Heartland Wedding (8 page)

Even as the girl silently fought off her sister’s attentions, her face held a slightly distant expression. Rebecca had never seen anyone look so normal on the outside yet still incapable of speech. Something had wounded her terribly.

Did her trauma have to do with the missing twins?

They would never know if Bess stayed in her current state.

Eyeing the guarded expression in the girl’s eyes, Rebecca wondered if this was how she herself had looked last night when Pete had escorted her home from the church. It was no wonder he’d sent her inside for the evening.

He’d been worried about spooking her.

She understood the sentiment.

“Bess, I would love for you to help me around the kitchen this morning. Would you like that?”

Bess nodded slightly.

“So you’ll stay?”

Another, firmer nod.

“All right, then.” Rebecca smiled at the girl. “It’s settled.”

“I don’t know.” Emmeline looked from Rebecca to Bess and back to Rebecca again. With each pass, worry spread across her face. “I’m not sure I’m comfortable leaving her, after all.”

“Don’t fret, Emmeline. Bess will be safe with me.” Rebecca ever so gently ushered her friend toward the back door, nearly dragging her the last few steps.

At that point, Emmeline dug in her heels. “I don’t think I should leave her. She’s not ready.”

“Quit smothering the poor girl,” Rebecca whispered.

By her shocked gasp, it was clear Emmeline took immediate offense. “I am
not
smothering her.”

Rebecca set her hands on her waist and stared at her friend.

After a moment, Emmeline’s shoulders slumped forward. “Oh, all right. Perhaps I am smothering her. A little.”

“A little?”

Emmeline sighed. “I can’t help it.” She slid a brief glance toward Bess. “I’m so worried about her.”

“I am, too. We all are.”

Emmeline sighed again, then slowly walked over to her sister. “I’ll be back to fetch you in a few hours. Will that be all right with you?”

Bess shrugged.

Grimacing, Emmeline dropped a kiss on the girl’s head and then moved back to the door. Hand on the knob, she cleared her expression. “I’ll be at Zeb Garrison’s place, if you need me.”

“You’re going to the mill this morning?” Rebecca couldn’t keep the shock out of her voice. What possible business did Emmeline have at the town’s sawmill?

“No. No. I’m going to his house. To help Cassandra organize her reading materials for the upcoming school year.”

“Oh. Of course.” That made sense. Cassandra was the town’s schoolteacher and obviously in the midst of preparing for her new students.

Rebecca had only met Cassandra a few times, but she considered Zeb Garrison’s sister a friend. Of course, Emmeline was better friends with the young woman. Which, at the moment, was a good thing. Rebecca prayed Cassandra could calm Emmeline’s anxiety over her sister better than she had.

“I’ll be back in two hours.
Two.
” Emmeline held up the appropriate amount of fingers and then proceeded to stare Rebecca down, as though daring her to argue.

Rebecca simply smiled. “We’ll be here.”

Finally, Emmeline left the boardinghouse.

Alone with Bess at last, Rebecca straightened her apron, smoothed her hair, then mentally prepared to help the girl as best she could. But when her eyes connected with Bess’s, she feared there was nothing she could do to nudge her out of her silent world. She was completely unprepared and entirely out of her league.

Good thing God was in charge.

A
very
good thing. And something Rebecca should remember in terms of her own life.

P
ete trekked across the small expanse of dirt and rocks between his smithy and the livery. He ignored the late-afternoon heat, the burning rays of the sun, and focused solely on the consequences of Matilda Johnson’s gossip. At this point, it didn’t matter where the woman had received her information, or that she’d spread her gossip before having all the facts. His life was on a new course.

For the past year, he’d lived a predictable, uncomplicated existence. There’d been no thought of the future, no concerns over another person’s happiness,
nothing
other than the next project that lay ahead of him. He’d appreciated the simplicity as well as the opportunity to grieve in his own way, in his own time. But, as of yesterday, everything had changed.

He was married again. To a woman who deserved far more than he was capable of giving her.

Eyes full of grit and smoke, Pete wiped his face with a bandanna, then stuffed it back into his pocket.

He stepped into the stable, absently picking up a harness that had fallen to the ground and returning it to the hook on the wall beside him.

A gust of wind whistled through the hole above his head, reminding him of the damage not yet fixed. Pete switched his gaze to the ceiling. Soon, he promised himself. He would fix the roof soon.

First, he had a new wife to settle into his home. And no matter how many different ways he worked through the situation in his mind, he couldn’t ignore the fact that Rebecca made him uneasy. The problem was in the way she looked at him, with all that hope and optimism in her eyes.

Clearly, she’d misread who and
what
he was.

Somehow, he needed to make Rebecca understand that he would eventually fail her. Just like he’d failed Sarah.

Familiar grief enveloped him, followed by a wave of sadness. Would he ever think of Sarah without this unbearable pain in his heart? Would he ever be free of the terrible images of her last hours on earth?

He shuddered. Heaved in a deep breath. Then moved from stall to stall, methodically checking the horses.

The sound of a man’s low, off-key whistle stopped him short. “Clint?” he called out. “You still here?”

“Yeah.” The cowboy exited the stall on Pete’s left, carrying a well-worn saddle over his arm. “Just about done.”

“I thought you’d be gone by now.” Not that he wasn’t grateful for the cowboy’s assistance. Clint had shown up midmorning, with specific instructions from Will to help Pete until Edward fully recovered from his injuries. Pete had checked on his friend hours earlier. The man was doing exactly what he needed to be doing to heal. Sleeping.

A sudden burst of fury caught fire in Pete’s belly. Sal Tully and his brothers had better be long gone from High Plains by now. They had better be—

“I fed all the horses.” Clint’s voice cut through Pete’s
thoughts. “Star, here—” Clint cocked his head toward the stall behind him “—was the last one.”

The mare in question stuck her long, elegant neck over the railing and nuzzled Pete’s shoulder.

“Hello, sweetheart. No apple today.” He rubbed his palm down the horse’s velvety nose. “Maybe later tonight.”

Checking on the horses would give him an excuse to give Rebecca some privacy while she unpacked. She’d probably welcome the solitude, especially after he explained his decision about the nature of their relationship.

Trying not to ponder the potential hazards ahead of him, Pete rubbed the horse’s nose a little harder than necessary. Star hitched her head in the air, and then blew out an impatient snort. “Sorry, old girl.”

She nudged his shoulder again. Pete continued petting her, running his hand along her sleek neck and then scratching the perfect five-point star on her chest. Hence the name.

“I’ll put this saddle away, then head back to the Circle-L,” Clint said. “Unless you need something else before I leave?”

Pete moved his hand back to the horse’s neck and gave her a quick pat. “I’ve got it from here.”

Clint set the saddle on a nearby sawhorse, his gaze scanning the livery from left to right, right to left. He turned suddenly, opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, snapped it firmly shut, then shook his head.

The cowboy had something to say.

Studying him out of the corner of his eye, Pete gave the man a moment to gather his thoughts. Pete liked Clint. He was a decent man. Perhaps a little coarser and less refined than most men living in High Plains, but the cowboy didn’t drink, cuss or start fights. He was reliable and, most important in Pete’s eyes, a man of his word.

Lips pressed tightly together, Clint walked back to Star and rubbed her ear. “Why is it horses are so easy to understand, while women are so…” He shook his head and sighed. “
Impossible
to figure out?”

Pete instantly thought of his encounter with Rebecca outside the boardinghouse last night. She’d been incredibly sweet, lifting on her toes so she could kiss him full on the mouth. He’d nearly dropped from the shock. For all intents and purposes, they were strangers.

To say the woman’s behavior had baffled him would be an understatement. But behind his bafflement was something more disturbing. Fear? Dread? A mixture of both?

“I don’t think we’ll ever fully understand women,” he said, trying hard not to feel as defeated as Clint looked.

The cowboy fiddled with the latch on Star’s stall, the casual movements contradicting the furtive glance he shot from under the brim of his hat. “I hear you got married last night.”

“Yeah. Where’d you hear the news?”

Clint shrugged. “The Circle-L. The mercantile. Just about everywhere I went this morning.” He shrugged again. “You gotta know it’s all over town.”

Of course he knew.

“So, uh…” Clint bounced his toe off one of the stall’s low running boards. “How’d you ask her?”

Pete’s gut contracted into a tight ball. “Which time?”

Clint gave him an ironic twist of his lips. “The one where she said yes.”

The serious look in the cowboy’s eyes reminded Pete of the intense way Clint stared at Cassandra Garrison whenever she was within fifty feet of him. It was no secret the cowboy had his eye on the pretty schoolteacher.

Unfortunately, Clint had real competition. Percival Walker, one of the richest men in town, was openly pursuing Zeb’s sister. Aside from his wealth, Percival was refined, well educated and sociable.

No wonder Clint looked dejected.

But he was seeking advice from Pete? About women? The man had to be desperate. Feeling a sense of solidarity, Pete decided to go with the truth. “I
asked
Rebecca to marry me, instead of making demands of her.”

Clint’s face creased into a thoughtful expression. “And that was all you did? You just…asked?”

“I guess I was polite, too. Women usually prefer a mannerly approach.” Of course, it had taken a dismal first attempt for Pete to remember the necessity of
that
strategy.

Clint’s expression turned downright glum. “So you were polite
and
mannerly?”

“That’s right.” Pete didn’t add that he’d been far more nervous than he’d expected when he’d walked into the boardinghouse last night.

Nor did he bring up the fact that there’d been a moment in the kitchen, as he’d looked into Rebecca’s eyes, when everything had seemed simple between them.
Settled.

“Polite. Mannerly. Ask, not demand. Got it. Thanks, Pete.” The cowboy’s voice was light, but his expression held a note of concern. “Guess I’ll be heading out now.”

“See you in the morning.”

“Yeah. See ya.” Clint turned to go. “Oh, hey. Wait.” He spun back around. “I almost forgot. I found this when I was mucking out that empty stall over there.”

Out of his back pocket, he retrieved a thin gold chain with a cameo attached.

At the sight of the familiar necklace, every muscle in
Pete’s body locked up. He’d nearly forgotten the cameo’s existence. But there it was, gleaming in the stark daylight.

For a frightening moment, Pete lost all sense of time and place. All he could do was stare at the necklace dangling from Clint’s fingertips.

“Do you recognize it?” Clint asked. “I figure it belongs to someone who rented a horse recently.”

Unbridled memories slammed Pete back a step. Swallowing hard, he managed to rotate his wrist until his palm faced upward. “I’ll take it.” His voice sounded hollow and distant, like an echo in his ears.

Looking at him oddly, Clint dropped the chain into Pete’s hand. “You know who it belongs to?”

Pete nodded slowly.
Very
slowly. And somehow he managed to close his fingers over the last gift he’d ever given Sarah.

He struggled to subdue the memories blazing through his mind. But they came, anyway, licking at his composure like all-consuming flames.

Every precise, haunting detail of Sarah’s death was there in his head. Tormenting him. Reminding him of all he’d lost and all he’d done wrong leading to that terrible night.

He clenched his fist tighter around the cameo, his knuckles turning white from the gesture.

“Pete?” Clint asked. “You all right?”

He managed a dull nod.

“You sure? You look kinda…green.”

“I’m fine.” He swallowed again, slower, with a bit more effort than before. Finally, his heartbeat eased. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“If you’re sure…”

“Positive.”

“Right. Tomorrow, then.” Clint headed toward the stable’s entrance. At the door, he stopped abruptly and then slid a long, worried glance over his shoulder.

Pete held himself frozen in place. He didn’t even blink.

Clint shook his head and left the building without saying another word.

Even as the door clicked shut, Pete’s mind was already racing back in time. To the worst moments of his life.

Sarah had never been fully happy in High Plains, but the weeks leading to the birth of their child had been filled with added tension.

In her last days, Sarah had alternated between shutting him out and begging him to take her back to Belville, back to her friends and family. Unfortunately, he’d made a commitment to High Plains. He hadn’t been able to leave just because Sarah wanted to go home. So he’d asked her to give their move a year, and promised that if she still wasn’t happy he’d find a blacksmith to take his place and they’d go home. That suggestion had only upset her further.

All his subsequent efforts to comfort her had failed. He’d tried to get her interested in redecorating their house. He’d encouraged her to build stronger friendships with the pastor’s wife and other women in town. When nothing worked, he’d given Sarah a wide berth, hoping she’d find peace with their move in her own time. That had, at least, ended the arguments, if not the tension.

He’d been confused and out of his league. In fact, he’d been praying for guidance, actually begging God to help him discern whether to stay in High Plains or return to Belville before the one-year stipulation ended, when Sarah had come to him here, in the livery, panicked and in obvious pain. The baby had decided to arrive a month early.

She’d collapsed at his feet. He hadn’t been fast enough to catch her, but he’d quickly scooped her in his arms and rushed her back to the house. That must have been when she’d lost the necklace. He opened his hand and looked down at the cameo resting in his palm without actually seeing it.

His mind was too focused on the past.

The endless hours of Sarah’s torment had been unbearable to watch, but Pete had refused to leave her side. Her agony had only worsened as time went by. Thankfully, Doc Dempsey had been the only other witness to her miserable torture.

Pete still remembered the dark curls of her hair matted to her forehead, the sweat running down the side of her face, the glassy look in her eyes when the doctor had declared their son dead.

He shuddered at the memory.

A need to rage at God kindled within him. He let the anger come.

Lord, why? Why did You make me so strong and Sarah so weak? Why didn’t You give me the wisdom to stay back East where she might have survived the birth of our child?

A soft mewing broke through his painful thoughts.

Pete jerked at the interruption, then looked down in time to see a tiny paw swat at his ankle.

Taking a deep breath, he stuffed Sarah’s cameo in his pocket and, with hands still shaking, picked up the barn cat. “Hello, Leroy.”

The cat eyed him with her usual wariness, as though debating the merits of protesting her ridiculous name with a swipe to his nose. Pete had called the cat Leroy after his grandfather, only to discover that
he
was a
she
when she’d
birthed two healthy kittens a day later. He hadn’t thought to double check before then.

Despite the mistake, Pete hadn’t bothered to change her name. Leroy suited the ornery cat.

Just like their first meeting, Leroy’s big green eyes stayed focused on his nose. Decision made, she rubbed her head against his chin and proceeded to purr. Loudly.

So. Leroy was in a good mood today.

Pete hugged her closer. “Let’s go check on your babies.”

She responded with a jaw-cracking yawn, already growing bored with him.

He set the cat on the ground and let her lead him to the crate where she’d moved her kittens yesterday.

There was one constant in Leroy’s life. She was always on the move. This particular spot, in the back of the livery’s only empty stall, was the kittens’ fourth home in two weeks.

Pete lowered to a crouch.

For a moment, he simply stared at the tiny faces, their eyes blinking away an afternoon of sleep.

He rubbed the little heads one at a time. Neither kitten looked like its mother. Both were orange tabbies, while Leroy was all black except for her four white paws. Although the kittens were unexpected in every way, Pete knew they were a blessing.

He didn’t understand why death had come to his house a year ago. Or why his son had come early. Worse, he was no longer certain he could live with
not
knowing. Blind acceptance was coming harder these days.