by Jillian Hart
“—and got a vase for Miss Molly.”
“So you would be proud of us.”
He drew up, still as steel, so no one could guess at the emotion hitting him. They had tried to do the right thing. But in acting on their own, they had made the situation worse. This wasn’t only about replacing a broken vase.
It was about the woman beginning to climb down from that cart. The woman who took his offered hand with a subtle smile. The woman whose touch came as softly as spring raindrops against his palm. When her shoes landed on the ground and she moved away, the center of his palm tingled sweetly, as if it would never forget her.
“I brought your wayward girls home.” She somehow looked like a story heroine, even with the barn in the background and the old bay mare nibbling at her hat brim. “Thank you for replacing the vase. I know it was costly.”
Costly? Normally that would alarm him, but now something like a large bill from the finest shop in town seemed like nothing. Not when compared to how Penny gazed up at Molly as if she’d hung the moon. Prudy, when she sidled next to the woman, did so with clear adoration.
What had come over the two of them? They had never been taken with a lady like this before. It was time to rein in their unruly ways. If he wasn’t careful they would have him married by the July Fourth family picnic.
“We owed you a vase, and now our debt is paid.” He did his best not to notice the feminine way she pushed a stray curl into place beneath her fashionable bonnet. No, it was best to direct his eyesight to the children ignoring him to cling to her. “The girls will make sure Sukie doesn’t bother you again.”
“Speaking of which—” She gestured toward the barn, amused. “Unless I’m mistaken, Sukie has gotten loose.”
“Sukie!” Penelope held up both hands. “No! Go back to your pen!”
“Bad Sukie!” Prudence scolded, shaking one finger at the cheerful bovine racing across the yard in an ungainly gallop. Her happy moo echoed across the hillside. “She’s a runaway stampede!”
“You girls have been influenced by too many novels.” That was it. It was decided. These notions of fairy tales, cowgirls and romance had to end. “Put the cow back in her pen—”
The girls were already racing off to intercept their pet, but the heifer turned and led the chase, as if in a merry game. The girls’ delighted squeals rose joyfully on the wind.
“You were saying about Sukie?” Molly asked him with a wry tilt to her rosebud mouth.
“I don’t know why I try. I’m outnumbered. It’s a lost cause.”
“Not entirely lost.” She laughed, a musical trill that made him think of clear mountain brooks and spring raindrops. “Your girls are delightful. They had me in stitches the entire ride home. I know I’ve told you before, but they are double blessings. It’s a marvel you can keep a straight face.”
“It’s what I wonder every day.” Gazing upon her filled him with questions. Where had she moved from? How old was she? What was she looking for in life? Her fondness for his daughters was unmistakable. Why hadn’t she married?
Not that it was any of his business. It was merely curiosity, that was all. As a physician, he knew nearly everyone in Angel County, but he did not know her. This sensible, hardworking lady who watched his daughters race around the field trying to herd their pet cow, who did not cooperate.
“It’s an impossible situation. Look at them!” Embraced as she was by the sun, it was hard not to notice her radiant beauty.
A faint, sharp pain arrowed through his chest suspiciously close to his heart. But it couldn’t be that organ, since he was not a deep-feeling man. Perhaps his stomach was agitated—he’d been too busy tending a patient to have taken lunch. Surely that was the explanation.
“The more they run, the more Sukie chases them.” She laughed, a sound gentler than any hymn. “Now the cow is herding the two of them! What a delightful life you have.”
“Yes, delightful.” Dryly, the words came off his tongue, but they felt disconnected from his thoughts and his emotions, which for some unexplainable reason centered on her.
She seemed like a responsible, proper lady. He had noticed her before on his rides through town, working in the bakery in the mornings and Sims’s dress shop in the afternoons. Hard not to notice her. As lovely as she was, she wasn’t terribly young. He would place her somewhere in her twenties and solidly working on becoming a spinster, he reckoned.
Her words came back to him from the first day they met. Maybe it’s because I know something about longing. Life never turns out the way you plan it. What did she long for? Why hadn’t her life turned out according to her plan? As she watched his twins, that same lonely look returned to her face.
Hard not to understand that. Was she as lonesome as he was? Did she have broken dreams too, ones that could never be made whole or found again?
Perhaps it was the doctor in him, always wanting to fix things. Maybe it was something deeper he did not want to understand. The words came off his tongue before he could snatch them back. “What are you doing for supper, Miss McKaslin? Would you consider joining us?”
Chapter Four
Nothing Sam Frost said could have astonished her more. For one second her pulse lurched in her veins as if the earth had vanished from beneath her shoes.
“I have work to do this evening. I—” The words did not come. She wanted to say she had no time for social engagements, but the look of quiet dignity on his granite face stopped her.
This man could open her up like a door into a room. Standing with him on the verdant lawn, listening to the rush of the wind through the field grasses and the squealing joy of the girls, she felt as if the daylight had never been this vibrant or the air so sweet. Awareness of the man glanced through her like dappled sunshine, awareness that was keenly emotional. Lonesomeness, weariness, regret; feelings much like her own.
“A neighborly invitation,” he assured her. “Kathleen is probably done boiling the potatoes about now. You may as well stay. There’s always plenty.”
“I would be imposing.” And looking at what she did not have—and probably never would. Men were not tripping over one another to come courting, that was for sure. Sam did not know what he was asking of her.
“It would be doing me a favor.” Humor dimpled the corners of his mouth as they slid upward into a spare grin. “Look at the two of them, running wild. It would do them good to see how a real lady behaves. They look up to you.”
“Is there a hidden motive in this invitation?”
“No. If they still run wild when the meal is done, you can stay for dessert.”
Why was she laughing? She was not about to be charmed by him. This was not love at first sight. Her world hadn’t changed when she’d taken his hand to help her from the cart. Love hadn’t sparked like a symphony in full crescendo. He was not her Mr. Darcy. That didn’t mean she couldn’t be neighborly. She drew in a breath of lilac-scented air. “Then I guess it depends on what is being served for dessert.”
“I have no idea.”
“You make me an offer without knowing all of the facts? I’m shocked at you, Dr. Frost.”
“Sam. Please.” He raked his fingers through his thick dark hair, laughing a little, too. His reserved nature fled, and this jovial side of him made her see the man he must have been before sadness changed him.
She knew exactly how that was. “Then you must call me Molly. I’m afraid I have a confession to make. I’m a widow. I should have corrected you when we first met, but—”
“—it was too painful,” he finished, the humor fading from his face, but he did not close up. He remained as if open to her, a stunning, feeling man of great depth.
At least, that was her impression of him. That was what she felt in the silence as it stretched between them.
“Very.” She battled to keep the past where it belonged. “I hope you can forgive me.”
“There is nothing to forgive. It was my mistake. I assumed.”
“It wouldn’t
be the first time. I’ve turned down a few courting men who have done the same.”
“So, turning down proposals is a habit for you.”
“Yes. Is that relief I hear in your voice?” She liked his chuckle, a low pleasant rumbling, a friendly sound she wanted to hear again. How strange. She sidestepped so a tiny butterfly wouldn’t get grounded by her skirts, bringing the children into her line of sight. The girls had caught Sukie and were hanging on her, rubbing her neck and face and giggling when the heifer tried to give them swipes with her tongue. “My marriage was not like a fairy tale.”
“Neither was mine.” His confession resonated with remorse. She did not need to ask if he had done all he could to make his marriage right. She knew because the cost of it was on his face and a weight, like her own, she could feel.
A bell clanged from somewhere behind her. She whirled around to see a plump elderly lady limping away from the dinner bell. Must be the housekeeper.
“We’re having apple crisp for dessert,” the woman said matter-of-factly, as if she had overheard every word of their conversation and wasn’t ashamed for them to know.
“It’s the kitchen window.” Sam leaned close, his voice lowered, meant only for her. “Kathleen likes fresh air and to let in the scent of the lilac blooms, but I think she’s nosy.”
“Good thing for you. If she wasn’t, I would be on my way home. Apple crisp is my favorite.”
No wonder. Sam tethered the ancient mare in the shade of the barn. A widow. He should have known. She carried a maturity of manner and emotion. She simply appeared so young. Fresh-faced and golden, her features like porcelain. Not that he was noticing.
No, what he noticed was the way she shut the garden gate behind her and disappeared behind purple cones of blossoms, heading to the kitchen to help Kathleen put the meal on the table. He noticed her mare was gentle and white around the muzzle, well groomed and used to kindly care. He noticed the state of the cart—in good repair but not exactly a shining buggy, and the baskets on the floorboards which held pinned up ladies’ dresses and petticoats. She must also do piece work in the evenings. A widow’s lot could be difficult in these uncertain economic times. Hard not to respect the woman. Hard not to like the first woman in years who had been able to make him laugh.
“Pa?” Penelope skipped into view, a burst of yellow calico in the shady grass. “Where’s Miss Molly?”
“I suspect putting the biscuits on the table about now.” He gave the mare a pat on the neck and strolled over to the trough pump.
A second calico-wearing girl tumbled into sight. “Is she truly staying to supper?”
“You girls would do well to be more like Molly.” He gave the handle a few good pumps. “Do you see her tearing through the pasture like a rampaging cow? No. She’s well pressed and every hair is neatly in place. She’s helping Mrs. Finley in the kitchen. You might take a page from her book.”
Water splashed into the trough and the mare ambled closer for a sip. She would be cool and comfortable here. He left her, aware of two sets of footsteps tripping after him.
“Do you like her, Pa?”
“Do you like her a lot?”
He caught sight of her through the large kitchen window, where she stood beside the table, pouring milk into glasses. She sure could take a man’s breath away. Good thing he wasn’t looking for the complications of marriage. Because if anyone could interest him, it would be Molly McKaslin.
Here’s where things got tricky. He considered his answer as he led the way across the rutted road and into the grassy side yard. “No, girls, I’m afraid I don’t like Miss Molly at all.”
“Not the teeniest bit?”
“Not even an eensy bit?”
“Nope. Because you two already have all of my heart. There’s no room for anyone else.” He endured the twins’ groan and moans of disappointment as he swung open the garden gate, stunned by Molly staring at him through the window.
The mysterious smile teasing the rosebud softness of her lips and trouble twinkling like stardust in her dream-blue eyes left no doubt. She had heard him quite clearly. Some females he could think of might be unhappy to hear a marriageable doctor did not like them, but she was obviously no average female.
He opened the back door and let his daughters topple in ahead of him. They ran, shoes beating the floor, grass-stained skirts swishing, flyaway hair trailing out behind them. A striking contrast to the proper, tidy, genteel woman turning from the table with the pitcher in hand to offer them a smile of welcome. “I hope you two were able to get Sukie penned and safe.”
“Sort of.”
“Mostly.”
Sam didn’t think anyone noticed as he shut the door behind him. The rise and fall of female conversation may as well have been a different language. He leaned against the wall, folding his arms across his chest, simply watching the twins chatter away without giving Molly a word in edgewise. Funny to watch the girls be so polite. They pulled out Molly’s chair. They looked like actual proper girls, standing still without fidgeting, listening intently as Molly spoke to them. Each settled into a chair as close to the woman as they could, mimicking her straight posture and ladylike drape of the napkin across her lap.
“I like her.” Kathleen swung close on her way by, with a covered tray to take to their quarters upstairs. She threw over her shoulder, “I’ll leave you to your courting. Don’t scare her away with that cold manner of yours.”
“I don’t know what you are talking about.” He wasn’t a cold man and he wasn’t a courting one. He didn’t have to worry about scaring Molly away. What he did have to worry about was liking the woman too much. That, he feared, was a very real problem.
“Pa!”
He shook his head, realizing there were three females staring at him. He left his thoughts for another time, crossed the room and took his chair. The kitchen was fragrant with the warm smell of roasted chicken, the rich doughy goodness of buttermilk biscuits, steaming potatoes and buttery green beans. But as hungry as he was, every bit of him from the inside out was aware that this was no ordinary supper.
Across the table, Molly took the girls’ hands and bowed her head, awaiting grace. Something incomprehensible and powerful flickered to life within him as he felt the impact of her gaze. He did not know what it was. Shaken, he bowed his head, took each of the girls’ hands and began to pray.
“Show me Thy ways, O Lord; teach me Thy paths. Lead me in Thy truth and teach me: for Thou art the God of my salvation; on Thee do I wait all day. Father, thank You for Your bounty. Please bless this food on our table, and strengthen and purify our hearts. If it’s not too much trouble, please help guide Penny and Prudy toward more ladylike pursuits. Amen.”
“Amen.” The girls were shaking their heads, apparently not at all surprised by the blessing.
“Amen.” Molly released the girls’ hands and opened her eyes.
Sam had never seen a more perfect blue. While he had been praying, he should have asked God for help. Molly had an odd effect on him. He had never been fanciful in the company of a woman before. He grabbed the platter of sliced chicken and forked a few slices onto his plate before handing it to Penelope.
“Miss Molly? Do you like tree forts?” Penelope asked.
“It’s really a stump,” Prudence clarified, “but we pretend it’s a tree fort.”
“Yes, my little brother and I had our own tree fort in a cottonwood grove in the Big Bear Mountains.” It was as if she were discussing something completely ordinary like the weather, instead of make-believe dwellings. Molly took the platter Penelope offered her and added a thick slice of chicken to her plate. “We fended off attacks from renegade bands and many very bad outlaws.”
“We defeated the entire cavalry last week—”
“—and now we are in the middle of a siege.”
Clearly, this could not be judicious, endorsing silly stories, but Sam could not look away from Molly as she held the platter for Prudence.
“A siege. H
ow exciting.” When Prudence was through dishing up chicken, Molly set the platter in the center of the table. Amusement played across her lovely face as she caught him looking at her. “Sam, I hope you think defending a fort from lawless bandits is a proper way to spend time.”
“If you are a soldier or a sheriff.”
“Apparently we have differing opinions. It’s my mother’s fault. She indulged my love of stories at an early age. That’s helped with my tendency toward imagination, I’m afraid.” She added a biscuit to her plate, again holding the bowl for Prudence. “My earliest memories are of sitting wrapped up in a quilt on my ma’s lap. The potbelly stove was roaring, snow was tumbling like a white waterfall on the other side of the windows while Ma read from one of her novels.”
“My pa would read Shakespeare.” His voice deepened, the tone vibrant with emotion too layered to label. “Every winter evening after supper when the last of the work was done, he would draw his chair up to the stove, light a lamp and open his volume of plays. My sister and I would listen, captivated by the powerful words. We were too young at first to understand, but we would listen. As the years passed, we came to love the plays and, later, read the different parts with Pa.”
“It sounds like a wonderful way to grow up.” She broke her biscuit in two and buttered it, but her attention remained on the man seated across from her. A man she could see embodying the young Prince Hal, the beleaguered Julius Caesar or the heartbroken King Lear.
She did not tell him that she had read those plays, too. Alone, and only to herself. She did not wish to deepen the tie she felt to him, an emotional link that drew her closer when she should be moving away.
Molly set the last pile of plates on the counter. “Did you know that Sukie is at the window?”
“Okay, troublemakers.” Sam set a collection of glassware and steelware next to the pile of plates. “Outside right now and get Sukie into her stall.”
“She’s out again?” Penelope swiped at her forehead, in exaggerated shock.
