Love Inspired Historical October 2015 Box Set

by Lacy Williams

  “I don’t want anyone else around.”

  She might not, but he couldn’t leave her here unprotected.

  “If not someone from the big ranch, who’s gonna protect you? Pop?”

  She bristled at his words, and he scrambled to explain. “He said he was a sharpshooter in the war.”

  “Yes, and what if he shoots an innocent traveler passing across our land? The war was forty years ago, but to him, it’s as if it happened yesterday.”

  “If you think he’s that dangerous, how can you stay alone with him out here?”

  She whirled on him. “Should I institutionalize the only person who’s cared for me the past decade?” she demanded.

  “That’s not what I—”

  She shook off his words and stomped ahead of him.

  She still mistrusted him.

  But he was determined if the only thing he could do before he healed up enough to get home was ensure Catherine’s safety, he would. Even if it meant protecting her from her own kin.

  Chapter Eleven

  Early the next morning, Sunday, Catherine slipped out of the soddy. She leaned against the closed door, breathing in the damp, earthy air. Pop remained inside, still sleeping.

  The first rays of sunshine crept over the distant horizon, and she stood for several minutes just outside the door, breathing and soaking up the morning. A whip-poor-will called out softly in the distance. In these spare moments, she could pretend that there wasn’t a threat hanging over her head, could pretend she was still a simple girl trying to survive on the homestead with Pop.

  She wrapped her hands around her elbows to ward off the morning chill.

  Movement came from feet away. The cowboy, shifting on his stool.

  A quick glance revealed the pale oval of his face in the early-morning gray. Leaning back against the soddy’s side, he tipped back his hat.

  “Little early to be stirring for a Sunday, isn’t it?”

  She stiffened a bit, but forced out an exhale. He wasn’t trying to offend her. He had been kind in the face of her mistrust.

  The evening before had been uncomfortable. She probably owed him an apology for blowing up. His words had touched on her fears. And she’d hated that he saw them, this man who’d been dumped at her door.

  She’d actually expected him to be snoozing, although with such an uncomfortable seat and the cool night air, maybe that had been asking too much. He did have a blanket wrapped around his shoulders.

  “I just…” She let her voice trail off, eyes going to the horizon.

  This was one of her favorite times of day. The quiet in between the night and day—animals both going to bed and waking. Those few moments when the sky turned beautiful colors and she could imagine…lots of things. That she wasn’t stuck out here with Pop. That she’d finished her schooling. Traveled.

  Sometimes she wondered if the sunrise looked the same from the other side of the continent. Or from another continent.

  Would the cowboy laugh at her if she admitted to such frivolous thoughts? They had no place in her daily life of work, work, work. But just for these few moments…

  “Beautiful, ain’t it?” he whispered.

  “Yes.”

  She didn’t let her eyes slide over to him, afraid to see whether he judged her for needing these private moments.

  “It’s moments like these that make me remember to slow down and appreciate the beauty God’s put around me.”

  That didn’t sound like a man who would poke fun at her. She couldn’t help her glance toward him and found his gaze on her, not on the sky.

  Heat flushed her cheeks.

  Would there ever come a time when she grew comfortable around the cowboy? He could discombobulate her with only a sentence and a look.

  Maybe if she’d had more experience with people she would understand his cues. But the very reason she didn’t have that experience was why she couldn’t let her guard down.

  She shored up her shoulders and squinted against the rising sun. “I suppose it’s time to do the chores, at least the ones that can’t be put off until tomorrow. Pop will read his Bible for us after breakfast.”

  He’d been unconscious a week ago and missed much of the quiet Sunday she and Pop had spent. Even if they’d lived closer to town and the little Bear Creek church, no doubt they would have had quiet worship time at home.

  The cowboy pushed up off the stool, one hand coming to rub high on his chest. “I probably can’t milk the cow for you, but I can gather eggs.”

  The cowboy followed her to the shed, whistling softly.

  By the time they reached the shed, the cowboy had gone from whistling to singing a hymn she remembered her mother singing from years ago.

  The cow gave a mournful moo as Catherine settled on the milking stool. She found herself hiding a smile in the animal’s side as her hands warmed to the task.

  The cowboy kept singing as he visited each hen’s nest, and before she realized it, she was singing softly, too.

  *

  Matty heard Catherine’s soft soprano, and something shifted beneath his breastbone.

  Not his injury. Something more.

  He’d had the same feeling when she’d come outside that morning to watch the sunrise. For someone who was constantly busy, always working, seeing Catherine take a moment for herself to appreciate the beauty of God’s creation… Well, he’d been unable to look away from the beauty of her.

  Now he sang to distract himself from the attraction. Even with the distance she’d put between them last night, it had simmered. He thought she felt it, too.

  But after Luella’s rejection, he found it hard to trust his gut, at least where women were concerned.

  And besides, Catherine seemed determined to maintain her isolation on the homestead. He didn’t understand why, and his curiosity ate at him.

  Was her determination really a result of what had happened in the schoolroom?

  Or because of Pop?

  Or something else?

  An hour later, they’d eaten the fresh eggs Matty had scrambled and the bacon he’d fried.

  “Catherine and I were thinking we might pay a call on your other close neighbor this afternoon,” he said to Pop.

  “The Elliott ranch? What for?” Pop asked.

  “To visit.”

  “Catherine don’t visit.”

  Catherine’s eyes remained on her plate. She was no help.

  “We won’t be gone long. I’m sure you can stick a pole in the creek, catch us some dinner.”

  Pop leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms over his chest. “You can visit all you want, but why’s Catherine have to go? What’s she got to visit about?”

  “I’d like to go, Pop,” Catherine said, though she kept her eyes down.

  “Fine.” The older man got up from the table, dishes rattling when his knee bumped the table. “Fine.”

  Pop stomped to the door and slammed out of the dugout.

  “You think he’s going to cause trouble?” Matty asked, concerned.

  “I think he’s going to go wandering. He might not even remember where we’re going in a little while,” Catherine said, voice low.

  But that didn’t erase the little worry crease between her eyebrows. “Maybe I should stay, just in case.”

  “I’d like you to go,” he said. “Let this Elliott and his family see you. Realize that you’re a vulnerable woman.” And if they agreed to help watch over Catherine, maybe he could also ask them to send word back to his family.

  She bristled and he held up his left hand—the one not holding the spoon to shovel food in his mouth—as if to placate her. “Not that you are vulnerable, exactly—” He stopped himself before he got in hotter water with his words. He did think she was vulnerable out here alone. Ralph was much larger than her, and if he surprised her… And Pop wasn’t any real help. If anything, he was more work for her.

  It all reminded Matty a little of waking up from that fever, alone and knowing no one was co
ming to help. Well, he wasn’t going to let things go out here, not when he could help. Even if getting her to accept it was like breaking the stubbornest filly he’d ever met.

  She seemed contemplative. That little line between her brows furrowing deeper. “I suppose it would help if I wore one of my mama’s old dresses.”

  Catherine in a dress? “That’d be perfect.”

  If this played out the way he wanted it to, he wouldn’t have to worry about Catherine after he headed home to Bear Creek.

  Chapter Twelve

  Catherine didn’t know what had possessed her to offer to wear one of two dresses her mother had put away in a trunk far beneath the bed, but she’d done it.

  She felt foolish.

  Her feet kept getting caught in the long skirt. She wasn’t used to the material blocking her way, and her stride was too long. She nearly tripped, sending a quail fluttering away through the long wild grasses.

  She should’ve stayed behind with Pop.

  Pop, who’d looked at her as if betrayed when Matty had revealed she was going with him on the visit.

  Now she couldn’t ignore the glances the cowboy kept sending her way.

  “What?” she asked, the sharpness of her voice revealing her testiness.

  This was uncomfortable. She didn’t do social calls.

  “Nothing.”

  She didn’t believe him. She felt as she had back in the schoolroom, when she’d been homemade Cathy.

  “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.” She started to turn back. She could return to the homestead and pretend she hadn’t agreed to accompany him in the first place.

  “Catherine—” He took two steps after her, taking her elbow in hand and urging her to turn back with him.

  She didn’t jerk away, but she did tug her arm back. After days of his presence, those casual touches—like when he’d clasped her hands in comfort at the clothesline yesterday—had stopped surprising her.

  They stood there in the open field, facing each other. She couldn’t quite meet his eyes.

  “You don’t have to come—but I’d like it if you did.”

  She remembered. So the Elliott family could see how vulnerable she was. Pity her.

  Hadn’t she had enough of being subjected to the whims of others as a child?

  She ducked her head, squeezed her eyes tightly closed. What was the right thing to do in this situation?

  Even after Matty’s conversation with Ralph yesterday, she doubted her neighbor would leave off bothering her.

  Without the deputy around, she would be forced to rely only on herself again.

  And wouldn’t it be good to have someone to watch out for her when Matty left?

  Still undecided, she let her eyes slide to the horizon, but she fell into step beside him again.

  “My sister Breanna would wear trousers every day if she could get away with it.”

  She didn’t glance at Matty as he spoke. Maybe he meant the words to ease the awkwardness between them. Or maybe he’d sensed how much she liked hearing about his family.

  “My ma drags her to a quilting bee or to have tea with Ma’s friends every once in a while, and Breanna digs in her heels each and every time.”

  His affection for his sister came through every word even though his comment wasn’t particularly complimentary toward her.

  “You miss her,” Catherine stated.

  “Yes. She and my brother Seb are the only ones of marrying age who aren’t hitched, so we’ve sort of banded together. My nieces Cecilia and Susie are about the same age, but Breanna has her own mind and often prefers to stay in the bunkhouse with us boys.”

  “How old are your siblings?”

  “Seb is twenty and Breanna seventeen.”

  There were a few beats of silence, and then he spoke again. “Eye spy something…”

  She didn’t guess and his boon question was, “It seems like there’s something more than what happened back in school. I’d like to know why you won’t go back to town.”

  Blood rushed to her face, pounding in her ears. Had he guessed the truth?

  “That wasn’t a question,” she hedged.

  “Will you tell me why you refuse to go to town?”

  She could tell him. Maybe if he knew about her parentage, he’d stop pushing her to seek help for Pop. But there was a part of her that hesitated.

  If she told him, everything would change. He’d look at her as the women in town had.

  And for some unfathomable reason, she couldn’t bear that.

  “My mother and I were not always treated kindly when we visited town. Things were difficult without my father around.”

  It was all she could give him. She couldn’t say born out of wedlock or illegitimate.

  Instead of judgment, his eyes softened with…understanding?

  And she remembered that he’d lost his parents, too.

  He hadn’t understood what she was really telling him. And she couldn’t say more.

  When she didn’t take a turn at the game, the cowboy kept sending sidelong glances her way. Afternoon sun beat down on her head, but it was the cowboy’s glances that warmed her from the inside out.

  “Do I look so awful?” she asked after the fifteenth time he’d glanced her direction. She kept her eyes on the mountains against the far horizon, afraid to see the answer in his face.

  “You don’t look awful at all.”

  She glanced sharply at him, in time to catch him looking at her again. They made their way through the field thick with wildflowers. In the distance, cattle grazed, content to ignore them.

  “Then why are you looking at me?” she demanded.

  “I was trying to decide whether you’d slug me if I said you looked pretty in that dress.”

  Her eyes slid down to her feet, where the dress kicked out in front once and then again. Was he teasing her again? She wished she knew.

  “Or if you’d go all shy again.”

  He bumped her shoulder with his arm. When had he crept close enough to touch her? She angled slightly away, but they were already close enough to the main ranch house that moving away farther would be noticeable.

  The low, sprawling building was made from natural rock and some timber, with large, expensive glass windows across the front. Where the Chestertons’ place had been dilapidated, this ranch house was well built and well maintained. The corral fence was in good shape, and a fine mare stood placidly near, her ears twitching in their direction. Farther away, behind the corral, the barn was large. And painted.

  Her discomfort grew as Matty took the two front steps confidently and knocked on the door.

  “What if they don’t want us to come calling? How do we know anyone is even home?”

  “We don’t.” He grinned at her over his shoulder, but the flash of teeth against his tanned skin didn’t offer any reassurance. What had she been thinking, accompanying him?

  She fervently hoped that the family inside had gone to church and not returned yet.

  But to her chagrin, a young woman opened the door.

  Matty introduced her as a neighbor and himself as a friend and a deputy from town. They were ushered into a parlor and plied with warm slices of rhubarb pie and introduced to Mr. Harold Elliott and his wife by their daughter, Michaela.

  *

  Catherine’s terrified expression as she settled on the parlor sofa beside him might’ve made him laugh in another circumstance, but he needed to stay focused on his mission to find help for Catherine.

  He touched her shoulder lightly, settling his arm on the back of the sofa, his calloused fingers catching in a crochet doily. The frilly things covered almost every surface.

  Catherine’s chin jerked toward him and he hitched what he hoped was a reassuring smile. She looked like a filly about to bolt under its first saddle. She didn’t seem to know what to do with her skirt. She fiddled with the folds of fabric, showing an uncharacteristic nervousness.

  He felt right at home. The horsehair sofa and wingba
ck chair could’ve been from his ma’s parlor. He told himself not to get too comfortable—he had a job to do here today. But it sure was nice to sit in a civilized room again, not the rough furniture and tight confines of the dugout.

  “I’m so glad to know there’s another woman nearby,” said Mrs. Elliott. Her smile was welcoming and encompassed both Matty and Catherine.

  Harold wasn’t so quick in his welcome. “I’ve come calling at your place a coupla times since we moved up this way two years ago. The little soddy just south, right?” he asked Catherine.

  She nodded, but her posture had gone stiff.

  “Never seen anybody there. Almost like folks had disappeared when they saw me comin’.”

  The fingers of Catherine’s near hand clenched in her skirt.

  From what he’d gleaned over these past days with Catherine and Pop, as Pop’s paranoia had worsened, Catherine had left off visiting with and trading with neighbors the past few years.

  Maybe it was proprietary and maybe she would shake him off, but he settled his hand loosely over hers.

  “Catherine’s granddad is…distrustful of strangers. With such a pretty granddaughter to protect, who can blame him?”

  She didn’t shake off his hand, but she did shoot him a glare.

  “No company? That would drive me batty.” Mrs. Elliott and Michaela shared a glance. “I’m afraid we’re in town as often as we can persuade Harold to drive us.”

  The young woman bobbled her fork. It rattled against her pie plate. “I like the quilting bees the best.”

  It was a perfect opening for Catherine to speak up, but she remained silent at his side. He squeezed her hand, hoping to urge her to join the conversation.

  “My…my mama liked to quilt. She’s been gone now for several years.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, dear,” said Mrs. Elliott. “You’re welcome to come and visit—and quilt—anytime you like.”

  He heard Catherine’s soft exhale. “Thank you for the invitation. It is hard to…step away from the duties of running the homestead at times.”

  “Did you have much damage from the recent storm?” Matty asked when the conversation stalled.

  “Not much.” Harold nodded toward the window overlooking a wide green pasture. “Part of the barn roof blew off, but our hands already fixed it.”