Unbridled Dreams (48 page)
They crossed the Platte via the town bridge and then headed north up Whitehorse Creek. It wasn’t long before it was obvious Shep had more on his mind than a leisurely Sunday afternoon ride. They rode for nearly an hour before coming to a small lake where Shep decided they would have the meal Mrs. McKay had packed. He hobbled the horses while Belle spread out the picnic cloth. They talked of the county fair and laughed anew at the skirmishes between a couple of the men racing for the seventy-five-dollar prize in the long race.
Shep had heard more details about the winter production, which was being called “The Drama of Civilization,” and he explained what he knew. “It’ll be different from anything we’ve done before,” he said.
“I wish I knew if I was going to be in it,” Belle said. “It doesn’t make any sense for me to go all the way back to New York just to ride in a parade.”
“You’ll be in it,” Shep said. “I’m sure of it. Helen, too. And Mabel, if she comes back.”
Belle frowned. “What do you mean . . . if she comes back?”
“Mabel’s unpredictable that way,” Shep said.
They ate in silence for a while, and then Belle said, “You were right about Momma,” and she told him about her Uncle Philip. “And apparently Momma’s rich,” she said, then sighed. “But I still hope I can figure a way to pay her back for Blaze someday.”
Shep finished his sandwich and lay back, staring at the sky. “It’s beautiful here—don’t ya think?”
Belle looked around her. “It is. Do you think the lake is spring fed?”
“I know for a fact it is,” Shep said. “I’ve spent a bit of time out here recently.” He motioned toward the west. “Good grazing over thataway. Charlie Mason said it’d be a good start for a feller who had a mind to put down roots.” He sat up abruptly, looked over to where the horses were grazing. “I better check the hobbles. That paint you’re riding tends to be an escape artist. Least that’s what Bill said when I picked him out of the corral this mornin’.”
As Shep walked toward the horses, Belle looked around her. It really was a beautiful spot. The lake hardly deserved to be called a lake, but the water was clear and cold. Cottonwoods towered overhead.
A place to put down roots.
Shep was right. This would be a good place.
He strolled back slowly, his hands in his pockets, his head down. “Guess we should be headin’ back,” he said. “Don’t want to have to wear out the horses trying to beat sundown.”
Belle folded the picnic cloth over her arm, and together they went to fetch the two horses. She stowed the cloth in her saddlebags while Shep removed the hobbles and then she mounted up— There was a ribbon around the saddle horn. And attached to the ribbon was a ring. And there was a very handsome cowboy standing nearby, obviously waiting for a reaction.
“Does it fit?” he finally asked.
Belle slipped it on her finger. She nodded. He walked close. She slid into his arms.
“And the land,” he said. “Would that be a good fit, too—for a couple of retired Wild West wranglers? When the time comes.”
“Better than good,” Belle said. “Perfect.”
“Well, I’m glad you think so, ’cause I bought it yesterday.” He leaned back and looked into her eyes. “I love you, Liberty Belle. I’ve loved you since the minute you called me a drugstore cowboy in Bill Cody’s barn. I’ve tried to wait while you chased your dream, but I just couldn’t—”
Belle touched his lips. “Stop,” she said. Shook her head. “That old dream’s gone,” she said.
He cocked his head. “Really? You got a new one?”
She nodded.
“You want to tell me what it is?”
“You,” she said, and stood on tiptoe to kiss him. “Only you.”
HUSBANDS, LOVE YOUR WIVES,
JUST AS CHRIST ALSO LOVED THE CHURCH
AND GAVE HIMSELF UP FOR HER.
Ephesians 5:25
NASB
Willa had spent half the morning at a Ladies Aid Society meeting and she was exhausted. She was of a mind to just turn the entire thing over to Carrie Hertz. The woman obviously wanted to run things, and now that Willa thought about it, she didn’t really care anymore. It just didn’t seem all that important that she be the queen of North Platte society these days.
She and Otto were leaving for New York tomorrow so they could see Liberty Belle ride in the parade. Willa would have thought it too much for Otto, except for the fact that Shep’s family owned an office building along the route and they’d be able to watch the entire thing from there without fighting the crowds.
They would meet the entire Mortimer family on this trip, which was somewhat disconcerting. Shep’s mother was lovely, but Irmagard had described the brownstone and the family, and Willa couldn’t help but feel a bit intimidated. Ah, well. Nothing to be done about that. She would do the best she could and hope the Mortimers would be understanding of Otto’s silence.
Pulling up under the portico, Willa hitched Nellie and went inside, where she was immediately assaulted by the aroma of roses. Whatever Mrs. McKay had done, it had had heavenly results.
“Mrs. McKay? Are you there?” She made her way up the hall, untying her bonnet as she went.
The front hall was filled with bouquets of roses. And in the midst of the roses . . . Otto.
“What on earth?”
“I wanted to give you a garden,” Otto said slowly. “I’ll dig a real one before winter sets in.”
“You . . . you’re talking!”
“I am,” he said.
“But you . . . you can’t talk.”
“I can. I was waiting to say this.”
“To say what?”
He took a deep breath. “You are the most important thing in my life. I have betrayed you, and I don’t deserve your forgiveness. But I humbly beg for it anyway.” With painfully slow movements, he got down on his knees. “Please, Willa. Can you please try to—” His voice broke. He took in a ragged breath. “If you will only try, I will spend the rest of my life honoring and cherishing you. I’ll never hide anything from you again. I want to start over,” he said with a sob. “Please. Will you please forgive me?”
In all her wildest imaginings of Otto apologizing or changing or leaving, Willa had never imagined roses and a man on his knees. She stammered. “I saw you talking. To the trees,” she said. “I thought you’d had another stroke.”
He was still kneeling.
“For heaven’s sake, Otto,” she said, and bent down to take his arm. “Get up.”
“Forgive me,” he said.
She looked at her husband. Her flawed, handsome husband. And she realized something. God had answered her cry for help.
“I already have, you old fool,” she said. “I was just waiting for you to ask.”
“When did you forgive me?”
She shook her head even as she helped him up. “I think it started with those trees,” she said.
And they kissed. And they lived. And they loved.
Now to Him who is able to do exceeding abundantly
beyond all that we ask or think,
according to the power that works within us,
to Him be the glory in the church
and in Christ Jesus
to all generations forever and ever.
Amen.
E
PHESIANS
3:20-21
NASB
More From Stephanie Grace Whitson
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