The Rails to Love Romance Collection

by Brandmeyer, Diana Lesire; Cabot, Amanda; Carter, Lisa

  Clara gave Eve’s fingers a gentle squeeze and released them, and Eve felt almost sorry for the prayer to end. Though she sensed that praying and perhaps even a belief in God was as foreign to her as life on this Indiana farm, she couldn’t deny its calming effect. Was there a benevolent deity who looked down upon her and cared about her? John and Clara thought so. But if that were so, why did God allow tragedies like the train wreck that took lives as well as Elmer’s leg and Eve’s memory? And what about the possible loss of the Westons’ favorite cow?

  That question had no sooner formed in Eve’s mind than the kitchen door burst open and John, with an arm around Matthew, half stumbled into the kitchen. The boy’s facecontorted in pain, and he moaned as he gripped his right arm with his left hand.

  John helped the pale-faced boy to a chair, while Clara gasped and rushed to them.

  “The cow kicked Matt in the arm. It may be broke.” As John talked, he unbuttoned the boy’s shirt and eased the garment off his right shoulder amid protests of “Ow! Ouch!” from Matthew.

  “Oh my goodness.” Clara, with concern lines deepening on her face, hovered near her grandson. “Can you move your fingers, Matthew?” She patted his back as if he were a babe.

  Grunting and grimacing, the boy clenched and unclenched the fingers of his right hand. “Yeah.”

  John blew out a long breath. “I doubt it’s broke then, but it wouldn’t hurt to have Doc Callahan take a look at it.” He patted Matthew on his good shoulder, his worried frown melting into a sympathetic grin. “You’re gonna have a first-class bruise, though.” He nodded at the purplish discoloration deepening on the boy’s upper arm.

  “I’ll heat water and get the Epsom salts.” Clara hurried to the sink and pumped water into a teakettle. Setting it on the stove, she glanced over her shoulder at John. “How’s the cow?”

  “Not good.” John rubbed his forehead that had furrowed again in worry. “I don’t think the calf’s gonna come by itself. It’ll have to be pulled.” His lips pursed beneath his frown. “I was about to do that with Matt’s help when Ginger kicked him. I’ll need to get back out there and try to do it myself, or we’ll lose the cow and the calf.”

  “I’m feelin’ better. I think I can help.” Matt started to get up from the chair, but John shook his head and eased him back down.

  “You’re done in the barn today, Matt. I can’t have you out there doing more damage to that arm. You’ll need to stay in here and let your grandma doctor it up.”

  “I’ll help you.” The words popped from Eve’s mouth before she realized she’d said them. As she watched the proceedings of the past few minutes, a desire to help had gripped her.

  The surprise on John’s face slipped back into a frown. “I appreciate the offer, Eve, I do. But calving may not be something you’ll want to see. I’ll have enough to contend with out there without dealing with a female fainting at the sight of blood.”

  Eve prickled at John’s presumption of her weakness, and anger flared in her chest. Stiffening her back, she lifted her chin and shot him a glare. “I have two good arms, and I saw plenty of blood at the school two weeks ago and didn’t faint.”

  “Let her help, John.” Clara turned from adding small pieces of wood to the stove’s firebox. “Eve’s right. She’s stronger than you give her credit for.” She gave Eve a confident smile before turning a sterner face to John. “You need help, and God has provided it.”

  John’s eyes narrowed in deliberation. At last he exhaled a breath of resignation and bounced a somber look between Clara and Eve. “All right, but she’ll need to change into a frock you don’t mind ruining.” His brow lowered in a grim line as his gaze settled on Eve. “I doubt it’ll be worth keeping after today.”

  Ten minutes later in a patched and stained brown cotton dress that fit her like a sack, Eve followed John to the barn. The sense of victory she’d enjoyed earlier in the kitchen faded with each step, replaced by growing trepidation.

  The smell of manure and the sound of bawling cows met them as they entered thedim barn. Eve followed John down a narrow, straw-strewn dirt corridor between stalls of brown and white cows. With each step, she fought the urge to run back to the house. But her determination to prove John wrong in his assumption of her feminine weaknesses trumped her fear, and she steeled herself against what might lie ahead.

  At last they entered a stall where a brown cow lay on a bed of straw. The animal’s stillness caused Eve’s heart to sink. Had the cow died in John’s absence? A sudden grunt and movement from the beast relieved Eve while, at the same time, sending her heart vaulting to her throat.

  “Shh. There, girl.” John patted the cow’s brown rump. “We’re gonna get this calf out.” He turned to Eve, who stood with her back pressed against the stall’s weathered boards. “Go to her head and try to keep her calm, but stay away from her legs. That’s how Matt got kicked.”

  For a moment, Eve stood frozen with fear. The thought of approaching the big beast’s head, let alone touching it, filled her with terror.

  “Eve! Please. Do as I say.”

  Eve jerked at John’s sharp voice, and she found she could move her limbs again. The thought of disappointing both John and herself propelled her to the cow’s head.

  Tentatively, she touched the cow’s jaw. The silkiness of its hair surprised her, sparking an immediate feeling of sympathy for the beast. “There, there.” Her courage growing with her empathy, she caressed the streak of white that ran the length of the cow’s forehead. “Stay still, Ginger, and let John help your baby to be born.”

  A warm breath huffed from the cow’s nostrils, and her head leaned harder against Eve’s hand as if acknowledging Eve’s show of compassion. Though happier to pet the suffering animal’s head than to deal with the other end, Eve ventured a look at John and saw him take a length of chain from a nearby post.

  “I’m going to have to pull the calf out.” His jaw clenched, John sent Eve a stern glance from the back end of the cow. “She’s not going to like this, so try to hold her as still as possible.”

  Nodding, Eve stiffened her back and held tight to each side of Ginger’s face. Pressing her forehead to the cow’s wooly one, she murmured, “Be strong, Ginger, and all will be well. I promise.”

  At the other end, John pulled on the chain he had evidently attached to some part of the unborn calf, grunting with the effort.

  The cow jerked and emitted a loud bawl, but Eve managed to hold tight to her head. She looked back at John and saw what appeared to be a reddish brown blob with legs lying in a pool of blood. Instead of the revulsion she might have expected to feel at such a sight, Eve experienced a sense of amazement and exhilaration. She hugged the cow’s head. “Look, Ginger, you have a baby!”

  Ginger made no move or sound. Her big eyes closed, and her pink tongue lolled from the side of her mouth.

  “Poor thing. You must be exhausted.” Eve rubbed the cow’s forehead. She had no idea how a cow—or a person for that matter—might react after having given birth, but a marked slackness in the animal’s muscles troubled her.

  “Eve. Come here, I need you.” John’s voice, though calm, held an urgency, and Eve hurried to his side.

  She stifled a gasp at the sight that met her. John stood in an ankle-deep puddle of blood, shoving wads of rags into the animal’s bottom in an effort to stem a gushing, gory flood. A couple steps away lay the lifeless-looking calf, still half-swaddled in the birth membrane.

  John wiped the sweat pouring from his grim face with the back of a bloody wrist, leaving a red streak across his forehead. “Take one of those rags and wipe that calf. I don’t think Ginger’s going to be able to lick the life into her.”

  Eve obeyed, feeling as if her emotions had gone on a wild roller-coaster ride at Coney Island. How did she know about Coney Island or what a roller-coaster ride there felt like? Pushing the thought away, she focused on the hapless calf, rubbing gently so not to injure the infant animal.

  Still at work on the co
w, John looked over at her effort and scowled. “Hard! You’ll have to rub her hard, or we’ll lose the heifer.” Drenched in sweat and blood, he stepped back from the cow, his shoulders sagging in defeat. “We’ve already lost the cow to a ruptured uterus.”

  Eve blinked back tears for the loss of the animal she’d petted and consoled moments earlier. A strong desire to save Ginger’s calf gripped her, and she began rubbing the calf’s wet hair with all her strength.

  John came and knelt beside her. Together, they rubbed and massaged the limp calf for what seemed to Eve an interminable amount of time, though in reality a few minutes. Despair that rivaled what she’d felt when she woke three weeks ago with no memory engulfed her. Tears filled her eyes as resolve filled her chest. Renewed strength flowed into her aching arm muscles, and she rubbed the calf until it shook. “Come on, little cow. Live. Please live.”

  Chapter Seven

  The calf jerked and emitted a tiny bleat. Joy exploded in Eve’s chest like a Roman candle going off on the Fourth of July. A happy laugh burst from her lips as unashamed tears streamed down her cheeks. She lifted her face to meet John’s widening grin and felt a connection as real and strong as if they’d embraced. For a long moment they sat amid the barn’s muck gazing into each other’s eyes, their hearts in complete harmony. No words were needed. Within the span of a few short minutes, they’d gone together from the depths of grief and despair at losing Ginger, to the heights of joy at the realization that her calf would live.

  John leaned over the now twitching and bleating calf, and for one heart-stopping moment, Eve thought he might kiss her. Instead he stood, breaking the spell, then reached down and helped Eve to her feet. He turned and looked at Ginger’s still form, his expression somber. “I’ll need to get the milker to extract the colostrum. We’ll have to bottle-feed it to the calf if she’s to have any chance of thriving.” He tossed the last few words over his shoulder as he bounded out of the stall toward the interior of the barn.

  Eve shifted her gaze from John’s retreating back at the dead cow, her earlier joy wilting into sadness. Sympathy and grief welled up in her chest, accompanied by a surprising twinge of guilt. She’d promised the cow all would be well, and now it lay lifeless.

  A soft bleat from the corner of the stall drew her attention to the orphaned calf trembling in its straw nest. A wave of anger rolled over her, washing away all other emotions. Clara had prayed that Ginger be safely delivered of her calf and yet God—if there was a God—had turned a deaf ear to her pleas. The same God had allowed the train wreck that had stolen Eve’s memory, taken Elmer Trowbridge’s leg, and snuffed out a dozen lives.

  John’s abrupt return yanked Eve from her bitter muse. Laden with a bucket, short lengths of rubber hose, and a wooden contraption consisting of a seat and foot rests, John walked to Ginger and went to work attaching the hoses to the dead cow’s udders.

  The calf’s pitiful cries filled Eve with compassion, and she hurried to the infant animal’s side. “Poor baby.” She patted the little heifer’s still-damp hair. “I’m sorry about your mama, but don’t cry. John and I will take care of you.” She looked across the stall at John seated on the wooden contraption he had attached with the hoses to Ginger. As he pumped the treadles with his feet, bluish-white milk splat from the hoses into a bucket fixed at the front of the milking machine. After a few minutes work, he stopped and poured some of the milk into a waiting glass bottle, which he topped with a rubber finger-shaped lid.

  John carried the large bottle of milk to where Eve sat with the calf and held it out to her. “Would you like to feed her?”

  The offer caught Eve off guard. Her immediate hesitation quickly melted into a desire to comfort the motherless calf, and she nodded. “I’m not sure how well I’ll do, but I’d like to try.”

  John wasn’t sure what had prompted him to ask Eve if she’d like to feed the calf. Something about the sight of her curled up beside the quivering baby heifer had entirely beguiled him.

  He handed her the bottle, then helped her press the rubber nipple to the calf’s mouth. With one lick of its pink tongue, the calf tasted the milk and began nursing in earnest.

  “Look, she’s doing it!” Eve turned a beaming face up to John, and his heart jolted. A riot of red-gold curls framed her rosy cheeks, petal-pink lips, and eyes the color of a clear autumn sky. Her beauty snatched the breath from his lungs as if he’d been punched in the midsection. How easy it would be to fall in love with her. Easy and stupid.

  It took him a moment to recover sufficient air to reply. “Yes. I think she’ll make it.” He let go of the bottle, fearing she’d notice his hands shaking. All the while, his gaze remained fixed on the lovely picture she presented. “What should we name her? Ginger Junior, maybe?”

  Eve’s delicate forehead crinkled in thought. “Her color is closer to cinnamon than ginger.” She angled another devastating smile at him. “Yes, I think her name should be Cinnamon.”

  Holding tight to the bottle being jerked up and down by the hungry calf, Eve glanced at the dead cow, and her smile faded. “What will you do with Ginger?”

  “She’ll have to be butchered. I have a couple neighbors who I think would be happy to help and share in the meat.” In truth, John suspected that none of the meat would stay on the farm, doubting that Aunt Clara could bring herself to cook and eat her favorite cow. “The Lord gives and the Lord takes away.”

  Eve visibly stiffened, and her somber expression turned almost angry. Easing the bottle from Cinnamon’s mouth, she handed it to John. “Seems to me that lately God’s been doing a lot more taking away then giving.” Despite the July heat, her cold glare and brittle tone chilled John like a blast of winter wind. A tinge of sarcasm crept into her voice. “I’ll inform Clara that, as you say, God has both given and taken away. I’ll tell her that while the names have changed, the total on her balance sheet remains the same.”

  Watching Eve’s rod-straight back as she strode from the stall, John felt his heart break. How could he convince her of God’s love and mercy after the tragedies she’d experienced during the last three weeks—the only time of which she had any memory?

  As July gave way to August, the answer to that question remained elusive. While Eve seemed happy on the farm, pouring most of her time into caring for Cinnamon, whom John had successfully placed with another cow that had recently lost a twin calf, her disinterest in anything associated with God persisted. Her polite silence during prayers and daily scripture reading couldn’t mask her unease with those elements of worship. Though she attended church each Sunday with him, Aunt Clara, and Matthew, her fidgety, distracted demeanor at services suggested that her attendance had more to do with not disappointing Aunt Clara than with worshiping God.

  That after more than a month of daily Christian influence Eve’s attitude remained one of resignation rather than reverence maddened John. More troubling, the last comment she’d made before stalking from the barn following Cinnamon’s birth slinked again from the recesses of his mind to gnaw at his suspicions about Eve’s identity. Her use of the term balance sheet hadn’t struck him as significant at the time, but after turning it over and over in his mind, he couldn’t help but deduce that she’d had some experience in bookkeeping: another clue that suggested she might be the fugitive bank embezzler.

  Regardless of the warning signs screaming at him of the danger in allowing his affection for Eve to grow, it had done just that. Her every look, every smile set his heart galloping. More than once, he’d had to walk away from her so he wouldn’t take her in his arms and kiss her. “Be ye not unequally yoked together with unbelievers.” The scripture from 2 Corinthians convicted him of his growing feelings for the woman sitting beside him on the wagon seat this second Sunday of August.

  “Hyaa!” The frustration building in John’s chest shot to his arms, and he slapped the reins down on the horse’s rump sharper than he’d intended, causing the horse to jump.

  “John, not so hard!” Aunt Clara, sitt
ing with Matthew on the seat behind, leaned forward and put her hand on his shoulder. “We’re not in that big of a hurry, dear.” She gave his shoulder a pat that irked as much as her gentle chide. “We’ll not get to church at all if Bob bucks us out of the wagon.”

  “Sorry, Aunt Clara.” John’s mumbled apology was quickly swallowed up by Matthew’s eager talk of the coming state fair.

  “They’re givin’ cash prizes for livestock.” An audible hesitancy hobbled the excitement in the boy’s voice. His next words tiptoed out as if testing the air. “Thought maybe I could enter one of the cows. Everybody says we have the best Jerseys around.”

  “Oh, I don’t know, Matthew.” Aunt Clara’s voice sagged with regret. “We don’t have a big herd. Can’t really afford to give up one of our milk cows for a week, especially since we lost Ginger. She was our best milker.”

  At Matt’s disappointed sigh, John hoped to cheer the boy with a compromise. “What about one of the calves, Matt? They give cash prizes for calves, too.”

  Matt perked up. “Yeah. We could take Cinnamon. What do ya think, Eve?”

  John couldn’t help smiling at Matt’s inquiry. Everyone considered Cinnamon Eve’s calf.

  “Oh, I’d like that.” Eve’s bright voice warmed John’s heart, which melted when a tinge of worry crept in. “I’d love to enter her in the fair if you don’t think she’s too young, John.” She put her hand on his arm, setting his heart to hammering.

  “She’d only have to be there the day of the judging, so as long as either you or Matt stayed with her, I think she should do fine.” He gave her a smile which she rewarded with one of her own, turning his racing heart over.