Cassandra Austin (12 page)

Morton Blainey’s ranch was nearly as large as Hugh’s but the house he had built tended more toward comfort and lacked the drama of the Prescott home. Rose saw them coming and ran to meet the buggy. Rose was a tall slender girl, quiet and reserved, an unlikely companion to Emily. She had blond hair and a pale complexion.

Odd, but Christian had once thought Arlen was interested in her. He watched her gather Emily into her arms and laughed at himself. She was Emily’s best friend and therefore a child forever.

The girls walked arm and arm into the house as Morton came to greet him. “Come on inside and have a cool drink. One of my men will look after the horse.”

Christian followed the older man inside. The girls had claimed the parlor, and Morton led the way to his office. “Ruby knows you’re here,” he said. “She’ll bring the girls some lemonade. How about a real drink?”

Christian accepted the small glass of bourbon. They talked cattle and horses for an hour with the sound of girlish laughter in the background. “I better let you get back to work,” Christian said finally. “By now, the girls should have decided when Rose can come visit.”

“It might be a week or more before Rose’ll go,”
Morton warned. “Her mare’s due to foal about then, and she doesn’t want to miss it. Emily’d be welcome here, though.”

Christian shook his head. “Pa and I see her so seldom, we wouldn’t want to part with her.”

“I understand. Well, let’s go break up the giggle fest and see what they’ve decided.”

Emily gave up trying to talk Rose out of waiting for the horse when the men came, admitting she might feel the same. Morton promised to bring Rose to visit Emily as soon as the colt was born.

“She won’t want to leave her colt, either,” Emily said, pouting, on the way home. “She probably won’t come all summer!”

Christian wanted to comfort her but couldn’t promise that Rose would come. He took a deep breath and told her what he knew she wanted to hear. “If she doesn’t come in two weeks, we’ll let you stay with her.”

It worked. Emily threw her arms around his neck. “You’re the best brother in the world.”

“I may tell Arlen you said that,” he threatened, but her smirk told him she knew he was teasing.

Lynnette had spent the entire day with Arlen. When she retired to her room for a rest before dinner, she felt she knew him quite a bit better. She had the feeling that he hadn’t learned much about her, however. She couldn’t explain why she felt that way; he hadn’t interrupted her or refused to let her talk. He simply assumed a great deal without question.

She shrugged at her face in the mirror. Perhaps she
imagined it. At any rate, it had been a pleasant day, especially the picnic lunch Martha had packed. They had walked to a spot along the trail where she had walked the first day. Lynnette would have liked to eat by the little stream, but Arlen was sure it was too far.

She scrubbed her face again. She should be ashamed of herself, finding fault with such little things. Arlen had been attentive and kind. “It was a lovely day,” she said aloud.

She decided to heed Arlen’s suggestion and rest before dinner. She wasn’t especially tired, but welcomed a few minutes alone. She wondered when Emily and Christian were expected. It was Emily she was missing, of course.

She lifted a book out of her trunk, not caring which one it was, and took it to bed with her. After reading three pages without noticing what they said, she set it aside and closed her eyes. Almost instantly she drifted into a half sleep, where her imagination was freed yet she knew she was dreaming.

She and Arlen were having a picnic by the stream. Christian appeared beside them, holding an identical basket. “Wouldn’t you rather eat with me?” he asked.

She got up quickly and ran to his side.

“But Lynnette,” Arlen cried. “You promised to marry me. I love you. I love you.”

He seemed to get farther away from her, but his plea grew louder. “I love you. I love you.”

Lynnette jerked herself awake. A cat’s steady mewing sounded from the balcony. She laughed and rose to let him in. “Are you the one saying ‘I love you’ in my sleep?”

The cat mewed again and strutted past her to spring up onto the bed. He curled up in the center and glared at her.

“All right. You’re Arlen’s cat. You have a right to be upset, but I can explain. It wasn’t Christian. It was the hero of my book. They look alike, I know, but I can tell them apart.”

The cat squinted and looked away. Lynnette watched it for a moment. “I won’t write that story anyway,” she whispered.

Since she was up and her bed was occupied, she decided to dress for dinner. When she was ready to go down, she left the balcony door ajar and the hall door standing open. As an afterthought she tucked the book she had chosen before her nap under her arm. She would take it out on one of the downstairs balconies and at least pretend to read.

She was gazing off into the distance when a buggy rose over a hill and sank out of sight again. “Christian,” her mind whispered. “And Emily,” she added quickly. She wanted to stand and watch for them to reappear but knew they would be thirsty from the trip. She turned resolutely away and headed for the kitchen, leaving her book on a step as she went past the stairs.

Martha was in the kitchen, busy with dinner preparations. She looked up from her work, and didn’t seem as unfriendly as she had before. “They’re almost home,” Lynnette said. “I saw the buggy come over a hill.”

“Emily will want her lemonade,” Martha said. She glanced at the mess around her as if uncertain where to start.

“Let me make the lemonade,” Lynnette offered.

Martha hesitated only a moment. “The packets are in the pantry. We have to have lots on hand when Emily comes.”

Lynnette found the flavored sugar packets and the vials of concentrated lemon juice and brought one of each back to the sink. The glass pitcher was on a shelf above the sink, and she lifted it down as Martha spoke again. “Well water will be colder than what’s in the cistern. But that means a trip out to the well.”

“I think I can do that,” Lynnette said, carrying the heavy glass pitcher out the back door. The wind had come up since she and Arlen had had their picnic, and it brought a chill that contrasted with the warm sunshine. She set the pitcher down carefully at the well and worked the handle.

Unfortunately she didn’t think about the wind blowing the stream away from the spout. By the time she had managed to fill the pitcher, she had fairly soaked her skirt. At least it was a cotton dress, she thought gratefully as she headed back to the kitchen door, not velvet or satin that would be ruined by water.

Martha glanced up and stared. “Oh, I’m sorry!” She started toward Lynnette. “I’ll finish this. You go up and change.”

Lynnette laughed and waved her away. “It’s nothing, really. You go ahead with dinner.” She shook out her skirts, willing them to dry.

Martha seemed perplexed but returned to her work. Lynnette heard the buggy go past the kitchen door as she mixed the lemonade. A moment later she heard
Emily burst through the door. She left the lemonade and went to the back hall to meet her.

She assumed Emily would be alone. Christian, she was sure, would want to take care of the horse before he came in. She hadn’t thought about their purchases. Christian was a few steps behind Emily, his arms laden with paper-wrapped parcels.

“Come see what I bought,” Emily said as she took Lynnette’s arm and walked with her to the living room. “I had the best time, but Rose isn’t coming, maybe ever.”

Christian deposited everything on one of the big chairs. “Rose will probably be here in a couple of weeks.” He grinned at the face his sister made. He explained to Lynnette, “She’s waiting for her mare to foal. What happened to your skirts?”

Lynnette had nearly forgotten them, caught as she was in Emily’s excitement. She shook them a little, laughing. “I had a battle with the pump over a pitcher of water for lemonade. I’m pleased to tell you, I won. Let me get it.”

She left them quickly and put the pitcher and three glasses on a tray. She half hoped Christian would leave before she returned—and half hoped he would stay.

Back in the living room, she found them sorting through the parcels. A few had been partially opened to see what was inside. Emily left the project and came for her lemonade. Lynnette poured a glass for her, then one for Christian. She carried it to him where he knelt on the floor.

He took it, smiling his thanks. “I think this is all
of Martha’s things,” he said, studying the pile in front of him.

Lynnette found it impossible to take her eyes off him. His hair was wind-tossed, practically calling to her fingers to straighten out the long blond strands. From where she stood above him his shoulders seemed impossibly broad. She could see his muscles flex under the thin cotton shirt when he raised the glass and drained it.

He handed the empty glass to her and their eyes met. It took a conscious effort for her to reach out and take it, careful to keep their fingers from touching, afraid she would drop the glass if they did. She hurried to the tray to set it down.

“This is for you,” he said, reaching into his shirt pocket. She reluctantly returned to him and took the paper he offered without looking at it. It was warm. She held it between both palms to absorb the heat before it was lost.

Christian turned his attention to Martha’s parcels, and Lynnette stepped to the table where she had set the lemonade. She tucked the corner of the letter under the tray and poured herself a glass. She wasn’t really interested in the lemonade, but at least it kept her from gazing at Christian. She didn’t relax until he had gathered Martha’s things and headed for the kitchen.

Emily was sitting on the floor where she had been opening all of her purchases, scattering the string and paper around her. “Come see what I got,” she said. Emily had found a white lacy chemise and a ruffled petticoat in a pale peach. “This is just a shade lighter than a dress I have,” she said, holding up the petticoat.
She added in a loud whisper, “I know they’re not supposed to show, but they do if you work at it.”

Her attention shifted to some folded delft-blue fabric with appropriate sewing notions piled on top. “Rose and I always make something together when she comes, and it was supposed to be my turn to get the dress.”

“Do you really think she isn’t coming?” Lynnette asked, crouching beside the girl.

“I suppose she is. Eventually. I just wanted her to come today.” Emily’s pout didn’t last very long. “Look. I found this for you.”

Emily rummaged under some wadded wrapping and pulled out a small silver pin and handed it to her. She laughed in delight It was in the shape of a feather.

“If you wear it like this—” she turned it in Lynnette’s hand “—it looks like an old-fashioned quill pen.”

“I love it,” Lynnette said. She pinned it to the collar of her blouse.

Emily reached out and touched it. “Perfect. Everyone will either know you’re a writer or think you’re an Indian.”

They were still giggling over that when Arlen came in. He gave his sister and the mess around her a fond smile. “Did you have a pleasant trip? It looks like it was fruitful, at least.”

“Yeah,” Emily said, gathering her purchases together. “How long till dinner?”

“Close to an hour, I believe.” He assisted Lynnette to her feet. “What happened to your skirt?”

“Oh,” she began, wishing he hadn’t noticed, “the
wind blew water on me when I filled the pitcher for the lemonade.” She turned to put her glass on the tray.

“Why were
you
making the lemonade?”

Lynnette blinked at him. “Martha was fixing dinner.”

Emily saved her from whatever Arlen might have said next. “Help me get my loot upstairs,” she said. “I want to change out of this dusty dress.”

Lynnette helped her gather her things, leaving behind the paper and string. She wondered if Arlen would clean it up or go get Martha to do it. She knew she was being unfair, but she couldn’t help it. Little things Arlen said irritated her, and she couldn’t talk herself out of it.

Upstairs, she helped Emily deposit her things in her room, then went to her own. She supposed she would have to change her skirt now that Arlen had noticed it. She slipped it off and hung it over the back of the chair. The petticoats seemed barely damp, but she took off the outside one and spread it out on the bed. She picked a skirt that went with the blouse and slipped it on.

Checking herself in the mirror in preparation for going down, she touched the silver pin and smiled. It was nice of Emily to think of her.

She considered loitering in the room until Emily went down, but what would she do? Suddenly she remembered the letter. It was probably from Amanda. She went quickly down the stairs to retrieve it. The living room was empty, Arlen no doubt having returned to the study.

In a few minutes she was back in her room with the
letter. She sat on the edge of the bed and broke the seal.

Amanda came right to the point. Julian Taggart had been to see her, demanding to know where Lynnette had gone. Amanda described Taggart’s behavior as suspicious. “He paced and questioned and muttered,” she wrote. “I found his visit most upsetting and have informed my staff that I will not receive him again unless Bill is with me.”

Amanda went on to assure her that she didn’t tell Taggart where she had gone but was afraid he would find out from some other source. She closed the letter with a warning. “Please be careful of him if he comes there. I don’t believe he is at all rational.”

Lynnette slowly folded the letter and placed it on the stand beside the bed. Her first reaction was frustration. Why couldn’t the man forget her as quickly as she had forgotten him? He frightened her. Irrational people’s behavior was unpredictable. He might very well follow her to the ranch and cause her trouble with Arlen. As if she didn’t have enough already.

L
ynnette sat on the bed for long minutes listening to the wind rattle the glass door and thinking about Taggart. What could he do if he came? Demand that she go with him? She could simply refuse. Tell Arlen lies about her? Surely Arlen would believe her instead. Was he capable of violence?

A thought crept into her mind.
Christian can handle him.
She had to laugh at herself. When she heard Emily come out of her room, she was happy to leave her thoughts behind and follow the girl downstairs.

Christian missed dinner again. Emily wasn’t quite as unhappy as she had been the night before. Evidently spending the whole day with him made it easier for her to forgive him. She spent much of the meal relating everything the ladies in town had told her and everything Rose had said.

Lynnette could sense Arlen’s impatience with his sister’s monopoly of the conversation. She didn’t care. She was too preoccupied with Amanda’s letter to want to talk herself. And she didn’t want to listen to Arlen.

In a break in Emily’s monologue, she asked if the family planned to attend church the following day.

“The nearest is a little community church about six miles from here,” Arlen said. “Everyone in the neighborhood goes. Of course we never know if we can get Emily around in time.”

Emily favored her brother with a smirk. “You’d rather go to church in town where there are more voters.”

Hugh cleared his throat and both of his offspring looked contrite. “Normally,” he said, directing his words at Lynnette, “we take a lunch and eat at church after the services. Of course, if you have some other preference, we’ll do what we can to accommodate it.”

“No. A country service sounds charming.” She smiled at Hugh. An escape from the table had just presented itself. “I think I’ll go and arrange to help Martha with tomorrow’s lunch.”

She was half out of her chair when outbursts from Arlen and Emily stopped her.

“That isn’t necessary.”

“You don’t need to—”

Lynnette sat back down. “What’s wrong?” she asked. The table was silent.

She looked at Arlen for an answer. His eyes flicked to his father and away. Finally he spoke. “It’s just that you’re a guest. It isn’t proper for you to be working in the kitchen.”

Lynnette didn’t respond. She turned to Emily. “Is that what you were thinking as well?”

Emily twirled her fork but didn’t answer.

Lynnette decided Arlen needed to see a little more
of her defiance. “Tomorrow,” she began softly, “is Sunday. How can you enjoy a day of rest knowing a fellow Christian is working in order to make that possible? Excuse me.”

She rose and turned from the table. She heard Arlen hiss, “You’re just afraid she’ll make you look bad.”

“Then what’s
your
problem?” Emily retorted.

Hugh’s “Children!” followed her into the kitchen.

Martha and her family were around the table, and once again the men started to rise as Lynnette entered. She waved them down and seated herself at an empty place. Martha looked too stunned to remember to chew.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said. “I just wondered what your plans were for the lunch tomorrow.”

After a moment Martha said with exaggerated patience, “I planned to fry a chicken. Did you want to change the menu?”

“No,” Lynnette said, hoping her smile would make the woman relax. She knew Martha didn’t like her, but she wasn’t backing down now. “It must be difficult to cook and attend worship so I’m asking to help.”

She saw Martha’s eyes narrow and added hastily, “I’m not suggesting that you can’t handle it, but it must be hectic, and there are more to feed than usual. Besides, when we had servants, Father always gave them Sundays off so I’m used to it.” She didn’t add that the servants had been gone for years and she was used to doing all the cooking.

“Oh, I’m happy to accept your offer,” Martha said
in a tone that sounded anything but happy. “I’ll start frying the chicken at sunup. You can join me any time.”

“Thanks,” she said, wondering if her own smile looked forced. “Tonight’s roast was very good.”

“Don’t you want dessert?” Jake asked. “It’s chocolate cake.”

She had been about to turn him down but reconsidered. “May I take it to my room?”

Jake laughed, rising from the table. “You found her weakness, Mom.” He winked at Lynnette and led her to the counter where the cake sat. “Trays are over there,” he said, pointing. “Want a cup of coffee?”

Lynnette crossed the room and poured herself a cup. She was returning to claim her cake when the outside door opened with a gust of air that swirled her skirts around her ankles. She found herself facing an equally startled Christian. His hat, which he removed quickly, had been pulled down tight against the wind.

“You here for cake, too?” Martha asked, her voice far warmer than Lynnette had ever heard it.

“Rumor says it’s chocolate,” he answered, not taking his eyes off Lynnette. “Were you elected to fetch dessert tonight?”

“No, I…” Why did just the sight of him affect her? “Actually, I’m just here after my own.”

Christian laughed, moving away and releasing her from his gaze. “A storm’s blowing in,” he said over his shoulder.

Lynnette quickly returned to Jake and put a slice of cake on her tray. She was about to leave the kitchen when Emily came in. Jake met her with a tray containing
three more slices, and Lynnette left them to tease each other without her.

“Emily will be along in a moment,” she told Hugh and Arlen. “If you don’t mind, I’ll take my dessert to my room.”

Arlen was on his feet before she made it past the table. “Are you feeling all right?”

“Yes, I’m fine.” She hoped her smile was reassuring. “Christian picked up a letter from a friend when he was in town. I thought I would reread it and perhaps answer it tonight”

“We understand perfectly,” Hugh said.

She couldn’t tell if Arlen understood at all, let alone perfectly, but he stepped aside. It was funny, she reflected as she went up the stairs. Earlier, she had been eager to leave her room, but now she found the company of the family no more comforting than her own thoughts.

Christian got up early the next morning. The rain might change the day’s plans. It didn’t take much to turn the roads to quagmire. In which case, the household rules were the same. Martha fixed lunch early, and had the rest of the day off. The rain would make the chores take longer, though that didn’t matter if Hugh declared the roads impassable and they didn’t need to hurry off to church.

Normally, he looked forward to Sunday mornings. Instead of the usual breakfast with his father and a discussion of ranch business, he ate with Martha and Perry and Jake.

Today, however, he dreaded the community gathering—and
watching Arlen introduce Lynnette to all the neighbors as his future wife. Every time the sound of rain against his windows had lightened, he had prayed for a downpour, and he thought a little guiltily that he might have gotten it If he sank in mud over his boot tops and his chores took him all day, he would deserve it—and he wouldn’t half mind.

As he pushed open the kitchen door he heard Martha’s voice. “Do you want your breakfast in the dining room, Miss Sterling?”

“Whatever’s easiest,” came the reply.

Christian hesitated in the doorway. Lynnette, dressed in a simple gown that somehow made her perfect face look more beautiful, eyed the table curiously. He turned his gaze there and saw the fourth place Martha had set.

“The easiest,” he began, recalling the conversation he had overheard, “would be for you to join us here.”

“I would enjoy that,” she said. “If Martha doesn’t mind.” She turned toward the older woman and waited for her nod. “I wondered whom the extra place was for.”

He turned away from her before her eyes became too hypnotic and gathered the silver needed to set another place. Last night he had skipped dinner with his family to avoid her, and now she showed up here for breakfast. “It’s set for me every Sunday,” he said finally. “I suppose that seems a little strange to you.” He laid out the silver on the table to avoid looking at her.

“It seems strange to Arlen that I should want to help with lunch.” He looked at her then. She must
have read his surprise because she added, “Yes, Arlen’s china doll actually asked to help cook.”

Christian turned away to hide his smile. Arlen must have called her that, and from her tone she hadn’t been flattered. He grabbed a cup from the shelf and started for the stove. “Will Arlen’s china doll have coffee?”

“Aren’t you afraid the paint will crack?”

He turned to find she had followed him, an empty cup in hand. “Well,” he said softly as he poured. “Perhaps Arlen is.”

“Would that be so tragic?”

He became aware of Martha working nearby and led Lynnette back toward the table. He should tell her he didn’t want to be involved in any disagreements between her and Arlen, but even that statement seemed an involvement. It would be better to change the subject.

“Evidently you’ve heard about our Sunday routine,” he said, offering her a corner place at the table. He stepped over the bench and sat down beside her.

“Only briefly. What time do you usually leave for church?”

“Nine. But it may have rained too much to go.”

She looked surprised for a second, then light seemed to dawn. “I hadn’t even thought of the muddy roads.”

“You could have slept late after all,” Martha said from behind them. Somehow she didn’t sound sympathetic.

Lynnette cast Martha a nervous smile over her shoulder. If she had intended any other response, it died on her lips. By turning she had put her face mere inches from his. Her soft hazel eyes looked troubled,
vulnerable. Her pink lips parted slightly as the smile faded. He tightened his grip on the coffee cup to keep from reaching out to touch her.

The squeak of the back door made it possible for him to break away. Perry and Jake entered, dripping and gasping, and Christian rose to greet them. If they were surprised to find Lynnette at their table they covered it well. Soon they were all seated and Martha brought the food. Perry returned thanks, asking a special blessing for their guest, and Jake started the food around the table.

Christian tried to encourage a normal conversation, but both women were uncomfortable. Perry cast his wife furtive glances as if he were afraid she would say something she shouldn’t. Jake was the only one relaxed enough to enjoy the food.

Why had Lynnette agreed to stay if the family made her so nervous? Christian wondered. The thought that he was the one making her uncomfortable crossed his mind and was easily dismissed. He was the one affected by her presence.

Martha’s behavior reminded him a little of her manner around Felicia. No doubt she saw Lynnette’s presence as an invasion.

Which was how he saw it himself. She had invaded his family, his home…his heart. And she sat only inches away from him. If he wasn’t careful his leg would brush against her skirt, or his elbow would touch her arm. He was sure he could feel her body’s heat One irrelevant thought kept coming back to him: How could Arlen have actually called her a china doll?

Lynnette thought breakfast would never end. She was constantly aware of Christian beside her, and it was more disconcerting even then having him across from her. He, on the other hand, seemed at ease. More at ease, perhaps, than he was with his own family. It was strange, as he had said. Did he fit in better here?

After the tense breakfast, the morning of cooking seemed to rush past. Martha assigned her a task and seemed surprised that she asked for another when it was done. An hour into the preparations, Jake told them the roads were too muddy to make the trip to church. Plans were quickly changed to leave the meal warming on the stove, but the pace of preparation didn’t let up. Finally, everything was ready and the women parted.

In her room, Lynnette pulled aside the curtains and watched the rain streak down the glass. She hoped Christian wasn’t out in the rain. She had only the vaguest idea of what his morning chores might be and hoped they were all in the warm, dry barn. She shook off the thought and turned away.

She changed into the burgundy-colored dress she had worn on an earlier evening and rearranged her hair. She wasn’t sure what the family did on Sundays when they didn’t go to church, but she imagined them sitting around the fire, reading and playing checkers as they did most evenings.

She smiled as she patted the last strand into place. In an odd sort of way she had enjoyed her morning with Martha. She had felt useful for the first time in days.

In the course of the morning, she had asked Martha
about wash day and learned that it was always Monday, weather permitting, of course. She had considered trying to take care of her own laundry herself, but that would have been difficult without bothering Martha for supplies. Besides, doing the laundry together would give her and Martha a chance to visit.

She was on her way to the door when the oddest thought struck her. She almost wished she was here to work for the household instead of marry into it. Of course that was ridiculous; Martha’s life only seemed simpler from a distance.

She reached for the doorknob and stopped.
Martha isn’t on the verge of marrying someone she doesn’t love.
Was that what bothered her this morning? Doubts about Arlen? But what did she know of love anyway? Just romantic notions she had picked up from books and Amanda, and had mimicked in her own writing.

She turned and walked slowly toward the glass door. Rain still dripped from the gray sky but not so heavily now. It seemed as if she had had doubts about her decision since she came here. Why should they crowd in on her and make her feel especially melancholy today?

Was it because she had spent the day before with Arlen and several little things he said had disturbed or irritated her? But she was far from perfect herself. She should accept Arlen the way he was. Wasn’t that really all anyone could ask?

She turned away from the glass. Perhaps it was the weather. A warm family gathering downstairs would lift her spirits.