“This is amazing, Mark,” she whispered, still in disbelief. “It’s more than amazing. Thank you just seems so − inadequate.”
He smiled. “Seeing you painting again and truly happy is thanks enough, Isabelle.”
She squeezed his hand and walked around her new studio, absorbing the energy of the space, and started trying to unpack that piece of her mind that allowed her to create, to see the world with her unique vision, and everything else that went into her art.
Wolf’s ears perked and he sat straight up, letting out a low whine. He looked to Isabelle, then Mark, and finally at the door as if he was trying to tell them something − somebody was there.
Isabelle tensed and her stomach lurched, sure it was Ruby’s father who was there to shoot her brother dead. But then she heard a man’s voice calling out to Mark. It was a strong, vibrant voice. It was the voice of a younger man which immediately eased her fears.
Mark grinned and turned to Isabelle. “Let me introduce you to my neighbor and my best friend Harvey,” he said. “I told you all about him in my letters.”
She racked her brain as quickly as she dared, trying to remember him mentioning Harvey. Then she came up with it. He had actually spoken about Harvey quite a bit. From what Mark had told her, he seemed like a genuinely decent man and that he’d been a good friend to her brother. She was looking forward to meeting him.
She followed Mark outside the studio and when she laid eyes on Harvey Willerson for the first time, her heart nearly stopped dead in her chest. Tall and rugged, he looked like the quintessential cowboy to her. He had light brown hair and green eyes that sparkled like emeralds in the sun. He was strong and had a body borne of hard labor, with muscles rippling beneath this skin.
He was all hard angles and planes, shoulders and arms stood out with taut, corded muscle. He had a strong jawline covered with stubble − it looked like he had not been anywhere near a razor in a couple of days − and yet, it only added to his rugged good looks.
“Harv, this is my sister Isabelle,” Mark introduced her. “Izzy, Harvey Willerson.”
When Harvey turned those green eyes on her, Isabelle’s stomach dropped and churned, her heart beat a staccato rhythm inside her chest, and for a dizzying moment, she thought she actually might pass out.
“H - h - hi,” Isabelle stammered.
Mark looked at her strangely, catching onto her brief moment of being tongue-tied. But if Harvey noticed anything wrong, he didn’t let on. In fact, he looked somewhat distracted and as if he wasn’t really seeing her at all. He shook her hand perfunctorily and mumbled some half-hearted greeting.
Finally seeming to come back to herself, Isabelle stood up straighter and looked him in the eye, giving him a smile.
“It’s nice to meet you Harvey,” she said.
“Yeah, same,” he replied dismissively.
He turned back to Mark, ignoring her completely, and Isabelle had to stop herself from stomping her foot and pouting openly. She was a grown woman and a proper lady. She did not do things like that. Especially not in front of the most beautiful man she’d ever seen.
“We need to talk,” Harvey told Mark. “We might be in trouble.”
Chapter Twelve
Isabelle set a tray containing coffee cups, a pot of fresh brew, and some pastries down on the dining room table. Mark and his friend Harvey sat across from each other and she could not help but feel the tension in the air. It was heavy and dense, feeling much like the air just before a lightning strike.
She poured out coffee for the two men, who took theirs black, then poured herself one, dressing it with a bit of sugar and a splash of cream. The aroma of the thick, dark brew carried a hint of cinnamon that she found pleasing. The taste was rich, her dressing making it sweet but it still carried a hint of the bold, slightly bitter taste of the coffee. It was a nice contrast of flavors that she enjoyed.
Isabelle plated pastries for everybody and then sat down at the head of the table, trying to make herself as unobtrusive as possible. She had not been invited to sit in on their meeting but she wanted to hear what had Harvey so tense. It worried her.
Harvey picked up his cup and took a sip then cut a glance at her. His eyes sparkled in the sunlight slanting in through the windows, as dazzling as polished emeralds and Isabelle felt her breath catch in her throat. He raised his mug and gave her a small smile.
“Thank you for this,” he said, his voice a low, deep rumble.
“Of course,” she replied.
“So what’s going on, Harv?” Mark asked, then took a bite of his pastry.
Harvey leaned back in his seat, his hands clasped around the cup as if trying to draw its warmth into his body. He frowned and, to Isabelle, looked as if he was struggling with the words in his mind. Or whether he wanted to tell her at all. It only deepened her curiosity.
She thought Harvey was a beautiful man. Tall, broad through the shoulders and chest, he had thick arms, taut and corded from years of working his farm and skin that was deeply browned by the sun. The stubble on his chin was dark, but she saw flecks of gray sprouting up within it. She thought it somehow added to his good looks, giving him a more distinguished air rather than making him look older.
Isabelle had seen plenty of tough, road-hardened cowboy types pass through Grimepass while she’d lived there. After all, she worked in the saloon and they all seemed drawn to drink like moths to a flame. But none of them had ever seemed to capture that essence of the untamed west and that cowboy spirit quite like Harvey seemed to.
Isabelle was struck by the different nuances she saw in Harvey. Granted, she had only just met him, but she could see there were different layers within him. Isabelle thought there was much more to this man than met the eye. She couldn’t tell why she had that thought or why she believed it, but there was something about him that struck her that way.
“What’s got you so rattled, Harv?” Mark repeated his question.
“I was out in the south fields,” Harvey finally started. “Found a fence cut down there.”
A shadow crossed Mark’s face and his mouth formed a thin, tight line. He took a drink of his coffee as if giving himself a moment to digest the news − and whatever it was, it didn’t seem good. Isabelle felt a shudder of fear ripple through her as she felt the tension in the room getting thicker.
“You’re sure it wasn’t an animal −”
Harvey shook his head. “Nah, I wish. Cuts were clean,” he cut Mark off. “So unless one of my cows figured out how to use my wire cutters, somebody cut their way through that fence.”
Mark let out a long breath and rubbed his hands over his face, producing a dry, scratchy sound. Her brother used to be so fastidious about his appearance. He would never let the stubble accumulate on his face like he does these days. It made her wonder if it was Harvey’s influence on him or just her brother doing his best to fit into the rugged land.
Mark was not as rough and tumble nor as naturally rugged as Harvey but Isabelle thought the changes she saw in her brother as he tried to craft this new life of his suited him. He had come a long way from his life as a pampered academic back in Grimepass.
Isabelle looked between the two men and felt the tension wafting off the both of them. They obviously knew the importance of the cut fence, but she did not. And their silence about it only fanned the flames of fear crackling inside of her.
“W - what does that mean?” she asked gingerly. “The cut fence − what does it mean?”
Mark exchanged a look with Harvey, some silent communication passing between them. It was as if they were trying to decide how much to tell her − or whether they should. It rankled her. She was not the delicate girl her brother sometimes seemed to think she was. She did not need to be coddled or protected.
“Mark,” she sighed, exasperated. “I am not a child. You do not need to protect me from the truth.”
He ran a hand through his hair and looked up and nodded. Harvey shifted in his seat and took another drink of
his coffee, giving her brother a slight shrug of his broad shoulders, as if he were leaving it up to him.
“A few months back now, we had some − trouble − with the Indians in the area,” Mark admitted.
“What kind of trouble?” Isabelle pressed.
Mark hesitated and Harvey looked away, apparently not wanting any part of the conversation. Mark looked down at the table, an inscrutable expression on his face. Isabelle could see him closing down, as if he was determined to shield her from something.
“Mark, if I am to live here, I deserve to know the truth,” she urged. “I should know if we are in danger here.”
“She’s not wrong,” Harvey finally chimed in. “She probably should know. If it’s happenin’ again, she should know what we’re facing.”
Mark nodded again and looked at his sister. “One of the tribes that live around here − the Sioux − were raiding the local farms around here. They were stealing crops, livestock − whatever they could get their hands on.”
He paused in his story to take a sip of his coffee. Whatever happened had him rattled in a way Isabelle had never seen from her brother before. It sent a chill running up her spine knowing it had to be bad. While perhaps not as tough and seasoned as somebody like Harvey, her brother was neither a coward, nor a wilting flower.
“Anyway, Sheriff Waits got a line on the ones responsible for all the thievin’ and put together a posse,” Mark said, his voice thick with emotion. “There were a dozen of ‘em that were doing the raiding. So we went out there to round ‘em up and bring ‘em back here for trial…”
Mark’s voice trailed off and he looked down into his mug, as if searching for the words in the bottom of it. Isabelle saw a look in his eye that she could only describe as haunted. Harvey cleared his throat and looked over at her.
“And what happened, Mark? Isabelle pressed.
He sighed and ran a hand over his face, the shadows in his face seeming to deepen and darken even more. She could see just how − whatever happened − impacted him. She saw the sadness in his face and her heart went out to him.
“It was bad, Izzy,” he finally said. “I don’t want to talk about it. So let’s just say it was bad and leave it at that.”
A long silence stretched out between them and the air in the room grew heavier. Thicker. Isabelle felt it was oppressive and stifling. She knew something had changed inside her brother. It was small and subtle but he did not smile as easily as he used to when they were growing up, nor was there that mischievous sparkle in his eye she remembered so well. Mark had always been a bit of a prankster.
Now, there was a soberness about him that she had originally attributed to him working so hard to establish his business and build a life here. But she could see that whatever had happened was responsible for the shift in his personality. Whatever happened had changed something within him. Whatever happened seemed to have unlocked a darkness that was threatening to smother out the light that had once shined so brightly within her brother.
Mark cleared his throat and took another swallow of his coffee, doing his best to shake off the darkness that had settled down around him. And Isabelle decided not to press the issue any further.
“Anyway, what is it that makes you think the Indians are comin’ back?” he asked.
Harvey shook his head. “Can’t say for sure yet. I don’t know,” he admitted. “But it can’t be a coincidence. Fences cut. Just like last time.”
“Was anything taken?” Isabelle asked. “I mean, have you noticed anything missing, Mr. Willerson?”
Harvey shook his head. “Ain’t done an inventory yet, but I will,” he said. “Just wanted to let Mark here know to keep his eyes peeled. And please, call me Harv or Harvey.”
“Harvey,” she said demurely.
“I appreciate the heads up, Harv.” Like her brother, she saw darkness in Harvey’s eyes.
“Well, I should be gettin’ back,” Harvey said as he got to his feet. “I got to do an inventory.”
Isabelle realized their impromptu meeting was drawing to a close but did not want Harvey to leave just yet. She had not gotten a chance to talk to him − something she very much wanted to do. There was something about Mark’s neighbor she found intriguing. Compelling. And she felt herself drawn to him for reasons she did not understand.
Mark slid his chair back and stood up, shaking hands with his friend.
“Looks like I’m going to need to do one as well,” he said.
“Probably be a good idea,” Harvey added.
Isabelle jumped to her feet quickly − too quickly − and felt the heat of embarrassment burning in her face.
“Y - you should come by,” she stammered. “For dinner. You should come have dinner − with us.”
She wanted to crawl into a hole and pull the earth over her. Isabelle knew she was being far too forward and was making a fool of herself but couldn’t make herself stop.
A slow smile spread across his face and he nodded. “That’d be real nice,” he said. “We’ll do that sometime.”
She watched Harvey give her brother a nod before putting his Stetson onto his head and leave their house, listening as his boots thumped hollowly down the stairs that led to the yard. Still flushed with embarrassment, she turned around to find her brother looking at her, a lopsided grin on his face.
She turned away from him and busied herself with collecting the empty dishes onto the tray with hands that trembled. Isabelle took a breath and let it out slowly, willing herself to calm down. She cut another glance at Mark, who remained standing − and was still smirking at her.
“Well that was subtle,” he cracked.
“Oh hush,” she said, a nervous laugh spilling out of her throat.
Picking up the tray, she carried it into the kitchen, doing her best to keep the smile off her face.
Chapter Thirteen
Harvey counted out the bags of seed stacked in the corner of the barn and noted it down on the paper attached to his wooden clipboard. He had gotten through about half of the seed he kept in stock, and so far had not come up with anything missing.
A slight frown pulling the corners of his mouth downward, he moved onto the next stack of bags and began counting. The numbers matched up with his inventory, leaving him troubled. The last time the Indians came through and raided the local farms, they took plenty of seed with them.
But so far, everything looked to be untouched. He had some stacks to count yet, and after that, the cold locker where he stored his meat. He wondered if maybe instead of seed, they were hungry and looking for food; they could have carried something off they could eat right away.
He believed that had been the motivation behind the first raids those Sioux had carried out. They were not killing people. They were not violent. They simply snuck into a farm when they knew everybody would be asleep and took what they needed just to survive.
Put in that light, it was easy for Harvey to feel sympathy for them. To pity and want to help, rather than punish them. It was not a popular opinion in Stephill, where the various tribes were seen as foes rather than friends. The people in town thought there were good Indians among the tribes, but they viewed them as the exceptions rather than the rule.
The prejudice against the Indians was one of the things Harvey disliked most about some of the people in Stephill. Some of the people viewed the Indians as somehow less than human. As little better than animals. To Harvey, it was hypocritical. Their faith taught them love and charity − not to hate, and certainly not to judge somebody by the color of their skin. Harvey was pretty sure the attitudes of some of those folk in town were not based on the teachings of Christ.
“You look troubled.”
He turned to see Chenoa standing in the doorway of the barn watching him. She was always able to read him well. She was one of the few people he could not hide his emotions from.
“Just thinking,” he replied.
“Heavy thoughts.”
“Suppose you could say that,�
�� he nodded. “Where’s Charley?”
“Napping.”
Chenoa walked into the barn and looked around then at what was on his clipboard.
“Somebody stealing again?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Not sure yet.”
She had always been an intuitive woman, so he was unsurprised that she put two and two together and figured out what he was up to.
A Healing Love For The Broken Cowboy (Historical Western Romance) Page 7