Dearest Darling

by Andrea Downing

  “Well, I’m waiting,” he snapped.

  Emily flinched. Exhaustion was getting the better of her, and she still sensed the need to justify her actions. “I wanted...a different life. I wanted a life of my own, a life where I could make the decisions, not my brother—”

  “Your brother?” There was a moment’s hesitation as his mouth set in a hard line. “What’s his name, may I ask?”

  “Wilfred, Wilfred Darling.” She crossed her arms and sighed. “What difference does it make?”

  Saunders stomped his foot on the board and bit his lip as the horses stamped their dismay. “Damn. Of all the damnable… Damn, damn, damn. Now I gotta worry ’bout your brother coming after you? Great!”

  “I doubt he’ll bother.” She straightened her back, gaze ahead. “Unless, of course, he finds something missing—which he won’t. I’m not a thief.”

  Her host snorted. He cracked the reins over his horses’ backs and the wagon jolted forward once more. “I don’t understand. You left a home, a brother—family—and you come west on someone else’s money. That doesn’t make sense.”

  Emily faced him squarely. She supposed if he trimmed his beard and had a haircut he mightn’t be half-bad. His hat was tilted down, but she remembered the two huge eyes, hazel with a fire in them, the fire of his anger no doubt. His disappointment. She hadn’t considered his feelings when she’d settled on this escapade; she hadn’t cared what he would go through when his ‘dearest darling’ Ethel didn’t show up.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, barely above a whisper. “Truly I am. Only…I needed to get away.”

  “Why?” He dragged out the word, demanding an answer.

  Emily let out a heartfelt sigh. “My father was English. He believed men should inherit, not women. When he passed away in ’87, he left everything to my brother—there were just the two of us, and I suppose he believed I would marry—”

  “So, why didn’t you?”

  The impertinence of the question! Her mouth gaped open a moment before she shut it again, exhaled, and announced, “Few men in my circle met my…criteria. After Father’s death, few men would marry a woman without a dowry.”

  “Your ‘circle?’” Saunders mocked. “Hell, that must be some circle of friends you got there, lady.” He rubbed his chin and then gave the reins a shake. “Yeah, I know about people like that,” he muttered half to himself. “Went to school with them.”

  “Here? In Wyoming?” She studied him a long moment. That beautifully written letter flashed through her mind again, and now the comment about school. No, none of that came from the wilds of Wyoming. “You’re from back east, aren’t you?”

  “Yup.” He slid a suspicious gaze toward her. “Don’t change the subject.”

  “Why should I change the subject? I have nothing to hide.” Tidying her skirts about her, she waited for his response, for him to say more about his background, but a cold silence was his only reply. “I’ve explained,” she continued wearily. “I wanted to get away. Start a new life. The letter arrived—there was no way one could read the correct address, it had been ruined by rain—so I opened it. Curious. And then the tickets fell out and I thought—”

  “I know what you thought. I know what you felt.”

  Emily shrank from the steel in his voice. “I doubt it.” She clasped her hands. “I will pay you back. I promise. I’ve kept house for my brother for the last five years. I’m no stranger to work whatever you think. I shall pay you back.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “You bet you will, lady. Right down to the last two bits.”

  Snow flurried then, a few flakes at first as if the angels had shaken out a pillow filled with frozen crystals.

  For a while, the wagon bumped along. Emily sensed the intended groom had pulled away from her, a poison, the contagion that had ruined his life.

  The rolling, juddering, and the fresh air took their effect, and her head drooped forward before she shivered awake again and sat up. “Is it much farther?” she enquired at last, dusting a few flakes from her coat.

  “A ways.” After a moment, as if thinking out loud, he mumbled, “How am I going to tell this to Ethel? How am I going to explain? What can I possibly write… Damn it,” he shouted. “Damn damn damn!”

  So, this was the man who had penned that loving letter, the educated man who had written such wonderful things, who had inspired her, given her the courage to come all this way. This was the Daniel Saunders—no, Daniel, as she’d come to think of him—who had been in her heart all that long journey from New York.

  How wrong could I be?

  She struggled to swallow a sob as tears began to mix with the falling snow.

  How very wrong could I be?

  Chapter Five

  It was dark when they arrived at the Lazy S Ranch. Snow had fallen steadily, lightly, whitening the world and glowing with the moonlight. It muffled the sounds of the evening, cocooned the world in quiet, and gave Daniel a peace in which to calm down. He knew he had been right to bring her here, could not have left the little woman to fend for herself—no matter what she had done.

  Emily had long ago succumbed to sleep, and her head had nodded onto Daniel’s shoulder. Accepting she was probably exhausted, he left it there before letting an arm go around her to make her more secure. Her hat had tumbled off, and soft hair the color of spring wheat brushed his nose and tickled him every so often, but he was reluctant to wake her, reluctant to shift her. The celebratory dinner he had planned would not be eaten anyway; certainly there was no longer any celebration to be made. And the bottle of wine he had splurged to buy would have to wait for another evening...an evening that would take a time in coming.

  As he reined in the horses by the hitching post in front of the cabin, he sat with her for a moment in his arms. It was something like this for which he had long hungered, but the peace that had settled over him now let anger sweep back in. Dammit, it should have been Ethel, yet it wasn’t. It was Wilfred Darling’s sister, of all people. And for now, she was staying at his ranch.

  He maneuvered her gently into his arms and felt around with his boot for the step before finding his footfall and jumping down. Still, she did not wake, and he made his way into the cabin by the light of the moon. He might have been carrying his bride across the threshold, yet he wasn’t—he wouldn’t be doing so for some time if he were honest with himself.

  Making his way into the bedroom, Daniel laid Emily down upon the large brass bed—a bed for which he had saved for months—and studied her features as she slept. She was actually quite a lovely little thing, not at all as he remembered her brother, no resemblance whatsoever—assuming it was the same Wilfred Darling he had known at school. If it were, he could well understand her need to escape that bastard. What Wilfred could have done to make her want to take those tickets and come west ran through his mind. He dreaded to think. But he would find out. And maybe he would even kill the proverbial two birds with one stone—one for her…and one for himself.

  ****

  Bacon.

  Daniel breathed in again.

  Bacon and coffee. Probably eggs as well.

  He slid from his horse, the crunch of hard-frosted snow beneath his boots, and led the animal toward the warmth of the barn. The door to the cabin was slightly open, letting the cooking steam out along with the wonderful smells. Daniel peeked in as he walked by, and then stopped. Emily had her back to him as she set the table, cornsilk hair falling in tendrils from its topknot, her tiny figure leaning forward slightly as she placed the knife and fork just so. Curious as to the exactness with which she positioned each item, he stood transfixed beneath the flurries coming down until the horse nickered to remind him it was his feed time as well.

  Daniel trudged on into the barn, pondering the care with which she set the table, the precision, the attention she had taken. And then he had the answer.

  Wilfred.

  She had looked after—served—that ridiculous Wilfred.

  With his horse
curried and fed, he entered the cabin and tossed his hat on a peg by the door before he met her gaze briefly. “We have to talk.” Though he hadn’t meant it so, his voice came out gruff, but he couldn’t lose control. Things had to be sorted, the situation put to rights. Ethel, there was always Ethel to think of, to consider.

  “I know.” Her voice was quiet, measured. “Eat your breakfast first. I assume you went out this morning without so much as a cup of coffee. Please sit. Eat.”

  Daniel nodded and strutted to the washstand. He should have removed his wet boots as footsteps marked his way. The broom stood in the corner, recently used no doubt, and now he had dirtied the floor. Over his shoulder, he caught her dismay. “Sorry,” he said somewhat contrite.

  She acknowledged his remorse with a single shake of her head. “It’s your house.”

  “Yes, but…” His voice trailed off as he lifted the soap and dipped his hands into warm water. She had heated water for his wash and shave.

  He concentrated now on scrubbing between his fingers, getting the dirt off his hands, whatever there was from under the gloves he had worn. But he wouldn’t shave, not right now. The smells and his hunger directed him to eat as soon as possible.

  “Did you sleep well?” he offered.

  “Yes, thank you. But you should not give up your bed to me. I can manage as well as you in the barn.” She stood, her hands now clasped in front of her, patient.

  “It’s only for a time. We must talk,” he said again before he pulled out a chair and waited.

  Her eyes grew big with surprise, but she stayed where she was. Then he noticed...there was only the one setting.

  “You ate?”

  “I…no. I…Oh!” She made a sudden dash to the fire where the bacon was smoking. “Ugh. I’m not used to cooking on this fire—”

  “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it. Whatever you’ve cooked will be far better than anything I’da cooked, I promise. Sit down and eat.”

  Daniel strode over to the basket containing his kitchen utensils and fingered through until he found another fork and knife. He held them up to show her, but Emily didn’t move. She stood stock still with the pan-holder, the spatula, and the pan of bacon and eggs. Daniel tossed the cutlery onto the table before stretching up and getting down an extra plate from a cupboard.

  “Serve it up and sit and eat.” He grappled with keeping the irritation out of his voice. He wasn’t irritated with Emily; it was her brother who had done this, made her this way. “There is enough for two there.” He tapped the back of the chair he’d pulled out for her. “You’re not a servant here. Sit down.”

  There was a momentary hesitation before she briskly served the breakfast. Daniel got the two cups of coffee waiting on the sideboard, placed them by each setting, then waited until Emily had lowered herself somewhat gingerly into the chair, as if it might break under her weight.

  He sat and already had his fork filled and in mid-air when he paused. “Do you say grace?”

  “No. It’s fine.”

  “Good. Then eat, and we’ll talk after.”

  Chapter Six

  Emily stood anxiously as Daniel scrubbed another utensil and threw it aside. His lanky frame almost blocked the light from the small window, but it wasn’t that which gave her such consternation. He was no doubt trying to prove he didn’t need her, despite her efforts to make herself useful.

  For a moment, he stood with the dishcloth suspended in his hand as the flakes outside became more persistent, layering more snow on the crust of white. His body contour was so unlike Wilfred’s. The broad shoulders and straight back, the narrow waist, the bulge of muscle through his shirt as he moved his arms...she could look at him all day.

  He glanced back at her, and she felt heat color her face as if he could read her thoughts.

  “I’ll have to take the hay sleigh later and throw out more feed. Looks like we may be snowed in a spell.”

  “Is there…is there something I can do to help?”

  A snort came in response. “You can’t pitch the feed to them, that’s for certain. Do you know how to handle the horses?”

  “No.” She tried to keep the disappointment from her voice, the over-anxiousness at trying to please him.

  “Well.” There was a tone of finality, the tone which said, You’re useless. I don’t need you. You don’t belong here.

  “Do you think Ethel will know? Will she be able to handle a wagon…horses?” She was being very bold. Daring even. Anything to make him see she did belong here, that he needed her.

  His mouth twisted in response.

  “If you teach me—”

  “No time for that.” He threw the dishrag down and lifted the pan of water to toss it out, away from the house. “Anyways, that’s later, this afternoon,” he said, coming back in and stomping the snow off his boots. Daniel positioned the washbowl back in its place and scratched his head. “Time for that talk, then. Sit down.”

  Emily did as she was told; her stomach lurched with fear of what he’d tell her—she must go, he was taking her back, he was sending her back.

  He stepped to the linen press and lifted out a shirt, fumbled around in a drawer, then sat with a small sewing kit and the garment.

  In disbelief, Emily stuttered, “Shall I do that?”

  “I reckon I’ve been doing this for years now and can manage.” Saunders glanced up briefly, then set his eyes on the work.

  He held a needle up to the light, licked the end of thread on a card before deftly piercing the cotton through the needle’s eye, then yanked out a length and bit it off, throwing the card on the table. Emily sat fascinated a man would do such things.

  Daniel’s gaze met hers for a moment before he knotted the end of the thread and began his mending, keeping his head bowed.

  He doesn’t want to look me in the eye.

  Which was fine. The movement of his hands enthralled her, the long fingers doing delicate work despite their cuts and scrapes, the other hand stretching out the fabric. She was mesmerized.

  The stitches, however, were too big, far too big. The tear would show; it would be so untidy. With a suddenness surprising her as much as it did him, she reached across and snatched the mending from his hands. “For heaven’s sake. Give it to me. You’re making such a mess.”

  Daniel gaped. “All right. Fine. You do it.” He sat back, cracked his knuckles a moment and studied her. “You can’t stay.”

  Emily shot him a glance as she was brought back to reality.

  “First off, I’m betrothed to another, you know that. Second, your reputation will be ruined.” He ran his hand up his chin, grating the stubble on his face, and loosened his collar. “I know you’re trying to make yourself useful. You’re thinking if you’re useful about the place, I’ll forget Ethel and… I still don’t understand what possessed you to come. To pick yourself up like that, take tickets meant for another and travel two thousand miles to someone you didn’t even know. Seems pretty crazy to me.”

  “Yes. It was.” She held the shirt out a moment to see the curve of the tear, then started the mending. “I guess I’d had enough of my life, and this fell into my lap. Literally.” She caught him puckering his mouth to suppress a smile. “My parents believed in doing things the right way, the way their parents and their families had always done. Boys are educated, sent off to school, but girls are taught embroidery and piano and French, and prepared to be wives. I made my debut in society and was foisted on a number of so-called suitable escorts, but hated them all, much to my mother’s despair.”

  A glance up at Daniel told her he was listening, attentively. Thoroughly astonished that she could garner such undivided attention from a man, that he would not interrupt her discourse, she stopped in her work, her words momentarily forgotten before she was able to continue.

  “Well, to make a long story short, my parents died with me as yet unwed, and so I was thrown on the bounty of my brother who inherited everything. I no longer stepped out in society, lost my frie
nds, and evolved into his drudge. Very handy for him, to have a sister as housekeeper. Especially if you are like my brother Wilfred.”

  “Penny-pinching.”

  “Very.”

  He rested his head in his hand, his cheek muscle twitching as his jaw clenched. “A banker, I suppose.”

  Emily let out a little gasp. “Yes, of sorts. Though he doesn’t often work. He lets others manage for him. How did you know?”

  “Lucky guess.” He sat back and tapped his foot for a moment. “Go on.”

  She continued her needle through the fabric, with each stitch a hope she might be gaining ground, turning his thoughts to a happier resolution. After all, Ethel was in New York, but she was already here. “There’s nothing more to say. Your letter arrived with the tickets, and it was obvious you had proposed to a mail order bride, as I believe you call them? I knew you had seen her photograph and would know I was not her, but, well, I rather thought it might not make a difference.”

  Daniel cracked his knuckles again. “Let me get this straight. You were willing to marry a perfect stranger, someone with whom you’d never corresponded, never met, never seen, more than half-way across the country, in a place you knew nothing about, living in conditions far from what you’re obviously used to, spending the rest of your dang life with this unknown…and all that, you thought would be better than the life you had?”

  “Yes.” The needle dove in and out as her gaze met his for a split second. She bit her lip as she held her breath. How could she tell him what his letter had meant to her? How his descriptions of his home and his loving words had filled her heart?

  “Lord Almighty.” Daniel blew out a lungful of air as if he were expelling the disbelief. “Lady, that truly must be some dang brother you have there to make you do all that.”

  “Yes.”

  Emily peeked up at him before spotting the pane of glass obscured now in frosted crystals. The new fallen snow sequestered them in that room, made the room even quieter than the silence that followed for several minutes. It was as if the whole world had gone away, leaving her with Daniel, the last two people on earth. There was peacefulness, an ease she hadn’t sensed in ages. Even if he made her leave, which he no doubt would, she could handle whatever ventured her way.