Debra Holland (20 page)

He’d been warned and could pull back while there was still time to emerge from this situation without further pain.

Maybe I should leave this town, but I promised the Almighty I’d stay. I’m bound by that.

Ant walked back to the dancers, thinking to collect David and head on back to Widow Murphy’s. The music of the violin swirled around him, but the scene that had previously sounded so festive now felt flat. The feeling he’d had earlier—the sense of belonging—had vanished with this realization of Harriet’s attraction for another.

An older man with a craggy face framed by a bushy gray beard and thinning hair came up to him. To his recollection, he hadn’t yet met the man.

The man stopped in front of him and extended his hand. “Abe Maguire.”
 

“Ant Gordon.” They shook.

The man tucked his thumbs in his suspenders over his potbelly and rocked on his heels. “Hear tell you’re gonna stay here.”

“Hear tell?” He’d only told the minister. Ant didn’t like the idea of all and sundry knowing his business.

“Talked to the preacher earlier. Told him I was heading out to live with my daughter. Selling my house.”

That caught Ant’s attention. “Tell me about it.”

The man jerked his head in the direction of town. “Half mile on the other side of town. Nice farm.”

Ant shook his head. “I’m not a farmer.”

Able snorted. “No more land to farm. Sold it off to Harrison, my neighbor. He didn’t want the house, though. Has a good one of his own and only one girl. Don’t need another.”

“How big?”

“’Bout the size of Doc Cameron’s. Three bedrooms. Wife and I had one. Boys one and the girls another.”

“Don’t any of your children want the house?”

“Scattered around. Except for my daughter. And she has a bigger house.”

“How old is your place?”

“Built it for my bride back in ’59. Kept it up good ’til the last few years when my wife was doing poorly. Solid though. Logs. Built it to last.” He looked away. “Never thought I’d walk away from it. Wife died last year. Ain’t the same.”

Ant had a feeling the man’s grief ran deep.
Must not be easy to leave a place where you belong. Even if it’s lonesome there.
Uncomfortable, he shifted, then he, too, looked away. He brought his gaze back to McGuire. “I’m sorry for your loss.” The pain on the man’s face made Ant offer up a bit more. “Know what it’s like to lose a good woman.”
 

The older man couldn’t meet Ant’s eyes. He just swallowed and scuffed a booted foot across the dirt.

Ant checked on David and saw his nephew raise his hand to point at something. The boy next to him rocked back and forth with laughter. Even in his silence, his nephew was communicating...making a friend.

Suddenly Ant knew. They were staying. David’s small victory cinched it
.
“I’ll ride out tomorrow and take a look.”

The man shook his head. “Tomorra’s Sunday. It’s church, then spendin’ the day at my daughter’s. Ride out Monday, can ya?”
 

Ant nodded.

Abe gave him directions and walked away, heading for the buggies and wagons parked at the side of the house.

Ant gazed after him, wondering about the depths of grief that came from a lifetime of loving a wife. He’d only had Isabella for six months, and her death still hurt. He thought back to Harriet...the look on her face as she spied on Nick and Elizabeth.
Yes, it’s better to keep my heart to myself.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Sunday morning, Ant discovered getting David ready for church wasn’t as easy as any other morning. For one thing, even though the boy didn’t speak a word, his body protested loud and clear that he didn’t want to go to the service.

Truth be, Ant couldn’t blame him. He didn’t want to either. Irritation made him snappish. At one point, Ant spoke sharply to David for him to hurry up, then immediately regretted it when the boy cringed away from him, a wild look in his eyes.

With a sigh, Ant apologized, making sure he gentled his voice. He picked up a comb and positioned the boy to stand with his back to Ant. In spite of his frustration, he worked the comb gently from the ends up, careful not to yank on the snarls.

David stood acquiescent under his ministrations. Only the rigid set of his shoulders betrayed his discomfort.

Should have found time to get him a haircut. Should have gotten one myself.

Ant dipped the comb in the pitcher of water on the washbasin, and then used it to comb the strands back from David’s face, tucking them behind his ears. Then he picked up a long-handled hand mirror, crouched down to David’s level and showed him what he looked like. “You tidy up well.”

David placed his hand over Ant’s, angling the mirror away from him toward his uncle.

Ant could see his own face in the mirror. “Darned if we don’t look alike, Davy boy.” Especially with their hair styled the same way. Goosebumps broke out over his arms, and he rose to his full height, resisting the temptation to brush his hand over David’s head in affection. Wouldn’t want to mess up his handiwork. “Ready as we’ll ever get, huh?” he said in a drawn-out drawl. “How ’bout some food?”

Ant ushered David into the kitchen. Thankfully there wasn’t any sign of Mrs. Murphy, but she’d left out a plate of rolls on the table and scrambled eggs in the cast iron frying pan. They tucked into the food with a good appetite, then washed their hands and headed out the door.

In spite of David’s dawdling, they arrived at the church before most of the congregation. A few people smiled and said hello to both him and David. Ant returned the greetings.

David, of course, said nothing, walking stiffly, pokerfaced.

A few yards away, Widow Murphy stood talking to Mrs. Cobb. He debated walking over to say a polite good morning. Then they put their heads together, ugly bonnets almost touching, and wearing mirror disapproving expressions. Ant decided he didn’t much care to do the polite thing today. When they glanced at him, Ant had to shake off an uneasy feeling. He was an intrepid foreign correspondent. What could those women say that would have any effect on him?

The Carters waved. They approached, but another woman stopped Pamela. The girls waited with her. Ant stood listening to Carter talk about cattle and the price of feed, while their smallest girl, who leaned against her mother’s leg, studied David with solemn blue eyes. Just watching the two children, equally reserved, made Ant suppress a grin.

Mrs. Carter beckoned to her husband. “Time to go inside, my dear.”

They turned as a group and headed into the church.

Inside, plain glass windows let in plenty of light that reflected off the white wood walls. A table in front, covered in a snowy cloth, held candlesticks. Pink roses in a vase stood next to a cross.

Ant placed his hand on David’s shoulder to guide him up the side aisle. The pews had started to fill with people dressed in their church-going best. Ahead, Harriet sat next to the Cobbs, near the center. He’d have known her anywhere, even though she hadn’t turned her head to look at him. She wore a gray dress and the straw hat he’d given her.

David also spotted Harriet and swerved into the pew, then slid next to her.

Harriet’s smile at David lit up her pretty face, causing a tickly feeling in the vicinity of Ant’s heart. Half pleased that David had acted on his own, half-dismayed that he’d chosen the schoolmarm to sit next to, Ant followed his nephew into the pew. He nodded a greeting to the Cobbs and Harriet and took his seat.

Harriet patted David’s knee. “It’s good to see you here, David.” She looked over at him. “You, too, Ant.” She reached up to finger the ribbons of her hat, tied in a bow under her chin.

Ant’s insides warmed, knowing that his gift had brought her pleasure. He didn’t know what to say to her, so he settled on a smile.

Music began to play, a piano and violin duet. Ant recognized the hymn as “Amazing Grace.” It was Elizabeth Sanders playing the piano. Her husband stood next to her, violin tucked under his chin, sharing her music.

The lilting notes filled the plain little church with the presence of God until the interior seemed more majestic than all the cathedrals in Europe. Ant closed his eyes for a minute and allowed the beauty of the music to wash over him, settling peace on his skin that seemed to seep into his body and expand his heart. He followed the familiar words in his head, but realized the “sweet sound” the hymn described meant more to him now than at any other time in his life. He and David had both been lost. Until this moment, Ant hadn’t realized how much. Now that he’d found his nephew, maybe somehow he’d find his way back, too.

To what?

To love.
The answer seemed to whisper on the sound of music.

In the hush of appreciation that followed the close of the song, Ant opened his eyes and glanced over at Harriet, hoping to see a similar connection on her countenance. But she was focused on Nick Sanders, and the sight of her expression slapped away his good feelings. Hopefulness tumbled into a pit of despair, and he had to hold in a groan.

What the hell is wrong with me? It’s unlike me to have such flights of fancy—high or low
.

He’d spent the years since Isabella’s death suppressing all his emotion. Then, Emily’s murder had ripped him apart, and he’d painstakingly pieced himself back together, more determined than ever to keep his emotions in hand.

But a small schoolmarm with a sweet smile and kind eyes had found a way underneath his armor.

* * *

David sat next to Daniel Rodriguez in the back of a wagon piled with children dressed in their Sunday best, bouncing along the faint dirt road on the way to Daniel’s mother’s ranch. Hay filled the plank bed, cushioning the jolts. Laughter and conversation flowed around him; the bond between the children was obvious to a stranger like him. Although everyone was kind, he couldn’t help feeling awkward—like the outsider he was.

After church, Daniel’s mother had asked Uncle Ant if he could come home with Daniel for a visit. David hadn’t been sure whether to stay with his uncle or go with his new friends. His uncle had decided for him. Still, David planned to hang back and not be any bother, a hard-learned habit.

The older boys—he’d worked out their names—Little Feather, Tim, and Jack, swapped stories of their adventures last night at the dance. He kept staring at the twins, liking the merriment he saw on their thin, freckled faces. He’d never seen two people look so similar, and he couldn’t tell them apart, although Daniel seemed to have no trouble. Nor did pretty Christine Thompson, whom he avoided looking at because being close to a girl made him uncomfortable. Daniel had no trouble with her either. Maybe because she was soon going to be his sister. He wondered what it would be like to have a sister.

Little Feather sat the closest to David on his other side. The Indian boy wore his hair in a long tail. To David’s disappointment he wasn’t wearing beaded leather, but a blue striped shirt, neatly tucked into his pants. The Indian didn’t say much, just watched with solemn black eyes, and mostly let the others do the talking. But, David noticed that when he did say something, everyone else listened.

The only good Indian is a dead Indian
. His pa’s words, spoken in his angry voice, crashed into his mind. David had heard them often enough. Good thing his pa wasn’t here. He’d have had a fit about David associating with an Indian. Would have beaten him black and blue and bloody, too. Then shot Little Feather. Probably would have missed though. When he drank, his pa was a bad shot, and since he drank all the time, that meant a lot of wasted bullets and an empty larder.

The thought of food made his stomach growl.

Daniel grinned at him. “Almost home. Before we left, Maria was making a big batch of stew and rolls. And Mrs. Toffels brought pies.” He twisted around, half-kneeling. “Mrs. Toffels,” he hollered to the plump woman sitting beside Daniel’s mother, who sat next Christine’s pa, who was driving. “What kind of pies did you make?”

Daniel’s ma turned around. “Daniel!” she said in a reproving tone. “There’s no need to yell or talk to Mrs. Toffels’ back. Ask her when we arrive at the ranch.”

Not at all abashed, Daniel turned and dropped back onto the straw. “Bet it’s dried apple and cinnamon.”

David’s stomach growled again.

Daniel elbowed him, not hard, but friendly like. “I’m going to take you to see the Falabellas before we eat. I want you to meet Chico.”

David had heard all about the miniature horses the night of the dance, when the two had sat on a straw bale and talked. Or rather, Daniel had talked out loud, and David had talked in his mind. Seemed to work just fine. Daniel could sure pack a lot of words into a conversation.

His new friend chattered all the way. He rattled off the names and descriptions of each horse, and, by the time the wagon had arrived at the ranch, David was sure he’d be able to pick out each Falabella from David’s description.

Daniel pointed to a twisted rock formation. “Hey, we’re here.” He rose to his knees and scooted around to face forward.

David followed suit, hanging on to the back of the bench seat for balance. Daniel’s white frame house with a porch across the front wasn’t big and grand like the house they’d been to last night. But it was...he searched for the word...homey.