Robin Lee Hatcher (8 page)

Emily was awakened by Joker’s scratching at her door. The moment she opened it, the young wolfhound leapt onto her bed and burrowed his head under the covers. She would have joined him but for the flash of lightning that revealed the open front door. She rushed across the room to close it against the storm.

And there they were, standing in the middle of the yard, Dru’s head resting against Gavin’s chest, his arm around her back as he stared up at the sky. Poignant, powerful, the scene caught at Emily’s throat and made her heart ache. Her eyes burned as an unbearable weight threatened to crush her chest.

She returned to her room and lay on the bed, pulling the covers up beneath her chin. Loneliness rolled over her in waves, punctuated by the flashes of light and cracks of thunder. It was a feeling as severe as it was unexpected.

She envisioned them again — Gavin and Dru, standing together, united against the elements — and she wondered what it must be like to have that kind of bond with a man. The image in her mind changed, and it was she who stood beneath the crashing heavens. It was she who felt the hardness of a man’s chest beneath her cheek, who heard the steady beating of his heart. It was she who knew that he loved her and would take care of her.

In her mind, she looked up at her husband’s face. Into Gavin’s face —

No! She couldn’t imagine such a thing. Not about Gavin Blake, of all men. Why, she didn’t even like him much. And he was married to Dru. What on earth was wrong with her, to let her imagination run so wild?

“Go away,” she whispered, squeezing her eyes closed.

Joker whined and inched his way up until his muzzle was near her face. Emily pressed her forehead against his ear.

“Please go away.”

But she didn’t mean the dog.

Dru listened to her husband’s steady breathing and knew he slept at last. She turned her head on her pillow to gaze in the direction of Gavin’s cot, even though she couldn’t see him in the darkness.

She had known him for over five years now. Much more than a friend, he’d been an important part of the Porter family. Charlie and Gavin had been like brothers. When things had been at their blackest after Charlie died, he’d been there to support and comfort her. He’d been her rock when she learned of her cancer, and he’d married her when she asked him so that her daughters would have a home when she was gone. Other than Charlie, she knew no better man than Gavin Blake.

And yet much of his past remained a mystery to her. What little she knew, she’d pried out of Stubs. It was the ranch foreman who’d told her that Gavin’s mother had deserted her husband and son when Gavin was a boy. There was more that Stubs hadn’t told her, and Dru knew whatever had gone unspoken was even worse than what had been said. There was a world of hurt inside the man Gavin had become. His distrust of women ran deep. And yet there was a great capacity to love inside that wounded heart of his. Look at how he was with Sabrina and Petula.

Her thoughts strayed to the bedroom next door where Emily Harris slept. With all her heart, she hoped she’d rightly discerned the Lord’s voice. There was no time left to allow for mistakes.

Dru rolled onto her side and hugged the pillow to her breast as she pictured Emily in her mind. She was more than pretty. She was young, strong, and determined, kind-hearted and bright. She had faith in God, and a lot of love to give to those around her. All this Dru had perceived as she’d listened to Emily in that hotel room in Boise City. The days that followed had only served to confirm her first impressions.

Lord, if it be your will, help them learn to love each other. Give my
girls a home with a mother and father who will cherish each other.

A lump welled in her throat, and her tears dampened her pillow.

And Lord, please let me love my girls awhile longer.

Emily awakened after a long restless night filled with disturbing dreams. Wearily, she pushed aside the blankets and rose from the bed. The previous night’s thunderstorm had been followed by a drenching rain, and the air in her room felt chill and damp. She shivered as she hurried toward the makeshift dresser, wasting no time selecting what to wear. The first dress her hand touched would be good enough.

Tying her hair at the nape with a narrow scarf, she slipped from her bedroom and out the front door, hoping the cool morning air would clear her troubled thoughts. Dawn had painted the lingering clouds the color of grapes, poppies, and dandelions. Moisture, crystallized by the crisp morning air, sparkled from every tree limb and fence pole. The horses in the corral huddled together, their heads drooping toward the ground, their breath forming white clouds beneath their muzzles.

Emily wrapped her arms around her middle as she hurried toward the barn, her teeth chattering with cold. She paused as the door closed behind her and drew a deep breath. There. That was better. The quick walk across the yard had helped.

“Morning, Miss Harris.”

She gasped in surprise.

Gavin stood inside a stall, looking at her over the top rail. “You’re up mighty early.” He opened the gate and stepped out.

“I . . . I wanted to see Sabrina’s calf.”

He wore a dubious expression. “I had no idea you were so fond of the little guy.”

She felt a blush rising into her cheeks and hated herself for it. “Sabrina’s fond of him, and anything that interests the children interests me.” She moved toward the stall that held the calf, head high, eyes avoiding his.

“I believe you mean that, Miss Harris,” Gavin said as he joined her.

“I do mean it or I wouldn’t have taken this job.” She risked looking at him then, daring him to disagree with her.

He didn’t. “You must be cold. You’d better get back to the house.”

“I’m fine. It’s not cold in the barn.”

“Go back to the house, Miss Harris,” he said in a low voice. “It’s colder out here than you think.”

She recalled the moment she’d imagined herself in his arms and felt a frisson of dread run through her. “Yes,” she whispered. “I’m afraid you’re right. I’ll go.”

She forced her feet to walk slowly, but in her heart she fled.

October 3, 1883

My dearest Maggie,

I’m sorry it has taken me so long to put pen to paper, but
I have been very busy since arriving in this valley. Without
the slightest danger of overstatement, I can say that this is the
most beautiful place I have ever seen. The mountains cut a
jagged swath against the sky, trees and rocks and even some
glaciers in the highest peaks. Although the days are pleasant,
the nights are already cold.

The journey to this summer range took a week. It
reminded me of the months we spent on the Oregon Trail,
sleeping under the stars, cooking over a campfire. I confess
I was heartily glad to spend a night in a real bed once we
reached the basin, but those days on the trail were a perfect
time to get to know my employers better.

Mrs. Blake is warm and easy to like. She isn’t a strong
woman. Whatever her illness is, it has sapped her energy. But
there is life in her eyes, and when she talks about her daughters,
joy can be seen on her face. Rather like you and your
children, Maggie dear.

Mr. Blake, I’m sorry to say, is nothing like his wife. He
doesn’t approve of me at all, and despite my assertion that I
am up to the task, he believes I will fail and want to return to
Boise. With me he is rather taciturn, but when he is with the
children or caring for his wife, I see a totally different person.
At those times he can be likeable.

I cannot imagine anyone not loving my young charges.
Sabrina is nine and Petula is five. They are so bright and
cheerful. Upon our arrival I was introduced to Sabrina’s calf
as well as to the new litter of kittens in the loft of the barn.
Yes, Maggie, I actually climbed the ladder to the loft. I do not
exaggerate when I say I was terrified, although I would not
show it for all the world. Not with Mr. Blake watching me.

The Blakes own several wolfhounds, the youngest of which
has decided to become my close companion. Joker is almost
as big as a small pony, but I’m told he is still a pup, which
explains his clumsiness as well as his total lack of manners.

Mr. Blake and the ranch hands are going to drive the
cattle up to the main ranch soon, and the family will leave in
a couple more weeks. I will send this letter with the men when
they go so that it can be posted from Challis. Mrs. Blake is
reluctant to leave. Every time it is mentioned, I see the sadness
in her eyes. And now that I’ve been here a few days, I suppose
I can understand.

It grows late, and I had better close this letter and get
some sleep. Our days begin before daybreak.

Please pray that I will be a good teacher for the children
and a caring companion for Mrs. Blake. And also that Mr.
Blake wouldn’t object to me quite so much as he does. I do so
want to prove myself.

Your loving sister,

Emily

Eight

Emily looked up from the book. The room was wrapped in silence while the usually boisterous girls concentrated on their studies.

Petula leaned over her slate, a piece of chalk pinched between chubby fingers, copying her letters while frowning in concentration. The girl would have the alphabet conquered in no time. She was determined and eager to learn.

Emily’s gaze shifted to the opposite end of the table where Sabrina sat. The tip of her tongue could be seen in the corner of her mouth as she worked on her math lesson. Sabrina had made it clear that she disliked arithmetic, but she never gave up before she found the right answers.

Satisfaction washed over Emily. She hadn’t dreamed she would enjoy teaching this much. If she had, she would have made it her vocation long ago. It was exciting to see the children’s eyes light with understanding, to answer their questions, to expand their horizons. When she returned to Boise in the spring, she would seek another teaching position at once.

When she returned to Boise.
The words saddened her more than they should. She’d grown attached to these girls, to this family, in the short time she’d been here. Spring would come too quickly.

A door closed softly behind Emily, and she turned toward the sound. Dru smiled as their eyes met, then she placed an index finger to her lips, indicating she didn’t want to disturb the children. With silent footsteps, she made her way across the living room to a chair near the fireplace. Once there, she sat, pulled a lap rug over her knees, and closed her eyes.

In the four days since Gavin and the other men drove the cattle from the valley, Emily had begun to understand how ill Dru was. The moment her husband rode away, she had wilted before Emily’s eyes. Her face looked older, more tired. Her shoulders were stooped. She smiled less often; only her daughters brought a look of joy into her eyes.