After a time, she could see Granny visibly tiring, so she bade the children farewell. The matron and a circle of children followed them to the waiting wagon.
Moving the basket aside, Granny settled her skirts on the wooden seat. “We’ll come again soon.”
The eggs. Eugenia didn’t have much, but she did have the eggs. A vision of a dark pink ribbon woven through her hair flashed across her mind. And the image of the coins in her drawer. Could she trust God to provide for her needs if she gave that away, too?
Shunting aside the doubt, she handed the basket to the matron. “It’s not much, but maybe enough for tomorrow’s breakfast.”
Granny cocked her head. “What about your—?”
“Next time I come”—Eugenia hugged Vera—“I’ll bring more eggs and flour, too.”
Amid the matron’s thanks and a flurry of waving from the children, she climbed onto the buckboard and steered the horse toward the store.
“That was an unselfish thing to do. I know how you’ve been eyeing that ribbon.”
“It was little enough.” She glanced at Granny. “I wanted to give the eggs to the children. And it felt good. To do something for someone else.”
She patted the letter tucked into the pocket of her skirt. “I have enough from last week to send the letter to my father. The ribbon can wait.”
“I’m so proud of you, Eugenia.” Granny’s eyes shone. “My dear girl, how far you’ve traveled from the self-possessed young woman who first arrived at the homestead.”
Eugenia’s mouth wobbled. “Self-obsessed, you mean.”
She cringed, contemplating the spoiled creature she’d once been and never hoped to be again. What had made the difference?
Granny and Cort’s selfless love for each other and for God. As well as her dawning realization of God’s tremendous sacrificial love for her. As for Cort?
She wasn’t sure how Cort felt about her. She liked to think she’d earned not just egg money, but also his respect. As for his love?
The one who held Cort Dahlgren’s heart would be truly blessed. And for the love of a good man like him, she’d freely relinquish any claim of inheritance and society position ten times over.
But what would a hardworking homesteader like Cort Dahlgren possibly ever want with a useless silver heiress like her?
Saturday evening, Cort’s breath hitched at the sight of Eugenia. The dress was simple but lovely. And she’d done something different with her hair.
“Hey, you.”
Eugenia’s mouth curved. “Hey, yourself.”
Cort smiled at the meadow flowers she’d woven into the strands of her hair like a crown of petals. The simple dress was far more beautiful to his way of thinking than any elegant ball gown.
His spirits dimmed at the thought of her real life in Sacramento. This homestead life—the world he, Granny, and Eugenia had created together—couldn’t last forever.
Cort needed to tell her the truth. None of them could go on like this indefinitely. She—no matter how much he wished it—didn’t belong here. Not on the homestead, most especially not with him.
She was used to finer things. This homestead adventure was a lark—at first maddening, ultimately inconvenient—but a lark nonetheless, a detour on the road of both their lives.
Eugenia would be angry, rightly so. He dreaded the scorn in her eyes like he’d fear a ravaging plague of locusts. After the dance, he promised himself. No more putting off what needed to be done.
He offered his hand as she stepped into the wagon. He untied the team of horses from the railing. The horses snuffled and pawed the ground.
Cort heaved himself onto the seat. “Hi-yup.” He flicked the reins and steered the horses toward the road.
She waved to Granny. Standing—he swallowed against a lump in his throat—thanks to God’s grace and Eugenia’s stubborn refusal to accept defeat. They owed Eugenia so much. She’d given Granny back her life—a life of purpose.
But when Eugenia returned to her father, she’d forget about them soon enough. No doubt relieved to leave the hard work of the homestead behind. His heart quaked at the prospect of never seeing her again.
Perhaps, though, she’d remember him and their time together with fondness. Which, at this point, was all he dared hope for. To hope for more with someone like Eugenia Rutherford was an exercise in delusion.
And Cort—if nothing else—was a practical man. A prudent man. A cautious man.
The horses plodded down the country road toward town. After weeks of unhindered conversation, he found himself suddenly tongue-tied. Beside him, she sat with her gloved hands clutching the edge of the wagon seat. Equally at a loss for words?
Utterly unlike the Eugenia he’d come to know, appreciate, and … He caught himself up short. To love?
He clenched the reins. Yes. Because he did love her. So very much.
Cort stole a sideways look at her face. “The grain’s ready to harvest.”
Her shoulders relaxed a smidgen. “How do you know?” Was she as nervous as him?
“Checked the fields this afternoon.” He cast a look at the darkened sky. “Monday morning, bright and early, we’ll start. After a harsh winter and a wet spring, I’m hopeful we can get the crop in before a thunderstorm or, God forbid, a hailstorm flattens the crop.”
“I’d like to help.”
The wagon rocked side to side as the horses trotted along the road. He bit the inside of his cheek. This was a very different Eugenia Rutherford than the spoiled young woman he’d first met.
“I appreciate that, Genie.”
She nestled closer to him on the seat. His heart sped up, liking her nearness. She tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow.
“I know how important bringing in the crop is to you and Granny.” She squeezed his arm. “We’re in this together. And we’ll get it done together.”
He had a hard time remembering to breathe with her this close. He couldn’t think how he’d gotten himself ensnared in this scheme in the first place. But of course, he knew.
It was because of Eugenia …. For him, it always came back to Eugenia.
Somehow he suspected—the thought gave him no pleasure, only certain pain—it would always come back to Eugenia.
After next week she returned to her real life. He had just tonight. One night to fulfill the longings of his heart. To hold her in his arms. To dream of what could never be.
Futile, hopeless. He set his jaw. But if only for a brief time, he could pretend Eugenia Alice Rutherford was his.
Chapter 8
Under shimmering pinpoints of starlight, Cort held her in his arms, and they danced in the outdoor pavilion. When the musicians took a break, he pulled Genie into the small garden between the church and the schoolhouse.
The night air was heady with the scent of fragrant roses drooping along the length of the white picket fence. Beneath the pergola, she slipped into his embrace as natural as breathing. She turned her face to his. Her beautiful lips parted.
His pulse accelerated. If he didn’t kiss her now, he feared his heart would break from longing. He bent his head. She closed her eyes.
Eugenia trembled in his arms. And his heart turned over in his chest. With love for this woman who was so much more than he’d ever believed.
He leaned closer. She gave a tiny involuntary inhalation. And Cort—who’d waited far longer for this moment than she’d ever suppose—could deny his heart no longer.
When his mouth found hers, she leaned into his kiss. And his senses drank in her essence.
Her breath fanned his cheek. “I never knew,” she whispered. “I never knew it could be like this.”
Cort never had, either. Hope surged. That he might woo her into staying. If she felt the same as he felt for her …
Lightning streaked across the sky. Thunder boomed.
He loosened his arms as couples hurried to waiting buggies, trying to outrun the rain.
They smiled at each other and shrugged. Laughin
g, they dashed for the wagon. The stars winked out, obscured by the blackness of the storm.
He’d had his dance with Genie. More than one. And his mouth curved at the remembrance of the feel of her lips on his.
All the way home, he wrestled in his mind about what to say to her. The time had come to reveal his true feelings. To ask Eugenia to stay by his side. And Granny’s. To love them. As they—he most of all—loved her.
But as he helped her alight from the wagon, the threatening storm broke in a torrent of rain. Covering her head with her arms, she darted for the porch.
And the moment was lost.
He was half relieved, truth be told, to put off the inevitable. Tomorrow morning, he promised himself. Before breakfast.
Cort spent a sleepless night amid the violent strikes of lightning. And the morning dawned a vivid orange.
At the window—by the aqua-blue medicine bottles filled with wildflowers—Genie studied the sunrise over the fields.
No more stalling. He jammed his hands into his pockets. “Gonna be a hot one.”
A pucker creased her forehead as she continued to stare out the window. “Does it appear that the sunrise has crept closer than normal?”
He followed the direction of her gaze. And the bottom dropped out of his stomach.
“Fire!” He whirled. “The fields are on fire.”
Eugenia ran outside to the farmyard. Probably a lightning strike that smoldered overnight. The entire harvest was in flames.
Beyond saving. And now the barn? She couldn’t allow Cort’s dreams to go up in smoke.
Inside the burning barn, the heavy wall of smoke and searing heat almost sucked the breath from her lungs. Coughing, she recoiled from the raging inferno.
Through the haze, she caught sight of Cort, struggling to free the horses from their stalls. The terrified horses reared. Their eyes blazed wild with fear.
Cort needed her help. He couldn’t do this without her. He’d be trampled trying to save them.
Holding her apron against her nose and mouth, she plunged into the swirling darkness.
She grabbed several blankets and a bridle from the tack room. “Cort!”
He didn’t hear her at first above the frightened screams of the horses. But when she nudged his arm, he whipped around. She pressed a blanket into his hands.
“No, Genie.” He gestured. “Go back. I’ll get the horses.”
He disappeared into a stall without waiting to see if she obeyed. Which was just too unfortunate. Because she’d proven she wasn’t any good at doing what she was told.
Cort was one man. And there were two horses.
Best-case scenario, he’d save one horse. Worst case? He’d die saving one or both. She didn’t much care for either scenario.
The crackling roar of the flames licked at the hayloft above their heads, devouring everything in its path. The ceiling could collapse at any moment. There was no time.
She slipped past him into the other stall. The horse bucked. “Please, God,” she breathed. “Help me.”
Coaxing and cajoling, she managed to secure the bridle and drape the horsehair blanket over the bay’s head. Holding her cheek against the coarse fabric, she whispered, pleaded, and tugged the horse out of the stall and into the open air.
In the barnyard, Cort swatted the other horse out of harm’s way into the corral. Using his sleeve to cover his nose, only the white of his eyes were visible in his smoke-blackened face.
“Gen—” His eyes narrowed. “I told you—”
A barn beam crashed behind her. The bay bolted. She lost her footing. Her hand tangled in the reins.
“Let go!” Cort ran forward. “Let go, honey. He’s dragging you.”
In a stumbling run to keep pace with the charging horse, she experienced a sudden terror. If she went down, she wouldn’t be getting up. “I can’t. Cort!”
He threw himself in front of the horse, yanking the bridle. “Whoa, boy. Whoa.”
She found her footing.
Fingers shaking, she pried her hand free of the reins. And Cort immediately released the horse into the corral.
Cort’s strong arms encircled her waist. “Are you all right? You could’ve died. I told you—”
“Y–You know I—I was n–never one to listen too well.” Her body quivered so hard only his strength kept her upright.
He buried his nose into her hair. “Genie … What were you thinking?”
She clung to him. “You needed my help to save the horses.”
His grip tightened. “Horses I can live without. You?” His chest heaved. “Not so much. Don’t ever scare me like that again.”
She glanced over his shoulder to where Granny flapped a dish towel at the cinders peppering the porch. “The house.”
Wetting the last of the grain sacks in the rain barrel, they prevented a shower of sparks from igniting the dwelling.
At the sound of splintering wood, Eugenia pivoted. With an immense creaking groan, the upper story of the barn collapsed. Fire engulfed the entire structure.
She gasped. “Oh, Cort. All your hard work.”
He squeezed his eyes shut then opened them. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It does matter.” Tears tracked across her cheeks. “What will you do now?”
Cort’s mouth worked as he struggled to regain his composure. “I’ll do what farmers always do. Somehow make do until next year.”
Hours later, glowing embers still burned among the ruins of his hopes and dreams. He poked underneath the charred boards looking for anything to salvage. But it was no use.
Cort moved like an arthritic old man among the ashes. “I’ve lost the harvest.”
“This wasn’t your fault.” She snagged hold of his shirttail. “And we saved the house.”
His shoulders slumped. “The farm was my responsibility. Granny was counting on me, and I let her down.”
It tore Eugenia’s heart to see him so discouraged, so defeated. She understood how much the land meant to not only Granny, but to Cort also.
He scrubbed his hand over his sooty face. “Good thing most of my clothes are still in the house. I’ll wash up.”
Moving about the kitchen, she couldn’t help staring at the paperwork he’d left on the kitchen table. The bank notices.
Her heart sank. McCallum would win again. She had no doubts the boorish copper king would turn the Dahlgrens out of their home.
Where would they go when the bank foreclosed? Granny had made such progress. Against the odds, battling the effects of the palsy. Would this obstacle prove too much? Would this break Granny’s die-hard spirit entirely?
Eugenia sagged against the table. She couldn’t let this happen. Not while she had the power to change things, to fix things for Granny and Cort.
Her new faith told her to trust God to provide. But what could she—?
She sucked in a breath. Perhaps God had already provided the answer—Eugenia Rutherford. There was one thing only she could do to make things right.
Eugenia shook her head. There had to be another way. Not when her heart had finally found a home. Here with Granny. With Cort.
She’d been so foolish. A stupid little girl. She’d had no idea how people struggled to survive. She’d taken so much for granted. Been so proud.
Proud of what? The fine houses and carriages? The silly plumed frippery that summed up her entire life? Her father’s millions. Of which she’d earned not one penny.
But the notion—the solution to Cort’s problems—wouldn’t leave her. No matter how hard she pondered another remedy, this was the only one that offered the Dahlgrens a chance to hang on to the homestead.
And she wasn’t the same bored, shallow child who arrived in Silver Strike. She’d grown up, thanks to Cort and Granny. For the first time in her frivolous life, someone needed her.
She’d found a purpose beyond herself in loving and caring for Granny. She bit back a sob. In loving Cort, too. Now, more than ever, Granny and Cort needed her. Needed
her to do the hard thing.
The hardest thing of all. Like Granny talked about in the scripture. Wouldn’t God want Eugenia to do the same? To sacrifice herself for those she loved.
Because there was no denying she loved them. Maybe—other than her parents—the only people she’d ever loved more than she loved herself.
Cort wouldn’t understand. He’d try to stop her as long as he believed she cared for him. But she must find a way to convince him. To make him not only see the soundness of her plan, but steel herself against his contempt at her choice. She must ride away and never look back.
And do that which must be done.
Cort realized something was wrong when he stepped into the kitchen. Beside the counter, Granny wrung her hands in her apron. Eugenia tended to the stove.
She’d changed out of the scorched work dress. Her hair piled into an elaborate chignon, she’d put on the grand, blue silk she wore that first day. His heart lurched.
As they fought the fire side by side, he’d glimpsed the young woman God meant for her to be. His Genie. His truest love.
She took Granny’s gnarled hand in her now work-roughened one. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s only wood, child.”
He needed to tell Eugenia the truth. What he’d put off saying for weeks. And knowing Eugenia, she was liable to sock him in the gut when she learned what he’d done.
Which he would deserve, take like a man, and then beg her forgiveness. On his knees. He wanted nothing to stand between their future. He’d give his life to ensure her every happiness.
“Eugenia …”
She turned away. “Supper’s waiting.”
Granny’s blue-veined hand cupped Eugenia’s cheek. “I want you to know how proud I am of the fine woman you’ve become.”
Eugenia stepped back. “I—I sliced some ham.”
“I’m not hungry.” Granny’s brow wrinkled. “I think you two need to talk.” She shuffled toward the rocker.
He moved toward the woodstove, but Eugenia shrank from him. “Genie …”
What was wrong? Had Granny told her? Did Eugenia despise him?
The American Heiress Brides Collection Page 5
