She shook her head. What was wrong with her? She was acting like an enamored school girl. Everett, Jim’s helper, walked in carrying two of the chairs that matched the table. Sasha was grateful for the distraction. “Just put those along the wall for now.”
He did as she asked, then helped Jim turn the table onto its legs.
Jim looked at her. “Where do you want it?”
She waved her hand in the air. “Put it in front of the double windows, but leave about three feet so we can put the chairs in. We’ll enjoy a nice view of the field when we eat in here.”
The men did as told, and she marveled at how lovely the room looked with the furniture in it. The floral wallpaper that Jim and Everett had put up several days ago brightened the room and added a rainbow of color. She picked up a chair and slid it under the table, wondering if life could get any better.
“I’ll get the other chairs.” Everett disappeared into the hallway.
Sasha glanced at Jim as he retrieved the matching chair. She imagined him sitting at the head of the table with her beside him, eating together every day. Yes, it was possible that life could get better. If only. . .
❧
A knock sounded on the front door, pulling Sasha from her work. She hurried to the front of the house, eager to see who their first official visitor was. She pushed open the screen door and saw Roman Loftus dressed in a dark brown, three-piece suit standing off to the side, staring down at the pond. His horse grazed nearby. Mr. Loftus turned and smiled.
“Good day, Miss Di Carlo.” He tipped his hat and looked past her. “Mighty fine place your uncle has here.”
Sasha smiled, delighted to have someone to show the house to. “Would you like to see the inside?”
“Yes, I would. Thank you.”
She stepped back, and he entered, closing the screen without letting it bang. That small feat impressed her, because Jim had been going in and out for days, banging the door each time. She relieved him of his hat and laid it on the entryway table. When she looked back, she noticed him admiring the curved staircase.
“Very nice indeed.”
“Yes, Jim Conners and his workers have done a beautiful job.”
Mr. Loftus’s brows dipped down for a moment. “Ah, so that’s what he does around here. I’d wondered.”
Sasha ignored his comment about Jim and held out her hand, indicating for him to enter the parlor. “The furniture for this room hasn’t arrived yet, so I can’t offer you a place to sit—unless you’d care to move to the dining room.”
“No, thank you. I actually came out to talk to you about something.”
Her heart skittered as she placed her hand against her chest. “Did you find out who those men were?”
He pressed his lips into a straight line. “No, sorry. I haven’t had any luck on that account.”
Disappointment sagged her shoulders. “Oh, I’d hoped you had. It’s a very serious thing.”
“I haven’t given up, I assure you.” He studied her face, and his countenance seemed to brighten. “I was wondering. . . Natalie Carmichael is coming to Tulsa next weekend. Have you heard of her?”
“Oh, yes. She has a reputation as a wonderful opera singer, though I’ve never heard her perform.”
Mr. Loftus looped his thumbs in his lapels and hung on. “Then you must accompany me to hear her.”
Sasha blinked, stunned that he’d asked her to go with him to Tulsa. Her thoughts flew to Jim, and she found herself wishing he was the one asking her out. But he wasn’t, and probably never would. She needed Mr. Loftus’s help in tracking down the dishonest oilmen, and it would be wise to stay in his good graces.
“Miss Carmichael is doing a two o’clock matinee, so we could have dinner, attend the program, and still get back home before dark—thanks to the train.”
As she wrestled with what to do, Jim walked in, carrying an armload of window blinds that he had picked up at the Keaton depot. The screen door banged shut, making Sasha wince. Jim stopped quickly and scowled when Roman Loftus stepped out of the parlor. The two men stared each other down like a couple of rams about to butt heads.
Finally, Jim nodded. “Afternoon. If you’re looking for Mr. Hummingbird, he’s down at the cabin getting some of his belongings.”
Mr. Loftus smiled like he was the only rooster in the hen-house. “I found who I was looking for.”
Jim’s dark brows dipped as he looked from Sasha to Mr. Loftus and back. “I reckon I’ll get back to work if you don’t need me.”
His comment was directed at Sasha, and she shook her head, giving him a gentle smile. She could read his curiosity but knew his good manners would keep him from lingering. He nodded and started up the stairs, looking back over his shoulder.
“So, what do you think? Would you have dinner and go to the show with me?”
Sasha heard Jim stumble at the top of the stairs. Her heart jumped to her throat, and she looked up to be sure he was all right. He stood on the landing, glaring down. He looked fine, but not too happy.
Maybe he was jealous of Mr. Loftus’s attention. She turned back to face her visitor, certain that he’d just wiped a smirk off his face. If she didn’t need his help, she never would have considered his offer. But she did.
“Yes, I do believe I’d like that, Mr. Loftus.”
His brilliant smile could have lit up the whole room. “Wonderful. But since we’ll be seeing more of each other, you must call me Roman.”
“We’ll see,” she said, smiling wryly. She wasn’t sure that she wanted to take that step so soon.
“I’ll pick you up at ten o’clock on Saturday. That should give us plenty of time to get to Tulsa and have dinner before the show.” He headed for the front door, picked up his hat, and then cast a victorious glance upstairs.
She escorted him outside and waved as he rode off. Was she doing the right thing? If she’d said no to his offer, would he still have been willing to help her?
Well. . .she’d never know the answer to that question now. As she went back inside, she looked upstairs, but Jim wasn’t in sight. Somehow she felt sure he’d be displeased with her.
And she didn’t like that feeling one bit.
❧
Jim wanted to slam the blinds onto the floor, but he resisted. It made his heart ache to know that Sasha was going out on the town with Roman Loftus. The thought of her alone with the slimy oilman made his stomach churn.
Couldn’t she tell that he had feelings for her? But then he hadn’t exactly made his intentions known—partly because he wasn’t sure what they were. All he knew was that Sasha was special, and when he was near her, his whole being felt as if he’d grabbed onto an electric light fixture the wrong way.
Jim picked up a blind and unwrapped the paper covering it. He was certain that Roman was just another oilman looking for a way to make more money. It didn’t matter that he was Creek; he was still an oilman watching out for his own interests first.
He crossed the room, checked his measurements and the number on the blind to make sure he had the correct one, and then unwound the string that was wrapped around it. He clenched his jaw, concerned about Sasha’s safety.
Seeing movement outside, he felt his ire rise as he watched Roman Loftus ride off. The man had put down a silent challenge with the looks he’d cast Jim when Sasha wasn’t watching. He had a sneaky suspicion the man was using Sasha to get to Dewey.
Jim leaned the shade against the wall and paced the guest bedroom. He had to face the truth that he cared for Sasha—maybe even loved her—but he had nothing to offer besides a little money in the bank.
He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. He could never compete with the lifestyle Sasha had lived her whole life. If they ever married, how could he ask her to leave her uncle when she’d just gotten to know and love him? And what about this house that she’d put so much time and effort into? Would she leave all this to live in a soddy with him?
Frustrated, he stomped down the stairs and out the fron
t door, relishing the loud slam the screen made. With Sasha being Dewey’s only living relative other than her mother, whenever he died, she would most likely inherit his wealth.
He’d gotten his hopes up about a relationship with her, and now he was paying the price.
There was no way to bridge the differences in their lives.
He didn’t even have a home or land of his own, and here Sasha was living in a brand-new house—a fancy one, at that.
The painful truth drove him, and he had to get away. He jogged down the hill to his horse, tossed on the saddle, and rode off at top speed. The wind whipped his face, along with an occasional insect. His horse’s hooves pounded out a rhythm he couldn’t get out of his head.
You can’t have her. You can’t have her.
Fourteen
On Saturday afternoon, Jim reined his horse to a stop. Three hours of riding fence lines, checking for breaks, hadn’t erased the picture of Sasha leaving in the wagon with Roman Loftus. The man had resembled a gloating rooster who’d swallowed the biggest insect in the pen as he escorted Sasha to his buggy. And Sasha—she looked like a princess all dressed up in her shimmering blue gown. All satin and lace.
Jim’s jaw ached from being clenched so much the past few hours. He was angry at Loftus for asking Sasha to Tulsa. Angry at her for accepting. And angry for not being honest with Sasha and himself.
Swatting at a mosquito, he considered why he’d been hesitant to approach her about his feelings. Besides their differences, there was her Indian blood.
He smacked his leg, angry at himself that he had been prejudiced—even a little bit. Why did it matter? He was of mixed blood himself—part French, part Scot, and who knows what else.
He was a Christian, and bloodlines shouldn’t matter. People were created in God’s image—equal and valuable—and should be judged on their character and what they did with their lives, not on who their ancestors were.
Of all people, he shouldn’t care about bloodlines. Dewey Hummingbird was one of the finest men he’d known. He’d helped Jim become a stronger Christian and helped him overcome his anger and frustrations from fighting in the war.
Maybe what really bothered him was that he had so little to offer Sasha—and he’d used her heritage as a crutch to keep him from facing that fact.
He came to a creek and checked the water for oil seepage before letting his horse drink. Many cattle in the area had died from drinking water that oil had seeped into, but Dewey had been blessed not to lose any of his.
He spent the next hour praying and seeking God as he headed back to the cabin. Finally, his heart found peace. He would confess his feelings to Sasha and let the Lord work things out. A smile tugged at his cheeks for the first time since he’d learned about Sasha’s dinner outing with Loftus.
As he rode over the hill, past the new house, his heart stopped. A cloud of black smoke boiled into the sky near where the cabin was.
Fire!
He dug his heels into his mount and galloped down the hill. His heart melted as he saw the cabin in flames, and ten feet away, Dewey lay on the ground, badly beaten. Both eyes were swollen shut, his lip was split, and his arm looked busted.
Jim leaped off his horse while it was still moving and skidded to a stop beside Dewey. Kneeling, his gaze roamed over his friend’s battered body. Anger battled pain. Who would do such a thing to a kind, old man?
He carefully lifted Dewey by the shoulders and dragged him away from the fire, wincing when his mentor moaned.
“Jim. . .” Dewey lifted a bloody hand. “Oilmen. . .attacked me. . . . I wouldn’t sign their lease.”
“Shhh. . .rest now. We’ll talk later.” Jim patted Dewey’s shoulder, hoping there’d be a later.
Dewey clutched Jim’s sleeve. “Have evidence. . .Chamber Oil cheating Creeks. . .in box in cabin.”
Jim glanced at the blazing cabin. It shuddered, and the roof collapsed with a loud roar, sending fiery debris and ash sprinkling down around them. Whatever evidence had been inside no longer existed, but he couldn’t tell Dewey that.
Tears—probably from the smoke and ash—stung his eyes. He brushed the back of his hand across them.
“Jim, I love you. . .like a son. Take care of Sasha.” Life seeped out of Dewey, and he went limp.
Jim heaved a sob and brushed his hand over his friend’s dark hair. He loved this old man and would dearly miss him. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he gently lifted Dewey, carried him into the barn, and laid him in the wagon bed.
How would he ever break the news to Sasha that her beloved uncle was dead?
❧
“So, did you have an enjoyable time?” Roman put his arm along the back of the train seat and turned sideways to face her.
She looked up at him and smiled. “I had a delightful time. Thank you for asking me. The singer was wonderful, as well as the meal.” Even though she had been nervous, she’d had a magnificent time. Perhaps there were some things she missed about New York.
“Good, I’m glad. Maybe we can do it again sometime.”
“Perhaps.” Sasha gave him a shy smile. Roman had been polite and charming all day.
“I have to admit, I still don’t understand why your uncle doesn’t want to lease his land. People would kill for such an opportunity.”
A shudder charged through her at his sudden change in conversation. Sasha stared out the window at the landscape whizzing by. “My uncle has enough money to satisfy him and wants to preserve his land.”
Roman chuckled and shook his head. “How can anyone ever have enough money?”
“It’s more than the money—his land is his home, and he doesn’t want it defiled.”
“Land is land. He could lease his and buy a huge ranch somewhere else with all the money he’d make. He could have the best of both worlds and be unbelievably rich, too.”
Sasha sighed, truly uncomfortable for the first time all day. In spite of being full-blooded Creek, Roman couldn’t understand that sometimes owning land that family has lived on for years was more important than becoming wealthy.
He waved his hand in the air. “Never mind. I’m sorry for throwing a wet blanket on our lovely day. Let’s not talk any more business.”
She leaned back in her seat, relieved. Still, she couldn’t help being disappointed with his attitude. But he was an oilman—so what else should she expect but that he’d talk oil?
In the back of her mind, she couldn’t help wondering if he’d asked her to dinner just to try to persuade her to his way of thinking.
Well, it wouldn’t work, if that was his plan.
Her thoughts drifted to Jim. What was he doing right now? He’d looked both hurt and angry when she left with Roman. She dipped her brow. Well, so what. He didn’t return her affections, so he had no say in what she did. His opinion didn’t matter one whit.
As much as she wanted to believe that, her heart told her it wasn’t true.
❧
Sasha paced the depot, her footsteps echoing on the wooden planks of the floor. Roman had gone to retrieve the buggy from the livery and would be returning any minute. He’d asked her to dinner next Saturday, and she needed to give him an answer. Part of her wanted to say yes, but another part didn’t.
“Sasha.”
She whirled around, surprised to hear Jim’s voice. His filthy face looked as if it were covered in coal dust, and he reeked of smoke. He stood there with his hat in his hand, gazing on her with a miserable expression on his face.
“What are you doing here?” She couldn’t help wondering if he was spying on her and Roman.
Before he could answer, Roman approached, his brows tucked down. “You couldn’t wait until I got her home to talk to her?” His haughty gaze took in Jim’s disheveled appearance, and he smirked.
Jim pinned Roman with a pointed glare, then his gaze softened to apologetic as he looked at her. “Sasha. . .” He glanced away, but when he turned back, his eyes glimmered with unshed tears, sending a shaft of fear st
raight to her heart. “There’s been an accident. Dewey. . .is dead.”
Sasha gasped as a pang of grief threatened to knock her off her feet. “No, it can’t be. What happened?”
Her knees turned to butter, and her head buzzed. She reached out and grabbed hold of Jim’s forearm. He looked as if he wanted to hold her, but then he glanced at her clothes and then his.
“The cabin was set on fire, and somebody beat up your uncle.”
She sagged, and both men reached for her, but Jim grabbed her first.
“C’mon over here and sit down. Loftus, get her some water.”
Roman scowled, obviously not used to being bossed around, but left anyway.
“Dewey told me it was oilmen, trying to force him into signing.”
Tears coursed down Sasha’s face as she thought of her dear uncle hurting and now dead while she was off having a good time.
Jim handed her a dingy handkerchief. “Sorry, it’s clean but smells like smoke.”
She shrugged but accepted it and wiped her face and nose. “I can’t believe it came to this.”
“Me, neither. I talked with the sheriff, but since there were no witnesses except Dewey, there’s not much he can do. I told him about the three men who’d been pressuring Dewey, and he said he’d check them out.”
Sasha jumped up, her dress swishing. “There has to be something he can do. People can’t commit murder and get away with it.”
Roman returned with her water, and she downed the whole cupful.
“Let me take you home,” Roman said. “You’ve had quite a shock.”
Jim shook his head. “I’ll take her.”
Roman looked ready for a battle, but Sasha laid her hand on his arm. “There’s no sense in you driving clear to the ranch when Jim’s already here. I had a wonderful time and thank you for it.” She pinned on a no-argument stare.
“But—” Roman opened his mouth to protest, then slammed it shut. He glared at Jim, then bowed to her. “Thank you for accompanying me today. It would be my pleasure to escort you again once you’re feeling better.” Spinning around, he stalked toward the buggy.
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