“A man doesn’t show up to a dinner invitation looking like a slovenly mess,” he said. “That would be rude and ungentlemanly.”
She scoffed. “And when did you become a gentleman?”
Harvey rolled his eyes but grinned despite himself. Chenoa leaned against the doorway and folded her arms across her chest, seemingly content to continue hurling insults at him. But Harvey did not mind. He enjoyed their banter.
“Go with the blue shirt,” she said. “The black one makes you look like a priest. Or an undertaker.”
Harvey looked down at the black shirt he had on, about to protest that it looked perfectly fine. But when he looked back up, Chenoa was gone, having left on those silent feet of hers.
Harvey gazed at himself in the standing mirror one more time before deciding he was not going to give Chenoa the satisfaction of having him change out of his shirt. He was going to prove to her that this was nothing more than a polite supper party.
But if that was truly the case, Harvey wondered why his stomach was roiling as he headed out the door.
* * *
Harvey dipped one of Isabelle’s fresh made biscuits into the gravy then popped it into his mouth, chewing happily. He looked down at his plate, surveying the wreckage he’d left behind. The dining room was silent as Isabelle picked at her plate and Mark continued to attack his food with zeal − though he was starting to slow down as well.
In addition to mashed potatoes, carrots glazed in butter and brown sugar, Isabelle had given him one of the thickest slabs of roast he had ever seen. It was tender, juicy, and better than anything he’d had in a long time − and he’d gotten through most of it. His mouth wanted to power through the last of it, but his stomach wasn’t having it. He was stuffed to bursting.
He leaned back in his seat and put a hand over his stomach. Isabelle’s eyes glittered in the light from the candles on the table and when he caught her gaze, she flushed and looked away. Harvey picked up his glass of wine − Mark’s brand obviously − and took a long swallow.
Isabelle cut another glance at him and held it for a second before turning back to her plate, her cheeks reddening even more. It made Harvey smile. He finally dropped his napkin on the table beside his plate and leaned back in his seat, holding his hands over his swollen belly.
“This was a fine meal Isabelle,” Harvey said. “Chenoa is a good cook, don’t get me wrong, but this might be the best meal I’ve had in a while.”
Isabelle smiled, and Harvey saw a slight flush in her cheeks. He could tell she was not the sort of person who was good about accepting compliments from anybody. He had dealt with quite a number of people who fished for compliments and it never failed to annoy him to no end. That was just another one of those traits about Isabelle that he found refreshing.
“Thank you,” she murmured. “I am pleased you enjoyed it.”
“I’d say I more than enjoyed it,” Harvey grinned. “I may not eat for the next three days.”
“You’re not lying,” Mark replied and they all shared a laugh.
“Who is Chenoa?” Isabelle inquired, an expression of genuine curiosity on her face.
“She is basically my right arm. I couldn’t function without her,” Harvey said. “She manages my house, takes care of my son − really, there isn’t much she doesn’t do.”
Isabelle looked confused, as if she did not quite understand where exactly Chenoa fit into his life.
“She’s a Crow woman Harvey hired,” Mark clarified. “He needed somebody smarter than him to run his house.”
“Says the man who brought his sister here to run his house,” Harvey quipped.
At that, they all burst into laughter. Isabelle’s smile was wide open and beautiful. It made her look even younger than she was. For his part, Harvey was feeling a lot looser and more unguarded than he had in quite a long time. He was not a man who laughed easily and never opened up to anybody. He was a man who craved his solitude − Chenoa understood that and gave him the space he required.
Sitting around a table laughing and enjoying an evening with friends was not something he ever did. It had been a long time indeed since he had shared a table with anybody aside from Chenoa and Charley. He had not been kidding when he told Isabelle earlier in the day that he was not good at being social. The truth was, he was closer to being feral than anything.
But he had to admit, he had enjoyed this evening a lot more than he thought he would. He laughed a lot easier than he thought he could. He had spent so long with his walls up, completely guarded, that to have those walls come down − even if only a little bit − felt strange but not in a bad way.
There was something about Isabelle that somehow made him feel safe in bringing those walls down. It had felt natural and somehow right. He did not understand it, nor could he explain it. But he knew he had nothing to fear from her. What that all meant and what he would do with that knowledge Harvey did not know. But it was interesting piece of information for him to consider.
As Harvey and Mark made small talk between themselves, Isabelle cleared the dishes from the table. Harvey began getting to his feet to help but she waved him off and told him to sit. A few minutes later, with the table cleared, she brought out a tray with a coffee service laid out on it. After that, she brought out some plates and utensils to go along with the pie that she had brought out as well.
“Let me guess,” Harvey’s tone was light. “Apple?”
“Actually, it’s cinnamon apple,” Isabelle corrected.
“Trust me Harv, you’re going to love it,” Mark said. “My sister made the best pies in all of Grimepass.”
“Well if her roast is anything to measure by,” Harvey said, “I can’t wait to get my teeth into her pie.”
The conversation was light and lively as Isabelle dished out the coffee and the pie. Harvey was duly impressed by it − the woman certainly knew her way around a kitchen. Her brother’s eyes had nearly rolled back in his head. He smiled like he had been transported back in time and went back for a second slice.
With dessert finished, Isabelle carried the dishes into the kitchen and set them in the basin with the rest. Harvey listened as she pumped some water into the basin to set the dishes to soak for a bit. Mark got to his feet and led Harvey out onto the front deck where they breathed deeply and reveled in the evening air.
“That was amazing,” Harvey said.
“She can cook up a storm,” Mark replied. “She’s been doin’ it since we were kids.”
Isabelle walked out and joined them on the deck, leaning against the railing, her hands wrapped around her coffee mug. The night carried a slight chill in the air, but the sky was clear and the moon bathed the land all around them in a radiant monochromatic light.
The trees of the orchard seemed to glow with a silver luminescence and the cows out in Harvey’s field were nothing but silhouettes − shadows moving against the darkness. Their deep lowing carried on a gentle evening breeze that rustled the trees and bushes growing in the yard before the house. From overhead, he heard the plaintive cry of a night bird.
Faint light glowed at the windows of Harvey’s house and he knew he should probably get back to Chenoa and Charley. He liked being there to say goodnight to his little boy. But something inside of him was not ready to go just yet. There was something that made him want to stay put. At least for a little while longer.
“I think I’m going to go get those dishes done,” Mark announced out of the blue. “If you’ll excuse me.”
“Oh no, just leave them,” Isabelle said. “I can take care of them.”
Mark shook his head. “After you cooked us up such a fine feast?” he grinned. “That would not be fair. Stay. Enjoy your coffee.”
Harvey grinned, knowing what Mark was doing. Evidently, Isabelle did too because even in the shadowy gloom of the evening, he could see the flush in her cheeks. Mark knew where he was at in his mind and his heart and although he might feel a draw toward Isabelle, nothing was going to come of it
. He was not in a place where it was even close to feasible. Still, it was a nice gesture − taking care of the dishes for his sister like that.
“Thank you,” she said. “That is very kind.”
He shrugged. “It’s only fair.”
Mark walked inside, quietly shutting the door behind him, leaving Harvey standing on the porch with Isabelle. They stood about ten feet apart, both of them leaning against the porch rail, staring out into the darkness beyond. The strain in the air between them was palpable and if a more awkward situation could be had, Harvey did not know what that might look like. Actually, he shuddered to think about what that might look like.
“So, how old is your son?” Isabelle finally asked, breaking the wall of ice between them.
A faint smile touched his lips. “He’s almost two now.”
They were on safe, solid ground, and Harvey felt as if the ice between them had been broken and the strain that had saturated the air only moments ago was beginning to fade.
“Is he walking yet?” she asked.
“Not yet,” Harvey said. “He had a hard birth. He’s a little small for his age but he’s starting to catch up. He should be on his feet sooner rather than later.”
It troubled him some that Charley was not yet walking. He had been sickly after he was born and Chenoa was sure that contributed to his slower development. But Harvey knew a lot of people with kids who were already walking by Charley’s age, and he couldn’t help but be concerned. Harvey tried to stifle those feelings and shut them away, telling himself that Charley would be up and moving about on his own when he was ready. But Harvey also knew he would be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t still worried.
But still, he enjoyed talking about his son. He loved his boy and was proud of him. For being so small, he had already endured so much and came through it like a champ. His son was a fighter − something he would need to be for the trials Harvey knew were still yet to come.
“What is his name?” she asked.
“Charley,” he replied. “Charles David Willerson.”
“That’s a wonderful name.”
“Thank you,” he said.
The awkward silence returned. Harvey was about as good at taking a compliment as she was. He had never been the type who sought the spotlight and was never comfortable in it. Harvey preferred to live a quiet, uneventful life.
“Mark told me − about your wife,” she said slowly, tentatively. “I just wanted to tell you how sorry I was. I cannot imagine how painful that must have been for you. I will pray for you.”
“It still is painful,” he said softly. “But I appreciate your thoughts. And your prayers.”
Harvey fought off the wave of emotion that welled up within him. It was thick and viscous. It always was when he thought of Amy. Try as he might, he just could not seem to let her go. Or perhaps he just did not want to let her go.
Perhaps just the thought of her still brought him some small sense of comfort mixed in with all of the pain her loss continued to bring him. He was not sure and maybe that was all right. Maybe he did not need to know or delve too deeply. He had bigger things to worry about than his emotions or what he thought of them.
Harvey cleared his throat and although he was uncomfortable, he still did not want to leave. Not yet anyway. He was not sure what it was, but something was holding him there on that porch with Isabelle. Something about being around her soothed him in ways he did not understand. But maybe that too, was all right.
“So what do you think of Stephill?” he asked. “What do you think of what your brother has built?”
“I think it is amazing,” she replied. “He gives you all the credit. Says he could not have done any of this without you.”
“Nonsense,” Harvey shot back. “This is all here because of him. Because of his hard work and smarts.”
“Well, he said you taught him everything you know.”
“That much is true,” he said. “But without his strength and dedication, what I taught him wouldn’t have amounted to a pile of rotten apples.”
Isabelle smiled. “Well, however it happened and whoever deserves the credit, I’m glad for it,” she said. “And I’m glad to be out here.”
“I’m glad you’re out here too.”
Harvey quickly looked away, shocked those words had fallen out of his mouth. He had not been consciously thinking them and yet they had popped out all the same. He cleared his throat and straightened his shoulders, trying to gather himself. As nice as it felt to be around Isabelle, it was dangerous since he could obviously not trust his mind − or his mouth.
“I only wish…”
Her voice trailed off but Harvey seized on it, desperate to change the subject.
“You only wish what?” he pressed.
“I only wish that we could find some way for him to be with Ruby,” she said. “I can see the sadness in his eyes when he thinks about her. He cares for her quite a bit.”
Harvey nodded. “He does care for her. A lot. I’d go so far as to say he’s in love with her,” he said. “But her father makes them getting together impossible.”
“Nothing is impossible. We just have to find a way to make it work. I mean, her father cannot be that evil − can he?” she replied. “I do not wish to believe that anybody could be that cruel, that they would sacrifice their own daughter’s happiness.”
“Elmer would,” he said. “He does.”
“That’s sad. Really sad,” Isabelle said. “For both my brother and for Ruby.”
“That it is.”
“Everybody deserves a chance to be happy,” she said softly. “Everybody deserves a chance at love.”
Harvey turned to find her looking straight into his eyes. There seemed to be more behind her words than she was saying, and it made his heart lurch in his chest. Goosebumps marched along his flesh and his stomach roiled.
He tore his gaze from her and looked out at the dark silhouette of the orchards beyond the house once more. He swallowed hard and collected himself. This was not where he wanted to let this go. This was not where he would let this go. If for no other reason than she was his best friend’s little sister.
“Do you believe that?” she asked softly. “That we all should have the chance at happiness and love?”
Her gaze was direct and piercing and his mouth suddenly felt dry. He worked his mouth and tried to work up some spit but it didn’t work. His mouth remained drier than the plains during the summer.
“I should go. I need to see to my son,” he said. “But thank you for everything tonight. It was fantastic.”
And with that, Harvey descended the stairs and hurried across the yard, slipping through the gate and vanished into the darkness.
Chapter Seventeen
Isabelle was already up and dressed when the sun crested the horizon. She stood at her window, looking across the yard toward Harvey’s house. She saw his shadowy form moving around in the barn. Perhaps he was still conducting his inventory, she could not tell from where she was.
Part of her wanted to go over there and talk to him. She thought back to the other night and could not understand why he had bolted away from her like he had. He had all but sprinted from the porch back to his house and she did not know why.
There was a scratching at her door and with a smile, Isabelle padded over and opened it. Wolf came storming in and jumped up on the day bed that sat beneath the window. She joined him and he dropped his head heavily in her lap as she scratched him behind the ears, watching Harvey’s house as she did so.
Isabelle wondered if she had been too bold or too forward and had turned him off. Mark had told her not to take it personally but she was finding it difficult not to.
She heard her brother stirring from somewhere deeper in the house and stood up. It was time to start her day. Wolf followed her as she padded down to the kitchen to prepare breakfast for Mark before he started his day.
They had fallen into an easy routine around the house and the mundane
tasks Isabelle set for herself were soothing. Comforting in a way. Every morning she would prepare Mark’s coffee and breakfast and when he went out to oversee his expanding apple cider and wine empire, she would see to the house, setting small tasks for herself every day.
It had obviously been a long time since the place had received a proper cleaning so Isabelle had taken it upon herself to clean it from top to bottom. She took pride in making their home sparkle.
She cleaned up the dishes after Mark had eaten and finished up a couple of quick chores, Harvey still very much on her mind. Some small part of her felt silly of course. Unable to get him off her mind, she felt like a schoolgirl mooning over her first crush.
A Healing Love For The Broken Cowboy (Historical Western Romance) Page 10