He was so open, she thought, so approachable and friendly. Nick wasn’t at all like his younger brother . . .
“Why the frown, little angel?”
“Oh, it’s nothing.” With a nonchalant wave of one hand, Sarah tried to cover her discomfiture at being caught. “I was just thinking how different you are from your brother.”
A wry grin twisted Nick’s mouth. “Well, yes. He can walk and I can’t, not to mention he’s much more good looking and—”
“I didn’t mean that at all,” she quickly interjected. “I was speaking more of the difference in your personalities.”
“Oh? And how so?”
Sarah rolled her eyes. Here I go again, putting not only my foot but my entire leg into my mouth. “It�
��s really not important. Cord’s very kind. It’s just that his moods are so changeable and . . . and sometimes he can be so cold and forbidding. Though it’s understandable, considering what I did to him. I don’t think he likes me very much.” She sighed. “I’m afraid your brother sides with your father in his feelings for my family.”
“Well, Cord definitely has some forgiveness issues, but they’re not with you or your family. Sure, he was hopping mad when the money was stolen, and his ego was bruised that he wasn’t able to defend himself, considering his outstanding boxing skills, but he’s never held a grudge against your family.” A deep blue gaze calmly met hers. “And I don’t think he dislikes you, either. Rather, far from it. You’ll have to be patient with him, though. He guards his heart more closely than most.”
There was a puzzling look of sadness in Nick’s eyes as he spoke of his brother. Though she wasn’t sure why he felt that way, thinking of her own siblings, Sarah could well understand such emotions. “You must love him very much.”
“No more than he loves me.” Nick shoved to a sitting position. “The library. Have you seen it yet?”
She shook her head. “Can’t say as I have.”
“Well, Cord singlehandedly filled half those shelves by sending books back for me. Do you realize what that must have cost, with him struggling at the same time to pay his way through college and law school? Despite my protests he kept sending them, knowing how important they were to me as my one escape from a reality sometimes almost too much to bear. Or,” Nick added with a smile, “almost too much to bear until I found the Lord.”
“There’s so much I don’t know about Cord,” Sarah murmured. How well he’s kept that softer side of himself hidden, she thought. Yet, even as she mused over the enigma of Cord Wainwright, a desire to crack open that shell, once and for all, and discover everything she could about this puzzling, attractive man filled her.
Such an undertaking, though, would require a deep trust and commitment on his part, as much as on hers. She wondered if she’d ever gain such a treasure. Or if she should even try. After all, she’d be leaving here soon and likely wouldn’t see much of him after that.
Heart of the Rockies Collection Page 7
