A Timeless Romance Anthology: Old West Collection

by Carla Kelly

  Mother discovered quickly that Gregory was from Massachusetts, which explained why he spoke so differently from the men in Nebraska who’d lived away from the East most, if not all, of their lives. Mother spent most of the evening quizzing him on the places he’d seen and the people he’d known. They had, after all, lived in Massachusetts many years themselves. They discovered no mutual acquaintances, and, to Helene’s relief, neither Gregory nor Mother spoke of Josiah. Mother never held up well when speaking of her son.

  Liam gave Gregory the cold shoulder, but he didn’t press for acceptance. He was an easy and unobtrusive addition to their family circle.

  The same scene played out the next night and the next, continuing as the week went on. Gregory quickly became a natural and easy part of their lives. Helene grew more comfortable in his presence yet felt more anxious as well. He wasn’t a threat or a danger; she knew that on an instinctive level. But he left her unsettled in a way that made her heart turn about inside her chest every time he entered a room. All she had to do was spot him at a distance through the kitchen window, and a nervous kind of excitement warmed her veins.

  On his tenth evening spent at the house with the family, Gregory chose to sit directly beside her on the parlor sofa. Helene told herself not to put too much store in that, but her heart didn’t entirely listen. She’d resigned herself to the knowledge that she’d fallen rather head over heels for this man she hardly knew. She was sensible enough not to entirely lose her head over him, but she was also vulnerable enough to hope he felt something for her— anything remotely resembling her own preference.

  Gregory leaned closer to her and lowered his voice. “Bianca let me in on a little secret.”

  A secret? Helene’s heart stopped. Surely Bianca hadn’t made the same discovery her brother had regarding Helene’s feelings for this man. “What secret is that?” she managed to whisper.

  “It seems Liam is quite an accomplished musician.”

  Relief surged through her. She could even look at him without feeling as though she were ready to crumble— although the realization that he sat so very close set her insides fluttering. “Liam plays the guitar,” she acknowledged. “He is quite good at it.”

  Gregory motioned across the room with a quick twitch of his head. “I convinced him to play for us tonight.”

  She was impressed. “How did you manage that? He doesn’t generally like to play, and I can’t say that you are his favorite person.”

  He smiled. Oh, how that smile made her feel like giggling despite being well past the age when such a thing was even remotely acceptable. “I posed my invitation as something of a challenge,” he explained. “The poor boy couldn’t resist.”

  “That was underhanded, Gregory.” She smiled through the half-hearted reprimand.

  “Perhaps.” He leaned lazily against the sofa back, his arm outstretched along the top. “But he’s so determined to prove his worth through work that he seems to have lost the ability to enjoy himself.”

  Helene sighed in dismay at the truth of that statement. She’d tried so hard the past six months to help Liam feel at home but he never seemed truly at ease. “I don’t know how to convince him that he’s wanted and appreciated without working himself to the bone.”

  “It may be that hard work is something he values in himself.”

  There was undeniable wisdom in that. She watched Liam as he tuned his guitar and wondered for perhaps the hundredth time if she was hindering more than helping him. She’d never been a mother but now had two children in her keeping. Her own mother had spent much of the past months too distraught to offer any insights.

  Gregory’s arm slipped from the back of the sofa down around her shoulders. Her heart thudded as he pulled her closer to him. “I can see that you are fretting yourself into knots over this,” he whispered. “But let me tell you this: Liam speaks highly of you when it’s only the two of us out working. He’s far too protective of you and Mrs. Bowen to be anything but dedicated to you both.”

  Some of the ever-present tension in her shoulders eased at his words. She leaned a little against him. “They’ve lost so much in their short lives. I don’t want to add to their burdens.”

  “You are a good woman, Helene Bowen, just as I thought you were.”

  A deep sigh surged through her at his compliment. She’d been more or less on her own since moving west with her mother three years earlier. Josiah had been off fighting in the war then. The uncle they’d come to Nebraska to live near had moved farther west shortly after they’d arrived. Gregory’s soothing company was a balm to her lonely soul. How long she’d waited for someone to enter her life whom she could trust.

  She sat beside him, with his arm about her shoulders, perfectly content for the first time in years. She couldn’t predict where their connection would take them. Perhaps she’d find reason over the long growing and harvest seasons to keep him at a distance. Perhaps she would discover in him a soul mate, someone who would stay around even after his employment was over. She didn’t know which it would be but chose in that moment to simply enjoy his company and hope for the best.

  Liam had, apparently, finished tuning his guitar. He launched into a jaunty, fast-paced tune. Bianca tapped her feet in time to the music, smiling contentedly.

  Mother stepped up to the sofa, a steaming cup in her hand. “Coffee?” She held the mug out to Gregory.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Bowen.” He accepted the cup with a smile. As Mother walked to her rocking chair by the mantle, Gregory turned to Helene. “She didn’t bring you any coffee, but you’re welcome to this cup if you’d like.”

  “I’ll never sleep tonight if I drink coffee this late,” she answered. “But thank you for offering.”

  Gregory settled into his corner of the sofa, coffee in hand and his free arm still around her shoulders. He wouldn’t do that if he weren’t at least a little bit interested in her. Would he?

  Don’t think about this too hard. Just enjoy it.

  Liam strummed through a couple of tunes, his expression lighter than Helene remembered seeing in all the months he’d been here.

  “Do you know ‘Old Dan Tucker?’” Gregory asked at the first lull in music.

  Liam smiled and began playing the song.

  Bianca clapped her hands gleefully. “I love this one.”

  Gregory grinned at her. “I never could resist a golden-haired angel.” He set his coffee on the end table and stood. Helene immediately missed his one-armed embrace.

  He crossed to where Bianca sat and held out his hand. She jumped up and took his hand. Gregory danced her around the room, spinning her about. The two of them laughed and smiled. Helene pulled her feet onto the sofa beside her and watched the magic Gregory was weaving over Liam and Bianca.

  Her eyes met Mother’s. A soft smile touched Mother’s lips as her gaze returned to Gregory and Bianca. Helene sighed and watched him as well. What joy he’d brought to their lives.

  “Play ‘Lorena,’” Bianca said to Liam when the dance had ended. “Play it, and I’ll sing.”

  Helene had never heard Bianca sing; it seemed they were in for a night of firsts.

  As Liam strummed the chords to the slower, lilting tune, Gregory turned to where Helene sat and offered the same wordless invitation he’d extended to Bianca. Her heart flipped about. She slipped her fingers in his and allowed him to pull her to her feet.

  Bianca sang with feeling, “‘Oh, the years creep slowly by, Lorena. The snow is on the ground again...’”

  Gregory pulled Helene into his arms and led her into a slow and meandering dance. He hummed the tune as they wove around the room. The song was one Josiah had mentioned in his letters. Its lyrics of loss and longing spoke deeply of the lonely soldiers thinking of their loved ones far away.

  Who had Gregory longed for?

  She looked up into his eyes, bracing herself to see mourning and sadness there. But his gaze was firmly on her, with nothing but contentment and enjoyment in his eyes.

>   “We sang this song every night of the war,” he whispered, pulling her ever closer. “I like it far better when dancing with you than I ever did sitting about a fire with a bunch of scraggly soldiers.”

  She laid her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. How she hoped he was as upright and honest as he seemed. She was quickly growing quite fond of his company. Her heart would break if he proved a disappointment.

  Chapter Six

  The promise of an evening with the family, and most especially with Helene, gave Gregory a healthy dose of motivation for his day’s work. The hours flew by. He hardly noted his own exhaustion, filled as he was with the anticipation of seeing her again. He no longer felt like a stranger interrupting the family’s life but almost as though he was part of it. He could only hope that, given time, such would truly be the case.

  The heat of July hadn’t dampened his enjoyment of Nebraska. Three weeks had flown swiftly by since his arrival. Three weeks exactly. He’d excused himself from that night’s gathering in the parlor, having his laundry to see to, but his thoughts were in the house.

  He couldn’t know for certain what Helene’s feelings for him were. The air sparked and jumped when they were near each other. She danced with him anytime Liam played music for the family. She let him put an arm around her shoulders when they sat on the sofa. That all seemed good signs to him. Yet she didn’t seek out his company nor send him longing, lingering glances. She’d certainly never said anything that would convince anyone that she had feelings for him.

  He scrubbed his trousers more vigorously against the washboard. A man ought to respect a woman’s feelings for him, or lack of feelings for him. He meant to do just that. But the uncertainty was eating at him. He had half a mind to simply ask what she thought of him, but he wasn’t certain he was ready to hear a negative answer, so he opted not to chance it.

  You’re a coward, Gregory. You know that.

  He bent over the wash basin in only his tattered uniform trousers; he was washing all the rest of his clothing. The necessary state of undress had led him to choose a more isolated spot along the river for his work. The loneliness of it was helpful on two fronts. First, he needn’t worry about being embarrassed at his appearance, and second, he wouldn’t be interrupted while sorting through his confused thoughts.

  It’ll be awkward, but you need to talk to her, find out where she stands. And somewhere in all of that, you really do need to tell her your history with her family.

  He wrung out the excess water in his work trousers. Laundry was far from his favorite chore, but he had more than adequate motivation to keep at it. Helene wasn’t likely to think of him as anything other than the hired hand if he walked about with half of the dirt in the fields caked all over his clothes.

  He snapped the trousers open once more, then hung them over the rope he’d strung between two trees along the riverbank. He turned back to begin washing his socks, but stopped at the sound of footsteps. An instant later, Helene rounded the corner.

  Her eyes pulled wide. His did the same.

  Good heavens, I’m only in my trousers.

  “Miss Helene, I’m sorry I—”

  She turned away enough to no longer be looking directly at him, but her profile was fully visible, as was the blush stealing up her cheeks.

  “I wasn’t expecting anyone to be coming this direction,” he explained. “You said you meant to spend the evening sewing with your mother and Bianca.”

  “I had intended to,” she said, still looking at the river. “But those two are like peas in a pod, and it became quickly apparent that my presence wasn’t needed. I’m sorry to have caught you unawares and for any embarrassment it has caused.”

  She was worried about his embarrassment? He could see that he’d caused her a great deal more embarrassment than he felt. “Both of my shirts are drying on the line. I’m afraid I haven’t the means of making myself more presentable just yet.”

  She smiled a little. “We seem to be enacting our very own comedy of errors.” She glanced at him for a brief moment. “I wish you had told me you needed your clothes laundered. I would gladly have thrown them in with the family’s washing.”

  He shook his head at that. “I’m not here to make more work for you.”

  Her eyes were on him again. “What is it you are here for?”

  “To help,” he said.

  Her gaze remained firmly locked on his face— searching, almost. “Is that all?” she whispered. “To work?”

  It was the perfect moment, the ideal opportunity, to explain it all. He couldn’t have asked for an easier means of making his confession. “I wanted— I wish to—” He couldn’t seem to find words, that hadn’t happened in Helene’s presence since his very first day at the farm. He forced out a deep breath, holding his hands up in a show of frustration. “It is amazing how awkward conversation becomes when one isn’t wearing a shirt.”

  She smiled a little, color rushing to her cheeks once more. “You also aren’t wearing shoes.”

  “Somehow that’s not quite as disconcerting,” he muttered.

  “Would you rather I leave?” She sounded disappointed at the prospect.

  For a moment, he considered asking her to go. Cowardice appealed then. But he needed to have the conversation with her, as inopportune as the situation was. “I’ll just fetch my coat from the barn.”

  “I don’t wish to put you out.”

  “Not at all.” He took a single step toward the barn, but turned back when he realized she might walk away while he was gone. “I’ll be back directly.”

  “You had better be. Your socks are lying there all alone beside the wash basin, crying out to be cleaned.”

  He made quick work of rushing to the barn, where he snatched his wool uniform jacket. When he returned, Helene sat on a log near the wash basin.

  She looked up as he approached. “It’s far too warm for such a heavy coat.”

  He sat at the basin again and grabbed his socks. “It’s either this or a wet shirt.”

  “Or no shirt at all,” she added with a smile.

  “Which is only helpful if my goal is to make certain you neither look at nor talk to me.” He scrubbed quickly at his socks. He’d never been alone with her before, and he didn’t want to waste the moment with laundry. “How long have you been in Nebraska?”

  “Almost five years.” She looked out over the river. “I didn’t care for it at first. Everything was so different from Massachusetts. But I fell in love with the quiet and openness. And the people are so friendly.”

  “You’ve taken on a lot of responsibility with such a large farm to run.” He kept on scrubbing.

  “It’s small by comparison to many farms around here.” She turned a little, so she looked more in his direction. “Now that the war is over, where do you mean to settle?”

  “I haven’t decided yet.” He stood and hung his socks beside the rest of his drying clothes.

  “Perhaps you’ll fall in love with Nebraska, as well,” she said. “It is a very nice place.”

  She didn’t wish to be rid of him. That fact argued firmly in favor of her caring for him, or at least not disliking him. “I have enjoyed Nebraska, although I haven’t been here in the winter. Is that season likely to change my opinion of the place?”

  She smiled. “I’d better not tell you; you might leave now.”

  “The winters are quite cold in Massachusetts,” he reminded her.

  But she shook her head. “It’s not the same kind of cold here.”

  Gregory sat beside her on the log. “The only trees growing around here are along the river. Do you chop them for fuel?”

  “We do gather drift wood, but we don’t cut trees. We’d quickly be out of them if we did.”

  “Then what do you burn?” He had a sudden, horrible picture in his mind of her freezing through bitter winters.

  “Sunflower stalks. Straw, sometimes. We burn a lot of buffalo chips.” Her nose crinkled adorably. “That is one of the few
things I don’t like about living here.”

  He slipped his hand around hers. He’d done so before, but the experience hadn’t grown any less enjoyable. “Do you need me to start gathering chips?”

  “Mother and Bianca do that. They’ve already begun, actually. It’s an urgent task from the first thaw of spring until the snow is too thick for gathering.”

  “They can’t possibly enjoy that.” He rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand.

  “No, but it’s necessary.” She held his gaze. “I’m glad you came, Gregory. We— I enjoy having you here.”

  “I fought for a lot of years, Helene.” He held his breath to see if she’d object to him calling her by her Christian name. She didn’t. “I can’t say that there were many things about those years I enjoyed. It’s been a fine thing these past weeks, being here with you and your family. I’m glad I came as well. I am very, very glad.”

  “I’m sorry I interrupted your laundry,” she said quietly.

  “I’m not.”

  “My company is preferable to a washboard’s?” She smiled a bit coyly. “I’m so relieved.”

  “Are you attempting to force a confession? To get me to admit that I spend my days eager for your company? That those short hours I spend with you each evening are the highlight of my day?”

  Color stained her cheeks, but she didn’t shy away from the compliment. “Do you know what it is I look forward to?”

  He inched closer to her, their legs brushing against each other on the log. “What is it you look forward to?”

  “The evenings you dance with me.”

  His heart had begun to thrum inside him. He’d imagined this so many times— courting her, working to convince her to love him. His efforts, it seemed, weren’t failing.

  “I’m not a very skilled dancer,” he admitted. “I’m grateful you overlook that.”