Love Inspired Historical November 2015

by Linda Ford

  He said that now, his appreciation for her assistance fueling his fervor. But one day, he’d find a woman he wished to pursue, and Jane didn’t plan on sticking around for a first-row seat.

  “I’m only here until you find a suitable replacement,” she felt compelled to remind him. And herself.

  He grew serious, disappointment flitting over his features. “I don’t want to rush it. I have to make sure your replacement is the right fit. Clara’s experienced enough upheaval.”

  “I understand.”

  Striding to the door, he swiped his Stetson from the row of hooks. “Come and find me if you need anything. I’ll be in the barn.” He winked at Clara, whose mouth and chin bore witness to the meal. “Mind Miss Jane, you hear?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Tom, wait.” Jane rushed over. “If you don’t have any objections, I’d be happy to pack up your mother’s clothing so that yours and Clara’s can be put away.”

  “That’s kind of you to offer, but it’s not part of the job description. Your being here and seeing to her needs is enough.”

  “I’m here to help you both. Besides, you know I don’t like being idle.”

  “I do know that. I also know I don’t deserve you as a friend.” He stunned her by leaning over and kissing her cheek. His lips were firm yet feather soft. “My world would be a worse place without you in it, Janie girl.”

  *

  Tom forced himself to stay in the barn until noon, sorting through the equipment. A few tools were rusted through and couldn’t be fixed. Most were able to be salvaged. Setting aside those he intended to take to the blacksmith, he tried not to dwell on that spontaneous kiss.

  Not the best way to make her feel comfortable, Leighton.

  She’d stood frozen immediately afterward, fingers pressed to the spot where his lips had brushed, a maelstrom of emotion in her green, green eyes.

  “She’s just coming off an engagement, you fool,” he muttered, checking his pocket watch again and deciding she probably had lunch on the table by now.

  Logically, he understood Jane was emotionally vulnerable right now. Whether or not she’d had feelings for Crowley—a question she’d stubbornly refused to answer—she’d still suffered a public humiliation. She’d be smarting from that sting for weeks, maybe months. The townsfolk’s ongoing scrutiny would serve to complicate matters. His private, reserved friend would not welcome such attention.

  But why an innocent display of affection should evoke such a reaction was beyond him. Unless…was she as aware of him as he was of her? Had she also noted the change in the dynamic between them?

  Whatever the case, he must strive to be more circumspect. Restrain his inherent demonstrative behavior. Otherwise, he could find himself without a caregiver once again.

  Fat, gray clouds had rolled in while he’d been inside the barn. Rain would delay his plans to fix the fences that afternoon. Striding through the grass, he eyed the unturned earth where the vegetable garden used to be. He’d have to get seed in the ground this week if he planned to harvest vegetables this season.

  When he entered the cabin, neither female was in sight. A pot of beans bubbled on the cast-iron stove, infusing the room with a hearty aroma, and a golden corn bread round occupied the space beside it. Three jars of milk waited beside clean plates. A silly grin curved his lips. Amazing how a simple act could make him feel like a king. Not counting eating establishments, he couldn’t recall the last time someone had prepared a meal for him.

  Still standing on the dingy hooked rug his ma had crafted years earlier, he tugged off his boots and left them there. He was halfway to the bowl and pitcher to wash up when he heard Clara crying.

  Changing course, he halted in the bedroom’s open doorway, arrested by the sight of his niece curled up in Jane’s arms, tiny face awash in misery. Seated on the side of the bed nearest him, they hadn’t noticed him yet.

  “Where’s my pa?” she sniffled. “Why hasn’t he come for me?”

  Tom’s throat closed up. Aching for Clara and at the same time furious with his brother, he clenched both edges of the door frame until the wood bit into his skin. Charles had every right to grieve his wife. But there came a time when a man had to deal with the unpleasantness of life and see to his responsibilities.

  Jane didn’t speak at first, methodically smoothing Clara’s curls with one hand, the other tenderly wiping her tears. “I don’t know, sweetheart. But you know who does?”

  Eyes big and shiny, she slowly shook her head.

  “God.”

  Her wispy brows hit her hairline. Such a notion hadn’t occurred to her young mind.

  “God knows where your pa is right this moment. He knows exactly what he’s doing. What he’s thinking and feeling. And I think it would be a good idea to pray and ask the Lord to watch over him. What do you think?”

  Shame washed through him. He’d been lax in his prayer life lately, had allowed the business of this move to edge out his Scripture study and quiet time with his Creator. Charles needed help. Divine help. And Tom hadn’t spared more than a few desperate pleas for him. Mostly selfish ones, he conceded, more focused on what Charles’s return would mean for him.

  “Can we pray now?” Clara asked.

  “Absolutely.”

  Tom watched as Jane pulled her closer, bent her head and began to offer up a humble petition. He soaked in the sight of them together, comfortable, natural, like mother and daughter. Jane’s features reflected an earnestness that touched the deepest hidden parts of him. She was incredibly wise. Some people would’ve blurted meaningless platitudes with the sole aim of calming Clara. Or promises they had no power to keep.

  She’d make a wonderful mother someday.

  At the end of her prayer, she finally registered his presence, and there was a hint of despondency in her look.

  “Your uncle is here,” she said quietly.

  Clara clambered down and rushed over, arms coming round his legs and holding tight. He picked her up so that she could hug his neck instead. Warm, wondrous emotions expanded in his chest.

  He might not have come into this parenting role the normal way, but he felt like a father. The drive to protect her was there, as was the need to make things right for her.

  Turning, he carried her to the table and lowered them both into her chair. When she lifted her head and sniffled, he ran his knuckles along her cheek. “I love you, birdie.”

  “Love you more.”

  “Uh-uh. I love you most.” His words were bittersweet, having heard this same conversation between Clara and Charles.

  You’re missing out, brother.

  Jane silently dished out the food and carried everything over. Lunch was a subdued affair. Afterward, he settled Clara at the table with her slate and chalk, advising her to stay put while the adults spoke on the porch.

  Outside, the clouds had multiplied. A stiff breeze teased her hem and threatened to dislodge strands from her neat twist. Leaning against the railing, she faced him.

  “She misses her parents.”

  He took up the opposite railing, crossing one boot over the other. The breeze felt good, lifting the heavy humidity.

  “She mentioned Jenny?”

  “I believe what prompted her distress was a photograph we unearthed in the bottom of her trunk.”

  “Their family portrait.” It had been taken shortly before his arrival at the ranch, which meant Clara had been about three years old.

  “I wasn’t sure what to do or say. I’ve spent time with my cousins’ children, and I’ve watched friends’ kids a time or two. But I don’t have experience with a child who’s dealing with grief.”

  Tom battled the impulse to hug her. “You were wonderful in there. I couldn’t have handled it better. I knew you were the right person for the job.”

  She got that desperate look again, and when she opened her mouth, he held up a hand. “No need to remind me. I know it’s not long-term. Still, any time you spend with her will be good for her.
”

  Nodding, she turned her head to look out over his property, at the mountains, which had taken on a deep blue tone beneath the cloud cover. The grass appeared greener. The tree limbs shifted slightly in the wind, leaves rustling.

  He studied her profile, the sweet curve of her cheek, straight, pert nose, determined chin. Even her ears were attractive. She was a prim and proper beauty. A refined lady. Much too serious for his liking. He longed to glimpse the old Jane. The one who laughed more than she frowned. The one with the ability to let go and join in his silly antics.

  Was that part of her gone forever?

  Chapter Nine

  Friday afternoon, he was digging shallow holes in preparation for the squash seeds when Jane and Clara emerged from the cabin and walked over hand in hand, stopping at the outer row. He leaned his weight on the hoe.

  “What are you pretty ladies up to?”

  “We’ve come to help you, Uncle Tom.”

  He looked to Jane for confirmation.

  “Where do you want us to start?” She inspected the work he’d done so far.

  “You don’t have to do this.” Jane was already doing far more than he’d anticipated. “I’m paying you to keep Clara company, not restore my farm to working order.”

  She looked insulted. With a significant side glance at his niece, she said, “It’s Clara’s farm, too.”

  “Can I plant the seeds?” she piped up, eagerness in her high voice.

  How could he deny her this small task? Jane hadn’t voiced her thoughts, but he’d interpreted them, anyway. Clara needed to feel useful. This was her new home, after all.

  And if Jane were his wife, he’d gladly accept her offer of assistance.

  His gloved hands squeezed the hoe handle more tightly, and he switched his attention to the majestic mountains in the distance. What kind of crazy thoughts was he entertaining? Good thing she couldn’t read his mind.

  “Sure thing, birdie.”

  Waving them over to the sack of seeds, he explained his system, unable to hide a smile at Clara’s obvious excitement. While he resumed his task, the girls each took a row and began dropping seeds into the holes. Clara’s face screwed up in intense concentration as she carefully counted out the right number of seeds for the holes. Jane showed her how to cover them with dirt.

  He met Jane’s gaze and they shared a smile.

  It didn’t feel like work with her around. He listened as she patiently answered his niece’s many questions. Clara seemed particularly fascinated by the fact that Jane was a twin.

  When they reached the end and started on another section, he put Jane in the middle and his niece on her other side.

  “You’re a natural with kids,” he said. “If you had your choice, how many would you have?”

  Focused on the mound of dirt she was patting, red flags appeared in her cheeks. “Half a dozen sounds like a good goal.”

  He chuckled, easily picturing her surrounded by a gaggle of redheaded children. “You’d manage them wonderfully, I’m sure.” Hacking at the hard earth, he ignored the throbbing that had set up behind his forehead. “Do you think you might have twins?”

  “Hard to know for certain.” Reaching into her apron pocket, she extracted more seeds. “Mama didn’t leave the house for a full month after we were born. Apparently, we were a demanding pair.”

  “You’re not now.”

  Her green eyes hit on his before returning to her task, her color still high.

  No, Jane was anything but selfish. In their circle of friends, she’d been the first one to see a need, the first to volunteer. That’s why her initial resistance to watching Clara had confounded him.

  Well, she’s here now. That’s all that matters.

  Sweat trickled along his spine. The sun was unrelenting, the humidity closing around him like a tight fist. The pain in his head intensified. He’d been plagued by terrible headaches since his teens. Sometimes months would pass without one. When they hit, nothing but darkness and quiet and time could help.

  He counted the remaining rows, confident he could finish before he was forced to quit.

  “What about you?” Jane adjusted her cream-colored bonnet, ran a finger beneath the ribbon tied beneath her chin. He disliked when she wore hats because they hid her glorious hair. “How many children do you want?”

  He glanced at Clara. “I’d like more than two, for sure. A couple of girls to keep Clara company. A couple of boys to keep the farm going.”

  Lips compressed, she nodded and continued down the row. Soaking in her beauty, her tranquil presence, he realized what a challenge it was going to be to find someone who fit in his family as effortlessly as she did. Clara was already attached. And he…

  He’d always liked Jane. He just hadn’t viewed her as anything more than a little sister.

  That was quickly changing, and he didn’t know how to feel about it.

  A wave of nausea hit him. Spots danced before his eyes. Squeezing them shut, he massaged his temples in a vain attempt to slow the advancing discomfort.

  “Clara,” he heard Jane say, “please go inside and wash up. Your uncle and I will be there momentarily.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Hearing the disappointment in her voice, he opened his eyes and tipped his hat up. “I’m okay.”

  “No, you’re not.” Jane stood and, brushing the dirt off her skirts, stepped over the row separating them. Behind her, Clara trudged toward the house. “How long has it been since the last one?”

  He was surprised she remembered his ailment.

  “Just before we left Kansas.” He waved a hand over the untouched section. “I can make it a while longer. These seeds won’t plant themselves.”

  “They can wait.” The light of battle sparked in her eyes. Taking the hoe from him, she linked her arm through his and tugged. “Let’s get you inside.”

  “I like it when you’re bossy.”

  “Continue to be stubborn, and you’ll see more of this side of me,” she quipped.

  In spite of his pain, a tiny grin formed on his lips.

  She didn’t release him until they reached the steps. The dimmer interior was a welcome relief from the bright sun. While he removed his boots and gloves, she washed up and directed Clara to the table to practice her letters.

  Then she was in front of him, her bonnet discarded on the coffee table, upswept hair slightly disheveled. She handed him a glass of water. When he’d drained the contents, she pointed to the sofa.

  “Lie down.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He settled on his side, the only position that would allow his feet to fit on the too-short sofa. She disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a cold compress, draping it carefully over his forehead.

  Staring down at him, concern creased her brow. “Is there anything else I can do to make you comfortable?”

  “You could sit here with me.”

  Her lips parted. Old memories sparked between them.

  He recalled those instances when he’d been sidelined by these headaches, often in the middle of an outing with the O’Malleys. While Megan had expressed sympathy, she hadn’t ministered to him like Jane. Uncaring that she was missing the fun, Jane always found a quiet, shady spot for him to rest, taking his head in her lap and stroking his hair until he fell asleep. She’d remained with him until he woke, sometimes hours later.

  Tom didn’t realize he was holding his breath until she reluctantly nodded.

  Gingerly sliding onto the end of the sofa, she situated a small pillow on her lap and waited for him to get comfortable. Her softness and fresh-berry scent wrapped him in a soft cocoon. The moment her fingers sank into his hair, he recognized his mistake.

  She wasn’t a young girl anymore. He wasn’t an oblivious young man, blind to her many attributes.

  Eyes shut, he held very still, careful not to let his fingers brush her knee where he anchored the pillow.

  Jane stroked his damp strands with measured movements, fingertips brushing
his temple and following the path behind his ear. The feathery touch sparked a tingling sensation across his skin. He couldn’t recall the last time someone had coddled him this way. It felt amazing.

  “You’re wonderful, you know that?” he murmured, stuck in a nebulous place between comfort and pain.

  Her hand curved around his nape, resting there, the weight and coolness soothing. “You shouldn’t talk,” she whispered. “Go to sleep, Tom.”

  Her fingers trailed up his scalp, and he did as she’d ordered, giving himself up to her ministrations.

  *

  It took him about fifteen minutes to drift off. His big body relaxed into the cushions, his hand limp on her leg.

  Jane watched the slow inhale, exhale of his chest before turning her focus to his strong profile. Unable to resist, she skimmed the stubble covering his firm jaws and chin. He burrowed farther into the pillow, so she returned to stroking his soft waves.

  The world could be a cruel, cruel place.

  She’d lost count how many times they’d been together like this, usually on her cousins’ property, him sleeping away a headache and her waving away flies and other insects and dreaming of what could never be.

  Clara’s soft humming ceased, her steps quiet as she came around to the living area. “Is Uncle taking a nap?” she said in a loud whisper.

  Jane nodded. “His head hurts.”

  “He doesn’t take many naps.” Tilting her head, she wrinkled her nose. “Papa takes lots of naps.”

  “Oh?” Her hand stilled.

  “He smells bad, too.”

  Tom had mentioned the constant drinking. How horrible for him to have to shield Clara from an ugly reality. Perhaps Charles’s disappearance had been for the best.

  “When he comes here, I hope he takes more baths.”

  Disquiet shimmered through her. “Clara, we don’t know for sure that he will come.”

  “I’ve been praying for him, just like you said.”

  “That’s wonderful. Keep praying. But, sweetheart, I want you to keep this in mind—God doesn’t always answer our requests the way we want.”

  The proof of that was right here in front of her.