“Oh, how beautiful.” Surprise circumvented the bitterness that still raged in her chest.
She shut the door and then pulled off her jacket and boots. After several clumsy attempts, she managed to sit down. Trevor had walked to the kitchen, sober-faced as he watched.
The calico jumped into her lap while the black-and-white hung back, tail tucked between its spindly legs. She stroked the calico’s soft fur, marveling at the loud rumbling vibrating its tiny ribs.
As a child she’d longed for a kitten but her parents refused. Her mother, actually. It was one reason Gracie never wanted to marry the wrong man. Growing up, she’d watched Mother constantly controlling her father and she vowed she’d never be controlled that way. She pressed her face against the silky fur and smiled.
“They’re so lovely, Trevor. Connie had kittens.” Sadness welled up. If only she could have gone to the funeral. Realistically, she knew it wasn’t Trevor’s fault. Even if there were no influenza outbreak, the traveling took too long. She would have missed the funeral if she’d left the day she found out.
She held out her hand to the black kitten. “Where did you get them?”
“Horn had extras he couldn’t deal with. They’ll eat rodents in the barn.”
The black kitten edged toward her, his little whiskers quivering. For some reason, she wanted to cry. She forced the tears back. Men were uncomfortable with a woman’s tears, she’d heard. “Have you named the kittens?” She glanced up at him.
His eyebrow performed its telltale quirk. A definite no. He stood in the kitchen, tall and strong, light flooding over him. Gracie looked away.
“I’ll name this one Connie, if you don’t mind.” She stroked the rumbling calico curled in her lap.
Trevor cleared his throat. “Not at all. I’m going outside for a few minutes. If you need anything, just holler.”
She looked up. Trevor sounded forlorn. He turned, but not before she caught a wisp of something pass over his face. Sadness?
He disappeared through the kitchen and she heard the door click when he went outside.
The black kitten retreated behind the couch but Connie plastered herself against Gracie, her gravelly purr filling the silence of the room. Eventually, the kitten jumped off Gracie’s lap to explore the kitchen.
She grabbed her crutches and struggled to her feet. Trevor’s home appeared small and cozy, if a little sparse. No hint of femininity here, but an artistic and sensitive mind could be seen at work in the little touches. A faded photograph stood alone on a table by the couch. A patterned wool blanket draped the couch. Thick oak floors adorned by nothing but spit-clean polish.
The fireplace was the only ornate fixture. Large and bordered with multicolored stones, Gracie could imagine sitting in front of it on a snowy evening talking or playing chess.
She limped over to Trevor’s bookshelf. Every book was neatly placed and not a speck of dust marred the wood. In fact—Gracie squinted—his books were arranged alphabetically. She couldn’t help but contrast his home with hers. The only things she kept orderly were the account ledgers, which would have to be straightened when she returned. Neither Father nor Mother had a head for figures.
She moved on to Trevor’s photos. There weren’t many. One in particular stood out from the rest and she picked up the burnished frame. Trevor and a woman posed against the backdrop of mountains. He wore his familiar scowl, his scar a crooked line on the faded picture.
It wasn’t often he looked happy. Not then, not now. She remembered his pronouncement of atheism.
With the loss of Connie, she could see where he might find belief in a loving God difficult. Perhaps the denial of a creator stemmed from his wounded soul. She understood a reaction like that, especially with her own soul in such torment.
She focused on the frame in her hand, taking in the blonde’s delicate bone structure and tall, willowy form. Trevor looked achingly young in the photograph. Next to him the woman looked like an innocent. Her prim beauty accentuated Trevor’s dark glower and Gracie hoped she was a sister.
She didn’t like the churning in her gut, the insecurity rising to the surface, and quickly set the picture down just as a door slammed. She heard Trevor’s boots against the kitchen floor. Then a soft scuff as he stepped into the living room.
She turned to him. “How’s your garden?”
“Dead.”
“Only for now, right?”
“Yep. It’s just waiting for spring.” Trevor set his hat on the small table in front of his couch. Then he moved in front of her, his stare strangely intense. “You looking at my pictures?”
“There are not many,” she remarked, her gaze roving his lined face.
The scar on his cheekbone gleamed and before she could stop herself, Gracie reached up to touch the broken flesh. Gently, with her forefinger, she traced its jagged edge. “Did you really get that from barbed wire?”
His eyes were stricken. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her close, black orbs glinting. “My father gave it to me with the bottom of a liquor bottle.”
Later, Gracie would blame her actions on her vulnerable state. She might even blame them on his vulnerable state, but in the second before she kissed him, her feelings overcame her practicality.
She leaned forward, on tiptoes, and pressed her lips against his ferocious anger. At first he was unyielding, but she didn’t give up. She needed the contact, and if she was being too bold, she didn’t care.
Death did not wait, it came when it pleased, and she would have this kiss.
She moved her lips against his, needing him to respond. When he did, it was as though she’d unleashed something she couldn’t control. She kissed him for herself, but also to soothe the monsters within him.
And then, amidst the emotions racking her, she felt wetness on her cheeks.
Salt mingled with the taste of Trevor’s lips. His mouth released hers and his thumbs moved from the small of her back to lightly smooth the tears from her face. His head bent and he whispered in her ear, “Don’t cry.”
Strange how two little words could affect her so profoundly. They unlocked a flood that had been dammed for more than two weeks and she drenched the front of his shirt. Even through her sobs, she could smell the sweetness of him, the musky scent of earth and man. When her tears slowed, he backed up a step, wary.
“You need some water?”
Gracie shook her head, hunched against the wall, and when she realized she couldn’t stop the weeping, she began to laugh. Through a haze of tears, she saw Trevor’s eyes widen.
Steering her to the couch, he gently pushed her down as she simultaneously wiped away tears and chuckles.
“I’m so sorry.” She sniffled. He handed her a hanky and kept his distance. He probably thought her insane. Connie would’ve held her, not looked at her as if she were a strange creature.
A harsh sob ripped from her throat.
No more phone calls, no more long walks to the harbor to watch fishermen preparing for their day. No more trips to the fish market and no more laughing at the vendors hawking their wares. Why had God allowed this?
* * *
Trevor was going nuts.
He gripped the steering wheel and kept his eyes on the road back to Lou’s. He’d spoken to Gracie once and been silent ever since. What would he tell her? That her kissing awakened some long-dead emotion in his heart? That she belonged here in the desert. That she fit?
Well, she didn’t.
The sooner she knew it, the better. He had problems to deal with, a life to live, and her impetuous kiss was messing everything up.
Scowling, he glanced over at his silent passenger. She stared unseeingly out her window. Her hair had come undone, falling along her jaw in shiny waves.
As if sensing his gaze
, she looked at him. “You must think I’m horrible. Brazen.”
The thought hadn’t crossed his mind. Sad, yes. Desperate even. But never horrible.
“There can be no more kissing,” she said. “It’s my thorn in the flesh.”
Trevor almost ran over a shrub. He swerved, working hard to hide his smile. There were worse things than a kiss in time of need, however inconvenient. She looked awfully guilty over something so slight.
“Are you smiling?”
“Just relieved.” Too late he realized how that sounded.
Gracie’s face fell. “There’s something you should probably know, Trevor.”
Her tone pricked his ears. Years of honed instinct bludgeoned him. Whatever she had to say, it wouldn’t be good. Unbidden, his thoughts turned to Eunice. The girl he thought he’d be with forever.
Money had been more important to her than love, though. Good thing he’d found out sooner rather than later.
“It’s about the kiss,” Gracie continued. Her voice shook, sounding raw from her weeping earlier.
Thinking about how she’d felt in his arms, how his heart had splintered at the sound of her sobs, made him feel crazy again. There was no room in his life for a woman. His jaw tightened.
He darted a quick glance toward her. She wasn’t looking at him, but at her hands as they twisted in her lap.
“I shouldn’t be kissing anyone,” she said in a dull tone. “My parents announced a betrothal for me in the papers, and though I rejected the proposal, my parents are complicating matters. According to them, I have a fiancé.”
His head jerked her way and the truck shook as the wheel slid through his fingers and caused him to run over a rock. Quickly he turned his attention back to the crude road. His pulse twitched through him.
“I thought you had a thing for your Striker,” he said carefully.
“I adore Striker and I will find him. This thing with the fiancé is a big mistake. It is only on paper and I meant to send a correction—”
“Then what’s been stopping you?”
Gracie cringed and Trevor knew his voice had come out harsher than he’d intended. He pulled up in front of Lou’s house. Turned off the truck and looked at her.
She gnawed on her lower lip, looking flustered and guilty. Swallowing a growl, Trevor grabbed his hat off the seat, jammed it on his head and got out of the truck.
He helped Gracie into the house without saying another word. He stomped the snow from his boots before turning to slide the bulky coat from Gracie’s shoulders. When he hung up the coat, he caught sight of Mary near the sitting room doors. Her eyes were wide and her skin unnaturally pale.
“There’s someone who came to see you.” Mary’s gaze flickered to Gracie. “Could you come with me to the kitchen?”
An uneasy feeling crept through him. “Who’s in that room?”
Mary’s hands twisted together, and she moved from the entrance of the sitting room as if to escape the inhabitant.
“Is it her?” he asked coldly.
Mary squeaked as he strode toward the sitting room. He ignored her and pushed the doors open and then stopped when the woman he despised almost as much as his father rose from the couch like a coiled cobra to a song.
She held out a hand. “My love, how are you?”
* * *
“What’s going on?” Gracie whispered. Mary had practically pulled her into the kitchen and now paced the floor, muttering to herself, skirts swishing angrily around her ankles.
Gracie worried about Mary’s reaction to the visitor, and it was not in her nature to worry. She hobbled to the high-backed wooden chair near the round oak table and sat down, awash with nerves and curiosity.
“Mary, who is she? Why are you agitated? Things can’t be so bad.” When Mary didn’t respond, impatience began to prick at Gracie’s fingers, making them itch.
Mary stopped suddenly. “I have to breathe. If Lou were here, he’d know what to do. I’m going outside.” She rushed to the side door and, with a blast of cold air, Gracie was left alone in the kitchen.
She shrugged. Well, there was nothing for it. She’d have to eavesdrop if she was going to have information. A small niggling of guilt edged her conscience as she crept into the hallway, but she suppressed the feeling. This couldn’t be worse than the blank look that had washed Trevor’s face when she’d told him about that ridiculous engagement. Surely it couldn’t be legal without her consent.
Her crutch scuffed the wall and she paused, but the arguing voices kept up their relentless tirade. With determination, she continued until she had reached the base of the stairs.
Now if she heard anyone about to open the door, she could be in the process of going to her room and thus guilty of nothing.
“You used us,” Trevor shouted.
Gracie grimaced. Doors could shake off their hinges with that roar. The woman’s reply was too soft for Gracie to hear so she shuffled nearer to the door. The voices were muffled, then she heard the woman say clearly, “I’ve always loved you, darling. I know I made my mistakes but…”
The rest of her words became lost behind the door. Gracie pressed her head against it, propping the crutches beside her so she could get a good angle with her ear.
“Don’t touch me, Julia. You don’t deserve to be forgiven.” Trevor’s voice was cold. He spoke emotionlessly, as if long past caring. The sound of a woman’s copious weeping filled the room and Gracie froze.
Should she go in there? No, it wasn’t her business. But Trevor had made Julia cry, and she sounded devastated. Was she an old flame, someone who’d left him and now wanted him back?
If Julia was that woman, she sure didn’t want to comfort her. Mind made up, she stepped away from the door. Julia was Trevor’s issue. As much as she wanted to get involved, she needed to stand aside and mind her own business.
Besides, she had a secret agent to track down.
But Trevor was being so cruel. Could she really leave the poor woman in tears? She was sure to have a fascinating story on why she’d come back and Gracie hadn’t seen a new face in weeks.
Unquestionably, it was her Christian duty to comfort others. She turned and using her crutches for support, whipped the door to the sitting room wide open.
Trevor brooded near the fireplace, hands clasped behind his back and posture rigid. He appeared to be staring into the flames and made no indication he’d heard her entry. Julia sat on the sofa, dabbing at the corners of her eyes with a white linen hankie and sniffling softly. She must have felt the draft because she looked up in surprise.
Gracie’s heart dropped to the pit of her stomach. The woman was gorgeous in a delicate flower kind of way.
“Oh, dear,” Julia murmured in a slight Southern accent. “How do you do?” Her affected tone oozed insincerity.
Squinting, Gracie stepped forward and saw Julia much clearer. Something in her faded cornflower-blue eyes gave her away as being older than she looked at first glance. Certainly older than Trevor, who Gracie had been told turned twenty-nine in July. As she neared, she caught a glimpse of several grays artfully disguised within the full head of blond strands. Fine lines webbed the corners of the woman’s full lips.
So this was the woman in Trevor’s picture.
“Hello, I’m Gracelyn Riley,” Gracie said, spontaneously using her full name. She wanted to be formal with Trevor’s possible ex-fiancée, ex-love, whatever she might be.
Trevor turned from the fireplace, a formidable expression crossing his face. “What are you doing in here?”
“Well, I heard weeping and thought I could possibly help,” she answered brightly, fully mindful that he was coming at her like a train rushing into a depot. She braced herself for the blast, but it didn’t come. He stopped an inch away, the f
irelight flickering over his chiseled features.
“I’m probably not needed after all.” She backed up awkwardly with her crutches. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Julia.”
Trevor grabbed her sleeve. “Do you usually make a habit of eavesdropping?” He watched her closely.
Too late, Gracie realized she’d been caught. Julia hadn’t introduced herself. Foolish tongue. “Uh, yes, I mean no. I heard you yelling in the hall, and then I heard this awful crying.” She cleared her throat. “Perhaps I should go now.”
“I’m betting it’s not Christian to eavesdrop.” He fixed her with a hard stare before relenting and gesturing to the woman near the couch. “Gracie, this is Julia Williams. Julia, Gracelyn Riley.”
Julia inclined her head. Gracie reciprocated. The woman stood quietly but Gracie had the feeling Julia was no mouse. In fact, she looked distinctly feline. Gracie shuddered at the thought of being within reach of the woman’s sharpened claws. She no longer felt intimidated by Julia’s surreal beauty, but rather by the gleaming awareness that lit her feral eyes.
Gracie’s hands balled. She was not accustomed to feeling intimidated. She resented the intrusion on her self-esteem.
Trevor turned to her, his lips quirking in a most suspicious manner. “Now that you two have been properly introduced, why don’t we enjoy coffee and cookies. Gracie, you know where Mary keeps those things?”
She flinched. Have coffee with Julia? She couldn’t. Absolutely not. “I need to rest. I’ll leave you with your ex-fiancée or lady friend, or whoever,” she stuttered.
Trevor recoiled, his mouth flattening. Julia grinned, baring perfectly white pointed little teeth. Gracie desperately wanted to escape. How could he love this woman?
“Julia is not my ex anything.” Trevor looked Gracie square in the eye. “She’s my mother.”
Chapter Eleven
Buried secrets rotted slowly.
That’s why tonight Gracie would get some answers. She stared at her plate of mashed potatoes, willing them to disappear. The past few days had been interminable. She’d spent most of her time with Mary, cleaning, ironing and performing other tedious tasks. Uncle Lou was scheduled to come home tomorrow and though Mary hid her feelings well, Gracie detected a quiet excitement in Mary’s movements.
Love on the Range Page 10
