“There’s something I want you to know,” Brant said as they crossed the street to peer in the windows of the new candy store that was being built. “Throughout this whole thing, it’s never been my intention to put you in a situation that would make you uncomfortable or cause you harm. I still haven’t contacted Che—he doesn’t know I’ve found you, and he doesn’t know exactly where I am at the moment. He knows I left Ironwood with a few clues, but that’s all. If you want, I’ll ride out of here and pretend I never saw you—I don’t want you to feel forced or cajoled into a reunion you don’t want to have.”
“That’s good of you, Brant. I don’t think he’d harm me, but I do wish I understood him better. Why not let the past stay in the past? Surely he could marry again, start a new family—he’s likely forty or so? That’s not too old to start fresh.”
“He told me that he’s tried to forget you, but he can’t. I happen to agree with him on that point—you’re a fairly unforgettable person.”
Mariposa sighed and leaned up against the outside of the building. “The more you confuse the two issues, the harder it is for me to think clearly about either one of them,” she said.
“I know, and I’m sorry. It’s just . . . Seeing you again, remembering what it was like to spend time with you, laugh with you . . . It’s difficult for me to wait my turn.” He chuckled. “Patience never has been my strength, and we can see that two years hasn’t improved me any.”
“And being stubborn. You struggled with that, too.”
“Yes, I did. You’ve got your own stubborn streak, don’t forget.”
“Oh, I’m not forgetting. I’m just busy cataloguing your faults right now, not mine.” She wagged a finger at him.
“And why are you doing that? Do I need a list of them or something?”
“No, but I might. For reference. To remind myself why I’m angry.”
He quirked an eyebrow. “So, if you weren’t constantly reminded, you might stop being angry?”
“I might, and that’s what worries me. So, I have to keep reminding myself.”
He threw his head back and laughed. “Yes, I’ve missed you, Mariposa Granger, every infuriating bit of you. Listen for a moment, if you will.” He leaned against the wall very near to where she stood and looked her intently in the eyes. “Take whatever time you need to decide about Che Lopez. If you don’t have an answer by tomorrow, so be it. Then when you do, turn your thoughts to me and think about everything that happened before Gladys—everything we experienced together, all those moments of fun and joy and even sadness. Give my memory a chance, and let me show you that I can be that man again.”
She glanced away, the intensity in his eyes almost more than she could withstand. He’d gotten a little taller, a little broader in the shoulders, and being so near to him now was different than it had been before. Now there was a spark of danger or warning, something that told her if she wasn’t careful, she’d get swept up again and there wouldn’t be any coming back from it.
The real question was, would she want to come back from it?
Chapter Five
The next morning when Brant arrived at the house, she asked him to have a seat in the front room, where Ellen was already waiting. She sat down across from them and folded her hands in her lap, wondering why she was trembling all of a sudden.
“Gracious, we all look so serious,” she said. “I feel as though we’re on our way to a funeral or something.”
“I think we’re just curious,” Ellen replied. “And edgy. Yes, definitely edgy.”
“Yes, edgy.” Mariposa pulled in a breath. “I didn’t sleep much last night because I was thinking things over. If I refuse to see Che Lopez, I will probably regret that choice and decide to see him later anyway, and so I’ve decided to do it now and bite the bullet, as it were. Brant, you may invite him here for a visit, but it’s to be with the clear understanding that this is merely a visit, and that I’m not making any promises as to any sort of relationship with him in the future.”
Brant nodded. “I’ll say so in the telegram, and then I’ll also meet his train and speak with him again before he sees you. I figure the stage ride from the station to Belle should give us ample time to talk.”
“Yes, it should.” Mariposa turned to Ellen. “Is that all right with you?”
“Of course it is. I told you I’d support your decision, whatever it was.”
“Yes, you did, but there’s a difference between supporting my decision and feeling good about it.”
Ellen sighed. “If I had my way, if everything had turned out exactly as it should, Charlotte never would have run off with that man in the first place.” She paused. “No, I don’t mean that. Because she did that, I got to raise you, and that has been the greatest joy of my life. Perhaps this is all turning out how it was meant to be.”
Mariposa felt tears building in her eyes. “This isn’t the end, you know. I still need lots of raising.”
“Yes, you do, but side by side with a husband, not by an aunt.” Ellen wiped her eyes. “Oh, child, why did you have to grow up so fast?”
Mariposa crossed the room and wrapped her arms around her aunt’s shoulders. She loved this woman so deeply—this woman who had literally given up her life for Mariposa. They cried on each other’s shoulders for a moment, then Mariposa straightened and wiped her eyes. “Oh, goodness. Much more of that and we’d both cry ourselves to sleep. Brant, may I come with you to send the telegram?”
“Absolutely.” He came to his feet, hat in hand. “I was going to ask if you’d like to see a draft of the note, but seeing the actual thing would be even better—then you’d know every word I said.”
“I’m sure I can trust you, but still, I’d like to come. I find it fascinating.”
Mariposa splashed some cold water on her face and blotted it dry, not wanting to look quite so tear-filled as they walked down the street, and off they went to the telegraph office. She was pleased to see several familiar faces from church as they walked, and even more pleased that she could remember some of their names. Perhaps she wasn’t a hopeless case after all.
They stepped into the tiny office and were greeted by a man who introduced himself as Carl McKready. He handed Brant a piece of paper and a pencil, then went back to the task they’d interrupted, which appeared to be dusting the telegraph machine until it shone and then doing it again.
“How’s this?” Brant asked, calling Mariposa’s attention away from the completely engrossing task she was watching.
“Hmm? Oh.” She looked over his shoulder. Lives in Belle, WY. Agreed to short meet, no promises. Come soonest.
“It seems strange to take our entire situation and summarize it into such a tiny message,” she said, reading it over a few times. “I can’t think of any way I’d change it, though.”
“So you approve?”
“I approve, but I’d also like to know when he’s coming.”
“Good point.” Brant added one sentence. Reply with arrival date.
“Yes, I think that will do.” Mariposa’s stomach gave a flip as she said those words. What had she just agreed to do? Yes, she’d had her complaints about her life before, but now she almost wanted to go back to that monotony. This type of excitement just didn’t seem to be good for her.
Mr. McKready stood up and accepted the piece of paper, taking a moment to count the words and then giving Brant the price. “I’ll get this sent out immediately,” he promised.
“May I stay and watch?” Mariposa asked. “I don’t mean to be intrusive—I just find the process fascinating.”
“Of course.” The man sat back down at his desk, and Mariposa could see everything clearly from where she stood. “You’re familiar with Morse code?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Well, all I’m doing is tapping out Morse code on my machine.” He began a series of tapping sounds by striking little keys on the machine, and she wondered how he managed to be so precise all the time. She was sure that if she tried
any such job, she’d get fired after ten minutes for ruining someone’s entire message. “Someone on the other end jots down everything I send, and then they translate it out of Morse code into regular English.”
“That’s just amazing. So, the person we’re sending it to could have it in just a matter of minutes?”
“Correct. It all depends on where he lives and how long it takes the telegraph operator to send out his delivery boy, but yes, feasibly, the message could be delivered in minutes.”
Now Mariposa’s stomach was in knots. There really was no turning back now—not unless she sent a quick “I changed my mind” telegram. It was tempting, rather tempting, but she forced herself to thank Mr. McKready, turn, and walk away.
“And now we wait,” she mumbled as they stepped out onto the road.
“What was that?” Brant asked.
“Oh, I was just thinking about how long it would take for him to get here, and how I could keep myself occupied in the meantime. I’d like to get this over with as soon as possible—you know I’ve always disliked waiting.”
“I do remember that, yes.” Brant reached out and caught her hand. “Maybe while you’re waiting for Mr. Lopez to arrive, you could spend some time with me. A picnic or a buggy ride . . . A buggy ride to a picnic . . .” He glanced around. “I’m not sure what there is to do here, but we could discover that together.”
Mariposa looked down at their joined hands. There was a time when this was the most natural thing in the world, even though it made the elderly ladies go aflutter because they weren’t officially betrothed. She’d missed Brant—she’d missed him more than she’d allowed herself to believe she ever could. “Yes, I’ll spend some time with you,” she said. “Buggy rides and picnics and anything else we find. But it’s with the same conditions I gave Che Lopez—no promises. We’re just getting to know each other again—we’re not courting or anything of the sort.”
“Understood. And I must say, I rather look forward to getting to know you again, Miss Granger. The time we’ve spent apart has done nothing but make you even more intriguing.”
“Intriguing? That’s what you call the result of the mental stress you’ve put me through the last few days?”
He grinned. “Yes. And I want to hear all your stories—how did you like Cotton Creek, did any young men catch your eye there, how are you enjoying Belle, have any young men caught your eye here . . .”
“Oh, I see what this is. You just want an accounting of my social life since you saw me last.”
“Maybe. Would that be so terrible?”
She tilted her head to the side. “I will give you that accounting if you will give me one in exchange. And you must go first.”
“Hmm. All right, I suppose that’s only fair.” They began their walk back toward the house, not in a hurry. “After you moved away, I found myself a lonely wretch of a fellow. I spent about a week moping about the house and driving my parents mad. Finally, my mother told me that if I didn’t come up with something constructive to do, she’d make me dig up the entire back garden. I decided that would be my constructive thing, and I spent the next week out there with dirt up my fingernails. I have to say, it was good for me.”
Mariposa smirked. “You dug up a garden?”
“You sound surprised.”
“Well, of course I do! I’ve never known you to pick up a shovel before. I didn’t know you knew what a shovel was.”
“Now, just wait a minute, Miss Granger,” he said. “I might not be the most adventurous fellow when it comes to the great outdoors, but I’m not completely helpless. I was raised to work in my father’s office, but I’ve climbed a few trees in my day. I’ve caught some fish. I can saddle a horse.”
She laughed. “All right, point taken. So, what did you do after you dug up that garden?”
“I went back to work at the office, and I attended a few parties here and there. My friends couldn’t decide whether I’d lost my mind by letting you go or if I’d dodged a fate worse than death. I’m sure you can guess which sort are still bachelors and which are happily married.”
“Difficult to determine, I’m sure.”
“Quite.” Brant kicked at a rock in the road, and it skittered off to the side. “And then when your father approached me, I realized it was my chance to make up for my stupidity. Of course, I didn’t realize just how stupid I’d been until you told me, so I thank you for that. I don’t ever want to underestimate my denseness.”
“So, the next time I see you doing something cosmically idiotic, I have your permission to tell you?”
“Do you need my permission?”
“No . . . no, I don’t.”
“Then why are you asking?”
She shrugged. “I was just curious what you’d say.”
“I’d say, yes, you have my permission, but as you’ve never asked for it before, it seems rather odd to start now.”
“Agreed.”
He walked her to the door of the house, but turned down her offer to come inside. “I’d like to take you on a picnic tomorrow, and I don’t want you to grow weary of me too soon,” he explained. “May I pick you up at noon?”
“Yes, of course. Do you want me to prepare any of the food?”
He feigned looking offended. “My dear Miss Granger, I do not invite young ladies on picnics and then expect them to do all the work. I shall pick something up at the restaurant, and you shall not lift one dainty finger.”
“That sounds a little boring, actually.”
“All right, you may lift fingers, but only a few at a time, and not in a way that causes exertion.”
She mulled that over. “It’s a deal. I’ll see you at noon tomorrow.”
She went inside and closed the door, then sought out Ellen in the front room. “The telegram is sent,” she reported.
“Good. And how was your walk with Brant?”
Mariposa took off her bonnet. “Well, it’s getting harder and harder to stay mad at him.”
“Why on earth would you want to stay mad at him?” Ellen’s eyebrows rose to her hairline.
“Because it’s easier. Because it hurts less.” Mariposa sat down and stared out the window. “When I thought he’d chosen Gladys over me, I was heartbroken and confused. She wasn’t even a nice person—why would he choose someone who wasn’t even nice? So I pushed my real feelings aside and concentrated on being angry instead, and it made it easier to leave.”
“Oh, sweetheart.” Ellen sighed and shook her head. “Do you know what I’ve been sitting here thinking about? How much simpler life would be if we’d just talk to each other. What if we’d stayed put at my parents’ home and taken steps to protect you there? What if we’d spoken to Che if he’d come? What if I’d told you from the start why we kept moving? And now, with you and Brant . . .”
“What if I’d taken him aside and insisted on knowing why he was spending all his time with that petulant, ornery Gladys instead of perfectly sweet and charming me?”
“Exactly,” Ellen replied with a laugh. “All we can do now is make better choices in the future. Hopefully, we’ve learned from our mistakes, and we won’t be doomed to repeat them.”
“We’ll just make other mistakes instead,” Mariposa said.
“And won’t that be nice for a change?” Ellen smiled. “Would you go check on the oven, please? I’ve got an applesauce cake in there nearly ready to come out.”
Mariposa did as she was asked. Finding the cake ready, she took it out of the oven and set it to cool, wondering idly if Che Lopez liked applesauce cake. Did he enjoy reading? Did he like any of the same things she did? What would they find in common?
Her stomach knotted again, and she forced herself to take a few deep breaths. It wouldn’t do any good to start getting worked up now. She had a couple of days before he’d arrive, and until then, she’d concentrate on Brant. It wouldn’t be hard to let him back into her heart—the trick would be letting go of her pride.
Chapter Six
“I present to you the finest horse and buggy available at the livery stable,” Brant said as he led Mariposa outside the next afternoon.
“The very finest? Because you realize, I couldn’t possibly ride behind the second-finest horse.”
“I’m assured there’s not another nicer.” He helped her up into the seat. “And I’ve asked around for the location of a pleasant picnic area.”
“You’re certainly prepared for this outing.”
“When something’s important to me, I like to be prepared.” He grinned at her, then picked up the lines and urged the horse forward. “Have you met Paps Johnson yet?”
“No, I don’t believe I have. Paps, you said?”
“That’s right. He’s an older fellow, runs the livery. I had a great talk with him while he was getting the horse and buggy ready. He was telling me what a rich area this is—rich with natural resources like lumber and so forth.”
“Oh?” This seemed like an odd turn for the conversation to be taking.
“Yes. And then as luck would have it, the land agent just happened by. Nathaniel Morrow. Have you met him?”
“No, I’m afraid not.”
“Pleasant fellow. We got to talking, Paps and Nathaniel and I, and before I knew it, I had a map in my hand.”
“A . . . a map?”
“A map. It’s a drawing that represents where things can be found in real life.”
She shook her head. “Very funny. Pray tell, what is this a map of?”
He grinned. “I’m about to show you.”
The buggy climbed up and crested a rise, then dipped down on the other side. A small creek ran nearby, with quaking aspen and willows growing near the water and other varieties farther back.
“That’s amur maple back there,” Brant said, pointing off into the distance. “And as it turns out, maple is one of the best sources of wood for furniture.”
Butterfly Kisses Page 5
