by Merry Farmer
“Libby, what’s wrong?” His hand on her back took on more of a supportive feeling, as if she would sink into the mire if he let go.
No, she had to stop imagining things were more dire than they were. She was in Haskell, not Pine Arbor, and she knew better than anyone what had really happened with Hector. She blinked rapidly, pushing back, and searching around the yard and forcing herself to laugh.
“They have broken free, haven’t they?” Her voice sounded strained and slightly mad rather than amused.
Mason continued to frown and stare at her so intently that Libby was certain he could see into her soul.
Which would be the worst thing anyone could possibly do right then.
His frown softened, and he pivoted to face the yard. “Hey!” he shouted so suddenly that Libby jumped. She wasn’t the only one. The kids—from four-year-old Millicent Strong to Muriel as she dashed out onto Josephine’s porch—froze where they were. “I could hear your racket all the way out at Paradise Ranch,” Mason went on. He had just enough teasing in his authoritative tone to get a response from the children without frightening them. He picked Petey out of the group and said, “Your ma is trying to work, and you’re not being very respectful.”
“Sorry, sir.” Petey dropped his shoulders and kicked at the grass. He was used to being hollered at by the men of Teddy’s logging camp and knew enough to know he’d crossed a line.
“Think you can continue to play a little quieter?” Mason asked.
“Yes, sir,” Petey, Vernon, and Toby answered.
Matthew and the Strong girls chimed in a moment later with, “Yes, sir.”
“Good.” Mason nodded. “Go about your business.”
Libby caught herself smiling, both at her son’s respectfulness and at Mason’s gentle discipline. The Civil War was halted for a moment, and the boys clamored off into the Strong house. The two Strong girls who had been chasing Matthew with a frilly bonnet saw Muriel and scrambled after her, stars in their eyes. Bless him, Matthew stopped running, glanced after the girls, forlorn, then hurried after them into Josephine’s house. Libby was confident that, for the moment, at least, her boys were safe and happy.
“You have a way with children.” She nodded to Mason.
Mason shrugged and took a casual step back from her. “I like them, they like me. If that’s a ‘way,’ I guess I do.”
She managed a smile and put the laundry basket down to resume hanging the last of the clean clothes.
“Doing laundry, I see.” Mason thrust his hands into his pocket and nodded at Libby.
“Yes.” In spite of the chill breeze, heat flooded her. What was it about Mason that had always made her feel…unsettled when he was around? She knew him to be kind and sober, helpful and respectful. But he’d always filled her with a sense of danger. A very different kind of danger than she’d felt around Hector. A…good danger.
“Looks like you’re almost done.” He dug his toe into the ground.
Blushing, Libby took the last of Josephine’s petticoats from the bottom of the basket and hung it, avoiding Mason’s searching gaze.
“I guess the war is over.” Mason glanced from one house to the other, grinning. “Want to go for a short walk?”
Libby had started reaching for the empty laundry basket, but stopped and straightened. “I…”
“You go on, honey.” Josephine’s call from the porch as she strode out through the kitchen door surprised Libby. When had Josephine started listening in? “I’ll get that. And I’ll keep an eye on the little ones for a bit. You need a rest.” The lines of concern on Josephine’s face hinted that she meant the statement.
Libby did need a rest. She needed a rest from grief, from carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. She needed a rest from sorrow and terror and the fear of all the ways what was growing inside of her could ruin her life. Ten years of confidence that Mason Montrose was a good, honest man felt as restful as anything in her life could be.
“Come on.” Mason stuck his elbow out to her. “It’s a bit nippy today. We’re old friends, so I don’t think anyone would think worse of the two of us walking close together.”
“All right.” Libby took his offered arm. Her breath caught in her throat when Mason pulled her close against him. His heat was tantalizing. He smelled of hay and fresh air. She hugged his arm, surprised by how right it felt to touch him.
“We won’t go far,” Libby called over her shoulder to Josephine as they followed the path that ran between the two houses out to Prairie Avenue.
“You walk as long as you want, honey.” Josephine waved after them.
As long as she wanted. That would be long enough for Libby to run and hide and forget that her life had unraveled so desperately.
“Teddy visited Haskell with you a couple years ago,” Mason began the conversation when she didn’t. “I remember that he came during baseball season, and Howard let him play for the Hawks.”
“You lost that game.” Libby remembered it well.
Mason chuckled. “Not by much, and it wasn’t Teddy’s fault.”
“The men play baseball up at the logging camp sometimes.” Libby watched the ground in front of her as they walked, losing herself in memory. “They used to laugh about how, in a logging camp, they always had plenty of bats on hand.”
“I remember a couple guys who used to whittle baseball bats at my dad’s camp,” Mason said. “They never quite felt right when you hit the ball.”
“Bats need to be turned on a lathe,” Libby agreed. “We had one at our camp—a lathe. Julian, one of the younger loggers, knew how to use it. He’d make some bats now and then, but Hector owned the tools in the shop so…”
Her words drifted off, and the memory of Hector’s smile, the way he would teasingly demand a kiss in exchange for Libby using a saw or a hatchet to cut firewood, came back to her. The signs had been there for so long. She should have said something, done something, not smiled back, but she was only trying to be nice.
A sudden sob ripped from her lungs before she could stop herself. She clapped a hand to her mouth at the unflattering sound and snapped her eyes to Mason.
He noticed. Of course, he noticed. He stopped them where they were, at the far end of the road that ran perpendicular to Prairie Avenue and off toward the ranches. Deep concern creased his brow.
“I wish you’d tell me what’s weighing on you,” Mason said, radiating concern.
She still gripped his arm—hands icy-cold from hanging damp laundry in the November breeze. Her heart felt as though it wanted to leap out of her chest and bury itself against his sheltering embrace. She may not have carried her burden long, but it was so heavy that she was already bent double with weariness under the load.
“I’m pregnant,” she blurted before she could change her mind and stay hidden.
Mason let out a long breath. His arm tightened, drawing her closer against him. It still felt right, even after her confession. He glanced up and down the street, and since there were a few people out on errands, he escorted Libby over to a field on the far end of what looked like a boarding house. The dried grass crackled under their feet as they walked far enough off the road that no one passing could overhear them. Few people would be able to see them either, unless they were spying out the boardinghouse windows.
“Did Teddy know before he died?” Mason asked, taking both her hands in his.
Libby swallowed, feeling sick. How could he know? It’d happened a month after he’d been buried.
She shook her head, lowering her eyes.
Mason let out a long, sorrowful breath. “Libby.” Her name was like a prayer on her lips. “I’m so sorry. You must be so frightened.”
Hearing someone else state the truth without knowing just how true it was tipped her already fragile emotions over the edge. A tear dropped onto her cheek. She turned her face away from Mason’s in shame. If he knew how it had happened…
“Hey, it’s going to be all right,” he murmured and reste
d a warm hand on the side of her face, wiping her tear with his thumb. “You’re strong and brave, and you’ve got your whole family around you for support.”
If only that were true.
“Do they know yet? Did you tell them?”
She shook her head, keeping her eyes lowered. She could have told the boys, but she wasn’t sure if they were old enough to understand…or if she wanted them to understand. When Mason was silent, she dragged her eyes up to check why. Confusion pinched his features.
“You should probably tell them,” he said. “They’re going to figure out soon enough anyhow. Don’t women start to show after four or five months?”
She winced. He had a point. Teddy died three months ago. Any woman with half a brain would know the truth when “his baby” was born eleven months later. They would ask questions. Questions would lead to answers, to confessions. Confessions would lead to ruin. No good person would want to give the time of day to a woman who became pregnant with another man’s child before her husband’s body was cold in his grave.
“Hey.” Mason’s whisper jerked her attention back to the present. His expression was as puzzled as ever. “There’s still something wrong. You’ve gone all small and hard.”
Her brow flew up at the description. “I’m not small and hard.”
Mason broke into a gentle smile. “I know. That’s why I’m concerned.” He shifted his weight, and her position in relation to him with it. Bold as brass, he took her hands and slipped them under his coat, against his shirt, where they could warm up. It left her standing close enough to him to be considered trapped in his embrace. No, not trapped. Something about Mason drew her in, had always drawn her in. But now, now that Teddy was gone and she was a free woman…
“I was talking to Luke this morning,” he began, stopping her wild thoughts in their tracks.
Libby dropped her head, cheeks heating, but he brushed his hand under her chin and made her look up at him.
“Your brother’s worried about you. He said that you used to close up when you all were kids and you were really scared.”
Libby blinked. “I didn’t think he noticed.”
Mason arched a brow. “Well, your brother noticed a lot more than you might think. He says that if you’re scared, you’ll break down when no one is looking.” He paused, staring intently at her. “Libby, are you scared?”
Every fiber of her being wanted to deny it, to go on pretending nothing was wrong, that she and her children were fine. But she’d just confessed her secret to him. At least, part of it.
She nodded.
Mason sighed, wrapping his arms around her. “I can’t imagine how terrifying it must be to lose your husband, to find out you’re carrying his child, and then to pick up everything and move.” He stroked a hand over her hair. “What possessed you to up and move away from Oregon, to come all that way alone with two boys, anyhow? You could have gone to Ma and Annabelle up in Seattle.”
She tried not to give away too much of the truth by tensing, but her body wanted to be rigid as she answered his question in her mind. She had to go, had to run. If she had stayed, the terror would have been too much. Hector would have sunk his claws into her, or worse—a thousand times worse—into her children.
“I couldn’t stay,” she told him. “Not after…what happened.”
“Did anyone help you out when Teddy died? I don’t know about your camp, but in Pa’s camp, everyone stuck together like family.”
“It was like that where we were too,” she admitted. “We did have several offers of help. More than one of the other loggers offered to marry me right then and there.”
He tensed. “Did they?”
She nodded, then swallowed. “Most of them were just being kind.”
“Most of them.”
She shut her eyes, looked down. If she told him about Hector, he would only be angry. Worse, he might go looking for revenge. But there was no point in seeking revenge for something that was as much her fault as Hector’s, especially if there was any chance Petey and Matthew might end up in the middle. God willing, she’d left Hector and his too-friendly smiles and strong, binding hands behind forever.
If only she believed that was true. Hector knew about the baby. He wouldn’t rest until he found her and laid claim to what he considered his.
“You know,” Mason began slowly when they’d been silent too long. “Those other loggers might not have had a bad idea.”
The muscles in his chest had hardened while she was lost in her thoughts. His heart beat faster. She peeked up at him to find a blush on his handsome face. His eyes flashed with intense longing—longing that drew her in.
“Why don’t we get married?” The question rushed out so fast that Libby wondered if he knew he was going to ask before he did.
“You and I?”
Mason broke out in a nervous smile. “Yeah, you and me. I’ll take care of you and the boys and this new baby. Howard Haskell has this thing where he’s giving away houses over there in The Village to any of his ranch hands who get married. I’m sure he’d give one to us.”
Libby glanced off across the field to the cluster of new houses and houses under construction about a mile away. The ghost of hope filled her heart. A house of their own? A home her children could grow up in?
“I promise I’d do my best to keep the fear from getting too big,” he went on. His shoulders softened. “I’m not Teddy, and I don’t expect that you could love me like you loved him, but I…” He pressed his lips shut and stared at her for a moment before going on with, “I’d be a good husband to you.”
He would. She knew it as sure as she knew the cold breeze making her shiver would blow itself out and turn into spring in a few months. In a few months when she would be round with child, ready to give birth to an innocent baby conceived in shame. She feared she would never be able to love that baby, but Mason would. Mason might be the only chance the baby had.
Mason might be the only chance she had. Even now, with the shame of what she’d done pressing down on her, she found herself wanting to bury herself against Mason’s solid chest. Her lips tingled with a decade-old desire to kiss him. It was so different from the threat she’d felt every time Hector came near her that her mind could barely comprehend it. Mason was exciting, desirable, even. Hector was…
Hector. If Hector figured out where she’d gone and came after her for the sake of his child, Mason might be able to protect her. He might be able to protect Petey and Matthew where she couldn’t. That mattered far more than her dubious need to rest in his arms.
“Yes.” The answer tumbled from her lips before she could question her sanity.
“Yes?” Mason leaned back, surprise lifting his brow. “Yes, you’ll marry me?”
“Yes, I will marry you,” she answered, again fast enough that she wouldn’t change her mind. He was the one who should be changing his mind. He would put her away as soon as he knew the truth, but maybe, if there was any bit of a chance, she could prove her use to him as a wife and housekeeper and mother to the point where he might overlook her sins.
“Well, all right, then.” Mason smiled, pulling her close for a hug. That hug felt right. “We’ll get married. I’ll ask Howard about one of the houses in The Village right away.”
“Thank you,” she whispered. She closed her eyes and rested her head against his shoulder. A tiny voice deep inside of her murmured that this really was the right decision. It was a decision she’d wished she’d made years ago. Because if anyone could keep her and her children safe in spite of the truth, it was Mason.
Chapter Four
Two days later, Libby woke with a start at dawn.
“I can’t do it. I can’t marry him,” she whispered to the hazy shadows of Muriel’s room.
There weren’t enough extra bedrooms in Josephine and Pete’s house for them all to sleep alone, so Libby had bunked with Muriel while her boys slept on a cot in Freddy’s room. Libby’s sudden awakening caused Muriel to stir. Rather t
han wake her little sister up too soon, Libby threw back the bedcovers, slipped out of bed, and tucked Muriel back in. She kissed Muriel’s forehead as if she were still a young girl and not close to womanhood, saying a quick prayer that she would remain innocent for as long as possible. Libby gathered up her shawl and wrapped it around her shoulders, then crept downstairs.
What was she thinking, accepting Mason’s proposal the way she had? Mason was a friend, in spite of the unresolved feelings between them. She couldn’t thrust him into the turmoil that had become of her life. He deserved better than that, better than her.
Much to Libby’s distress, the kitchen wasn’t abandoned when she walked in, tortured by her thoughts.
“Good morning, sweetheart.” Josephine crossed from the stove to the doorway, shawl wrapped around her torso, nightcap still in place. She hugged Libby with all the affection of a real mother. “You must be so excited. Today’s the day.”
Libby hugged her back, more desperation in her embrace than excitement. “What am I thinking, Josephine? I can’t do this.”
The exuberance in Josephine’s eyes solidified into the wisdom of age. She gave Libby’s hand a squeeze, then led her to the kitchen table to sit down. Although at the moment, Libby felt far more like pacing and wringing her hands than sitting.
“All brides get cold feet on their wedding day,” Josephine laughed, veering back toward the stove where a kettle was steaming. She set about making tea as she continued dispensing advice. “You must have felt this way before marrying Teddy.”
It was true. She had questioned her decision to marry him. But the circumstances then were as different as ten years of life and tragedy could make them. She had two boys and an unborn child to consider now.
Libby shook her head. “It’s not that.” She winced, knowing full well that complete honesty was the only thing that could clear her conscience. She knew that, so why was it so unbearably hard to be honest?
