Sarah's Surrender (17 page)

Sarah stared at the slow-moving water. The sun glistened off it as it bubbled across the rocks. “I do care for Luke. He's my best friend next to Lara and Jo, but like I said, I don't know if I will marry.”

Clicking her tongue, Zelma shook her head as if it were the oddest thing she'd ever heard. “A good man can make a woman very happy. And I can't begin to explain the joy of holdin' your brand-spankin'-new child in your arms and seeing the way your husband's eyes light up when he looks at you and the babe.”

A deep longing to experience that very thing spiraled through Sarah, surprising her. She'd never thought much about being a mother, although the idea of having a child of her own was appealing. But she could never have that child unless she married. For some reason, the idea of doing so didn't seem as awful as it once did.

In Gabe and Jack, she'd learned that men could love their women and be kind, caring, and protective. Luke had taught her that men could be fun and make you laugh. Those sure weren't things she'd learned from her father. Although, to be fair, she had to give Pete Worley some credit. After finding her when she ran away and allowing her to live with the Coulters, he'd sold his bordello and moved onto a small ranch. She'd never been close to the man who'd taken her from her mother, but she was grateful for the way he'd supported her financially the past eight years and made the dream of owning her own home a reality.

The idea of marrying and living with a man had some merit, but she wasn't sure she was ready. For now, she was happy living on her land and dreaming of moving into her house.

Luke's smiling face barged into her thoughts, followed by Stephen Barlow's troubled one. She'd never actually prayed about marriage. Could it be that God wanted her to consider it more than she previously had? She blew out a sigh, drawing a curious glance from Zelma.

She supposed she could at least pray about it.

What could it hurt?

Luke reined Golden Boy down the hill to the banks of the river. Jack rode up beside him and stopped, allowing his horse to drink, too. “You reckon this is a branch of the Washita River?”

Jack stared for a moment then shook his head. “Naw. My guess would be it's the Canadian.”

“We've ridden that far north?” They'd hoped to find some game, but the pickings had been slim so far.

“Might be a good idea to get Sarah a dog.”

Luke gave his friend a long look. “Where'd that thought come from?”

Jack shrugged. “I'm surprised you didn't think of it first. Once we're gone, she'll be alone. A dog would be good protection and could warn her of trouble coming her way.”

The thought of Sarah in trouble made his gut churn. He clenched his teeth, blowing long breaths out his nose. “I don't want to think about that.”

“What? Gettin' a dog?”

“No. Sarah in trouble.”

Jack rubbed the back of his neck. “It's kind of hard not to with her living alone like she plans. I've met a few of her neighbors, and they seem like decent folk, but I worry about her living by herself.”

“How come women are so stubborn?”

Jack barked a laugh that made Golden Boy jerk his head. “You'll be the richest man in the world if you can find the answer to that question, my friend.”

“Why can't she see that I care for her?” Luke didn't like talking about his feelings, but Jack was his friend and easy to confide in. And if he didn't talk to someone, he feared he'd go loco one day, worrying about Sarah.

“Have you ever come right out and told her?”

“I asked her to marry me. Isn't that plain enough?”

Jack shook his head. “Not to a woman. They need to know you love them. That you'll always be there to protect them, listen to their troubles, and allow them to cry on your shoulder while you keep your trap shut, when all you want to do is flee the cabin and go herdin' cattle or huntin'.”

Luke nudged Golden Boy forward. “Dealin' with women folks sure is complicated.”

“That's certainly an understatement.”

“You think you'll ever get married again?”

After a moment, Jack shrugged. “I guess I would if God sent me another good woman. I hate for Cody to grow up without a ma, and besides, I wouldn't mind havin' a few more young'uns.”

“That would be nice. I hope it happens.” Luke knew how broken up his friend had been over losing his wife and baby. It was good to hear him thinking of moving on, especially for his son's sake.

He studied the shallow valley they'd ridden into, searching for food. Over the years he'd given little thought to marriage and having children, but ever since he'd had his thirtieth birthday, something had shifted inside him. He had a longing to settle down, a desire to marry Sarah and raise a family. Too bad she wasn't interested in the same thing. All she cared about was her house.

Well, she'd soon have it, and then he'd have a huge decision if he still hadn't found a lot in town to buy. He wasn't cut out to be a deliveryman or to work in a hardware store for long. He needed to be outside, enjoying God's creation. He feared the day would come when he'd have to ride off and leave Sarah here.

How in the world was he going to do that?

Jack shot a look his way. “Have you noticed how those three Peterson men watch Sarah? If you're not careful, one of them might steal her away.”

Luke grunted. He'd noticed the looks, and they made his blood boil. “You think those fellows have more on their minds than lookin' at a pretty woman?”

“Could be. They're all close to Sarah's age. The twins are older, but Johnny is about the same as her.”

“So?”

“It'd be my guess they're looking for a woman to settle down with.”

“Well, it won't be Sarah. Not if I have anything to say about it.”

“Just don't drag your feet too long.” Jack yanked his rifle out of his scabbard, cocked it, and fired. A fat turkey dropped to the ground about fifty feet from them.

Luke had been so caught up in his thoughts of Sarah that he'd forgotten he was supposed to be hunting. How was it a woman could control a man's mind, even when she was nowhere near him?

I
don't like this one bit. Who is this Stephen Barlow that he thinks he can order you to have lunch with him?” Luke sidled a sharp glance at Sarah that made it hard not to squirm.

“It wasn't like that.”

“Then how was it? A woman doesn't eat lunch with a man she just met, especially by herself.”

Luke's overprotectiveness was both endearing and annoying. “I'm meeting him for his son's sake. It has nothing to do with Mr. Barlow.”

Luke guided the team into town. Both animals shook their heads and stretched their necks. Sarah reached over and squeezed his tight fist. “Relax, you're upsetting the horses.”

He slumped in the seat. “Sorry.”

“I told you what happened. How Phillip thought I was his mother. I don't understand why meeting with him and his father has you tied up in knots.”

“It ain't right for a woman to meet a man alone when she doesn't know him. How do you know you can trust him?”

“Would you feel better if you tagged along?”

His relieved gaze shot to hers. “Yes.”

She nibbled her lip, wishing she hadn't mentioned that. “I'm sorry, but I don't think that would be wise. And besides, Mr. Barlow's aunt will be there.”

“Why don't you want me along?”

“It's not that, Luke. I'm only going because of Phillip. The poor boy has been through so much in losing his mother and not being able to accept she's gone for good. Then he saw me and thought she'd returned. He was so happy then. I don't want to hurt him.”

Luke steered the wagon to the side and stopped. “How would me going along bother the boy? I can see his pa not liking it, though.”

She frowned. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“It means he's a lonely man who's found a woman similar-looking enough to his dead wife that his son thinks you're her. I can easily see him wanting to solve his son's problems by keepin' you around.”

“Oh for heaven's sake.” She bolted to her feet and proceeded to climb down—not nearly as easy a thing to do gracefully as when Luke lifted her to the ground. Her irritation with him grew. Who made him her protector? She was a grown woman and able to make her own decisions. “I'm going to lunch—alone.”

When he opened his mouth, she held up one hand. “Don't say a word.” Then she spun and left him standing where he was. She could feel his gaze on her back, but she didn't slow her steps.

Ever since they'd left the ranch, Luke had stuck closer than a sandbur, and she was getting tired of it. Even the closest of friends crossed the line sometimes—and Luke had just done that.

She'd be glad when her house was done and he and Jack returned home. At least she hoped Luke would go back to the ranch. She couldn't stand the thought of him hovering around her all the time if he happened to buy a lot and live here. She would have no peace.

As she drew near the area where the depot was being constructed, her steps slowed. Hammering and sawing drowned out the noise of the town. Several tents sat on the far side of the tracks, so she headed that way. A group of men entered the largest tent, which was surrounded by numerous other ones. It must be the one where the railroad crew ate. She started for it.

“Miss Worley!”

Slowing her steps, she turned toward the voice. “Mr. Barlow.”

He hurried to her side and offered his arm. “May I assist you?”

“Thank you, but that isn't necessary.”

“Very well.” He held out his hand, indicating for her to follow a path to the left—away from the large tent.

“Where are we going?”

“To get Phillip at my tent, and then we'll eat by the river. It's much preferable to the awful noise of the food tent. We wouldn't be able to hear one another talk, and besides, the men would all be late getting back to work because they wouldn't be able to take their eyes off of you.” His dark eyes twinkled, but she saw no guile in them.

Although she'd prefer to dine in public, at least they would be outside for all to see. So what harm could come from it? “All right.”

They passed close to fifty two-man tents and then turned onto a trail leading to a larger one staked in a grove of trees. Behind it was a smaller tent but bigger than the two-man ones. Phillip paced out front. He looked up, spied them, and broke into a run. “They're here!”

An older woman with gray hair stepped through the tent opening and gazed their way. She frowned when Phillip rushed up to her and fell against Sarah's skirts, hugging her. Sarah patted the boy's head, unsure of what to say to him. Had his father explained she wasn't his mother?

The older woman approached. Mr. Barlow smiled at her. “This is my aunt, Miss Esther Barlow. She's caring for Phillip while we're here in Anadarko.”

Sarah smiled. “A pleasure to meet you Miss Barlow.”

The woman nodded but didn't return the greeting. She stood back watching them.

Mr. Barlow cleared his throat. “Phillip, would you please show Miss Worley where we'll be eating?”

“Yes, Pa.” The boy stepped back and took hold of Sarah's hand. “It's this way.”

She allowed him to lead her down a faint path, through a copse of trees, to the river's edge. An already set table covered in a white tablecloth and pretty dishes with a blue floral pattern sat on a level piece of ground, only fifteen feet from the banks of the winding Washita River. “Why, this is lovely.”

Mr. Barlow pulled out a chair for her. “I'm glad you think so. We prefer to dine here when the weather cooperates rather than in the hot tent with men who've been working hard outside all day—if you catch my meaning.”

Miss Barlow approached the table, her features pinched. “Honestly, Stephen. That is not appropriate table conversation.”

He gave a quick bow then pulled out a seat for her across from Sarah. “My apologies, Aunt Esther. I was merely explaining to Miss Worley.”

“I'm certain she is able to understand without you going into details.”

Sarah turned her gaze on Phillip as he climbed into the chair on her right. “Do you like eating outside?”

He nodded. “Yes. I like it a lot. One time I saw a fish jump out of the water.”

“You did? I bet that was exciting.”

Miss Barlow harrumphed and laid her napkin in her lap.

Sarah resisted sighing. If the woman growled at every comment she made, this would be a long, unpleasant meal. Mr. Barlow lifted a basket off his chair and pulled out a platter of fried chicken, mashed turnips, green beans, and corn bread.

“There's pie for those who finish their food.” His gaze was directed at his son.

“But I don't like turnips, Pa.”

“Shh … don't complain.” Miss Barlow tapped Phillip rather roughly on the arm.