by Jillian Hart
“You have more bread than this, right?” Seth frowned at her table and the steaming loaves.
“That’s enough,” she insisted, but seeing the disapproval in his eyes, she wanted to dig in her heels and fight. She couldn’t risk angering him further, so she kept her voice down, her mind searching for the right way to phrase things. “The only income I have is the rent money, and my son has to come first—”
“We had an agreement,” he said quietly, his words vibrating with leashed anger. “You feed these men and feed them well. Every other neighbor woman has done the same.”
She hung her head, sensing she couldn’t win, hating that she was considered one of the neighbor women, a country woman with homemade clothes and a cellar full of preserves. “I’ll do my best.”
“I want the men well fed tomorrow. At noon sharp. This is important.”
“I know.” She tried not to think about the money the food would take out of her budget. She looked past the hard day of work awaiting her to the end result. That hay would bring her money. She’d sell it and add it to her funds when she sold the land.
Feeling better, she turned toward the stove where a pot of bacon and beans cooled.
“There’s something else. What did you say to Linnea?” His accusation came cold as a winter’s night and drew the warmth from the room.
A spoon tumbled from her fingers. Feeling stupid, she knelt to retrieve it only to drop it again. “I’m so clumsy.”
“You didn’t answer me.”
He was still glaring at her with sharp-edged accusation that made her shake all the way down to her toes. How could she explain? She’d lost her temper, her pride had flared and she’d said words she now regretted?
“I said nothing out of the ordinary.”
“I hope you’re not lying to me.” Instead of flaring with anger and lashing out with a closed fist as Jimmy would do, Seth remained in the shadowed doorway, just out of reach of the light, looking lost and hurt.
Hurt? How could that be? His power as a man remained as tangible as the night. But so did his sadness.
“I’ve heard the rumors that she supposedly made your husband cheat on you. I know you don’t believe that.”
“She would have if he’d wanted her.”
“Ginny.” Seth sighed, a weary sound that cut through her defensiveness. “You have no idea what I’ve lost, buried and thought I would never have again. I’ve lived alone feeling as if I’d died right along with my family for so long. Now I have the chance to be happy.”
The screen door creaked as he gave it a shove. “Don’t take that away from me. If I find out you’ve lied, I can’t in good conscience stay.”
“I said nothing out of the ordinary to her. I promise you.”
Seth didn’t want to call his stepsister a liar, but he didn’t believe her either. Whatever she’d done, he would repair it. He would make Linnea understand she was the sun in the sky to him.
He had choices to make. He couldn’t help Ginny. She was too busy destroying everything she touched, just like her father, ignorant to the beauty she could have if only she would open her heart.
The shanty was small but it was home. He prepared for bed to the music of coyote song. He stretched out on soft sheets and listened to the symphony of night—of owls hooting, the wind always blowing, and the galloping horses charging across the plains.
What had Linnea called it? Racing the wind.
The mustangs were back. He’d have to tell her.
He drifted off to sleep in his lonely bed, dreaming of her.
Always dreaming of her.
* * *
“We should take the leftover ham and bread up to Ginny,” Mama suggested from her bench in the shade of the orchard. “She is all alone and has not cooked for hayers before.”
“I’m sure she doesn’t need our help.” Or want it, Linnea figured, but didn’t say it as she plucked the last pin from her mouth and gouged it into the fabric. “There, the seam is pinned. Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Yes. I wish to sew a dress for my beautiful girl.” Mama took the pieces of the skirt with care and laid them on her lap. “I only need a little help, but I can still make myself useful.”
“You are indispensable and you know it.” Linnea pressed a kiss to her mother’s cheek, unable to say what troubled her. Without knowing it, Mama had once again provided a comforting haven. A soft place to fall.
“I think we must take the food up to Ginny. We have so much of it left over! We cannot eat it all.”
“No, Mama. You know I don’t like Ginny.”
“Forgiveness, child. Life has not been easy for her. And think of the goodness we can do for our neighbor.”
“I don’t want to think about it.”
Mama chuckled as she felt with her fingers the edge of the fabric and started her needle there. “We cannot let good food go to waste. Maybe the men who were so kind to mow our fields will appreciate good food.”
“You’re implying Ginny is a bad cook.”
“It is possible, so we must do what we can for our neighbors.”
Mama was only teasing, trying to change her mind, and it worked. “Fine. I’ll wrap the leftovers. You stay here in the shade.”
“That’s my good girl.”
“I’m not five years old, Mama.” Laughing, Linnea retreated to the kitchen. If she hurried, then she could deliver the food well before noon and there would be no danger of seeing Seth.
Thinking of his name made her break a little more. She told herself it didn’t matter. She’d lost much more in her life. And this heartache was her fault, believing in love when she knew better.
When the basket was ready, she told her mother goodbye, but Mama insisted on coming.
“It’s too hot, Mama.”
“Yes, but if Ginny needs help, then there are two of us.”
The midsummer sun blazed with unrelenting force on the dry land. Prairie grasses crackled and rustled with the wind’s force, and against the crest of a rise she could see the men in the field. The mowing machine pulled by Seth’s oxen and the men forking the mowed grass into tall wagons.
“I can hear them working hard.” Mama cocked her head, turning to catch the faint whir of the machine and the low murmur of men’s voices. “I miss running the ranch, miss the seasons of life. That’s when you feel them, when you farm. The harrowing and planting in spring. The summer of growth and the autumn of harvest. The winter where we rest and prepare for our next spring, whatever that may be.”
“Having the hayers again made you miss Papa more.”
“Yes. How I miss him.”
Me, too. Sorrow gathered into a hard ball in her throat, and she couldn’t speak. So she said nothing, listening to the rhythm of their shoes padding against the chalk-dry earth and the snap of their skirts.
Her mother swayed and missed a step.
“Mama!” Linnea held the older woman steady. “Are you all right?”
“Goodness, I should hope so. It is so hot is all.”
“I should have made you stay home.”
“It is only dizziness and it shall pass.”
“Only dizziness?” Linnea couldn’t stop the sense of foreboding that skidded down her spine as cold as ice. “We need to get you out of this sun.”
“We must be nearly there. All I need is a cold glass of water. Do not worry so, my flicka.”
Ginny’s house soon came into view, and the basket felt as if it were suddenly made of stone.
“This way, Mama.” Their arms looped, Linnea guided her mother off the road and across the uneven stone path around the side of the house. “We’ll try the back door since Ginny will be in the kitchen. Careful. We’re almost there.”
Her mother didn’t answer and seemed feeble as she hobbled through the yard toward the shade trees.
Worry magnified with each step. She never should have let Mama have her own way.
“Here’s a bench. You sit here.” Linnea set the basket aside and took her mothe
r by both arms.
How frail she felt. She looked pale slumped against the armrest.
“I am so very thirsty.”
“I’ll get some water.” She ran as fast as she could into the backyard.
Ginny turned from the table set up in the shade of the house. Contempt pinched her face as Linnea approached. “Don’t tell me you’ve come to see my brother.”
“It’s my mother. She’s not well. She needs water.”
“What were you two doing? Walking in this heat?” Ginny snatched a tin cup from the table. “Here. The trough is there.”
“In the field?”
“It’s clean and it’s cool.” Ginny’s eyes narrowed.
Linnea snatched the cup from her. There was no time to argue. She hurried to the fence line, where fresh water spilled into a deep trough, and filled the tin.
“Dotter, you need not have hurried!” Mama scolded. “You should not run in this heat. You will feel dizzy next!”
“Drink all of it.” Linnea pressed the cup into her mother’s hands.
She complied, sipping the last drop. “I feel better.”
“Don’t you dare move.” Linnea kissed her mother’s cheek, took the cup and the heavy basket and hurried through the unkempt flower garden.
“Linnea.” There was Seth blocking the path, looking hot and tired from his work in the fields. Men clustered behind him, and he sent them around to the other side of the house.
Looking at him made her want him. Want all her dreams to come true with him—this man, the one who gazed at her with sweet, tender longing.
“I didn’t expect to see you today.” His gaze was a question, an intimate one she could not answer.
She’d spied on him this morning as he’d left fresh flowers beside the faded ones. How could she pretend she wasn’t falling in love with him?
“Mama wanted to help Ginny.”
“Hello, Major.” Mama limped down the path. “We’ve come to see if you could use extra loaves of bread and ham. It has been so long since we have cooked for hayers I could not remember how much they ate. We made too much! And too much for us to eat if we worked at it for a week.”
“Mama, you promised to stay sitting down.” Linnea set the basket and cup on the ground and rushed to her mother’s side. “Come with me.”
“My dotter fusses,” Mama explained to Seth.
“She’s not feeling well.” Linnea led the way to the bench. “Mama, let me take care of you. Please. You are the only mother I have.”
“Now, how can I argue?” Tenderly Mama brushed her hand over Linnea’s cheek, smoothing back wayward curls. “I shall stay.”
“Good.” Linnea stood to find Seth at her side. “Excuse me. I need to get more water. Would you mind taking the basket in to Ginny?”
He followed her. “We need to talk.”
“No. My mother can hear you.” She lowered her voice and shoved the basket at him. “Besides, there is nothing to say.”
“Whatever Ginny said to you, I want you to forget. Wipe it away like dust from a blackboard—”
“Excuse me.” She stepped off the path, pushed against a stout lilac branch and shouldered past him.
Ginny stood in the way. “What are you still doing here? I thought you were going to get some water and leave?”
“Ginny—” Seth’s voice rang in warning.
“My mother isn’t strong enough to head home.” Linnea gripped the cup so tightly the handle cut into her fingers. “We’ll leave as soon as she can.”
Ginny’s gaze fastened on the basket Seth carried. There was no mistaking the displeasure on her face, and then she looked at the ground. A muscle strained beneath the smooth skin of her jaw.
“Mrs. Holmstrom brought bread and ham to go with the meal.” Seth held the basket to his sister. He quirked one brow.
“I am quite capable of providing a meal.” Ginny’s chin lowered. “But I’m sure the men will appreciate your thoughtfulness. Thank you. Seth, will you take the basket to the table?”
“No. I’d best look after Mrs. Holmstrom.” His brow furrowed. “Ginny, the men are waiting.”
Although it was clear she didn’t like it, Ginny took the basket and marched out of sight.
Seth took the cup out of her hands. “I’ll fill this for your mother. You go keep her company. She looks like she needs it.”
She couldn’t thank him. If he did one more thing to become more noble in her eyes, then she’d never be able to let him go.
He only acts like this now because he doesn’t know about the baby. The truth splashed over her like cold water, and she didn’t thank him. Just turned away.
“So much fuss!” Mama fretted.
“Don’t worry.” Linnea knelt in front of her. “Seth is fetching more water, and you’re going to be fine.”
Mama covered her face with her hands, ashamed of her weakness.
“Here.” Seth returned with a full cup. “You stay here as long as your mother needs to. When you’re ready to leave, I want you to drive. I’ll hitch General to my buggy and leave him in the yard. When you get home, unhitch him and put him in the shade with some water. I’ll be over to fetch him tonight when I’m done here.”
“How can I repay you?”
“I’ll think on it and let you know.” He winked, but his brow remained furrowed. His gaze shot to Mama.
She didn’t look any better.
“Here. Sip this slowly.” Linnea held the cup until her mother grew stubborn and took it herself. “Fine, then I’ll go fetch a washcloth and basin. Will you be all right alone?”
“Go. I am fine.”
“Liar.” She hurried down the path, knowing Seth was near if Mama needed him.
The sounds of men’s laughter and the clink of flatware carried from the yard. Dread filled her. She cornered the house and Oscar Hansson stared right at her.
Linnea stared hard at the ground in front of her as she hurried toward the back steps.
“Hey, look who’s come to serve us,” Oscar called just loud enough to carry above the other men’s voices.
“Sit down, boy!” a man ordered.
Linnea dashed up the steps and into the house.
“You’re never going to be respectable enough for him, anyway.” Ginny was at the counter, filling a plate with bread. “Anytime he’s not around, that’s how other men are going to treat you.”
“I need to borrow a basin and a washcloth.”
Ginny reached with one hand into a drawer and tossed a ragged dishcloth onto the table. “You didn’t come here because you wanted to help me. You wanted Seth to think well of you. But it won’t work. Nothing can change what you are.”
Linnea snatched the cloth. “Are you going to tell him?”
“If you don’t leave now. Your mother is well enough to climb into the buggy. I heard every word Seth said to you through the window. How he cares.”
“Goodbye, Ginny.” Linnea grabbed her empty basket from the table, taking that, too.
“He won’t care for you when he finds out the truth. His wife was a beautiful girl. Decent. Innocent. As pure as could be.”
Linnea tripped down the step, blind with hurt and fury. She heard Oscar call out, “I’ve got a dollar, Miss Linnea,” and then fall silent when Seth strode into the yard.
She couldn’t look at him as she wet the cloth beneath the running water. The men silenced, and not even the scrap of a fork on a plate broke the awful tension as she headed down the path. The lilacs closed around her, hiding her from their sight.
What else had Oscar said? What if one of the men pulled Seth aside and told him the basis of the joke? How could she stand having him know the truth?
“Here, Mama. This will cool your face.” Linnea pressed the cloth against her mother’s papery cheek.
“Feels good. Oh, you have the basket.”
“Yes. You heard Seth say he’d let us drive his beautiful stallion home. How would you like to try out his fancy buggy?”
“
What a delight.” She stood, trembling and weak.
Linnea wrapped her arm around the older woman’s tiny waist. “Lean on me, Mama.”
“Always, my precious girl.”
* * *
The worry over her mother remained through the day and into the night. She read Mama to sleep and tucked her in gently, grateful that this woman was the one who’d given her life.
Linnea retreated with her sewing into the parlor where the calico kept her company. Listening to the cat’s contented purr, she pieced her squares with pins, then stitched them.
A faint off-rhythm beat whispered in through the open windows. Could it be? She dropped her sewing and ran to the door. Through the screen door she could see the dark mystery of the night, the flickering brilliance of stars, and the prairies bathed in moonlight.
The drumming beat continued, growing until the entire plains seemed alive with it. They moved like shadows, evading the full blaze of the moon as it shone on a gleaming mane or a velvety shoulder. Then they became darkness again.
Linnea pushed open the screen door and raced down the steps. They were galloping so far away.
“I wondered if I’d catch you out here.”
“Seth!” She laid her hand over her chest. “You’ve got to stop sneaking up on me like that.”
“You don’t seem to notice when I’m around. That can’t be a good sign.”
She took a step into the shadows.
“A woman ought to be glad to see the man courting her.”
“I suppose that’s true.” She wanted to hold on to the slightest hope. To dream that he would accept her even if he knew the truth.
He stood tall with the honor he’d earned over a lifetime as a major and as a man. Other men tossed silver coins and made jokes about her. Seth Gatlin wouldn’t take that kind of a woman as his wife. Ginny was right.
The beauty of the night broke like crystal shattering on dirt and rock. A thousand shards that could never be repaired and made whole again.
Just say it, Linnea. She owed that kindness to Seth, the kindness of turning him away. He deserved an innocent woman who would bring him happiness, not someone with mistakes and flaws and lines on her face.
She gathered her courage and turned her back on him, staring hard at the horses in her cow field. “Mama’s health is growing worse, and so I have to make some difficult decisions.”
