Beyond Hope's Valley: A Big Sky Novel (12 page)

A woman approached wearing bright blue eye shadow. She looked to be his mother's age but gushed like a teenager. "Can I take a photo for my Facebook page?"

Ben nodded. "Uh, sure." He smiled, but felt the life getting sucked out of him as he did.

More people joined the line, and he knew he should stay there for them, but tonight . . .

He just couldn't.

He turned to the assistant at the table. "Sorry. I need to scoot tonight. I'm not doing too well." He turned to face the line of people, raising his voice so they would hear him. "You know what folks, it's been a long day. I need to hit the hay."

A moan carried through the crowd as Ben offered a wave and strode away.

Backstage, the rest of the band members were loading up their instruments, but instead of helping he excused himself and headed to the tour bus. The night air was chilly, but a warm breeze seemed to blow over him when he noticed a woman standing by the door of their bus. Tall, blonde, beautiful . . .

He slowed his steps as he approached and said a silent prayer for strength. "Hey. You looking for someone?" Ben glanced over his shoulder. Were the band members setting him up? They'd teased him on the flight to Chicago about taking one of his groupies up on their offers to "keep him company." It would be just like them to place a temptation before him, then hide someplace with a video camera. Well, as temptation went, this woman was top notch.

"Lookin' for you."

Yeah. It was a setup. "That's kind of you, but I don't—"

She held up a hand, stopping him, then tucked her thumbs in the back of her jeans. She wore a low-cut shirt and it took all Ben's reserve to stay focused on her eyes.

She smiled, and oddly enough, her smile seemed . . . friendly. Nothing more. "I know it can get lonely and boring on the road. And I bet you get tired of fast food. I thought you'd like a home-cooked meal."

Ben's eyes widened. He'd been on the road before and he'd gotten a lot of offers—but none like this. "You're offering me food?"

"Yeah, what did you think?"

"Well . . ." He shifted from side to side trying to figure out how to tell her he wasn't interested. Well, he was interested, but knew he shouldn't be.

"Actually, I make it a policy never to go home with a stranger, even one as pretty as you."

Laughter bubbled from the woman's lips like suds in a sink of warm water. "Oh man, I must seem pretty desperate. Look, I'm serious about the meal. My dad owns a restaurant down the street. Home cooking at its finest." She lowered her gaze and looked up at him under long eyelashes. "After hearing the story of the girl you like I wouldn't want to get in the middle of that. You just looked like . . . you could use a friend."

No doubting the sincerity in her words. Clearly, he'd misread the situation. And the woman. "Sure." Ben slid on his jean jacket and buttoned it half way up. "I could always use a friend and home cooking does sound good." He patted his stomach. "Especially tonight. I forgot how empty I get pouring everything out on stage."

Something inside told him to get on the bus, to walk away. But the woman's smile drew him in.

He motioned to the bus driver and when the man approached, Ben told him he'd be back in an hour. It would take the rest of the band that long to pack up.

With slow steps he followed her to a waiting sports car.

"I'm sad to hear you're empty. My dad's cooking is sure to fill you up."

"Thanks. Appreciate that." If only he were just talking about his stomach. But his chest felt just as hollow. With late nights and long days on the road, he'd hadn't spent time with God like he had before going on tour. He needed quiet time, time to think, time to pray . . . but for right now he'd settle for a good meal, followed by a slice of pie. Coconut cream, if they had it.

She clicked the key fob to unlock the car door, and he placed his hand on the door handle. The stirring came again, stronger this time, urging him to go back to the bus. The woman was beautiful. He could use the company . . .

But he knew he had no right getting into the car with her.

A battle waged inside him between what he longed for and what God was asking him to do. He couldn't believe how quickly those old desires popped up. He'd gone with many women like this in the past—and for a whole lot more than pie.

Ben released the handle and stepped back. "I've changed my mind. I told my fans back there I was heading to bed. I do need the sleep, and I need some time with God. As much as I appreciate your offer—"

"Are you sure?" The woman hurried around to the side of the car. "I can get something to go." She stepped closer to him, peering into his face. "I can be back in twenty minutes. It's no problem."

The skin on her face, her neck, was so smooth. He imagined the feel of it under his fingertips.

Ben swallowed hard. "Sorry." He raised his hands and turned away. "I'm sure you're a nice girl, but I have to set limits. More than that, I need people to trust my word." He didn't look back, didn't wait for her response. Instead he hurried back to the bus.

God, keep me strong.

It was a simple prayer, but so true. He needed to be strong against those who had the power to draw him away. And against himself—

And against the desire to run to those he truly longed to be with.

Abe swung the axe high over his head and let it fall onto the wood. A crack split the air and the log broke into two pieces, each side tumbling into small piles stacking up on the dirty snow.

He squatted and loaded his arm with wood. Biting edges snagged on his jacket, and he piled wood up to his shoulder and then turned and strode toward the front porch of his house. The woodpile was already tall and neatly stacked, but he was one to be prepared. If things worked out as it seemed, they'd most likely be around next winter too. He could use the extra wood then.

Stepping onto the first porch step, Abe saw Ike standing with a coffee mug in one hand and patting Trapper with the other. His brother was just a few years younger, and they'd grown closer over the last year than they'd ever been. Ike had always been the wanderer, the adventurer, and this time—as the word had spread back home—he'd talked Abe into wandering along with him.

"Jest got here a minute ago." Ike lifted his mug. "Walked over from the store. Ruth was kind enough to let me warm up by the fire for a minute and pour me a cup of coffee."

Abe stacked the wood against the log siding. "She does make the best coffee. Glad you could make it."

Ike chuckled. "Well now, it's not every day I get a message on my answering machine in the shed from my brother. In fact, I think it's a first."

"I jest wanted to talk to you about packing up our things in Indiana. You said you knew of a driver who could help us." Abe wasted no time letting his brother in on the whole truth of the matter. "Ruth wants to sell the house, too, which means packing up and moving everything."

Abe finished stacking the wood and brushed off wood chips from his jacket. "The more I think about it, the more it seems the right thing to do. I won't need any of the farm equipment. I'll try to sell it to the Moser lad or take it to auction. Most of the things we bring will be from the house."

"That's good, the less you have to move the better. The problem is the driver I was thinking of was Ben Stone. That's not possible now that he's gone to California to make his music."

Abe nodded. He didn't like that they'd have to come up with another driver, and yet . . .

Just as well his daughter was far away from that Englischman.

Ike rose, and Trapper jumped up on his leg, wanting more attention.

Abe patted his leg, and the dog lunged toward him, tail wagging. The poor pup hadn't been the same since Marianna left. He stroked the top of the dog's head.

"Too bad you couldn't pack up those trees you planted behind the barn." Ike added a log to the stack. "I know they were planted in memory of Marilyn and Joanna, and even though those were the darkest times . . . well, seeing the trees helps me remember."

"That was a hard time, all right." Abe lowered his head. And that was the strange thing about moving. Leaving Indiana felt like he was turning his back to the pain and the loss, and in a way it saddened him to walk away from all that. It was a part of what made him who he was—what made
them
who they were.

"There were other dark days too." The words escaped before Abe understood why he was saying them, but as soon as they were out a chill dripped down his spine. Even though losing his daughters in the accident had been devastating, he knew his children rested in the arms of God. The
darkest
day was different.

That was the day Ruth told him she loved another.

He'd come in from laying seed, not having a care in the world, and there sat his wife, holding their infant daughter and looking at him as if he were a stranger in their own home. Her parents had both been ill, and she'd been spending time helping in their home. She'd been distant, but he believed it was because she'd been trying to do too much. But the words escaping from her downturned lips told Abe a different tale.

"My parents' neighbor has been over every day. Mark was my friend as a child—before I understood his friendship wasn't to be. We've been talking . . . he says he still loves me, Abe. Has always loved me." She lowered her gaze. "I believe I love him too."

She'd spoken as simply as if she'd been sharing her favorite recipe rather than shredding his heart.

Over the following months, although Ruth still lived at home and went through the motions of being his wife, her heart wasn't in it. Abe thought he'd lost her for good.

Then one day she returned. She'd never left physically, it only seemed that way. One day, though, she laughed as she did the dishes. She smiled again and cared for him as she had when they'd first married. He hadn't asked the reason for the change—he was just happy it had come.

Ruth's childhood friend moved away soon after that, and they never again brought up the subject of her struggle. It had been enough for Abe that the man was gone. It had been even better when their next daughter Joanna was conceived just a few months later—a second representation of their union. Another proof of their life, their family.

But now? Deep down he had a feeling what Betsy had said in her letter stirred his wife's buried emotions. No, he hadn't read the letter, but his wife's distance and tension these last few days told him what her words couldn't.

Mark Olsen had returned.

Abe shook his head.

Was he making a mistake in taking Ruth back to Indiana for Levi's wedding? Maybe he shouldn't return. Or just go without her. But no. He couldn't leave Ruth in Montana alone. There was nothing else to do. They would return.

He just hoped Ruth would be stronger this time around.

Ike cleared his throat, bringing Abe back to the present. "There is a phrase that Edgar at the store uses . . . penny fer your thoughts." Ike cocked one eyebrow.

Abe released a sound that reminded him of escaping steam. He considered telling Ike his struggle, but he didn't want to damage Ruth's good name. Back when it happened, word had gotten out that Ruth's eyes and heart had been turned to an Englischman, but like any "news," it had dissipated into nothingness as soon as the next community member did what they ought not.

"A penny is about all my thoughts are worth." Abe sighed. "I was jest trying to consider who would be a good person to drive us instead," he lied.

"I can ask around." Ike tucked his hands into his pockets. "In the meantime can we head inside?" He patted his stomach. Looked to me as if Ruth is almost done making up breakfast."