by Jillian Hart
He had to be out of his mind. Shane watched Meredith take a sip of sarsaparilla, doing his best not to notice the delight that only endeared her to him more. The way she tilted her head to one side as she debated taking another sip. She had curly brown eyelashes and flecks of gold in her gray-blue irises. He’d never noticed that before. He hated that he noticed now.
“What will you do if you get fired?” She set the glass down, drawing his attention to her slender hands, hands that fit perfectly within his own.
He hated how empty his hand felt without hers tucked in it. There were few customers in the diner, which suited him fine. He took a swallow out of his glass, letting the sweet cool drink roll across his tongue. “I suspect Braden will let me stay on with him when he travels to Butte, since I haven’t made a habit of rescuing pretty maidens in distress and costing us a job.”
“Ha! That’s not true.” She licked custard off the tines of her fork, triumph lifting her delicate chin and sculpting her beautiful features. Her spirit sparkled through, captivating and endlessly drawing. She pointed her fork at him. “You rescue women all the time. Remember how we met?”
“Sure, Braden and I have helped others in our journeys. There was a young mother in a broken-down cart we hammered together enough to get her home. And an elderly woman whose horse lost a shoe.”
“You’re simply trying to sound noble.”
“Not noble. Can’t you see the only lady who has ever affected me like this is you?” His pulse screeched to a stop, and he winced, realizing he had said far too much. Could she see how he cared? He swallowed hard, doing his best not to retreat or to panic. Whatever tangled him up inside, it was a great deal more than simple like. The notion of never seeing her again ate at him. “If I have to pack up and ride out tomorrow and leave you behind, I’ll regret it.”
“You will?” Her fork dropped to the table in her surprise. Maybe he’d been afraid she would be dismayed by this piece of news, but she didn’t look distressed. In the beat of silence between them, she drew in a shaky breath and he felt her answer because it was his.
The moment their gazes connected, it was like a spark to a can of kerosene. The explosion of brightness in his soul outshone the sun, making shadows of the world around him until there was only her beauty and color and life. Just Meredith and his love dawning.
“I don’t want to be friends with you.” His confession was whispered, so no one but she could hear. “Do you suppose the soon-to-be schoolteacher would let a simple horseman come beauing?”
“You will have to ask her and see.” Her answer twinkled in her eyes as blue as his future, and they smiled together. He dared to reach across the small table and cradle the side of her cheek in his hand. Never had he felt anything softer, never had he touched anyone so dear to him.
“Shall we go back to the schoolhouse and see just how well you did on your test?” he asked, knowing full well he was ten times a fool.
When she nodded, gently leaning into his touch, he lost control of his feelings completely. There was no way to hold back the depth and strength of his love for her. It rose up of its own power and accord, against his better judgment and a list of reasons he shouldn’t get involved.
When he pushed his chair away from the table, he felt like a new man.
Chapter Fourteen
Banished to her room, Meredith plumped the pillow at her back, leaned against the window seat cushion and held her sewing hoop up to the lamplight. Tiny perfect stitches marched along the seam she’d finished sewing, bringing two more squares of her patchwork block together. Deciding the stitching was uniform and tiny enough, she smoothed the seam flat with her thumb and flipped the half-finished block over. The pretty cotton fabrics made her smile.
Fiona had talked her into buying the cheerful yellow sprigged, saying it was the perfect color to build a quilt around. She recalled how Lila had spotted the beautiful robin’s-egg blue calico in a new shipment of fabrics in her parents’ store and set it aside for her. Soft lovely emotions of friendship filled her whenever she gazed upon the pieces. Scarlet had helped her pick out the rose-pink calico and Kate, at one of their sewing circle gatherings, had pointed out she needed more contrast. So her father had driven them all to Lawson’s mercantile after school one rainy day in February where she’d added the ivory, green and lavender calicos to the mix. Earlee wasn’t satisfied until she dug out a bold purple sprigged lost in the bolts of cotton. The laughter and happiness of that afternoon shopping trip rang through her, a dear memory she wanted to hold close forever.
She chose a purple cut square from her fabric pile, judging it against the other colors of the block. The merry brightness brought out the flowery yellow and the leaf green of the adjacent pieces. She carefully pinned it into place, eyeing the seam allowance. The end of the school year was almost upon them, and she would no longer see her best friends every day. School would end, they would graduate and all go their separate ways.
As she had tried to explain to Mama hours ago, that was a good thing. They were growing up and into the lives they had been dreaming of. But with the gain came losses. Sadness chased away the memories as she knotted her thread and stitched the raw edges of the fabric. Her thimble clicked as she worked, loud in the silent room.
A rap against the window cannoned like a bullet from a gun. The needle flew out of her grasp, she jumped in place and her pulse took off like a runaway freight train. She drew back the curtain. A face reflected in at her through the shadowed glass.
Shane. Night was falling, cloaking him in shades of darkness. He’d never been more handsome to her as she unlatched the window and opened it with care. The wood frame did not groan, the hinge did not squeak and a pleasant wind blew in the scent of lilacs. The maple’s leaves shivered as Shane leaned closer to the sill.
“How’s the new schoolteacher?” He presented her a bouquet of fragrant flowers, the dainty little blooms the exact purple of the piece she’d been sewing.
“Fine enough.” She accepted the blossoms and lifted them to her nose. The luxurious perfume filled her as if with hope. “It’s the first big step on the road to my goals. I wish it felt more like an achievement instead of a source of unhappiness for my parents.”
“They want what they think is best for you.” He brushed the sensitive curve of her chin with his knuckle. “They will come to accept this.”
“I hope so. And if not—” Because that thought made her sad, she cast it aside, focusing on the man before her. How rugged he looked with his hat slanted at a rakish angle and a day’s growth rough on his jaw. Lamplight flicked in the wind, lashing at the slash of his high cheekbones and revealing the steady glow of affection in his eyes. Affection for her right there, revealed for her to see, tenderness that stretched without words from his soul to hers.
A like regard budded within her, as pure as the blossoms she held and as fragile. Caring deepened, and she could not stop it. The backs of her eyes stung and she carefully laid the handful of flowers on the edge of her nearby night table, leaning away from the window and away from him. But the distance between them made no difference. Somehow everything had changed.
“I have money set aside to buy land of my own when the time is right.” Manly, quiet strength radiated from him like light from a flame. Unaware of his own brightness, he humbly shrugged one shoulder, his gaze intensifying, his seriousness arresting. “There’s a meeting between Braden and your father tomorrow. If all does not go well, we will be leaving. Braden intends to head south to start our next job early.”
“So soon.” She expected it, but it hurt just the same. Everything within her stilled. The wind whipped her hair into her eyes again, and she moved to brush those curls aside, but it was his hand grazing her cheek, his fingertips caressing a sugar-sweet path from her forehead to her temple.
“Beauing a woman is much harder to do from a great distance.” His words rumbled through her, layered with meaning and an affection he must have thought hidden in the dark.
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br /> “But I will not be staying either.” Her fingers curled around his steely wrist, wishing she could hold him captive. “I have already inquired to several schools for the summer, and then I will be moving on to another permanent school in the fall.”
“I could follow you.” How certain he sounded, as if dreams were so easily set aside.
“But what about your apprenticeship?”
“I hate to end it, but I could.” He winced, as if he were torn. “I’ve learned nearly all I have signed on to do.”
“Then I think you should finish.” She leaned into his touch. The wind stirred her golden locks against his knuckles. She unwound his fingers from her hair and cradled his hand in both of hers. “I am a very good letter writer.”
“I’m sure you are.” He stared at her smaller, paler hands clasped around his sun-browned, callused one, thinking how different they were and how like. Love enfolded his heart the same way her hands wrapped around his. “You would write to me?”
“I suppose I could be persuaded every once in a while to pen a note for you,” she quipped, but she meant something more. He knew because he felt the same way.
“I’m glad to hear it.” He lifted his hand, bringing her knuckles to his lips. “My understanding with Braden is done at the end of this year, and my traveling will come to an end.”
“You want to train horses of your own?”
“I want to farm.” He brushed a kiss to her fingertips, one by one. The tenderness taking over him was the sweetest thing he’d ever known.
Lord, she is the future I want. The prayer rose up with all the might in his soul. Thank You for leading me to Meredith. He was about to start the best adventure of his life.
“Farm?” Her forehead furrowed. “You mean to raise horses?”
“No, to rescue them.” His kisses stopped, but he kept their hands linked. “I always meant to have my own stables, but then I’ve seen a lot of sad things in my travels. Hobo is a horse I rescued last year from a man beating him in the middle of the road.”
“What? Why would anyone do such a thing?”
“I don’t understand it. I don’t know.” Sorrow etched into the counters of his mouth. “The poor animal was covered in saddle sores, half-starved, and had collapsed on a lonely stretch of the Wyoming plains. His owner had taken a whip to him while he lay helpless in the January snow. Braden and I came upon them and I offered the man the contents of my billfold. He took the two hundred dollars. I got the better deal.”
“You saved Hobo’s life.”
“He saved mine. Because of him, I knew what I wanted to do. Find a nice spread to buy, raise crops and give horses a second chance. Everyone deserves a safe place to prosper.” Never had the man been bigger in her estimation. He towered before her, framed by the window, dominating her senses. He was all she could see, all she ever wanted to see.
“Are you surprised?” he asked.
“No. I approve.” She squeezed her fingers entwined with his. As she let go of his hand, the bond between them remained as enduring as tempered steel, proof enough that she was right. They were kindred spirits. Souls so alike they felt as one.
Footsteps echoed in the hallway. A floorboard squeaked. Panic lurched through her, but the gait was not Mama’s.
“I’d best go.” He pushed away from the sill. The leaves rustled, and a branch groaned as he shifted his weight. “Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow.” She reaffirmed his unspoken promise with a single nod. Something tore apart within her as they parted. She closed the window and he disappeared from her sight.
A tap rapped on her door. “Meredith?”
“Tilly.” She jumped to her feet and her sewing tumbled from her lap. She caught the fabric by an edge. “Come in.”
“I thought you might like some company.” Tilly slipped into the room with her embroidery hoop in hand. “It gets lonely being sent to your room for the evening.”
“Yes, it does. I’m glad you came. I was working on my quilt.” She held up her partially finished block, doing her best to take her mind off Shane and enjoy this time with her sister. There would not be many evenings left to spend talking and sewing together.
“It’s cheerful. I love the purple.” Tilly inspected the squares. “It’s a happy coincidence it matches the flowers Shane brought you.”
“How did you know?”
“They weren’t there when I brought up your supper tray.” Tilly settled back on the window seat. “How did he get them to you?”
“He climbed the maple.” Her fingers tingled from his gallant, sweet kisses.
“Wow, he must have really wanted to see you.” Tilly stared hard at her hoop, where a pair of love birds were taking shape out of carefully stitched colors of floss. “I thought you didn’t like Shane.”
“Once I acted out of hurt feelings, but I was wrong.” It was her turn to blush, her cheeks turning a furious red. Every time they were together, she found more to admire and more reason to care for him. But she didn’t know how to admit it, so she fell to silence and straightened out the tangle her thread had become.
She was thankful for Tilly, who didn’t say another word as she bent her head to her needlework, saying in understanding silence what could never be said with words. They stitched the evening away in sisterly solidarity. Every fiber of her being yearned for morning when she could look upon Shane again.
“Good girl.” Shane praised from the back of the black filly, patting her neck. The morning sun was burning off the dew and mist from the pond, and larks sang gloriously celebrating the new day. Robins hopped through grasses searching for breakfast and a jackrabbit hid in the bushes near the fresh young sprouts in the garden.
The filly shook her head, jingling her bridle bits, as if proud of herself, too. The wind stirred her mane and brought the scent of lilacs and voices from the house. Braden’s deeper voice mingled with the conversation. When Shane looked up, he spotted Mrs. Worthington at the end of the walkway looking like a general at war, directing her youngest daughter into the waiting buggy. Minnie skipped along ignoring her mother’s request to walk like a lady.
He smiled. He was fond of the littlest sister. He would miss her. The oldest Worthington girl walked into sight and took the front seat. She would be driving to town this morning, which was fine by him. He had a lot of work to finish up. The filly sidestepped, as if anxious to go.
“Whoa there.” He increased pressure on the reins until she stilled and made her wait. Her ears pricked, and she stood at attention waiting for the signal to go. He gave it before she could move again, touching his heels to her sides and lifting in the saddle. Her trot was disciplined as she circled the corral. Posting in the saddle, he felt something in the air change and in his soul.
Meredith. The morning brightened as she swept down the front steps. Guarded by lilacs and accompanied by nodding daffodils, she was poetry in motion with her green bonnet ribbons trailing in the wind and her matching dress swishing at her ankles. He felt entranced, unable to look anywhere else.
“Meredith, you are to come straight home from school.” Mrs. Worthington’s command rose above the drum of the horse’s hooves and scattered birds from the orchard trees. The jackrabbit ducked for cover. “Matilda will come fetch you. With our book club meeting this morning, that makes an unseemly amount of trips to town.”
“We can always miss the meeting,” Tilly answered from the buggy’s front seat.
“That would be even worse. How else will I be able to keep up with the news in town?” A faint note of humor rang in the older woman’s words, a hint she was not as hard as she seemed.
Still, Meredith dominated his vision. As if she felt his presence, she glanced directly across the driveway to where he stood in the middle of the corral. Time stopped. The world kept spinning, life kept moving forward but they—he and Meredith—did not. The distance of garden and yard and paddock between them vanished and it felt as it had when he’d kissed her every fingertip. She had agreed to wait f
or him. She had approved of his plans for his future; she knew he wanted to be a farmer. The smile that touched her lips let him know that her regard for him had not changed.
“Hurry up, Meredith!” Minnie hung out of the backseat, clinging to the frame. “We’re gonna be tardy. I don’t want to have to write lines.”
“I’m coming.” She tore her attention from him, and it ripped like a physical wound.
You are in so much trouble, Connelly. You are more in love with the girl than you think. The filly reached the end of the corral and he turned her smoothly, glancing over his shoulder to keep Meredith in sight. She clutched the side of the buggy and hopped up, settling her bag and her lunch pail, wholesome and golden in the pretty May morning. He could not gaze upon her enough.
Soon he would be leaving and all he would have were memories of her. His throat ached, growing tight beneath his Adam’s apple. There would be letters and the hope of seeing her again, but the separation to come would not be easy.
“Connelly.” Braden strolled into sight. “You’ve made fine progress with the filly.”
“She’s a great horse. It was a pleasure to work with her.” The buggy rolled down the driveway, with Meredith hidden from his view. Minnie hung out the window, spotted him and waved her arms as if she were trying to scare cattle.
“Howdy, Shane!” she shouted.
“Think she’s got a crush on you.” Braden chuckled as he leaned his forearms on the top board of the fence.
“She’s a good kid.” He waved back, earning Minnie’s wide grin. She disappeared inside the buggy as it bounced on the rutted roads and turned the corner. Trees hid the horse and vehicle, taking his heart with it.
“Minnie is not our problem.”
“Don’t even say it.” Shane slowed the filly to a walk. “You were right. I shouldn’t have gotten involved.”
“I know you couldn’t help yourself.” Braden, tough as nails, was not a man to succumb to the charms of any woman, but neither was he unfeeling. “You gave your best attempt not to fall for her.”
