One Last Letter

by Pema Donyo

  “Loretta is scared of disobeying you.” He couldn’t miss the fact they were less than a foot apart. He shifted in place as her honeysuckle scent filled his nostrils. “She does not need to be reminded.”

  “Reminded about what?”

  “That she has no choice in who she will marry.”

  “And if I let her choose?” His eyes glanced at her bee-stung lips, full and slightly parted. They’d chapped from days on the ranch, but they still looked as kissable as he remembered. “She’ll choose Preston.”

  “What is wrong with her choice?”

  “He’s beneath her.”

  Evelyn didn’t respond. She stared back at Jesse, her lips pressed together into a thin line. “A marriage is something she has to live with for the rest of her life. She should be able to choose whom she spends her valuable time with. She deserves better.”

  He felt like someone had socked him in the stomach. Was that why she hadn’t married him, or anyone, for that matter? No man had been worth her time. He didn’t doubt she’d find a husband soon—some rich fella to snap her up with his blue-blooded “better.”

  “Preston’s not enough for her.”

  “No. She deserves to live a life with love.” She lifted her chin upward. “She does not have to live with regret.”

  He grimaced. As if Evelyn could tell him how to take care of his sister. “She’ll understand when she’s older.”

  “She will not.” Her voice trembled, which made him question her meaning, though she looked at him with stubborn resolve in her eyes. “She will never understand why she could not marry the one she loved.”

  “Didn’t stop you,” Jesse muttered under his breath.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I said it didn’t stop you.” He narrowed his eyes. How could she suddenly vouch for Loretta? “Your father never liked me. You listened to him, just like my sister listens to me.”

  “This has nothing to do with me. Loretta and I are different people.”

  He suppressed the urge to groan. Her shoulders were still thrown back with an appearance of authority, but her eyes no longer seemed so sure of her words.

  “Preston is just a cowboy. Loretta deserves better. So did you.”

  “Preston could make something out of himself. He could go west, like you did. Then he would be enough for Loretta.” The words tumbled out of Evelyn’s mouth, as if she couldn’t get them out fast enough. “You would let her marry him then, surely?”

  Jesse was starting to wonder whether they were talking about his sister or Evelyn. “I may have wealth, but I’m still just a ranch hand at heart. So is Preston. Let’s face it—we wouldn’t work even if I became king of England. It’s about where I come from, not what I’m doing.”

  Her voice was quiet. “How would you know?”

  “Nothing I do will change the fact that my parents abandoned my sister and me, and nothing Preston can do will change the fact that he’s an orphan. We don’t come from the right families, Evelyn. If the doctor’s son wants to marry my sister, this is her only chance at a better life.”

  “A life devoid of love is not a better life.”

  He threw his hands into the air. “You don’t get it, do you?” He gritted his teeth. “Marriage is the only way Loretta can make it into a better class, a better group of people. Her sons and daughters will all come from the right family. You rich folks just don’t understand. You wouldn’t know any different.”

  Anger flared in her emerald eyes and she edged two steps toward him, pointing her index finger at his chest. “I am not some sheltered, upper-class princess, Jesse. I have put more work into Breighton than anyone else here to keep it from going bankrupt!”

  He remained silent. She was close enough that if he just tilted his head, his lips would brush past hers. She stood there against him, breathing heavily. The seconds ticked by. Honeysuckle overwhelmed him. Her cheeks flushed and the heat pressed against both of their bodies; her gaze relaxed more and more the longer they locked eyes. Was her heart thumping as loudly as his?

  “Jesse!” one of the other ranch hands called to the cowboy. The man’s horse neighed and pawed the air for a few seconds. “We need your help. The herd’s heading the wrong way!”

  Both Jesse and Evelyn stepped back as if they’d been caught doing what was real in his imagination. He cleared his throat, and nodded to the ranch hand. “I’ll be right there.” He walked away without another glance in her direction.

  Years ago, he’d believed nothing was more dangerous than a solitary journey to California. He was wrong.

  Resisting the fall back into Eve Lancaster’s arms would be the most perilous task of all.

  • • •

  The years hadn’t changed his ability to take her breath away.

  There was something about watching him work that excited her, had ever since he’d arrived at her father’s ranch with his eight-year-old sister. Her father told her some boy had approached the house himself, asking for a job and explaining that his parents were dead. Eleven-year-old Evelyn thought it was awfully bold of him. She imagined him to be a masculine thirty, unspeakably rugged, and possess a wary look in his eye that had seen the world.

  When she actually saw him in person, she was disappointed. He was short, skinny, and twelve. He was all awkward angles and tufts of brown hair, too-long-for-his-body scrawny arms, and a reticent disposition. But then she’d watched him work.

  He proved to be their best rider and cattle herder by the age of fourteen and started leading the other ranch hands before fifteen. When the cowboys trotted out with cattle, his horse would always be the one guiding the others. Most times he would sit calmly and poised in his saddle, as Evelyn imagined a king would sit in his throne.

  Then when the ranch hands gathered the herd back into the corral, he would lean forward, clucking his tongue and yelling out commands. His shoulders would be thrown back, the lean, corded muscles in his forearms prominent as he rolled up his dusty sleeves. He looked so at ease; he looked at home. There was nowhere he belonged more than on the ranch.

  The years hadn’t changed him. Not really. His clothes were better quality, and the facial scruff was new, but otherwise he looked just as natural on horseback as he always did. Still the same proud stance with his shoulders back, broad chest puffed out as he commanded the herd of cattle, like not a day had passed since he left Breighton.

  If she just stared at him long enough, she could pretend the years of separation had never occurred. She was still that same fifteen-year-old girl holding a torch for her cowboy, admiring him through the window.

  It was only when he looked up on his way to the corral now that he noticed Evelyn. She turned her head away from the glass window, cheeks flushed. This was what, the third time he’d caught her staring at him?

  She groaned inwardly. That wasn’t even counting their encounter after Loretta left. She’d been so angry at him for pigeonholing her with the title of rich folks. She didn’t think the rich folks he referred to developed calluses and blisters from working all day under the sun.

  Half of her anger had clouded over when she realized how close she stood to him. His mouth had been so close to hers. Evelyn’s fingertips brushed her lips at the memory. Just a foolish desire, hoping he would have kissed her. Why kiss the girl who caused you to hightail it all the way to California?

  All she’d imagined at sixteen was meeting someone wealthy and supporting her father’s ranch. Pursue a career of her own, maybe, which would still be possible by a rich man taking care of the ranch. Jesse didn’t have a penny to his name back then. Her stomach twisted. Funny how things changed.

  How could she have been so foolish? She wasn’t even Anne Elliot from Persuasion. At least the main character had been persuaded by a mentor; Evelyn had made the decision by herself. She swallowed hard. But she had been so sure she was making the right decision. It was the rational decision.

  Evelyn looked down again at the stack of financial documents in her hand. Thi
nking about him could wait. The papers couldn’t. She strolled into her father’s bedroom.

  He was still lying down, but his eyes were open and focused when he heard someone enter the room. “Evelyn? Come closer.” He beckoned her to sit down, but his voice still sounded feeble. “Doctor tells me I’m slowly getting better.”

  “Just rest, Father. The ranch is in good hands.” She pursed her lips. “I made this month’s payment to the bank. Jesse’s contribution has certainly helped.”

  Her father nodded. Mr. Lancaster hadn’t been in a position to refuse his help either. All she had to do was show him the numbers and he’d nearly started another coughing fit until she informed him Jesse was willing to pay back the rest of the loans.

  Her father sighed. “Not excited at the idea of sharing profits with a former ranch hand, but Breighton must be saved.”

  “He is not just a ranch hand, Father.” His words echoed in her mind. Her father was wrong; he needed to already recognize him as more than a cowboy. “Jesse is your business partner right now.”

  “For now, that is.” He waved his hand to dismiss the topic. “How are the cowboys taking the wage cuts? No serious complaints, I hope?”

  “About the wages, Father . . . the cuts may not be enough. Another ranch hand has to go. I calculated the numbers, and if we want to start operating at a profit within the next two months, those wages are going to have go back into investing in the ranch. Jesse’s technically working for free, so he can cover the extra work.” She handed the documents to him. Her father gazed out the window, where the ranch hands were taking out the cattle to graze on the pastures.

  “I’ve got to get better soon and head out there to work with the boys.”

  “No, you have to rest here. Working out there is only going to prolong your illness.”

  “What illness? I’m as fit as a fiddle!” As if to prove a point, Mr. Lancaster attempted to sit up, and promptly began wheezing. Evelyn laid him back down again. He settled back against the pillow with a frown on his face.

  “I told you not to worry about the ranch. I am already helping out.”

  “But you’re wasting such a good education. You said you would be a doctor, a lawyer . . .”

  “They were dreams, Father.” Her heart ached at the reminder. The ranch had fallen into financial trouble so quickly after she’d decided to continue studying at an academy. A decision didn’t always lead to a future. Further education was out of the question once her father admitted he couldn’t run Breighton alone. But she’d made the choice to stay. “Breighton is my home, too. I care about this place just as much as you do. Now rest. The documents are here for you to read when you feel well enough.”

  She took the materials from his hand and placed them on the nightstand. Evelyn smoothed out the bottom of her blue dress she’d worn for today. She only wore it these days when she was going into town or seeing her father. Dresses had no place in a corral.

  But as long as she was wearing an outfit that didn’t shock the townsfolk, she might as well run some errands. The ranch needed more horseshoes, and the blacksmith wasn’t going to come to her. She passed through the doorway of her father’s room and headed toward her own. After grabbing the payment for the blacksmith and stuffing it into her reticule, she passed by the water basin next to her bed. Vanity got the better of her. She stepped back, crouched down, and took one last look at her reflection.

  She’d tried her best not to let ranch life make her let go of her appearance, but long days on horseback hadn’t done anything to smooth her weathered skin or keep her darkened complexion fair. Her suntanned, chapped skin looked nearly nothing like the girl who’d returned from an East Coast female seminary. Evelyn smiled at the water’s image. No, but her face looked better than she ever imagined it could. It spoke of hard work.

  She moved down the hallway, her small boots clipping against the polished wooden flooring. Swinging open the porch door, she adjusted her reticule again. Right as she stepped through the doorway, her shoulder slammed into someone.

  Jesse stood in the doorway, coming from the porch side. He turned to his right to get past her, just as she turned to her left to get past him and they ran into each other again. His familiar scent filled her senses and caused every inch of her skin to feel on fire. Her heart raced against her ribcage, hyper aware of his presence.

  For a second, he locked his eyes with hers. Did he think about the past as much she did? She suppressed the questions, the many words left unsaid still lodged in her throat.

  He finally brushed past her, his shoulder barely grazing hers. She swallowed as his scent swept by her. He’d barely acknowledged her presence each time they saw each other around the house. It was harder to sleep at night knowing he was only a few doors down, with an unlocked door and years of history between them.

  Not that she hadn’t tried to speak to him. He rebuffed her every time, just like he’d done at the door. The more he drew away, the more she was determined to speak to him about their past. She wasn’t just falling for Jesse; she was stumbling toward him.

  Evelyn had nearly reached the end of the porch when an envelope caught her eye. The missive was tucked just between two posts that held up the porch, the bright white paper contrasting with the dark wooden slats of the floorboards and the light blue tones of the porch columns. Her name was written on the outside of the envelope.

  She rubbed her eyes. Surely she was seeing things. Who would leave an envelope on her porch? But when her vision cleared, the envelope remained. She kneeled down to pick it up. After tearing open the seal, she lifted out the note.

  Dearest love,

  I see you and all I can think is, “What would we be like together?” Every time your glance crosses mine, my heart can’t help but hope that there could be a future for us. You don’t seem to mind me, though. Give me a sign. Give a man hope.

  Could it be him? Her heart dared to wish. The letter wasn’t signed, but the words sounded like his. The penmanship was harried, as if the words were written in a hurry. Maybe this was his way of admitting his feelings for her. She tucked the note back into the envelope and placed it in her pocket. If the letter really was from Jesse, she would be sure to write back.

  “Miss Evelyn Lancaster.”

  The voice from above caught her attention. John Cooper’s low drawl called to her from atop his horse. He had an annoying habit of remaining on his mount, as if trying to make the person he was addressing feel smaller. Or to prevent his prized boots from touching dirt. She lifted her hand to shield her eyes against the sun’s rays.

  “What brings you here, John?” Evelyn placed her hands on her hips and squinted at the judge’s son. This was nearly the fifteenth time he’d come by this month.

  “Just passing through the neighborhood, that’s all.” John inspected his nails and then looked back at Evelyn. “Thought I might see how you’re getting along since the last time we talked.”

  She managed a tight smile for his sake. “We just spoke two days ago. And Breighton’s a bit out of the way from Hamilton. You cannot really ‘pass by it’ without meaning to.”

  John threw back his shoulders, his glossy hair catching the light. He was handsome. If she hadn’t already known, Annie would have reminded her till the sun didn’t shine anymore. She gushed about him as all the girls in Breighton did, gossiping about his family wealth and his eloquent words. His cropped black hair and fair skin made him look as close as she had ever seen to a white knight. Riding a horse and wearing boots without a speck of dust only seemed to complete the image.

  Evelyn, however, had never been one for fairytales.

  “My offer to court you still stands, Miss Lancaster.” John looked around the farm, his hand brushing past the pistol she knew he had tucked away beneath his coat. “I can protect you from anyone who tries to harm you, I’m sure of it. I am a crack shot with a pistol, you must know.”

  Oh, she knew. She knew after the fiftieth time he told her; she didn’t need to know ag
ain. “I appreciate your offer, Mr. Cooper. But my current answer is still no.”

  “I beg you to reconsider.”

  “I am always reconsidering.” He came by so often that some of the ranch hands probably believed he was courting her. She sighed. “You know I welcome your presence as a friend any time you want. But I am in no mind to marry right now.”

  John sighed. His hand fell from where his pistol lay, ending his play of bravery. The show was over.

  “Evelyn, I have no cruel intentions. You know that as plain as anyone. My father likes you. Your father likes me. What, I ask with all due respect, is the problem?”

  She had wondered the same question herself. The answer was probably the same as all the other reasons she’d rejected every suitor. Over the years, all the suitors learned to take no for an answer. But not John. He seemed to double his persistence when the others backed out. There was nothing particularly wrong with John, but there was nothing right with him either. He was just another man to her.

  “I appreciate you coming by, I really do. Would you like to come inside for a bit?” She gestured to the porch door out of politeness, all the while hoping he’d decline her offer. “Irene made some lemonade this morning.”

  “No, I think I am fine out here. Remember my offer, Miss Lancaster.” He grinned at her, flashing the winning smile that sent so many feminine hearts in Hamilton racing. Just not her own. “I shall be back again.”

  She couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief as she watched his horse ride away. She and John had gotten along great as acquaintances who knew each other from church—up until he’d decided he wanted to pursue her as a wife. Her attention turned back to the envelope in her pocket. She scanned over it again, each line echoing inside her head as she read it in Jesse’s voice. After the second read, she opened the porch door and went back inside the house.

  Once she’d reached her room, she pulled out a small scrap of paper from inside her reticule. Evelyn set the purse down, grabbed a nearby pen, and sat behind the oak desk. She paused after she had spread the note onto the table, unfolding the paper’s creases.