by Jillian Hart
“You’re Ginny’s brother, the major.”
“That’s right, ma’am.”
Linnea could see the impressive line of Seth Gatlin’s shoulders above the shelves of canned goods. His hat was off, revealing dark-brown, almost black, hair that matched the intelligent blue intensity of his eyes.
“I’d like to buy more of those shirts, but I don’t want to take all of your stock.”
“I could always order more if you need them, Major.” Mrs. McIntyre sounded eager to please.
“I’d appreciate that, ma’am. I just left the army and I don’t have enough civilian clothes.”
Over the gleaming tops of canned pears, his gaze caught Linnea’s in a brief, snapping connection. The noises in the store faded, the lamplight dimmed and for that one second there was only the hint of his smile.
She knew. He’d heard how Mrs. McIntyre had treated her, and he was buying every one of her shirts.
Her chest warmed, for it felt good to have a champion. Not that she needed one or deserved one. Not that he was doing anything more than being polite. And she knew, in time, that politeness wouldn’t last. She’d do better by not counting on it.
“I’ll take another dozen shirts as soon as you can manage it.” Mrs. McIntyre caught Linnea in the aisle. “But you and I will need to renegotiate the price.”
It looked like the extra threads she’d been eyeing would have to wait. Linnea chose several skeins of fine blue wool as a treat for her mother.
Once, she caught sight of Seth Gatlin standing in line to pay for every last one of her shirts. Smiling to herself, she lingered at the yard goods counter to avoid standing behind him. She wanted to thank him but not here, where everyone might notice.
“Miss Holmstrom?” A handsome woman dressed in the latest fashion appeared quietly at her elbow, the town’s dressmaker. “If you would like to bring your quilt by my shop today before you head home, I would be interested in seeing it.”
Linnea thought of all the beautiful dresses and hats on display in the dressmaker’s front window. “You make everything you sell, don’t you? Why would you want to see my quilt?”
“Because I sew a lot of wedding dresses, and I believe any bride-to-be who sees a quilt like yours will want it for her wedding bed.” The woman smiled and pressed a calling card into Linnea’s cloak pocket. “If you can’t come today, then come anytime.”
Linnea opened her mouth, but no words of thanks emerged. She watched, disbelieving, as the woman turned away and bypassed Seth Gatlin at the counter. The bell rang, and the door closed.
Could it really be true? Linnea didn’t dare hope, but a part of her couldn’t help it. Across the store, Seth Gatlin gave her a nod, and his blue gaze flickered acknowledgment. Then he reached for his billfold, while the McIntyres’ oldest daughter offered him a beaming smile.
An army major. Linnea should have known. There was a quiet dignity to him, of control and carefully leashed power. Not that she had the right to be looking and noticing.
She spun away, heart pounding, and considered the racks of colorful threads and flosses. Today she would take time and plan her next quilt. Later she would come back and buy some of those colors.
Maybe her luck was starting to turn.
Chapter Three
“Where’s your quilt?” a voice—his voice—broke through her thoughts.
Linnea skidded to a stop in the melting snow, nearly dropping her packages. Seth Gatlin tipped his hat to her from the front seat of his sleigh.
Goodness, she’d been so lost in her plans she hadn’t heard him approach. “It’s on display in Mrs. Jance’s shop. She thinks she can sell it.”
“Congratulations.”
“I can’t count my pennies until it’s sold.” Linnea tried hard not to notice how pleasant-looking he was. The straight cut of his nose, the high, intelligent forehead and strong, chiseled chin. Or how solid and substantial he seemed, unlike a lot of men she’d come across. “Thank you for what you did in the mercantile today, buying the shirts I made.”
“I need new clothes.” He shrugged one wide shoulder. “Will you accept a ride now?”
“I don’t mind walking.”
“Yeah, but I’m not about to leave you in the road one more time.” His mouth almost grinned. “Besides, you owe me now because I bought all twelve of those shirts.”
“I guess you’re right.” She didn’t see the harm in just once accepting a ride from a man who didn’t look at her with judging eyes. “But if you’re going to be my neighbor from now on, you’ll have to let me walk.”
“It’s a deal.” He held out his hand with a masculine ease at the same time he slid over on the bench seat to make room for her.
She brushed her fingertips on his upturned palm, the lightest touch she could manage. Her heart skipped at the contact. Sensibly, she lowered her gaze and stepped into the sleigh, clutching both her packages and her skirts in her free hand.
She felt self-conscious of every movement she made as she settled onto the padded bench seat and arranged her packages. She could feel him watching her and it was making her nervous.
He didn’t speak and the silence stretched between them. Was it up to her to break the silence? Linnea hadn’t been on a drive with a man since she was sixteen. What should she say? She tried but couldn’t think of a single word.
Seth whistled to his stallion and the beautiful creature shook his massive head before deigning to step forward. The horse lifted his nose to the wind, trotting straight into it, making his sleek mane and tail ripple like poetry.
“He’s beautiful,” Linnea breathed. “Not even the wild mustangs are so breathtaking.”
“And he knows it, too. Look at him.”
The stallion’s ears swiveled, and he pranced even more handsomely, the king of the road.
She couldn’t help chuckling. “Why, he’s listening to us. He’s smart, too.”
“He’s no fool, that horse. He’ll do nearly anything for a pretty woman’s praise.”
Linnea blushed. Seth was being polite, that was all. He radiated integrity and courtesy, and she felt plain and mousy on the seat beside him. “What’s his name?”
“I call him General, because he thinks he’s that important.” Quiet humor and steady warmth brightened Seth’s voice and drew her hesitant gaze. He looked straight ahead at the road and his horse, affection warm in his steady voice. “He’s a good friend and saved my life more times than I can count.”
“In the army?”
“Cavalry. I raised him from a foal.” He gestured with one hand, his leather glove accentuating the width and length of his well-sculpted fingers. “Look, he’s still listening. Probably hoping for more praise.”
Anyone could see the fine breeding of the stallion, the straight lines and careful curves of flank and fetlock. The animal’s healthy coat gleamed like ebony velvet in the gentle sunshine.
The silence pressed back over them, and Linnea stared down at her gloved hands. She couldn’t think of anything to say. Maybe it was for the best. She was too old to dream, too old to start hoping for a man to come and change her life.
And besides, Seth Gatlin didn’t look at her that way, like a man searching.
He cleared his throat. “I was sincere about the shirts. They could use some tailoring. I would pay.”
“You want me to alter them?”
“Who better? You’re the seamstress who made them and my neighbor.”
His smile was kind and it warmed her all the way to her toes. “Then I accept.”
“I could use some other clothes, too, and I know my sister doesn’t like sewing.”
Ginny McIntyre. Linnea had almost forgotten. “I’d be happy to make whatever you need.”
To think she had extra work again. It had been a long time since anyone had requested her skills with a needle.
Surely by now someone must have whispered in Seth Gatlin’s ear about her past, but while he kept a distinct curtain of politeness between th
em, he wasn’t judging her. He’d actually hired her. Oh, to think what the extra income would mean.
The sleigh slid to a stop in front of her house. So suddenly it was there, and the stallion snorted with impatience as if eager to be off and running and looking so grand pulling the sleigh.
The door opened and Mama stood in the doorway, diminutive and frail, her sightless eyes bright, cocking her head to listen to the sounds in her yard.
“It’s me, Mama,” she said before the woman could worry. “Major Gatlin was courteous enough to give me a ride. He’s Ginny’s brother.”
“Ah, come to help her.” Mama smiled. “Pleased to meet you, Major. I am Elsa Holmstrom. Would you like a cup of tea?”
As Linnea climbed out of the sleigh, she caught Seth’s quick glance at her, a simple question. Her heart pounded. Not everyone treated her mother well.
“I would like that, ma’am. Maybe I could come back in a few hours, after your daughter shares her good news. I know Ginny is your landlord and since I’m looking after her affairs, I’d like to come and look over the property.”
“Of course. Tell me, Major, do you have a sweet tooth?”
“A terrible one.”
“Then I’ll whip up a treat to go with the tea. Thank you for looking after my girl.”
“No problem.” Seth’s gaze sparkled with merriment and understanding.
Linnea’s throat closed, filled with so many confusing emotions. He lifted one gloved hand in farewell and the stallion trotted off, all majesty and grace.
Just like his owner. Linnea couldn’t move, spellbound, watching the heavily loaded sleigh with its lumber and packages speed out of sight.
What kind of man was Seth Gatlin? He puzzled her. Even knowing her past, he’d spoken to her, offered her a ride, bought the shirts she’d made and treated a blind old woman speaking in a thick foreign accent with kindness and respect. He was like no other man she’d ever known, except for her father.
“Linnea, are you standing there in the cold wind? I hope you have your hood up.”
“Mama.” Still she didn’t move, even though Seth’s sleigh was out of sight and there was nothing to look at but the sparkling white landscape. “It’s not so cold. The wind is warmer.”
“What we need is a good chinook to blow all this snow out of here. This winter has been far too long. Come, and show me what treat you bought yourself today at McIntyre’s. The major said you had good news.”
“Very good news.” Linnea forced her feet forward, hugging her packages. “I bought a few extras.”
“Coffee. I can smell it,” Mama guessed as she backed away from the threshold.
Linnea knocked the snow from her boots before she stepped into the house. How good home looked, she thought as she shut the door tightly behind her.
Fire crackled merrily in the gray stone hearth. The polished wood floors shone like molasses. The spots of color in Mama’s tapestries and samplers brightened the walls. And her own pillows, cushions, tablecloths and curtains added a special touch. Home. She’d always been safe here and loved, no matter how difficult the circumstances or what mistakes she’d made.
She set down her heavy purchases and shrugged off her wraps. “I bought some white sugar to sweeten the coffee.”
“What a treat.” Mama beamed. “You spoil me far too much, Linnea. Our budget is very tight.”
“Yes, but I sold another dozen shirts, thanks to Major Gatlin.” She would save her news about the quilt until it sold—if it did.
She flung her cloak and scarf on the nearby peg and scooped up the packages.
“My, he had a good-hearted voice.” Mama sighed. “I hope this means we’ll have no more problems with Ginny McIntyre.”
“You never know.” Linnea couldn’t bear to think of their troubles, not on a day with so much good news in it. She had twice the shirts to make and right away, Seth Gatlin’s shirts to alter and a new quilt to plan. So much good all at once, why, she couldn’t believe it.
“Sit down, Mama, and let me pour.” She carried the package to the counter to unwrap it and plucked out the soft wool skeins.
“This is for you.” Linnea laid the bundle in her mother’s lap.
Sensitive fingers brushed over the fine wool. “Oh, child, you should not have bought this for me. What use does an old woman have for such finery?”
“You tell me. It’s your yarn.” Linnea pressed a kiss to her mother’s papery cheek.
“But what treat did you buy yourself?”
“Well, it was something I couldn’t buy. But believe me, Mama, I got something very special today.” Linnea poured the tea and remembered the sight of her quilt on display in Mrs. Jance’s front window with the exquisite gowns and striking dresses, the elegant hats and lace.
That wasn’t all. She remembered Seth Gatlin’s smile, quiet and deep, and tucked the memory into her heart for safekeeping.
* * *
When the Holmstrom shanty came into view, a neat, dark square of a house against the endless sparkling white of the plains, he pulled back on the reins. The horse questioned the bit and barely slowed.
Heaven knows he’d ridden the animal long and hard yesterday, and the stallion probably yearned to run out the kinks in his muscles. But Seth’s hands remained firm on the thick leather. General accepted the command and slowed to a walk.
Keep your distance from her, Ginny’s quiet warning, spoken as he left the house, troubled him now. Rumors and gossip—he knew what small towns were like. Good in some ways, not so good in others.
But he’d learned a lot from his years fighting for the country. He’d traveled as far as Mexico and all the way back to Virginia. He’d seen a lot and learned even more leading men and being led. He was a man able to judge for himself.
What about Linnea Holmstrom? He’d never forget the look of happiness in her eyes, flower-blue and dazzling, when he’d purchased her shirts. Like the first blush of spring and, once, he’d known exactly how happiness felt.
She made him remember, and he didn’t like that. But that wasn’t her fault, and he had to admire her. He’d seen how Mrs. McIntyre treated her—and she’d handled herself with quiet dignity.
He knew something about that, too. That’s why he’d purchased those shirts. Why he’d asked her to sew for him. Helping out Ginny’s tenants would only help him in the long run. He had to make sure his sister wouldn’t be left with an empty house in a depressed economy.
Linnea. He saw her in the fields, a slim reed of a woman against the endless white. Beneath her dark cloak, the red hem of her dress was a bright splash of color swirling in the wind. Her honey-gold hair twisted out of its pins to flutter in careless abandon as she turned to look out over the plains toward the mountains tall in the distance. Then she spun away, a water bucket in each hand, and waltzed from his sight.
His heart punched. Yes, she made him remember. He squeezed his eyes shut briefly, trying to blot out those feelings. He’d worked hard to bury emotions long spent and burned out, like a candle to a stub and there was no more light to give.
When he opened his eyes, General had finagled his way into a quick canter, and Seth had only time enough to slow the spirited stallion and guide him toward the shelter of the old barn. He tethered the animal in an empty stall next to a very friendly milk cow, grabbed the package of new shirts and headed out of the barn.
He noticed the water stains high in the rafters and the slow sag of the building to the right. The house needed work, too, he noticed. The porch floor had been fixed recently, but the roof would have to be replaced this summer, judging from the uneven lay of snow over the structure. And the Holmstroms were still hauling water from a well.
Maybe they could increase the rent, Ginny had hinted quietly. He hated having to tell her she was lucky to receive the income she did.
He lifted his hand to knock but the door swung open. Not Linnea, but Mrs. Holmstrom stood there, a frail reed of a lady gnarling with age, but her smile was that of a young wo
man, pretty and lively.
“Major, I am so glad to have you in my home.” She held the door wider. “Goodness, we have never had an army major in our house before.”
“I’m retired, ma’am.” He wanted to tell her not to be impressed, that it was only a title and not who he was. “You have a nice home here.”
“Why, thank you. My dear Olaf built this little house for me when Linnea was just a baby and we’d moved from our family in Oregon Territory. Such a long way to come, but with our new daughter, we wanted to build her a good life.”
This tiny woman was so full of love, she radiated it like light from the sun. Seth had never seen the like. He could only stare.
“You may hang your jacket there, by the door.” Mrs. Holmstrom covered the distance between the parlor and the dining room with confidence.
He shucked off his jacket and hung it on the peg. He couldn’t help noticing the cheerful handmade touches that made a house a home. The old furniture gleamed like new. Books, their pages yellowed with age, marched across three shelves beside the fireplace.
The Holmstroms did not have much, but they cared for what they had, and it touched him. It reminded him of the home he’d once had, of a life he could never reclaim.
He wondered where Linnea was hiding in this small shanty. Or was she still outside, daydreaming on the plains?
“Did you come today to raise our rent?” Mrs. Holmstrom’s question was gently spoken, with a tremor of worry. She turned from the counter, her sightless gaze finding his with eerie precision. “Or to ask us to leave? I ask this now because I do not wish to have Linnea surprised with such news, not today when there is so much good to be thankful for.”
“I have no intentions toward either.” Seth crossed the room, taking a steady breath. He realized he still held the package of shirts. He stared down at the brown paper. “It’s my hope that you will stay here. I’ll be overseeing my sister’s property until she’s able to manage for herself and gets used to living on the ranch.”
“Terrible man, running out on her like that, leaving her near to bankrupt.” Mrs. Holmstrom turned toward the counter, and the lid of the teapot clanked hard on the wood. “A terrible, horrible man.”
