Her father’s statement was equally surprising. It was totally out of character for Hank to accept help. Allowing Mattie to fuss over him was one thing; admitting that he couldn’t manage a team of horses or get himself to Colorado Springs was quite another.
“I thought we’d get the wagon out of the barn, make a bed in the back,” she said, glancing worriedly at her father. She hadn’t even broached the subject with her father, dreading his reaction. Now the words spilled forth unchecked, and she hesitated, waiting for another objection. Hank drank his coffee in silence.
Luke looked at Hank. “What about a team? You wouldn’t want to use your good horses.”
Hank had the answer. “Reckon we could pay Parkinson to use some of his workhorses. He’s got plenty.” Hank’s blue eyes drifted to Suzanne. “Since you’re so friendly with them, maybe you could ride over and ask in the morning.”
Suzanne’s eyes shot to Luke, silently pleading.
“I’ll do that,” he offered. “I’m sure your daughter will have plenty to do here, preparing for the trip. When did you want to leave?”
“Tomorrow,” Hank said on a deep sigh.
Suzanne stared at her father. He obviously felt worse than he had admitted, and this scared her. But with Luke sitting here in the kitchen, making plans to help them, the invisible weight on her shoulders had magically been lifted again.
Hank retired to his bedroom early, claiming to be tired. Suzanne could see he was too excited about the trip to be sleepy, but she appreciated his attempt to give them privacy.
Luke sat in the kitchen chair, staring at his empty mug, saying nothing.
“Want some more coffee?”
“No, thank you.” He glanced at her.
“Tea cakes?”
“Nothing else.”
He kept looking at her as though he wanted to say something. What? The ring! He wanted the ring back! And he was willing to see them to Colorado Springs since he was headed there anyway.
“Excuse me for a minute,” she said.
She got up from her chair and went to her bedroom. She opened the drawer and withdrew the letter, recalling briefly the disappointment she had felt upon reading it.
The wedding band fell into her palm, its soft burnished gold gleaming in the lantern light. Gripping the ring tightly, she returned to the kitchen and placed it on the table before him.
“You came for this,” she said.
His eyes dropped to the ring, then shot to her face. He leaned back in the chair, and she watched the grim expression he so often wore slip back over his features.
“You think I came here just to get the ring?”
She swallowed, nervously wondering if she had sounded abrupt or unkind.
“I know what it means to you,” she stammered.
“How do you know that?” he asked quietly.
“Well…” Her eyes fell to the gold band lying in the center of the table, so small, yet suddenly seeming to outweigh everything in the room. Even her words lay heavy against her tongue. “I assumed…” she faltered again.
“You have a bad habit of doing that,” he drawled.
She stared at him. “Doing what?”
“Assuming things.”
“But the inscription on the inside,” she blurted, “the hearts… G… L—” she broke off, her cheeks flaming. Her eyes flew to a darkened comer of the room. He must think she was the nosiest person he’d ever met. She’d had no right to…
“That ring doesn’t belong to me.” His voice cut through her puzzled thoughts.
Slowly, her eyes drifted back to him as she tried to absorb his words. What did he just say? The ring doesn’t belong to him?
“Then who… why?”
His suntanned hand shot out, plucking up the simple band that had created such furor. He held it to the light, reading the inscription almost as though he had forgotten about it.
Suzanne stared at the ring, confused. Had he simply found it on the trail? What about the L? Was it possible he was lying to her?
“The ring belonged to my mother,” he said at last. “Her name was Grace. The L is for Luke.”
Suzanne sank into the chair and planted her elbows on the kitchen table.
“Luke is your father?” she asked, leaning forward, searching his face.
He nodded, saying nothing more as he casually dropped the ring into his shirt pocket. “My mother died recently.”
She swallowed hard. “I’m sorry. And your father?”
“Is in Colorado Springs.”
“Oh.” The word fell from her throat. “You two are starting a new life there, like Pa and I have?”
A bitter laugh sliced the air, startling Suzanne. “No. Not the two of us. He started a life there long ago, when he deserted Ma and me. I’m taking the ring because she begged me to, so I could prove I was his son. Otherwise, I doubt he’d recognize me.”
Suzanne’s mouth fell open as her mind scrambled to take this in and provide the right response. She looked from Luke to the ring.
“You might as well know the truth,” he said flatly. “I made a promise to my mother on her deathbed. I’m merely keeping that promise. Then I’ll be going back to Kansas.”
She stared, her mind jumbled with questions she knew better than to ask. He had already shared something very private, something that had obviously broken his heart as a young boy. She sat silent, unable to speak. Luke stood, pushing the chair back under the table.
“I can sleep in the barn,” he said.
“No, you’ll sleep on the couch.” She got up and went to fetch a blanket and pillow. She returned, placing both on the couch. “Good night.” She smiled, then turned and headed to her room.
Going back to Kansas… Going back to Kansas… The words bounced through her brain for the next hour as she tossed and turned on her bed, and the sleep she desperately needed eluded her.
Their old prairie schooner was still in remarkably good shape, after being uncovered from the back of the barn and cleaned up for the trip to Colorado Springs. Suzanne had spent the morning organizing the items they would need. There had been a few tears shed in private when she’d touched the wooden box she had found on a shelf in the barn—the box they had used to pack supplies for their trip down from Denver. Suzanne recalled her mother choosing and packing the cooking utensils in this box, chatting excitedly with Suzanne about their new home. She still missed her mother desperately, but Suzanne knew she was in a better place.
The sound of Luke’s horse brought her back to the task at hand. She walked out of the barn and waited for him to rein Smoky in and report the outcome of his trip to the Parkinson ranch.
“I’ve arranged for a team.”
“Wonderful.” She began to stroke Smoky’s gleaming neck.
“Johnny is bringing the horses over in an hour,” he continued. “We’ll allow a day, even two if necessary. That will give us plenty of time to stop and rest. I can trail my horse behind the wagon.”
Suzanne nodded, reaching into her pocket for the last lump of sugar. “Sorry you have to trail the wagon,” she said, tucking the lump into the stallion’s mouth.
She looked back at Luke. “Thank you for taking care of things,” Suzanne said. “We really appreciate what you’re doing. Did they mention what they’re charging us for the team?”
She had vowed to be as agreeable as possible, and now both were acting as though the conversation in the kitchen had never taken place.
Suzanne tried not to think about the Parkinsons, and didn’t even ask whom Luke had spoken with about the team.
“I’ll pay them whatever is fair,” she said.
He removed a package from his saddlebags, mumbled something about “already paid,” and hurried toward the house.
Now she sat on the wagon seat beside Luke while Hank stretched comfortably on quilts and pillows in the bed of the wagon. She had begun to suspect that her father was working some secret plan, for he had become suspiciously docile. He had allowed them to w
ait on him and do all the planning, while he’d merely nodded agreeably to whatever had been suggested.
Suzanne recalled what Mattie had said—that he had a habit of touching his chest at intervals. She noticed this as well and suspected it was an unconscious effort to still his rapid heartbeat. Yet, he had not complained; he even seemed excited about the trip.
The metal fasteners jingled against the leather harness as the horses plodded dutifully up the road to Colorado Springs. She had prayed for good weather, and God had obliged them with a gorgeous spring day, complete with a light breeze and enough clouds to offset the sun.
Luke had left the canvas flaps open so Hank could talk freely with them from the back of the wagon, but the old man had said little. She glanced back and saw that he was dozing. Behind the wagon, Luke’s horse sauntered along, looking as though he resented being hitched to the wagon.
She stole a glance at Luke. He was wearing fresh pants and a black shirt, which looked suspiciously like one she had admired at Mattie’s store. She wondered how much money he had earned on the cattle drive. Clearing her throat, she forced out the words that had been nagging her since his arrival. “I want to apologize for seeming so… ungrateful the other night in Pueblo.”
Beneath the black felt hat, his blue eyes narrowed on the road ahead.
“I’m sorry I was rude,” he replied.
“You weren’t,” she answered slowly. “You were trying to help, and I appreciate that.”
He turned and looked at her, and Suzanne saw an expression of tenderness in his eyes.
“You remind me of my mother,” he said.
“I do? Tell me about her.”
“She was pleasant and sweet, like you. She tried to see the best in people.”
Suzanne blushed at the compliment. “And you think I’m like her? I don’t know about that!”
He grinned. “You have a temper, but as far as I can tell, that’s your worst trait. You’re kind and forgiving, like Ma,” he added.
“Did she forgive your father for leaving?”
A muscle clenched in his jaw, and Suzanne wished desperately that she hadn’t asked. She didn’t want to evoke unpleasant memories or turn the conversation in the wrong direction. But it was too late now, the words had already been spoken. He was opening his mouth, looking at her. He might tell her to mind her own business.
“I couldn’t understand,” he said quietly, “how she could keep on loving him, but she did. She said I look just like him; I probably act like him, too. I remember him being a pretty stubborn critter.”
“How old were you when he left?” she asked as gently as possible.
“Twelve. My parents had worked hard, scrimping and saving to move to Colorado. They were going to homestead here. He left with the money, promising to return when he had found the right piece of property. That was the last time we saw him.”
She caught her breath. “Surely there was an explanation?”
“Yep, he met another woman.”
Suzanne stared at him, wishing he would elaborate, but he sank into gloomy silence. She turned her eyes toward Morning Mountain in the distance, which usually gave her a boost of courage. “My mother shared Pa’s dream, as your mother did,” she said, glancing at Luke. “I suppose that’s natural for a woman.”
His eyes slipped back to her, searching her face. She wondered what he was thinking.
“It was strange,” Suzanne continued. “Ma couldn’t even stay mad at her brother—despite his deception. She thought this was a beautiful place to start a new life, doing what Pa wanted to do.”
“Surely your pa was less forgiving.”
“Pa was mad, all right. But we were here, and it is a beautiful place. Maybe it was meant for us to start over. Ma read the Bible a lot, gave us verses for comfort. We might gripe about my uncle’s trickery sometimes, who wouldn’t? But we’ve managed to survive without being bitter.”
“That’s hard to believe,” he said flatly.
“Tell me?”—she faced him—“do we seem like bitter people to you?”
He turned and looked at her; then he began to shake his head.
“No, you don’t. You and your pa are the nicest people I’ve ever met.” He turned back to the road, breathing a sigh. “I could never be that forgiving. Ma and I nearly starved. She scrubbed floors and washed dishes for people in the daytime and took in ironing in the evenings. I looked older than my years so I lied about my age to get men’s work.”
“Surely things got better for the two of you?”
He nodded. “I worked my way into a foreman’s job at a big ranch out from Abilene. The owner, Mr. Godfrey, was in bad health, and the foreman before me had done a poor job. There were financial problems. Mr. Godfrey promised me if I’d run the ranch like it was mine, he’d pay me well. I was willing to work for less pay if he’d deed me some land. My family had never been able to own land of their own—it was always our dream.”
He stopped talking, taking a tighter grip on the reins.
“You can’t stop the story now,” Suzanne said, touching his sleeve.
“I broke my back for two years, taking little pay, dreaming of the day I’d own my own section of land. Then his daughter decided she wanted to marry me.” He shook his head slowly. “I couldn’t muster up any feeling for her, and I didn’t want to spend my life with a woman I couldn’t love.”
“I can understand that,” Suzanne replied. She could scarcely believe that he was confiding such personal matters.
“I reckon you can.” He grinned. “You’ve got the same situation with young Parkinson.”
Suzanne looked down at her fingers gripped tightly in her lap. How could he guess what she was going through? It must’ve been written all over her on the stock drive. “I won’t marry him either,” she said.
“You won’t? How do you know you wouldn’t be happy with that rich family?” he asked.
“Because I don’t love him. He isn’t the type of man I’d want to spend my life with.”
He was looking at her carefully. “And just what type of man do you want?”
“A man who’s strong yet tender, who enjoys the things I enjoy. A man I truly love.”
They were staring deeply into each other’s eyes. Suddenly the wheel struck a large rock, sending them bouncing. The impact jarred the wagon, and something clattered in the back. Suzanne heard a yelp of pain from her father.
“What’s going on?” Hank shouted.
Luke leaned back in the seat, tugging hard on the reins to slow the panicked horses.
Suzanne turned, peering through the parted canvas laps. “We hit a rock.”
Hank was leaning out the back of the wagon, trying to calm Smoky. Glancing back over his shoulder, he beckoned to Suzanne. “I think you best get back here and let me take a turn on the seat,” Hank suggested. “Luke may need my help.”
The horses had finally settled down to a leisurely pace.
Suzanne swapped places with her father and stretched out on the quilts, enjoying their comfort. Her father had closed the canvas flaps, so she couldn’t see the men. Still, she could hear her father’s voice.
“Blue Sky people, the Utes were called, and they were the only Indians who were the real natives here. Owned a bunch of magic dogs.” Hank chuckled. “Know what magic dogs are?”
“Horses, I’d guess,” Luke replied.
“Horses they got from the Spanish.” Hank sighed. “Reckon they had a pretty good life here in the shadow of the Peak until all us greedy white folk arrived…”
As Hank’s words droned on, Suzanne closed her eyes, knowing she needed the sleep. But she couldn’t stop thinking about what Luke had told her, and the fact that he had told her such personal matters. She smiled to herself. Maybe, before this trip was over, she could change his mind about going back to Kansas.
CHAPTER 15
Suzanne bent over the campfire, stirring up the stew she had brought along. Luke was rubbing down the horses, while Hank leaned back on
a flat rock, smoking his pipe and studying the dying sunset.
“Pretty sight, isn’t it?” he asked, his eyes fixed on the raspberry glow settling over the mountaintop.
“It’s beautiful,” she sighed, glancing at the breathtaking sunset. “Pa, I love it here.”
Hank stared at her and suddenly his gray eyes held a sheen of tears. He looked back at the fire. “The older you get,” he said slowly, “the more you look like your mother.”
Suzanne’s eyes flew back to him. She was pleased by his compliment because her mother had been one of the prettiest women she’d ever known. She had inherited her mother’s fair skin and blond hair, but she longed for her round face and her beautiful light blue eyes, like the sky in early morning.
“You’ve told me I sound like her, but I’m not as pretty. I know that.”
He glanced at her. “Yes, you are. You’re not as delicate perhaps, but God knew what He was doing. You had to be more hardy to survive here.”
Suzanne heard him speak those words and, fearing that he was thinking back to that awful blizzard that had led to her mother’s death, she rushed to fill the silence.
“Tell me about when you first met her. I love hearing that story.” She glanced at Luke to see if he was listening. He was feeding the horses but was still within earshot.
“Abigail was about your age when I first spotted her. I had ridden into Denver from the ranch where I was working. My boss’s wife needed a bolt of cloth to make clothes for their new baby. ‘Just ask Mrs. Ferguson,’ I was told.”
He shook his head, glancing at the clouds. “I didn’t know anything about women’s cloth, and I was scared to death I wouldn’t find this Mrs. Ferguson. Sure enough, I didn’t. She was sick that day, but her daughter was working in her place.”
He looked at Suzanne, and his gray eyes began to twinkle. “Found out her daughter was named Abigail, and she was the prettiest girl I’d ever seen. I was lucky she knew as much about choosing cloth for baby clothes as her mother, maybe more.”
“Ma was a wonderful seamstress.” Suzanne smiled proudly. “Too bad I have none of her talent.”
“Well, she had enough for both of you,” he sighed. “The clothes she made for you and her…”
The Brides of the Old West: Five Romantic Adventures from the American Frontier Page 10
