Brides of the West: Josie's Wedding DressLast Minute BrideHer Ideal Husband

by Victoria Bylin

  She fell silent.

  Did she trust him? They had years of history together, so surely she had to trust him, deep down. His father may have considered him a failure, but he’d always prided himself on being trustworthy.

  “I just happened to see Mrs. Gussman when I was in town yesterday,” he explained on a sigh. “One thing in conversation led to another and I found out about your living situation. Why didn’t you say something?” What had happened between them that she didn’t feel like she could come to him for help? “Wait. Don’t answer that. I forgot…you weren’t even going to stay long enough for dinner that day you showed up. If I hadn’t found you out by the cabin, I’d probably still have no idea you were back in Colorado.”

  She hugged her arms to her chest. “I’m sorry. I just—”

  “Listen, even if this place isn’t your first choice, I would feel a lot better knowing you’re staying here, and not homeless—at least until your job starts and Mrs. Gussman has room for you.”

  “I wouldn’t be homeless.”

  “Where were you planning on staying then?”

  Her gleaming gaze, filled with blatant struggle, connected with his. For a split second he thought he saw her waver.

  “I don’t know… .”

  “I don’t make a habit of telling you what to do, Lydia.” As soon as her brow furrowed in protest he added, “All right, so maybe I did years ago, that time when you were foolish enough to think you could sleep out in the bull’s stall just because you thought he had the sniffles.”

  “And…” she prodded, angling a scorn-filled gaze at him.

  “There were probably several times.” He gave his head a shake. “But you have to know it was because I was looking out for you.”

  She snapped her mouth shut. The way her guilty gaze darted to the side was nothing short of charming.

  Lydia… . In spite of all her willful ways and stoic attitudes, he was drawn to her like a bear to honey. Almost every single thought that passed through his mind since she’d arrived was of her. Was he falling in love with her?

  Try as he might, he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about living out the rest of his days with her by his side. They’d look on each new day with hope and excitement. Find great adventures in the ordinary. And they’d endure trials simply because they had each other.

  If only things had turned out differently for him.

  No matter what could never be, tomorrow he was going to start fixing up that little cabin she liked so well. For Lydia.

  The way she looked up at him, as if she’d heard his thoughts, sent a profound chill coursing down his spine.

  “Please stay here, Lydia. At least for now.” He tried to sound gentle enough not to get under her skin yet firm enough for her to understand that he meant business.

  Her studying gaze moved slowly over every last inch of his face. His heart skipped one beat. Two, as he gripped the edge of his seat.

  “Jeb…”

  “What, Lydia?” He swallowed hard, the space between them humming with untapped energy.

  When she touched his hand, his breath hitched. “I know you wouldn’t tell me what happened last night to make you look so horrible, but…”

  He grinned at the sweetly innocent and tenacious way Lydia had about her. And in that moment he realized that since her return, he’d found himself smiling more than he had in the past few years. It was as if she’d breezed into his life, shining right through the clouds and scattering his gloom.

  Had God really heard his prayers? Had He brought Lydia back for him?

  She rested her hand over one of his. “I didn’t mean to sound uncaring. What I was trying to say was—”

  “Don’t worry. I know I must look a sight.” He threaded his callused fingers through hers, loving her beautiful and sensitive heart.

  And sorely tempted again to kiss her right then and there.

  “What about that big scar?” Reaching up to his forehead, she traced her finger, featherlight over the jagged scar slicing across his forehead.

  “I got that a long time ago.” His pulse thrummed at her quivering touch.

  “You didn’t have it before I left.” She peered up at the scar, worry and sadness etching her brow as she brushed a lock of hair from his forehead. “I would’ve remembered.”

  “You’re right, I didn’t.”

  “Well then, what happened?”

  Jeb reached for her hand and held it, wishing she would stop digging for answers. Half wishing she would stop touching him simply because her touch weakened his resolve to such a degree that he wondered if he’d had any to start with.

  There was no way he’d tell her the whole of the story. She’d blame herself. “I was doing some work with one of the horses and got distracted. The fella reared back and when he came down I took a hoof to the face.”

  She gasped, holding a slender hand to her mouth. “That is horrible! You could’ve been killed, Jeb.”

  “You wouldn’t have even known I was gone. Showing up here and not even planning on letting me know about it… . How could you not tell me—the guy you trailed around this ranch for most of your first sixteen years?” he teased, trying to pull a strand of lightheartedness into the conversation. But from the shocked expression on her face, he was pretty sure he’d failed.

  She tugged her hand from his, her mouth drawing into a tight line. And that small opening he was sure he’d seen into her heart was gone. Just like that.

  “I couldn’t,” she whispered as she stood and crossed to the door. “I promised myself.”

  Chapter Six

  Grabbing the scrub brush, Lydia willed herself to stay awake as she dipped it in the water to finish cleaning the porch floor. It wasn’t even midday, but she’d pried her eyes open at six-thirty this morning after a sleepless night spent rehashing the interchange she’d had with Jeb in the wee hours of the morning.

  His tender ways made her ache to really feel again. But the instant way he’d closed himself off, as though he was hiding something, she just couldn’t ignore. Although it went against her better judgment, she’d get some answers.

  Swiping her brow with her sleeve, she sat back and surveyed her hard work. She’d needed something to occupy her time because there was just something about Jeb that had possessed her almost completely. Divesting herself of him was like trying to remove a huge chunk of her soul. It was elusive, something unseen and yet so very, very real. And the attraction between them—that was so real, too. She could hear it in his voice, see it in his gaze, and feel it in his warm and tender touch.

  Even now, thinking about the endearing way he’d held his finger beneath her chin, sent a shiver straight down her spine and back again.

  Dipping the brush in the water, she wondered if maybe she needed to let the past go. Maybe she needed to seize what was right in front of her and enjoy the moment for what it would bring. Maybe she needed to learn to love again.

  It was altogether possible that she’d never stopped loving Jeb, no matter how hard she’d tried to scrape every last feeling for him from her heart and soul. Had she been fooling herself into thinking that she could be completely unaffected by his deep and soothing voice, his commanding presence and the great gentleness in his soul?

  Did he have even the inkling of a feeling for her? Could she hope for that much?

  Pushing herself up to standing, she wiped her hands on her apron as she tried not to dwell on the fact that he had no recollection of what had happened five years ago. How could he not realize what he’d done to her?

  And what of his scar? She had a horrible, horrible feeling that somehow she was responsible for that angry mark streaking across his forehead. He’d been so vague in the story he’d relayed—too vague. But she remembered the way he’d
struggled with the young stallion that day, five years ago. She’d nearly flown over the gate, so desperate to run to the altar with him that she’d thrown all common ranch-sense aside. She could see nothing but her goal.

  Jeb.

  It hadn’t been until weeks later that she could even think about that life-altering situation without being reduced to a pitiful and sickening puddle of tears. But once she was finally able to allow the whole situation to play out in her mind, she had to admit…she hadn’t used the best judgment in her approach that day. Desperation, good or bad, sometimes drove her toward the extreme.

  Lifting the bucket of dirty water, she strode over to the side of the house and dumped it out. The idea that she might be responsible for Jeb nearly getting killed by his stallion was horribly unsettling. He’d never come right out and admit such a thing—Jeb wasn’t the kind of man to do that.

  Could it be that she’d spent all these years believing she’d been the only one hurt, when he’d been wounded, too? Had she left while he was wounded? The thought, even now, made her stomach churn.

  Had she been so caught up in her own pain that she’d become the kind of selfish, cold person she despised? Maybe she’d been so intent on protecting herself that she’d completely missed God’s gentle and tender ways in her life.

  Her tired eyes burned with tears as she decided that no matter what the outcome, she had to find out the truth. She sniffed, blinked hard, knowing that she’d ask him tonight, just as soon as he returned from his chores.

  * * *

  Jeb nailed the last wooden shake shingle in place, descended the ladder and surveyed the small roof. His father’s blatant neglect had almost taken a fatal toll on this place, but today Jeb had made a small dent in the repairs. He felt good about it, too—even if he lost the ranch, something just felt right about making this place as perfect as Lydia remembered.

  After he’d finished his chores this morning and checked each of the cows getting close to calving, he’d headed out to the cabin and dove into the multiple repairs. Peering up at the sun’s place in the blue expanse of sky, he knew it had to be close to two o’clock. There were still barn stalls that needed work in order to be ready for spring calves, beside all of his daily chores.

  Spring had always been his favorite time of year. New life was emerging all around him, even when it seemed that his hope for steering clear of total failure was fading fast. Had Lydia not shown up three short days ago, the heavy weight of that reality might be near crushing. But her presence here had infused him with a fresh breath of hope.

  Jeb strode inside the cabin and walked slowly around the place, pleased with the immense progress he’d made. When he neared the fireplace, one of the coarse granite flagstones beneath his foot teetered, scraping at the other stones around it. Hunkering down, he was about to pull it up to inspect further when a soon-to-be-mama cat came lumbering into the cabin, meowing.

  “Hi there, girl,” he said, scratching the feline under the chin as she nudged her face against Jeb’s hand. He stroked her soft gray fur, taking the time to feel her taut sides and stomach. “You’re getting close, aren’t you?”

  The cat peered up at Jeb, squeezing her eyes in that adoring way that always made Jeb smile. “You’re sure friendly enough. Maybe you could have a little girl talk with Lydia—put in a good word for me,” he said, standing.

  When the pregnant mama did a circle eight around Jeb’s legs, he smiled. “Are you looking for a place to have your kittens?”

  The cat lumbered over to a corner where Jeb had stacked some rickety old crates. She glanced back at him, her eyes wide.

  Jeb grabbed an old quilt he’d shaken out, turned one crate right side up and nested the quilt down inside so that she’d have a safe and warm place to have her kittens.

  “The place is all yours,” he said as the cat leaped into the crate and circled the area several times before she finally laid down.

  Jeb smiled and left the newly repaired door ajar so the cat could come and go.

  Pausing for a moment, he ran his hand over the space between the logs making up the cabin, where chinking had long since fallen away, and he thought about tonight’s boxing match. He would give his challenger no openings—not even one. He had to come out fighting. Keep his mind and body totally focused until he felled his opponent.

  He’d been fighting for the ranch, but something had changed in the past hours. Since Lydia had shown up, he’d grown increasingly aware of a huge rut he’d gotten mired in over the past years. He’d actually started to believe he was as much of a failure as his father had always said he was. And that maybe things would’ve been better had he not been born. Lydia might not have wanted to see him, but something deep in her crystal gaze begged otherwise. The caring way she looked at him had him longing to start living outside of what his father had always said of him.

  The truth was…he was fighting for himself now. And for the future he hoped to make with Lydia.

  And this fight could not be more important. A win could mean the difference between walking away from this place with nothing but failure as his legacy and holding on to what he loved.

  * * *

  Lydia had waited all day long to talk with Jeb, but he hadn’t shown his face even once at the main house. She’d taken it upon herself to mend curtains, pull weeds and do what she could around the place to help out, all the while with one eye trained on the path to home, watching for Jeb.

  But he never came.

  Now, by the dim lantern’s light in her bedroom, she opened her father’s tired leather saddlebag. She’d been so busy the past three days that she’d not even taken the time to go through its contents.

  Holding the droopy flap open, she reached inside and pulled out a small framed photograph, the silver filigree nearly black with tarnish. As she peered at the sepia-toned image, a thick lump formed in her throat and her eyes burned.

  She had been all of ten-years-old, sitting on the front porch, her thick pad of paper on her lap, long plaited hair trailing down her overly large shirt to touch her dungarees. Her black felt cowboy hat was perched at an angle on her head—just the way she liked it.

  She remembered that day well. A traveling photographer, painfully thin and as rumpled as a shaggy-haired dog, had ridden onto the ranch, looking for business. Much to the photographer’s chagrin, Lydia’s daddy had said she didn’t need to change into something fancy just for the picture—he’d wanted the photograph to be a true depiction of his little girl, he’d said.

  She swallowed hard, missing him more in this moment than she had in months. He’d always been so good to let her be herself, not hemming her in as her aunt had done for five miserable years.

  Gently fingering the image, Lydia agreed that there couldn’t have been a truer depiction of her. Especially on that particular day.

  She’d just returned home from the small cabin, where she’d written one of her many letters to Jeb. That letter, in particular, had been carefully penned with fanciful thoughts of a perfect life spent together. She’d drawn a picture of their wedding day, including every detail down to the small posy of daisies she carried. She’d even written her own little poem to him…a vow of sorts that she was sure would move him to tears one day.

  The vivid memory filled her with a sense of loss. And longing. And sadness for what could’ve been. Had she been fighting an unstoppable force all these years?

  She’d had every intention of getting her box of letters today, but she couldn’t risk Jeb being there. Though it was dark now, she’d wait until the wee hours of the morning then she’d make her way out to the cabin because in a few short days she’d be living in town. She wouldn’t have time to traipse back out here to look for them, and she couldn’t risk Jeb finding her letters in the meantime.

  Setting the photograph aside, she pulled out her da
ddy’s Bible, its well-worn pages yellowed from age. She would never forget the nights he’d sit by the warm hearth fire and read to her. The stories had come alive for her then, and the truths had seemed so real when he’d put them in his own gentle everyday words. How could she have wandered so far from all that her daddy had taught her? Had her faith been sustainable only when her daddy was around to urge her toward the truth?

  Sooner or later she’d have to take a good, hard look at what she believed and why. And on what her faith was based, because if her beliefs hinged on everything working out in her perfect little world, then she would get disheartened again and again—just as soon as life dished out a bitter portion, as it had five years ago.

  A knowing chill coursed up her spine as thoughts she’d never had until now drifted, featherlight and yet weighted with profound meaning, into her mind. Had she thrown all her frustration and anger and sense of loss she’d experienced five years ago, all, onto Jeb? Had his rejection of her just been the breaking point for her faith?

  She hugged her daddy’s soft leather Bible against her chest, longing for the words she’d once found such hope in to somehow break through the stony wall she’d built around her heart.

  She would do things differently…she had to.

  A small but tangible wave of peace washed over her, and as she drew in a slow breath she set down the Bible. Reaching into the saddlebag again she pulled out a rectangular shoe-sized box. A paper-thin layer of caked dirt coated the locked box, filling in the small crack where the top and bottom met and around the tarnished brass corners.

  “What is this?” she whispered, brushing it off. She couldn’t recall ever seeing this box among her daddy’s things.

  She tried prying off the top, but it was locked securely. Lydia opened the saddlebag to look for a key when the sound of voices drifted through her opened bedroom window.

  “Jeb, please. Not again.” Sass’s desperate plea made Lydia’s heart sink.

  “Sass, you know me. I’ll be fine.” His voice came from the barn.