by Lori Wick
“I’m sorry I made you cry,” he said quietly.
“You didn’t—I mean, not really. But suddenly it seems as though I haven’t seen them in years.”
Chase nodded. “I think I understand, Katherine. Maybe we should head to Boulder tomorrow so you can see them that much sooner. I can make other arrangements for Quintin.”
Rusty shook her head and wiped her cheeks. “I’m looking forward to being with your little boy. Friday is still fine.”
Chase stared at her for a moment. She was an amazing person. One minute she was staring at him with huge eyes, wondering if she’d acted inappropriately with Rick. The next minute she was standing up to his teasing, her chin in the air. Now, with tears in her eyes, she was agreeing to remain an extra day and take care of his son. Chase found himself aching to hug her or slip an arm around her but knew that wasn’t fair; she was just getting herself back under control. Instead of a hug, the back of Chase’s fingers came out and brushed ever so softly against her cheek.
“You missed a tear,” he explained and was gratified to see that she didn’t recoil or seem offended. “Would you like to see my stable?”
“Yes, please,” Rusty said, grateful for the chance to do something else. “Do you have many horses?”
“Six, but just three are for riding. They’re all fine animals; I’m rather pleased with them.”
Chase led the way between the stalls, and as they went, he let out a low whistle. As if by magic three heads appeared from two stalls. Intelligent eyes watched them approach, and the two in the same box nearly jockeyed for position.
“Oh,” Rusty said in delight as they stopped before the first box. “He’s beautiful.”
Chase slapped the neck of a huge black gelding and caught his nose when he began to root around for sugar.
“This is Shelby.” Obvious pleasure filled Chase’s voice. “He’s on the large side, but he’s very gentle.”
Rusty put her hand to the soft fuzziness of his muzzle. “He’s gorgeous. Have you had him from birth?”
“No, just a few years. I bought him from the Cameron brothers in Wisconsin. Their stables are some of the finest in the Midwest. And these girls, twins actually”—he led the way one box over—“are Rain and Snow. They are wonderful for riding but a little too used to being together. I bought them locally and had them trained for gentleness.” The mares rooted at the front of his vest as well.
“And as you can see, I spoil them all with sugar. Now they take me for granted.”
Rusty smiled. The mares were as lovely as Shelby, both dark roans with splashes of white under their forelocks.
“How often do you ride?”
“I try to get out at least once a week, but if I’m traveling that’s impossible. I have a man who gives them a workout when I can’t, so they don’t go neglected.”
Rusty stood back while he fed them sugar. Chase went on to show her the other horses, first a fat cart pony by the name of Dobbins, and then a matched set of bays, Marley and Flynn, Briarly’s carriage horses. Rusty enjoyed seeing them, but Quintin had come to mind, and she was now ready to go back to the house. Chase seemed sensitive to this and suggested they return.
“I haven’t seen Quintin around much,” Rusty commented. “I hope he isn’t ill.”
“No, but this is Wednesday, and he and Mrs. Harding go to the reading room on Wednesday afternoons.”
Rusty nodded but didn’t speak. She was dying to ask her host what day of the week he took his son. They continued back to the house, and once inside parted company.
Chase was not around when dinner was served, and Rusty never did run into Quintin, although she assumed he had returned from the library. She ate a solitary meal and then went to her room early, ready for sleep. It was a large house, beautifully decorated, but it didn’t feel like a home to her. Someone had started a fire in the fireplace in her room, and it was with great pleasure that she curled up in bed and stared at the bright embers.
In 48 hours I’ll be home, she told the Lord when her eyes grew too tired to read. I’ll see my papa and get to hug Mother. Thinking of the way that hug would feel, Rusty pushed the thought aside, reminding herself that she had already cried that day. She turned the lantern down just minutes later. Sleep claimed her almost immediately.
15
Rusty was on her way back to her room from the bathing chamber when she spotted her young charge. He was headed down the stairs, not having seen her, but he stopped when she softly called to him.
“Good morning, Quintin James McCandles.”
“Good morning.”
Rusty beckoned to him with one finger. He came directly to her. She loved the navy blue shorts he was wearing, and this time he had a small matching jacket over his pale blue shirt.
“Did you know,” she whispered, bending just enough to make it seem like a conspiracy, “that we are going to spend the day togther?”
Quintin nodded, his eyes on her face. “Mrs. Harding told me.”
“Well, did you also know that we are going to have so much fun?”
Quintin bit his lip and smiled, his little feet moving with excitement.
“Were you going somewhere just now?”
“Mrs. Harding told me to go eat breakfast.”
“Well, I won’t keep you. I’ll come down just as soon as I’m ready.”
“To eat breakfast?”
“Yes.”
He smiled at her again, and Rusty brushed a hand over his hair. She saw the adoration in his eyes and fell just a little more in love with him. He was so sweet, and his skin was like fresh cream. Rusty was on the verge of telling him he could head down when his little stomach growled. She watched in surprise as he looked upset, almost frightened.
“Well, now.” Rusty brushed right past it, laughter in her voice. “You must be starving.”
Quintin didn’t know what to think of her. Mrs. Harding was very strict about noises, even ones you couldn’t control. Rusty saw very swiftly that he did not find the situation funny. She put her hand back on his soft hair.
“Go ahead, Quintin, and eat your breakfast,” she urged him gently. “I’ll be right behind you.”
“All right,” he said, giving her a tentative smile. Rusty beamed at him and watched his little shoulders relax as he went on his way. Turning to her room, she shut the door and leaned against it, wondering silently what in the world this day would bring.
The breakfast room looked as it always did at this time of the day, except that Mrs. Harding was not present. Only about half the size of the formal dining room, it was cozier, with windows on two walls and four corner cabinets that held lovely dishes and holloware. Like almost all the other rooms she had been in, there was also a small stone fireplace. Under the front windows was a sideboard, and at the moment it was filled with delectable breakfast foods.
Chase, who sat at the table, a newspaper in his hand, came to his feet and greeted Rusty as soon as she entered. Rusty returned the greeting but then made a beeline for Quintin, who already sat with a full plate in front of him.
“This looks so good,” she said as she leaned over his plate.
“Do you want a bite?” His face was alight with excitement.
“Yes!” she declared, and took a bite of the long strip of bacon he held for her. “Oh, my,” she said dramatically, not even bothering to wait until she swallowed. “That is delicious. I need to get some of my own.”
“I’ll help you.”
“You will? Thank you.”
Quintin came to his feet and took Rusty’s hand. The sideboard laden with food was just five steps away, but she allowed herself to be led. Quintin was on the verge of showing Rusty where the plates were stacked when he glanced back at the table. He stopped when he saw his father’s face.
Chase had not taken his seat again. He stood, the now-forgotten newspaper still dangling from his fingertips, and stared at his son. Seeing a look so foreign, Quintin swiftly left the sideboard and slipped back into his ch
air.
“May I please be excused, sir, for a little time?”
His voice seemed to snap Chase from his trance.
“Of course, Quintin—that will be fine.”
Rusty worked hard to keep the emotion from her face. Quintin returned to her side, but his look was subdued. He showed her the plates and then the covered silver dish that held the bacon.
“You are so sweet to help me, Quintin. I think I can manage now. Why don’t you go back to your plate? I’ll come with mine and sit right next to you.”
“Mrs. Harding sits across the table.”
“Well, how nice for her.” Rusty looked as if this was the best news she had ever received. Quintin smiled at her and did as he was told, slipping back into his chair. Rusty swiftly joined him, careful not to take more than she could eat. For once Chase didn’t notice the sparseness of her plate. He was still too busy trying to reckon with the change in his son.
“Did you take some of these eggs, Quintin?” Rusty asked.
“Yes.”
“Aren’t they good?” Rusty put another forkful in her mouth and looked up to see Chase still standing. Her brow lowered in concern. He had said that she could do things her way, hadn’t he? Did it really matter where she sat at the table? She couldn’t believe him to be that petty. Chase noticed her look and swiftly took his seat, his eyes going back to his paper, but his mind was preoccupied.
“Who makes this coffee?” Rusty asked of her charge.
“Cook does. She makes the eggs and bacons too.”
“Bacon, no s on the end,” she corrected automatically. “Well, it’s some of the best I’ve ever had.” She moved to take a drink of her coffee. “Do you want a taste?”
“Of coffee?” His face suggested that she’d hinted at murder.
“Yes,” Rusty said with a laugh. “I use cream and sugar, and they make it very good.”
Quintin took the offered cup, sipped, and sipped again. Rusty laughed.
“What did I tell you?”
The entire meal was like that, and Rusty would have been having the time of her life if she hadn’t caught occasional looks from Chase. He didn’t speak, but she could almost feel his mood. It wasn’t disapproval exactly, but Rusty wished she could define it.
“Do you know what we are going to do after breakfast?”
“What?”
“We’re going to look at birds.”
“On Thursday?”
Rusty looked at him. “Don’t tell me all the birds leave town on Thursday?”
“No,” he said with a giggle.
“Well, they’d better not because we’re going to see them.”
“There are nests,” Quintin told her excitedly. “I know where some are.”
“I can hardly wait. Are you finished, Quintin?”
“Yes, Miss Taggart.”
“Very well, let us go to the kitchen, thank Cook and Mrs. Whitley, and then be on our way.”
The little boy frowned. “I never do that.”
“Do what?”
“Go to the kitchen and thank Cook.”
Rusty’s brows rose. “Well, we’re going to today,” she said softly, wondering how any nanny as proper as Quintin’s seemed to be could miss this simple courtesy. “This food does not appear by magic. It’s a lot of work.” With that Rusty stood, and Quintin followed suit. They moved around the table to exit, but for the umpteenth time Rusty caught Chase’s eyes on her.
“Quintin, please run ahead. I’ll catch up with you.”
“All right.”
“Did I misunderstand you, Mr. McCandles?” Rusty asked as soon as they were alone.
“Regarding what?”
“Regarding the way I’m to handle things today. You seemed rather disapproving over breakfast. Did we ruin your meal with our chatter?”
“Not in the least,” Chase assured her. “I can tell that Quintin likes you very much, and it makes me wonder if he hasn’t missed some fun in his life.”
Rusty wisely held her peace. Instead, she said, “Well then, I hope he’ll have fun with me today.”
“He already has.”
Rusty thanked him with a small inclination of the head and told him goodbye. Only then did Chase realize he’d been sitting while she stood. He shook his head and gave up all attempts to concentrate on the paper. Was it possible for one small woman to disrupt his thinking and life so completely? Since he had met her, he didn’t know if he was coming or going.
I just need to see her home, he told himself not for the first time. I haven’t finished the job I started, and until I do I’m going to be distracted.
Having taken these few minutes to persuade himself, Chase went upstairs to his room. He had taken some time to read his Bible earlier that morning, but in truth, the last few days had been so busy he knew it wasn’t enough. He now longed to read the Scriptures and commit his day to God. He shut the door, thankful that he had nothing pressing this day and could take all the time he needed.
“Do you see it?” Quintin asked. “Do you see the nest?”
“Yes. It’s an old one but still in good shape.”
The two explorers were in the woods and had been for most of the morning. They were a little bit cold, a bit muddy, and having a wonderful day.
“Do you want me to get it down for you?”
“I’m not supposed to take them out of the tree.”
“All right,” Rusty said calmly, thinking that if he said that to her one more time, she might scream. Had he been older, she might have come right out and asked him what he was allowed to do. It occurred to her suddenly that she had not met Mrs. Harding. What was a woman like who could live by such a strict set of rules? There were rules at the orphanage certainly—they would never survive without them—but they were guidelines only. No one lived or died by them.
“Are you cross?” Quintin asked, and Rusty shook herself.
“No, I’m not. Did you think I was?”
“Your face looked like it might be cross.”
Thinking absently that this child had a marvelous vocabulary, Rusty climbed down from the stump she’d been standing on and took Quintin in her arms. She’d been doing that off and on all morning, and he was now returning her hugs.
“I’m not cross at all, but there are times when I don’t understand things. However,” she said before he could ask what she meant, “I have figured out that I love Quintin McCandles.” Rusty smiled into his eyes and pressed a kiss to his forehead. Little arms came around her again, and Rusty’s heart felt hugged as well.
“I’m hungry,” she declared. “Why don’t we see if we can get something to eat?”
“Is it lunchtime?”
“I’m not certain what time it is. Shall we go find out?”
Quintin, who was up for anything Rusty suggested, nodded and took her hand. Rusty began a silly song and taught it to young Mr. McCandles. They moved toward the house, in no great hurry, completely unaware that lunch was on the table waiting for them and had been for quite some time.
Though Quintin and his day-long companion were never far from his mind, Chase actually managed to get quite a bit done in his office. He had written a few letters and sent word to a banker in Boulder, reminding him that he would meet with him Friday morning. A letter arrived from his mother, telling him she and his stepfather would visit that summer. Chase put it aside, wondering what they would think of Katherine Taggart. He knew with little thought on the matter that his mother would like her upon first meeting.
Chase began a letter back to her and then realized he was hungry. He emerged from the office for the first time that day to find the breakfast room empty, clean plates still on the table, with no sign of anyone having enjoyed a meal. He walked to the kitchen in search of answers.
“Mrs. Whitley, have you seen Quintin and Miss Taggart?”
“No, sir, I haven’t. I put lunch on, but maybe she didn’t understand the time.”
Chase consulted his pocket watch. It was nearly 1:30.
He told himself not to worry.
“I’ll go have a look around. She said they were going to see the birds.”
“Probably the woods, sir,” Cook put in. “Mrs. Harding always takes Quintin there.”
Chase was in the midst of thanking the woman when the kitchen door opened. All eyes turned to see Rusty and Quintin come through the door.
“We’re a little bit muddy,” she said with a smile. “Should we leave our shoes here?”
“That’s fine,” Mrs. Whitley replied as she came forward. The kitchen was the staff’s domain, and it never occurred to her to check with Mr. McCandles.
“Thank you,” Rusty said sincerely and began to help Quintin with his shoes. She spotted a basin and towel in the process and directed Quintin to wash his hands, following suit when he was finished. She noticed that the little boy’s eyes were a bit large and figured she was probably breaking every rule in the book.
“Okay now, let me see your face. There’s a little mud on your cheek. I got it. How’s my face?”
“You have mud on your chin.”
She raised the towel.
“Did I get it?”
“Yes.”
With that Rusty put the towel down and turned to the group at large. Chase, Mrs. Whitley, and Cook were all staring at her. Rusty took Quintin’s hand to reassure him and encompassed them with her smile.
“We’re a little hungry, Mrs. Whitley. May we impose upon you for a snack of some type?”
“Certainly you may, Miss Taggart, but if you prefer, lunch is ready when you are.”
“Lunch! Did you hear that, Quintin? It’s all ready for us. What time is it?” she asked of Chase, who had not said a word during this exchange.
“Almost 1:30,” he said calmly.
“No wonder we’re hungry,” she said, smiling down at Quintin and then looking to the housekeeper. “Do I need to apologize, Mrs. Whitley? Has our tardiness made more work for you?”
“Not at all,” the housekeeper returned. “You may eat whenever you care to and take as long as you like.”
