Mark hadn’t wanted to talk about it on the road home from town. Nor had he wanted to talk about it as he showed her around her new home and helped her get acquainted with her new room. He hadn’t wanted to discuss it over supper and he was too tired to talk about it after supper either, begging off the discussion in favor of some sleep.
She’d gone to bed full of questions and no answers thanks to her brother.
But now, with the sun beginning its slow crawl across the sky, they walked through the apple orchards together. The early morning chill was still in the air and her breath came out in steamy plumes. The purple and pink fingers of the sunrise were fading away as the golden radiance of the sun spilled across the canvas overhead. Isabelle breathed deeply, savoring the rich scent of the apples all around her.
“The previous owner had all these apples but no idea what to do with them,” Mark said proudly − pointedly ignoring her question. “He sold the fresh ones of course, but the majority of them he left rotting on the ground.”
“That’s wonderful Mark −”
“He was more interested in cattle. Had plans to cut these orchards all down,” he said. “But I made him a good offer. He wasn’t interested in staying in Stephill anyway. Said it was getting to be too much like the big city and he didn’t care for it.”
Isabelle could see how uncomfortable her brother was. He knew what she wanted to talk about but seemed to be going out of his way to avoid the topic. Of course she wanted to hear all about the ranch and how his burgeoning empire came to be, but she wanted to talk about what he was hiding from her and why.
Mark smiled wanly. “I figured out how to use the apples in so many different ways. I make mead, whiskey, wine − I even make an apple flavored butter,”
Isabelle could hear the pride in his voice and see it on his face. He had really built something here and there was an almost childlike sense of wonder about him. It was as if he couldn’t believe all this was real. As if he couldn’t believe he had built this with his own two hands.
“Mother and Father would be very proud of you,” she said, and meant it. “What you’ve accomplished here − well − they would be proud, Mark.”
“Do you really think so?”
She nodded. “I know so. Without a doubt.”
“Thank you,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.
“I really do want to hear about the business, Mark. I want to hear everything. But right now, I want you to tell me about Ruby. I want you to tell me who that old man was and why he looked like he wanted to shoot you in the middle of the street.”
He laughed softly and stopped at one of the trees and plucked the biggest apple Isabelle had ever seen. He polished its red skin on his jacket and handed it to her. She took a bite of it, smiling at the crunch and the sweet meat inside. She laughed and dabbed a bit of the juice that dribbled from the corner of her mouth.
“These are delicious,” she finally managed when she swallowed down the mouthful of apple.
Mark smiled and they turned, walking on down the path between the trees. He was silent for a long moment but Isabelle could see that his mind was swirling, that he was working his way toward explaining it all to her. But she also knew how stubborn he could be.
Sometimes he needed a swift kick in the backside to make the words come out.
“Are we in danger here, Mark?”
He looked at her, a stricken expression on his face. “No, no. Of course not,” he said. “I would never bring you here if I thought we were in danger.”
“Then what is it?” she pressed. “Because the look on your face says you’re not sure.”
He pursed his lips and looked away. She could see how badly he was struggling and knew that whatever it was, it weighed heavily on his heart and soul. Which, to Isabelle’s mind, meant one thing.
“You are in love with her, aren’t you?” she asked gently. “Ruby, I mean.”
“I am,” he finally said. “I love her with everything in me.”
He sighed and ran a hand through his hair and to Isabelle, it seemed as if a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders. It was as if finally admitting it, out loud, had unburdened him mightily.
“It feels weird, saying it out loud after all this time,” he said.
Isabelle had long hoped her brother would find love. She wanted him to be happy. To find somebody he could build a life with. She hated seeing the torment and pain she was seeing in his face. It made her heart hurt for him.
“Then why are you not with her, Mark?” she asked. “What was that all about yesterday?”
He looked at her with a gentle smile upon his lips and a look of sadness in his eyes. The sorrow Isabelle saw made her want to weep for him.
“Because Ruby and I will never be,” he said. “All we are to have in this life are the stolen moments we have with each other.”
“That’s ridiculous, Mark. Why would −”
“The old man you saw yesterday is her father. Elmer Alford,” he interrupted her. “He and I don’t exactly see eye to eye, and he would never allow me to court Ruby properly.”
“What? Why on earth not?” Isabelle gasped. “As far as suitors go −”
His wry chuckle made her bite off her words. The look of grief and agony on his face was painfully sharp and it made Isabelle hurt deeply for her brother.
“Elmer hates me because he sees me in direct competition with him for business,” Mark finally explained. “He thinks I’m undercutting his prices and that he’s losing business because of me. A man like him − all he ever worries about is his money and prestige. Apparently, I am damaging to both. And because of that, he despises me and will never allow me to court Ruby.”
“Did he tell you that?”
He shook his head. “Ruby did,” he replied. “After he saw us together one day, he told her that if I ever went near her again, he’d have my head on a spike outside his distillery.”
“Why does he believe you’re intentionally undercutting him?” Isabelle asked.
“Because I offer a fair price. I’m not going to gouge people when I make plenty of profit as it is,” he said. “And a few of the saloons and restaurants in town have been buying my goods over his and it made him angry.”
“Oh, I see now,” Isabelle said. “He’s outraged that you’re an ethical businessman and so he’s taking it out on you and Ruby.”
He nodded. “That about sums it up.”
“Well, we will see about that,” Isabelle grumbled.
“Don’t go stirrin’ up trouble now,” he said. “It’s the last thing I need. Promise me, sis.”
Isabelle sighed and waved him off. “Fine. I won’t cause trouble.”
Isabelle grinned knowing that left her a lot of leeway. She could do a lot of things without causing trouble. She made a silent vow to herself that she would see her brother get together with Ruby if it was the last thing she did. She thought he deserved to be happy and she was going to see that he had it.
Mark explained more of the business and showed her some more of the fields as they walked. She could not help but be proud of her brother and all he’d built in such a small amount of time. Things really were turning around and a new world, a new future, was opening up to them.
Now all she needed to do was contrive a way to get her brother together with the woman he loved.
Chapter Eleven
With Mark out in the fields and checking over the distillery he’d built, Isabelle was left alone in the house. Though it was tidy, her brother’s house needed a thorough cleaning. Now that she was there, Isabelle decided she would take on the chores. It was the least she could do given all Mark had done to get her out here and build a nice home.
She prowled the downstairs area of the large house. Her shoes thumped hollowly along the hardwood floor as she moved from the front room where two rather large and plush chairs had been set before the fireplace with a small table between them. She could well imagine spending cold winter nights in front of
the fireplace, reading and drinking wine. It sounded like her idea of heaven.
From there, she stole through the kitchen, poked her head into the cold room and snatched a small block of cheese she found. Isabelle munched on the cheese as she toured the downstairs. She found a large formal dining room with a table big enough to seat eight.
She found a study filled with shelves of books and idly traced her fingers over the spines. Isabelle recognized many of the titles but saw some she wasn’t familiar with − books she was looking forward to reading. The room was dominated by a large wooden desk though. It was solidly built and plain to look at. It was not one of those desks carved with all manner of intricate designs and scrollwork. Her brother used to call them showpieces − desks meant to look like work was being done at them.
This desk, though, was much like her brother. Solid and stable. No real frills to it and nothing instantly recognizable as extraordinary. But it was something that could always be relied upon and would never falter beneath the pile of books and papers stacked haphazardly upon its surface. This was a working man’s desk and she knew it was here where her brother ran his ever expanding apple whiskey and wine empire. Now all he needed was a queen to share his empire with.
With plots and plans on how to get her brother and Ruby turning over in her mind, Isabelle finished her tour of the downstairs and walked up the staircase to the second floor, where all of the bedrooms were. In all of the excitement of last night − as well as her preoccupation with getting Mark’s story out of him, she had not really seen her new room.
She went inside and admired it from the doorway with a wide smile on her face and a welcome flush of warm emotion in her heart. It looked almost exactly like her bedroom back in the family home in Grimepass. Aside from the view from the windows, it was virtually the same in nearly every way. Even the walls were the same pale shade of yellow she had loved so well.
Her bed was a large four poster style and sat against the wall to her right. Two large windows on the wall across from her offered her a view of the orchards stretching out nearly endlessly to the distance. From where she stood looking out, it looked as if her brother’s orchards stretched to the horizon.
Beneath one window was a writing desk and beneath the other, a padded bench for her to sit and read upon. The wall to her left was dominated by a large chest of drawers, the craftsmanship on it exquisite and lacquered to a polished shine. And on the wall beside the door was a pair of bookcases that matched the chest of drawers, both of them stood empty, waiting to be filled.
She stepped over to the bed and ran her fingertips along a blanket that had been stuffed with goose down, making it even warmer. The comforter was soft and delicate, it felt smooth and cool beneath her touch.
“You always loved your old room.”
She turned, her heart leaping into her throat, startled at the sound of Mark’s voice.
“I did not hear you come in,” she said, pressing her hand to her heart.
“Or maybe you were just too caught up in the nostalgia to notice,” he grinned.
“Perhaps,” she smiled in return. “This is incredible, Mark. I don’t know how to thank you.”
She sat down on the padded bench beneath the window and stared out at the world beyond. A strange sound then caught her attention. It sounded like nails tapping against the hard wood of the floor. Mark flashed her a small smile.
“I should introduce you to somebody…”
His words were left hanging in the air when a large dog came around the corner and sat beside Mark. The dog had thick fur that was white, gray, and black, and had eyes that were a shade of light blue she’d never seen before − they almost appeared to be silver. The dog stared at her and she felt as if it had an unnatural intelligence and was currently taking her measure.
“This is Wolf,” Mark said, idly reaching down to scratch behind the big dog’s ears.
The dog let out a soft whine and leaned into Mark, clearly enjoying the scratches. Isabelle smiled wide as she looked at Wolf. A dog had always been the one desire she had that her parents would not indulge. For whatever reason, they did not feel pets in the home were proper. But Isabelle had a love for animals that ran deep.
“He is beautiful,” she whispered, almost afraid that this was an illusion and that if she spoke too loudly, he would disappear. “Is he part − wolf?”
“I’m not sure,” Mark said. “He just showed up here one day and decided this was his home. And who was I to argue?”
Wolf stood up and she marveled at his size. The top of the dog’s head would reach her waist when standing and he had larger paws than she had ever seen on a dog before. Wolf walked over to her and she held out her hand, unable to keep the smile from her face.
Wolf sniffed her hand and then licked it, making her squeal with delight. The big dog hopped up onto her padded bench and laid down, resting his head in her lap. Isabelle stroked the dog’s soft fur and scratched him behind the ears as Mark had. Wolf looked like the picture of contentment.
“He likes you,” he said. “He doesn’t like everybody.”
“I love him already.”
“I thought you might,” Mark replied with a smile. “He pretty much has run of the house. He can go anywhere he wants. I can’t help but indulge him in most anything he wants.”
“As you should,” she replied. “He looks like a good boy.”
Isabelle continued stroking the dog’s fur, her heart filling with love for him. As if sensing the connection being formed, Wolf rolled over onto his side and pressed his head against her, showing her just how comfortable he was with her already.
“Come on, I want to show you something,” Mark said and then called the dog.
Wolf lifted his head and looked at Mark with an almost irritated expression on his face at being interrupted while he was being loved.
“It’s all right Wolf,” Isabelle said softly. “Why don’t you come with us?”
The big dog jumped down and waited patiently beside her as Isabelle got to her feet. Mark looked at them and laughed.
“Wow Wolf,” he said. “She’s not even here a day yet and you’ve already demoted me to second tier?”
The dog let out a soft woof, as if to confirm Mark’s thoughts, making them both laugh. Isabelle followed Mark downstairs. He held the door open so she and Wolf could exit first and then fell into step beside them as they crossed the hard packed dirt of the front yard. Behind the house, a barn stood off to their left, a large, round chimney rising up from within it. A thin stream of white smoke poured out of it and curled upward, floating to the heavens.
Mark pointed to it. “That’s the distillery,” he said, the pride in his voice ringing clear. “Since I’m no longer in the cattle business, I re-purposed the barn to set up my distillery.”
Isabelle breathed deeply and immediately smiled at the thick aroma of cooking apples that saturated the air. The gravel and dirt crunched beneath their feet as they walked and Wolf matched Isabelle’s stride, refusing to leave her side. She reached down and stroked the big dog’s head in appreciation.
Mark led her to a small building that sat at the edge of the orchard. It looked newer than the other outbuildings she could see − as if it had only recently been built. It had a large deck on the right side of the building and large windows in every wall. Three steps led up to a porch and the front door. But if she stepped left and followed the porch, she would be able to get onto the deck she’d seen.
Mark opened the door and Isabelle − as well as her new furry shadow − stepped inside. And when she saw what sat inside, her vision blurred with tears. She clapped her hands over her mouth, doing her best to fight off the tears, and looked to Mark.
“You never had a proper studio back in Grimepass,” he said. “I thought it was time we changed that.”
Easels sat propped against the wall as well as a dozen blank canvases. Some of the pieces she’d completed − or had been working on when she packed up the house − were als
o leaning against the wall of the small building. There were several chairs and stools of various sizes, drop cloths, and all of her art supplies.
“You pretty much stopped painting after Mother and Father died,” he said. “I was thinking that with this new start we have, it might be a good time for you to get back to it. You always had genuine talent, sis. It’d be a shame to let it go to waste.”
Unable to say anything coherent, she flung herself into Mark’s arms and squeezed him tight. He hugged her back, the wide smile on his face telling her he was happy he’d done right by her. Eventually, she let go of him and took a step back, still marveling at the studio around her.
She had always loved to paint. Her parents thought it a waste of time and while never actively discouraging her from her painting, they never did anything to encourage it, either. Creating art and bringing beauty into the word was something Isabelle cherished, and she had studied hard, learning all she could about the past masters and their techniques. She also thought about why exactly their paintings had moved her the way they did and tried to forge the emotional connection with her work that would move others.
A Healing Love For The Broken Cowboy (Historical Western Romance) Page 6