by Linda Ford
When she returned, she flashed Harrison a smile, got out her art satchel and sat on the verandah to work. Completing the western-themed pictures filled her with bitter sweetness, but they were good, and they honored her love for Clay.
Harrison had said he was going to town tomorrow, and she wanted her package ready to go with her proposal for this project, so she worked the rest of the afternoon and until the light faded from the sky.
Harrison came out as she was putting her things away. “You been out here a long time.”
“I had an idea for a new line, and I want to have it ready for you to mail for me tomorrow.”
He leaned against the post and crossed his arms. “He’s a stubborn man carrying a load of pain and regret.”
She didn’t pretend not to understand who he meant. “He told me about his past.”
Harrison nodded. “So long as you know not to expect—”
“I have no expectations.” She now knew not that not all men were like Larry and his ilk. Now she knew what it was to be in love. Like she’d said, she would wait for him. Even if she waited the rest of her life.
Three weeks had passed when one of the cowboys went to town and returned to hand her the mail. She flipped through it and recognized the return address from her publisher. This would be the reply about her western pictures. A bank draft fell from the envelope. She gasped at the generous amount then unfolded the sheet of paper.
Your idea for a western series is most excellent, and I’m sure will sell well. The enclosed draft is to pay for the samples you sent. They are already in production. I will use as many as you can get to me.
She laughed aloud, though there was no one to hear. How she’d love to share this success with Clay. She went out to the verandah and her gaze went to the north. Was he missing her even a little? Had he considered changing his mind?
If he had, she would see him riding over the hills. But no matter how hard she stared, no horse and rider appeared. She turned her attention back to the letter. Producing these pictures would be her source of joy, of connecting with Clay if only through memories and drawings of him. She pulled out the sketchbook and flipped the page to the drawing of Clay. An idea grew, and she took out a sheet of paper and set to work.
Six days later she had completed five more western pictures, but the one of Clay sitting on the rock remained unfinished. She looked at it. The composition was good, the subject excellent, but something about it didn’t feel right.
The sound of an approaching conveyance drew her attention to the road. A buggy kicked up a cloud of dust as it rolled toward her, drawn by two horses. She couldn’t see who rode in it. Company might prove a nice diversion.
“Megan, where are you?” Birdie still worried when the child was out of sight.
“Here playing with my dolly.” Her voice came from the side of the verandah where Megan played in the shade.
Birdie had made her a new doll to replace Miss Molly. She didn’t expect Megan to have the same degree of fondness as she had for the one her mother had made, but Megan spent many hours playing with the doll and had named her Polly. “Because it rhymes with Molly.”
Birdie put away her drawings and closed the satchel as she waited for the buggy to reach the house. She thought the man driving was from the livery barn, but she couldn’t make out his passenger beyond the fact that it was a woman.
Cosette came to the screen door. “You know the lady?”
She watched at it came closer. “No.”
The buggy stopped. The driver hopped down to assist the woman, and she handed him some coins. He placed a bulging suitcase on the ground, climbed back to the seat, and drove away.
Seems whoever this visitor was, she meant to stay.
Birdie hurried forward as the buggy rattled off. “May I welcome you to the Stony Creek Ranch?”
The little woman appeared to be slightly older than Birdie. She had snapping black eyes, and salt-and-pepper hair peeked out from under her wide-brimmed hat. There was something vaguely familiar about her, but Birdie couldn’t place her.
“You may, and I am happy to discover that I am at the right place. I am Helen Fisher, and I’ve come to see my nephew, Clay.”
“Clay’s aunt. He told me about you.” Birdie had pictured the woman as much older. “I’m pleased to meet you. I’m Birdie Howe. My brother, Harrison, owns this ranch.”
The woman adjusted her gloves, pulled the hat pin from her hat, and removed it to shake her head. “That’s better. I can’t abide hats, but we are forced to wear them.”
It was on the tip of Birdie’s tongue to ask who forced Helen to wear them.
“Well, then,” Helen said. “Where might I find my nephew?”
“You must be hot and tired. Come inside and have a drink of water or tea or whatever you like, and I’ll tell you where Clay is.”
“Very well. Tea would be most welcome.” She reached for her suitcase.
“I’ll get that.” Birdie carried the case up the steps and set it inside the door.
Cosette had hurried to the kitchen to prepare tea. Megan followed, studying the stranger with wide eyes.
Birdie could almost hear the child’s mind churning with curiosity. She’d asked about Clay every day since he’d left. And every day Birdie had said she didn’t expect Clay to return. No doubt the little girl would interpret his aunt’s arrival to mean Clay would show up any minute.
Birdie ushered Helen to the table, introduced Cosette and Megan, and poured tea. She sat across from Helen. “It’s a hot day for travel.”
“At least there’s fresh air out here. I breathed cinders and smoke on the train. But once I got Clay’s letter, I made up my mind I would see him. That nephew of mine disappeared three years ago without a word. I didn’t know if he was alive or dead, and now I intend to see for myself and tell him if he ever disappears like that again, I will rain down wrath upon him.” She chuckled. “I confess it’s rather hard to rain anything on someone who disappears.” She sighed. “But I was so glad to hear from him.” She took a sip of her tea. “Now, didn’t you say you’d tell me where he was?”
Megan inched forward. “He’s in a line cabin way far away and doesn’t want any of us to visit him.” She stuck out her bottom lip. “I’m not happy ‘bout that.”
Helen chuckled. “I can see. Well now, we’ll have to see what can be done about it.”
Harrison threw open the door and stepped inside. “Heard we have company.”
“It’s Clay’s aunt Helen,” Megan informed him.
Harrison drew closer, and his eyes widened. Birdie introduced them, noticing a faint pink staining her cheeks.
Birdie looked from one to the other. Was it possible her brother might see something in this woman? She certainly was handsome. And the way her eyes flashed suggested she might have the strength to deal with challenging circumstances.
Harrison joined them for tea, his eyes darting continually to Helen.
“I’ve come to see Clay,” Helen said. “I hear he’s far far away and doesn’t want company.” She winked at Megan. “That’s not acceptable. I am his aunt, and he will see me.”
“You can’t take a buggy there,” Megan said.
“I venture to say there’s ways to get there for those who are determined.” Helen looked hard at Harrison. “Isn’t that so?”
Birdie saw that her brother was struggling to think clearly, and she sat back to watch. How was he going to meet the demands of this woman?
* * *
Clay rode Buck most all day, every day. This day hadn’t been any different. He looked Mutt who’d decided to skip the long hours on the range.
“I hope you enjoyed your solitude.” Clay wished he could enjoy it, but solitude, once comforting and safe, had grown cold and empty.
He went inside and glanced at the picture Birdie had given him just as he did hundreds of times throughout the day. The most precious gold is found in a loving heart. He’d known the brightness of that gold for a short
time. He tried to convince himself that gold caused problems. Look what had happened to his folks and sister because of gold. But then he’d glance outside and see the sun gilding a cloud, or he’d see the golden blaze of a sunset. He’d seen gold reflecting from water just as Birdie had drawn. It was only the reflection of the sun, but it reminded him of the hours they’d shared by the river. He even had a tiny gold nugget that he’d stored in a leather pouch in the bottom of his saddlebags. It was meant to be a reminder of how his foolishness had led to his parents’ and sister’s deaths, but one day he retrieved it and rolled it round and round in the palm of his hand. Memories of his gold-hunting days came in flashes. He’d enjoyed working with his friends, had enjoyed the wild country and the challenges that came with living there.
It wasn’t the gold that was at fault. It was what lurked in the heart of a man. Evil or gold. Seemed to him men had a choice about which it would be.
The thought dug at his own life. What was he choosing?
But how did he choose, knowing whatever he did, others would be affected. His parents had been hurt by his choices. His sister had. His wife and child had. How could he put anyone at risk like that again?
He’d dumped the gold nugget back in the pouch
He turned his attention to the present, and found some jerky and dry biscuits to gnaw on.
Darkness fell, and Clay remained in his chair.
He missed the people at the ranch. He missed Birdie. What would she be doing about now? Seeing as it was dark, she would have put away her drawing things and gone to bed like any sensible person.
Time he did the same. He stretched out on his cot without bothering to remove his boots. Lying awake staring into the dark and listening to his dog snore outside the door gave Clay plenty of time to think.
He’d prayed while he was at the ranch. Felt close to God. No reason that should change unless Clay wanted it to. Did he? He crossed his ankles and put his hands under his head.
No, he didn’t want to be the Clay he had been not so long ago—a man who refused to admit his feelings—whether good or bad. A man who had shoved his belief in a loving God to the farthest corner of his mind.
God loved him. The thought brought a touch of joy to his heart, the first he’d allowed since he’d ridden back to the line cabin.
Birdie said God had brought them to each other. Could that be so? Was loving her worth the risk to his heart? Worth the risk his reputation would be to her safety?
He wished there were an easy answer.
He rose the next morning before dawn, built a fire in the stove, and set the coffee pot on. He’d emptied and scrubbed it well, but the brew he produced still didn’t taste as good as what Birdie or Cosette made.
And he had no eggs. He’d have to have fried potatoes and salt pork for breakfast. He ate and took his second cup of coffee out to the chair beside the low cabin. He sure did miss the coffee at the ranch.
Which was not reason enough to return.
He missed the food, the cats, the river. He missed Megan and Cosette. Angus and Harrison.
Mostly he missed Birdie with every beat of his heart.
Was that enough reason to throw caution to the wind?
Was it caution? Or fear? Or guilt?
He stared at the horizon. There was a time he’d enjoyed contentment up here.
Contentment or escape?
Where had all these questions come from? And why did he hear them in Birdie’s voice?
He drained his cup and pushed to his feet. What he needed was to give the cabin a long-overdue cleaning.
Two hours later he had washed every surface, shaken his bedding out, and scoured the old fry pan that held an inch of cold grease.
Now what? Here he was, free to do whatever he wanted. So what did he want to do?
He went to the door and stared in the direction of the ranch. There was only one thing he wanted to do.
He squinted into the distance trying to make out the wavering cloud on the horizon. Dust? Or fire? His heart raced as he recalled how close the fire had come to the ranch buildings.
Birdie had been prepared to ride out and fight it.
That gal carried a derringer in her pocket and wasn’t afraid to use it. She was just the sort of woman who would stand up to challenges.
Did he want to add to the challenges in her life? Or would he continue to deny himself the joy her love offered? He might as well ask himself if he preferred the golden sunlight or the gloom of the tiny cabin. He hovered on the edge of something that both frightened and thrilled him.
As he mused over his choices, he watched the dust turn into a rider. Clay had no intention of wearing a sidearm again, but neither was he foolish enough not to be prepared. He cradled his rifle in the crook of his arm as he waited for the man.
“Hello,” the rider called while still at a safe distance. “Got a message for you from Harrison.”
“Ride on in.”
The cowboy trotted closer and stopped a few feet away. Clay recognized one of the Stony Creek ranch hands.
“What is it?”
The cowboy looked a little wary. “Harrison says you are needed at the ranch immediately.”
“He did, huh? He say why?”
“I didn’t ask. But he said if you weren’t willing to come I was to hogtie you and drag you there.”
Clay stared at the man.
“Please don’t make me do that.”
Clay took in the man’s size. Saw the determination in his eyes and guessed Harrison had picked his messenger carefully. “Must be something all-mighty important.”
“I’d guess so. You gonna come?”
“I’ll save us both a heap of trouble. I’ll be along right away.”
The cowboy looked uncomfortable but didn’t move. “I’ll wait and keep you company if’n you don’t mind.”
“Suit yourself.” He knew it wouldn’t make any difference if he did. “Got to gather up a few things.” He went inside, got his bedroll, and took the picture from the wall. He saddled Buck, hung the saddlebags, and tied the bedroll before he swung to Buck’s back. “I’m ready.” He headed toward the ranch. The cowboy rode close by.
“I’m guessing you’re going to stick to my side like a big furry burr.”
“Don’t much care for the comparison, but that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”
Clay settled back for a leisurely ride, one that gave him time to think what Harrison might want.
By the time they reached the ranch, Clay had practiced a dozen different things he wanted to say to Birdie. Would she be willing to hear him?
Chapter 10
Birdie she didn’t know if Clay would come until she saw him riding in with another cowboy.
Helen watched out the window. “It’s him. I’d know him anywhere.”
Helen had been watching so anxiously, she likely didn’t even notice that Birdie was just as eager.
“It was so good of your brother to send for him,” Helen said.
In the four days since Helen had arrived, Harrison had spent a lot of time in her company. They often walked down by the river. Birdie didn’t begrudge her brother one ounce of happiness but oh, how she wished she and Clay could walk down by the river as well and share the deepest thoughts of their hearts. And now here he was.
He adjusted his hat and looked toward the house.
Harrison trotted over to join him.
Birdie could almost see the surprise in Clay’s face when he turned back to the house. He broke into a run.
Helen dashed out the door and bounded off the steps. She flew into his arms.
Birdie stood at the screen door. She heard Helen crying and laughing and threatening.
Clay chuckled. “Still think you can order me about, I see.”
“There was a time I could lay you over my knee and spank you.”
“Only until I was about six, and then you couldn’t handle me.” He smiled at his aunt. “But then you didn’t need to. I was always such a g
ood boy.”
Helen laughed and patted his cheeks. “It sure is good to see you.” She tucked her arm around his and drew him toward the house. “I want to hear everything about you from the last time I saw you. We missed you at Mary’s funeral.”
“I couldn’t face it. I suppose I was a coward.”
Helen and Clay were almost at the verandah. Birdie did not want to be caught listening and scurried to the stove.
Cosette chuckled. “Your eyes give away your feelings. No point in pretending otherwise.”
“I don’t mind him knowing how I feel. It’s just—”
“Birdie be wanting more?”
She nodded. “I want what you and Angus have.”
Cosette patted her stomach. “We soon have baby.”
“Oh, Cosette, I’m so happy for you.” She hugged her friend.
“I very happy too.”
The door hinges squealed, and Birdie felt Clay’s presence. She told herself not to turn, but she could no more keep from doing it than she could change night into day. Their gazes met and held. For her, nothing had changed. She loved this man and wanted to spend the rest of her life with him. She’d waited thirty years for him. How could she persuade him they belonged together?
Helen led him to the table, and Cosette pushed Birdie to a chair across from him and served them tea and sweet biscuits lathered with jam.
Clay sighed expansively. “Cosette, I sure have missed your cooking.”
“Miss Birdie made the biscuits,” Cosette said.
His gaze returned to her, dark and—
She would not allow herself to dream.
“I missed your cooking too.”
Was that all? Her cooking?
“I hung the picture you gave me on the wall and look at it every day.”
“That’s nice.” She managed to force the words from her mouth. It wasn’t enough.
Helen drew his attention and demanded to know what he’d been doing since she’d last seen him.
Birdie studied him as he talked. She tried to detect any change in him, but it had only been a month since she’d seen him last, so it wasn’t as if he’d have aged. But were the lines around his mouth deeper?
