by Lisa Norato
She breathed freely and deeply. The calm he inspired seeped into her body and spirit, though she felt like a child who needed constant reassurance, despite the fact she was chronologically supposed to be the more mature.
“You should get some rest,” he advised. “I’ve got horses and animals to b-bed d-d-d-down. Wylie’s agreed to l-l-lend a hand. He’ll be waiting for me at the barn. Guess I’ll hop to it.”
“Wait.” As he turned to go, Shelby grabbed his hand.
He looked at her expectantly.
“Thank you for telling me your story,” she said.
He laughed, a rich rumble of a laugh, then kissed the top of her head.
And before he could pull away, Shelby swiveled in her seat and grabbed a handful of his shirt front, pulling him down to her level so she could plant one final kiss on him.
As they pulled out of the kiss, Ruckert whispered, “G-g-good n-night, Angel.”
He straightened and Shelby gazed up at him wistfully. “Good night.”
He’d inspired her with his hidden musical talent, and before Shelby retired that night, she made a few notes. A simple, breezy, melodic phrase had been playing in her head since the roundup. She started there, jotting down musical notes, for within them lay the mood for the song she hoped to write.
A song for Ruckert.
She slept on it, and come morning found herself floating through her duties, lost in a world of time and rhythm, humming to herself while she rolled the biscuits and stirred a gravy for the beefsteak. Afterwards, while the hands ate, she sat outside the cookhouse with Jorge, scribbling down impressions and lines of lyric as they came.
First opportunity she got, Shelby stole away to the piano. Looking at what she had so far for lyrics, she began to beat them out in time, playing single bass notes in search of a rhythm.
After supper that evening, she was back at the piano.
She embellished the melody, trying to develop the sound by playing it in different octaves. The hours slipped by as she polished the composition, fitting lyric to her melody and melody to her lyric, until she’d found just the right piano accompaniment to complement the sentiment of her words.
She wanted to tell Ruckert how much she loved him in a special way.
Chapter Twenty
Ruckert waited for Shelby to come downstairs and join him.
She’d taken to playing the parlor piano every afternoon around this same time, and he’d gotten into the habit of sitting with her, talking of his life experiences while she played. He spoke of his dream to run a horse operation—breeding, selling and rehabilitating. Of sharing his understanding of horses with others and teaching them proper handling. Her music aided his speech while he opened his heart, sharing himself with a woman in a way he’d never done before.
But this evening would be different. This evening it would be her turn to talk while he played.
He raised the lid on the keyboard and played a deep fifth, then listened to the note reverberate in the silence, wishing it could drown out the wild thumping of his heart.
His gaze drifted out the window to where Cameo grazed on the front green with a couple of equine companions. He’d groomed her in honor of tonight’s occasion, and her sorrel coat now shone a fiery red-gold in the late afternoon sun.
Another hour and that sun would begin to sink behind the Medicine Bow range, casting a shadow of nightfall over the ranch. The horizon would deepen to violet and turn the distant willows to black. As it dipped farther in the big indigo sky, that sun would reflect on the clouds’ underbellies in hues of pink and lavender. About that time, the night birds would commence to sing, and Ruckert’s life would be changed forever. For better or worse, which way would it go?
Well, that all depended on Miss Shelby McCoy.
He felt in his vest pocket for the ring his grandmother had passed on to him before she died. An oval garnet solitaire set with two small diamonds in a clean gold band. Her engagement ring. Grandma had sworn one day a girl would come along to steal his heart. He’d need the ring then. Though at the time Ruckert sorely doubted it was the truth, he’d played along to comfort a dying old woman.
Now here, that day had indeed arrived, if such a thing could be believed. Shelby McCoy was the woman Grandma had promised: his sweetheart, full of mystery and romance.
His love for her was like a restless wind, rising high as the pines, stirring up still waters and echoing through the canyons of his heart. It refused to be quieted until he let his hopes and intentions be known to their fullest extent.
Shelby’s love had affected a change in him. Stuttering didn’t have the power over him it once had. He could look at his problem objectively and without shame. He no longer dwelt on the disappointments of his past, as his thoughts these days were focused on the future.
The future. Shelby claimed to have come to him from the future. Well, so be it, because Ruckert reckoned he’d rather live in the future with her than anywhere else on earth.
Taking a deep breath, he slid the stool a little left of center middle and poised his fingers over the piano keys. When she’d thought he hadn’t been listening, he’d heard Shelby rehearsing the same unfamiliar tune, over and over. Sometimes singing to herself as she played.
He’d heard it so often, eavesdropping from the kitchen, listening outside the window, that the notes had stuck in his head and he played them now from memory.
Presently, he was interrupted by a gasp behind him. “Hey, how do you know that song?” There was surprise and confusion in Shelby’s voice. “I know you can’t be reading my notes. I have them here.”
He turned to find her entering the parlor, pulling a folded square of paper from the pocket of her skirt. She wore a tailored suit that intensified the blue of her eyes. They fired accusation at him, while he, in turn, took in every detail of the beautiful sight of her.
The bodice cinched her small waist, and those close-fitting sleeves accentuated the graceful length of her arms. A squared neckline bared her slender neck with an edging of black lace that contrasted with the delicate tone of her skin.
She unfolded the sheet as she walked towards him, yet Ruckert’s attention was drawn to her hips, swaying beneath a skirt that flowed narrow and smooth to the floor. He noticed she carried herself different. Feminine and frilly, with shoulders back and chest high, in a way that left his throat dry.
A pang of desire gripped his gut.
He wanted to tell her how pretty she looked, but she’d jumbled his thoughts. When he did manage to get his tongue untied, what he said was, “Looks like you’ve done s-some-thing d-d-d-different to your hair.”
It was piled in soft waves on the crown of her head, one curl trailing onto her forehead with the sides pinned over her ears by a set of combs.
He realized straightway how far off the mark he’d come in making such an obvious remark. It nowhere near resembled a compliment, nor did it express his admiration.
She paused to regard him like he was as bum as he felt. “That’s right, my hair is different. Good observation.” By her tone, she could have been addressing a child. “Now, I know you’re just a guy, and this is a challenge for you, but look closely,” she instructed as she twirled before him in a slow circle. “Notice anything else?”
He took her razzing with a chuckle. As she turned to confront him once again, he reached for her hand. “I ask your pardon, for that was not what I’d meant to say at all. Truth is, you look so beautiful in your new dress that staring at you has got my insides so full of lovesickness, I fear I’ve gone crazy with fever.”
She giggled attractively and gave him a small curtsey. “Ah, much better, thank you.”
“You look like that well-brought-up young lady I was expecting when your Nana Tinkler first wrote us about you. And I have to wonder now if there isn’t a colossal fraud being perpetrated in your claiming to be from some fff-f-future century. I can’t imagine you belonging anywhere but right here.”
Ruckert gazed into her eyes.
For how long, he couldn’t say and neither did he care. He’d be content to stare at her all night.
Though forthwith, he did notice a slight blush stain her cheeks.
She reclaimed her hand. “So, back to my original question. Where did you learn that music you were playing? Did I leave my notes lying around? I thought I was being so careful. I wanted to surprise you.”
Curious, Ruckert slipped the sheet from her fingers and gazed at her page of musical notes. “You have written this to surprise me? No, I have never seen it, and if’n I had, it still wouldn’t have made a difference. I can’t read it.”
“You don’t read sheet music?”
“Nope.”
“Then how?”
He pushed his hat back off his forehead and grinned. “I’ll confess, I have been eavesdropping on your piano playing of late. And if I listen long enough to a tune, I’ve found I can figure how to play it myself.”
She let out a breath. “Nooo way.”
“I t-t-told you I was a good listener.”
“Apparently, I’ve underestimated just how good. Wow, so you can play without a score? Myself, I’ve balanced lessons with schoolwork since second grade. I spent my youth indoors practicing, while my little sister played with her friends in our backyard. I learned to block out the noise of their fun and focus on the piano. For the better part of my life, I’ve been in school, either studying music and the piano or teaching it. You get a few lessons from your grandmother, and here you are, picking up melodies by ear.” She scowled. “If I didn’t love you, I think I might hate you.”
He scoffed. “I’ve heard you play, and compared to you, my p-pawing the keys is m-m-middling at best. I know I haven’t the talent to write a song. But I’ve not been waiting all this while to talk about myself. I’ve a surprise for you, too.”
“You do? What?”
He patted the wooden stool he’d set beside his own. “First, I’d like to hear your song. All the way through this time.”
She sat herself down then smoothed the wrinkles from her skirt. As he handed her back her sheet music, she folded the paper into a small square on her lap and said, “The song can wait. What’s your surprise?”
“Ladies first.”
“No, you,” she insisted.
Ruckert directed her attention outside the window with a jerk of his head. “You’re going to be needing some method of getting around the ranch. And while she may not have the horse-p-power of that d-d-driving m-machine you lost on the county road, I guarantee she’ll make for one beautiful riding horse. Best of all, she’ll be a loyal friend and a reliable partner on the trail.”
As Shelby turned to look at the three horses pastured on the wide expanse of front lawn—the yearling, Liberty; an old granny horse, Whiskers; and the white-faced sorrel filly, he explained, “Cameo there is your horse now. She’s sure-footed and picks her steps delicately. But though she may have a gentle gait, there’s a heap of spirit in that little girl to keep you awake in the saddle.”
Ruckert watched her eyes grow misty. She placed a hand on his thigh, and pronto, all the heat in his body gathered in that one spot till it felt like his leg had caught fire.
“You named her Cameo,” she said.
“No, you did. She’s yours. Though I don’t reckon I could’ve come up with a more fitting nor prettier name if I’d tried. Take care of her.”
“I will, I promise.” Her eyes sparkled with pleasure. “And I don’t think I’ve ever received a more precious gift. I love her already.” She leaned slightly forward and brushed her lips against his. “Thank you.”
He straightened. “M-my pleasure. Though I reckon you could do with a few riding lessons. I had a thought tomorrow we’d take a ride down through the alfalfa pasture and follow this little stream that twists through it. There’s the prettiest little dell I know of at the base of a cliff that’s overhung with twisted pines.”
Ruckert put his fingers to the keys and began a simple, quiet lullaby his grandmother had taught him.
“Now, tell m-m-me more about your life,” he invited.
“You’re going to play for me? Okay, cool.”
He heard the smile in her voice and continued playing as Shelby spoke of her relationship with her sister. The older they grew, the closer they’d become and were now the best of friends. Her mother had been a schoolteacher like herself, her father an investment banker, but were now “retired.”
Ruckert frowned at the term, disturbed by the notion her folks would withdraw from their work and the satisfaction of being useful. Unless something had befallen them to prevent their keeping busy, and yet he didn’t get that impression. No, she made it sound like being idle was a desired thing.
Then she announced proudly, “Forty-three years and they’re still together.”
She’d confused him again. “Why would your folks not be t-together?”
“I mean they’re not divorced.”
“D-d-divorced?”
“Yeah, by the twenty-first century, divorce will be so common, so socially acceptable and readily available, that fifty percent of all couples who marry will eventually split. It’s rare in my day to have parents who’ve remained married for the long haul.”
He was saddened by the news. “It sounds a shame. Why do you suppose that is?”
She shrugged. “Lots of reasons. The cost of living will increase through the years to the point where most middle-class families need two incomes to manage a home. Many marriages end over financial disputes. Sometimes it’s just separate careers and/or hanging in different circles. Opposing dreams and goals. One or the other may spend too much time away from home, leaving the other alone to care for the home and family. They may stray. In the future, people simply won’t remain in a marriage where they’re mistreated or unhappy, and ultimately, that’s a good thing, right?”
“I suppose so.” And yet Ruckert wondered why so many lovers of Shelby’s era were not happy. Already, this conversation was not headed in the direction he’d intended. It had taken a sour turn, and he quickly steered her onto a new subject.
She described the place where she lived, something called a “condo.” His fingers slipped off key, then he nearly toppled from his seat when she told him what she’d paid for it. And with no land to speak of for her money. Heavens! Just one of a bunch of quick-built houses, constructed of manufactured parts, all stuck together in a row. It brought to mind the image of a great stable, each stall having its own entrance. Craftsmanship was to grow extinct over time.
For her sake, he kept his disappointment to himself and let her talk on.
She tried to explain what she referred to as the technological age. Gadgets such as he’d never heard were being invented all the time. Things called microwaves, cyberspace and something she referred to as an “eye phone.” She might darned well have been talking Chinese. One thing did catch his interest though. A box of sorts with a screen that showed moving picture stories she called a television.
“Wh-what sorts of stories?” he asked.
“All kinds,” she explained. Anything he could imagine and many he couldn’t. Some funny, some dramatic or action-packed, in settings from biblical times all the way to futuristic stories that proposed to take place out in space. Even depictions of western pioneers, of cowboys and Indians, and the everyday lives of men and women in this nineteenth century.
“Folks in your day are interested in that, are they? Well, yes, I have often wondered about life in olden times that have gone by. I know I have enjoyed books about Wild Bill and Jesse James. Those stories might hold a fellow’s interest for a while, but I reckon I would rather live the life I have at present than to sit in front of a box and watch another’s. So, this is what the f-f-future holds? I don’t believe I would care for it.”
In response, her sweet, bell-like laughter rang prettier than the music he was playing. She grabbed hold of his arm with both hands and fell against him, forcing Ruckert to quit playing.
“Oh, I would
n’t be that quick to assume,” she remarked lightly. “Speaking from personal experience, we’re more adaptable than we think. If you don’t fight the fates and move with the flow, it is entirely possible to be taken out of your comfort zone and grow happy with a new, unexpected way of life.”
“And do you suppose you could grow happy with mmmm-me?”
She squeezed his arm, turning her face up to his. “I’ve grown very happy with you.”
Her bright smile gave him courage.
Ruckert gazed at her appealingly and with worship in his eyes. “I have practiced before a mirror to say this just right without stumbling, but I reckon I will say it any way I can. I do understand you come from a plumb different life, and I have to wonder if, for all its faults, you’d wish to return. Though you seem to fit right well in my world. I don’t suppose I can come close to giving you the sorts of things you’ve been used to, but I do promise you’ll be loved and cherished and honored as much as is possible for any man to love a woman. And that promise is forever. Never to be broken so long as I live.”
So intent was he on the message he hoped to convey, Ruckert barely took notice of his fluency as he pulled his grandmother’s garnet from his vest pocket.
His beloved’s eyes, as narrow and mysterious as a feline’s, rounded in wonder.
“I am in l-l-l-love with you,” he continued. “I don’t savvy how it was you were sent here or why, but I feel there’s destiny between us. It is said that time and chance come together for every man, and by any luck, this is that time for me. I’m asking that you agree to become my wife.”
She blinked at the gold ring, and her pretty blue eyes commenced to fill. Watching her, the thought percolated through his head that it was Shelby who was incapable of speech for once and not him. She glanced up at him, then back at the ring.
Presently she said, “Yes, I feel the destiny. I’m going to stay here forever. I know that now. I feel my fate bound to yours. And I’ve since come to realize I can’t imagine life anywhere without you, in this century or the next. But more importantly, I am so in love with you, Ruckert. I love your complexity, your deep and thoughtful nature, your ability to see past appearances to the plain and simple truth. You’re a man I admire and respect. Just being with you makes me feel more whole. So my answer is yes! Absolutely, I will marry you.”
