An Endless Love to Remember: A Historical Western Romance Book

by Lorelei Brogan

  No, she would have to work through this dilemma on her own.

  If Vickie stayed here at the ranch, she would have to endure seeing the man she loved as husband to the sister she scorned, building a marriage and a happy life together, from which she would be excluded. And for how long would she be able to tolerate that situation?

  On the other hand, if she accepted her aunt’s invitation and departed for Boston, not only to change her life’s path but also as a kindness for Sophie, to serve as traveling companion and aide, she would be leaving behind all that meant so much to her. The Yellowstar—human residents and domesticated creatures alike—was part of her bone and blood; its environs gave her air to breathe and good solid earth beneath her feet.

  How could anyone be so torn? How could anyone make such a decision, when each one, for good or for bad, held the possibility for such repercussions?

  Earlier, Sam had arrived, per prearrangement, to hand Jessica into the surrey and escort her to the Creek. Errands for Aunt Sophie, she had blithely explained her absence; and a few for herself.

  Vickie could just imagine. More fiddle-dee-dees added to the whole wedding outfit, no doubt. And a nice dinner at the Hotel Dupree, paid for by a near-penniless betrothed. Which minor infraction wouldn’t count worth a fig to the disdainful Miss Clark.

  The couple had returned, in mid-afternoon, with the news that the newspaper office was closed, and Valentine DeMarco was nowhere to be seen.

  “Oh, that’s a surprise,” said Sophie. Having already begun to pack, she was sorting through the little shelved treasures and books scattered about the parlor that Riley had insisted she take. It was an easy task, requiring little exertion, but a mildly painful one, as well, as far as mementoes. “Such a nice young man. I wonder what happened?”

  Were Vickie able to speak, she could have answered that question. But she had been rendered mute by guilt and regret. Surely he hadn’t had to leave so soon? Surely he meant to at least see her one more time, to say goodbye? Or would that be like ripping plaster off a just-healing wound, while the blood alarmingly flowed?

  She was helping to separate items into purposeful bunches: this to take now, this to put aside for a later shipment, that to leave for her nieces as a remembrance. As if either would need any physical reminder to display somewhere of their aunt’s loving presence for all these years!

  While Riley watched from his chair, commenting now and then as to the origin or history of various pieces, Vickie was silently contemplating her future, still feeling wishy-washy over what to do.

  That was when the absent pair had entered the parlor with their announcement, and another update far more pleasant. “I was able to procure a few of the herbals on your list, Auntie,” Jessica happily reported. “Everything is tied up with brown paper, in a parcel we left in the kitchen for you. But Sam is, as you see, carrying the bolt of muslin you requested.”

  “Oh, good. Thank you, my dear. I appreciate your thoughtfulness. That will do finely to wrap all these breakables, for transport.”

  Just in time Vickie managed to choke back a snort of disdain. If her aunt were fooled by Jessie’s apparently congenial mood, she herself was not. As Sam obediently handed over the heavy cylinder thick with cloth, she grabbed her scissors and began slashing away. Would that it might be her sister’s two-faced face instead!

  Instantly ashamed, she worked to regain control of her emotions. No. What a horribly sinister deed even to contemplate!

  Untying the bow of her flower-strewn bonnet, Jessica crossed the room to brush a kiss across her father’s cheek before settling down with a rustle of skirts. “Auntie, do you need help with those?” she asked, surprising everyone.

  “Why—uh—no, Jess, I think Vickie and I can complete the job. But, thank you for the offer.”

  “Here, Sam, do join me,” she invited. Without a word of protest, her affable bridegroom complied. “Sam and I had a lovely talk on the way back from town, didn’t we, Sam?”

  “Yes, ma’am, we sure did. Reckon we worked on some problems and ironed out some kinks.”

  He was gazing at her with approval, and grinning as he did so. The fatuous fool was actually grinning! Vickie, from her kneeling position on the floor, silently glowered at him from beneath her lashes and wished both of those two nitwits on the far side of the moon.

  “Well, now, glad to hear it,” said Riley with a smile. He reached for the glass of lemonade on the table beside his chair. “”You two did seem to have your share of complicatin’ factors.”

  Sophie was not so easily fobbed off. Clearly curious, she glanced from one to the other. “I’m delighted by that news,” she told them warily. “It’s certainly necessary that any relationship be established on a congenial, solid footing.”

  “Oh, I believe we both would agree, Auntie. Much more pleasant, yes? And Sam,” Jessica, beaming, patted his arm, “is quite anxious to learn all he can about the ranching business.”

  “Well, I do know a fair amount already,” he returned modestly. “Been helpin’ manage the farm since I was a shaver. O’ course, that’s a far cry from the holdin’s you have here at the Yellowstar, sir. But I can at least claim some experience in runnin’ cows.”

  “Admirable, Papa, don’t you think?”

  Riley sidestepped that leading question to ask Sam what was going on in his family’s household. “How’s your ma feelin’ these days?”

  “Right well, Mr. Clark. My brother just started keepin’ company with a lady from town, so she’s mighty happy about that.”

  “A widow, if I’m not mistaken, who just recently came here lookin’ for work.”

  Brows raised, Sam assented. “You’d be right about that. Though how you’d know about it is beyond me.”

  “Like to keep my finger on the pulse of Whistle Creek,” said Riley, chuckling. “Why’dja think I send my foreman in to pick up mail every other day? So, with both her boys gettin’ somewhat settled in life, that must be comfortin’. And your paw?”

  Sam couldn’t help grimacing. “Figure you know where things stand on that subject, sir. We don’t talk much about him, or check to see what he’s doin’. It’s usually off the rails.”

  “Well, a body can’t help who his parents are, good or bad. But you can rise above a rough background, if you have to. And if you really want to.”

  “I would agree, to a point. Sometimes you need help gettin’ there.”

  “Don’t you worry about Sam, Papa,” admonished Jessica, breaking into the purely masculine discourse. “He has his mother’s good blood. He’ll do all right, whatever comes along.”

  What invisible spirit had drifted into the room to replace her sarcastic, nasty-tempered sibling with this reasonable and—God forbid!—almost likable creature? Vickie, still cutting away, was aghast.

  Just how long might this temporary transposition last, anyway?

  “Must say I’ll sure do my best.” He patted her hand.

  Another transposition. A sickening one. Her insides began to convulse, involuntarily, and Vickie felt as if she might retch, then and there.

  “Oh, by the way, Vic.” Jess, who had spoken barely a direct word to her sister in weeks, suddenly leaned forward to advise, “We forgot to tell you. Val had left a message, addressed to you, inserted between the Clarion’s front door and its frame. Here, Sam, would you hand it over to her, please?”

  “Happy to.” Immediately acquiescing, he rose, pulled a folded envelope from his pocket, and took several long steps toward her.

  Without so much as an apology or an “Excuse me,” she tore into the missive, scanned the few lines, drew in a breath, and scanned it again.

  Sophie, seeing her expression, asked with disquiet, “What is it, dear? Something worrisome?”

  “I suppose it might be considered so,” Vickie said at last. Her tone sounded wooden, her face had gone blank and chilled. “Val wrote that he couldn’t bear to bid me farewell in person, but he promises to write once he’s settled somewhere. He wi
shes me—he wishes me—every happiness…” She finished on what might have been a muffled sob.

  “Oh, Vic.” Sophie leaned down from her rocker to touch the girl’s shoulder. “I am so sorry.”

  Blue eyes brimming, she looked up. “I know, Auntie. I am, too. But Val’s note to me seems like a sign from above, and I’ve made up my mind. I’m going with you to Boston.”

  A gasp around the room met this hasty, almost garbled announcement, and a shocked murmur arose like a groundswell.

  But she rushed on, heedless of reaction: “Will I have time to pack all my things?”

  “Of course, you’ll have plenty of time. I don’t plan on leaving for weeks yet. But, Vic, have you really thought this through? Are you sure?”

  “As sure as I will ever be.” Suddenly, dashing away tears with the back of one wrist, she scrambled to her feet. “Pray, do pardon me. Must run, things to do…” And she flung herself away and down the hall before anyone could voice a protest or prevent her fleeing.

  * * * * *

  Sam caught just a glimpse of the hem of her skirts as she disappeared around the corner of the hen house, pelted past the garden bench, and vanished into the dim vastness of the barn.

  Man alive, she was fast. He could barely keep up with her, head start as she’d gotten.

  Vickie had barely made it across the parlor threshold before Jess was urging her betrothed to go after her.

  “She’s upset. She shouldn’t be left alone. You know my sister; Lord only can figure what she might do. Go on, go!” came the urgent hiss.

  Sam wasted no time in obeying. Off he dashed.

  The scrape and soft thump of her hard-soled boots gave her away. She was climbing the rungs of the ladder to the haymow above.

  Startled, he halted dead to gaze around. The moment’s pause would have no effect; there was no other place to which she could escape, other than climbing back down the ladder. She was trapped above until he could get to her.

  No, it was the timing that had stopped him. Particular timing.

  The hour of the day, the slant of the sunlight’s rays, the dust motes drifting slowly about in golden splendor, the shovels and pitchforks stacked in a corner, the strewn remnants of hay and straw scattered underfoot…

  Something had struck him.

  Something seemed familiar.

  Something tugged at the edge of his memory, firmly enough and tightly enough that it was like a physical force, holding him in place.

  From overhead came a plaintive meow, and Vickie’s soothing murmurs. Her cat, of course. Whenever she was distressed or disturbed, when all else failed, she sought out her critter companions for solace. She had run away from humankind to the unquestioning loyalty of another kind—those with fur and paws.

  And how had he suddenly recalled that one fact?

  Sam shook his head. Bits and pieces came swooping in like barn swallows, serving as distraction from what he was trying to pull up from a cloudy remembrance.

  Same building.

  Same circumstances.

  Same girl.

  Same girl.

  Lifting his head from contemplation of battered cowhide boots, he put one hand on a rung, then another. He ascended slowly, with a frown, an odd intensity darkening his eyes, and the muscle that betokened concentration flickering along his jaw line.

  He saw her at the far end of the mow, petting and cuddling the mama cat which absorbed so much of her attention. She was sprawled amongst a heap of loose hay, cut this past summer from a field of alfalfa and clover, dried, and stored.

  There is little to be found on farm or ranch that can be so sweet and soothing as the smell of mown hay, bringing with it the recollection of delicious summer days, idle summer nights, and all the satisfaction packed in between.

  Scent is an evocative harbinger, tickling the elusive little swirls of memory as nothing else can.

  Sam was momentarily flummoxed to realize what was happening. No magic cure to spotty selective amnesia, but a true and honest reaction—at last!—to return him to what was safe, normal, and good.

  This was eerie. A scene which Sam felt he was seeing for the first time, yet one in which he knew, deep inside, that he had participated once before. What was it called? An unusual term, something something—ah. Déjà vu.

  Sweat suddenly wet his brow, and he blinked as if to clear his vision from the past to the present. He took one hesitant step closer, then one more.

  “Vickie,” he announced his presence hoarsely. “Oh, Vickie!”

  The cat hissed at this intruder and skimmed away, down some hidden route to the ground floor and her litter of half-grown kittens.

  A little frightened, a lot annoyed, she backed up against the wall.

  “Don’t be scared. Oh, sweetheart, don’t ever be scared of me. Not anymore. I’m here, and I ain’t never goin’ off again.”

  Her jaw dropped. “W-W-What—? What are you—talking about—?””

  Unable to delay any longer he took several desperate strides toward her, knelt, and gathered her into his arms. He could feel her heartbeat, banging against his, and the warmth of her body that had begun to tremble with unknowing portent.

  “Vickie. I remember. I can finally remember,” he burst out in a babble of words that, thinking it over later, probably made no sense at all. “It happened just like this, exactly like this, more’n two years ago.”

  “I don’t under—Sam, stop!” She was struggling to break free. “Let me go.”

  “No. Never! I’ve finally got my memory back, all them missin’ pieces about you that I couldn’t pull up to save my soul. No wonder I felt so lost and alone—b’cause you weren’t a part of me a’tall. Somehow I’d left you—and everything we’d done together—behind!”

  Baffled by whatever nonsense he had come up with, she shook her head. “I can’t—I won’t—”

  “Don’tcha see, Vic? That afternoon, before I left for battle—you were up here huntin’ for that cat of yours, and I came to find out what the heck you were doin’. And there you were, like you are now, just the same, and I—I grabbed you like this—and I—I asked you to be my wife!”

  Those pesky tears had never been as close as in these last few days of emotional turmoil. With a little hiccough, she brushed at the wetness of her cheeks. “Oh, Sam…”

  That was all it took.

  He crushed her in his embrace, as if he might absorb her completely into his own skin and keep her there forever, blood of his blood and flesh of his flesh. Anything to make up for those lost years of deprivation, when even his remembrance of her living, breathing presence in his life had been torn away.

  His world was whole again. Complete again.

  She was here; she was his, and he would never let her go.

  For a while there was only the soft cooings of turtledoves in the rafters, and that clean, captivating aroma of hay that had brought him back to her, and a whole round of frantic, hungry kisses that left both breathless, unfulfilled, and starving for more.

  At last, only temporarily surfeited because of such a thing called necessary restraint, he released her just long enough to rest against one of the wall studs with Vickie tight beside him, being swaddled by one arm. His big hand fiddled with the mess he had made of her hair, caressed her cheek, hesitantly and carefully sought out the smooth swell of her breast.

  “Sam…” she murmured in idle content, clearly enjoying this interlude as much as he.