Isabelle stepped out onto the porch with a cup of coffee in hand. The sun was slowly climbing into the sky, the world around her bathed in its golden radiance, burning away the last of the morning chill. She could tell it was going to be a warm day but she hoped the heat would not be as unbearable as it sometimes felt back in Grimepass.
With the full light of day approaching, Isabelle looked over to Harvey’s house again. She could see he was still in the barn but there were a couple of other men with them. They stood in the shadowed eaves of the barn talking. They were big, burly men. Probably Harvey’s hired hands.
As she watched them confer, she thought back to the other night. She had seen the unmistakable look of loneliness and pain in his eyes. He was a man who felt the sharp stab of it deeply but could not let himself truly express it. He was a rugged and tough man of the land and as such, he was the type who pushed that all down. He was the sort who just lowered his head and moved on about his business.
Harvey was not the type who indulged himself in his pain. He was not the type to let himself show weakness of any kind. Especially not to himself.
But the other night, sitting around the table, as he and Mark shared stories about their time in Stephill and the conversation flowed as easy as their laughter had, she saw a different side of him. She saw the side of Harvey that longed for and craved that human connection. She saw the side of him that surely his wife must have seen − a funny, charming, kind man.
Her death had obviously shaken him down to the core and had changed him in fundamental ways.
How could it not?
After his wife’s death, he had withdrawn. Pulled into and folded in on himself. She saw the high, thick walls Harvey kept around himself at all times. He seemed to her like a man who although he craved that connection with others, could not bear the thought of the pain of losing loved ones. So to keep that pain at bay, he had simply removed himself from the equation.
If he was not close to anybody, he could never truly know the pain of their loss. She suspected that even though he was close to Mark − by all rights, her brother seemed like his only friend − he kept him at something of an arm’s distance if only to prevent the agony he would feel if something were to ever happen to him.
Isabelle had gotten very good at reading people in her year of solitude in Grimepass. She had also read quite a bit and learned a lot about the human mind. She had come to know very well the pain of loneliness and the hollow, empty feeling that came with being alone. She also learned why people seek to isolate themselves even though they desire the closeness of friends and family.
Isabelle knew that too much isolation was not good for a person’s mind. Shutting yourself away from everybody to avoid the pain of losing them inevitably led to pain of a different kind. And she thought that Harvey needed to reengage with life and the world around him. Desperately. He needed to make those human connections he wanted but fears in the worst way imaginable.
If not for himself, then for his son − Charley should never have to grow up in that sort of isolated, insular world.
As if she’d just come to a decision in her own mind, Isabelle gave herself a firm nod and walked back into the house. She went into the kitchen where she packed a basket with some of the food leftover from breakfast and laid a cloth over it. She touched the metal coffee pot gingerly and saw it was still warm − and still half full.
Tossing a beaten metal mug on top of her basket, she looked down at Wolf. The big dog’s tongue lolled out of his mouth and he gave her a pitiable look. Laughing softly, Isabelle tossed him a couple of pieces of bacon and gave him a scratch behind the ears before heading out the front door.
Though her stomach lurched and that voice in the back of her mind whispered caution in her ears, telling her that she was being too bold and too forward again, Isabelle gritted her teeth and marched forward. Her jaw set, her stride was purposeful. She ignored the way her heart beat in her breast as if it was drunk and the way her stomach threatened to rebel and expel its contents if she continued on this foolish course.
Isabelle pulled open the gate and headed up the small path that led to Harvey’s house, then took the well-worn path that branched off and led to the barn. She arrived just as the two large, burly men she’d seen earlier were departing. They both gave her queer glances and salacious smiles as lewd sounding chuckles bubbled out of their mouths, so she ignored them and continued into the gloomy interior of the barn.
Though the tall, wide front door had been slid aside, the matching door in the rear remained closed. The only sunlight that came in was through the front, leaving much of the inside covered in shadow. She saw rows of bags stacked one on top of the other on one side of the barn, bales of hay near the rear, tools on the wall and spread out on the top of a bench to her right. The smell of oil and hay saturated the air around her but there was no sign of Harvey.
She turned in a circle, peering into the inky pools of darkness that clung to every corner but he was not there. It was then that she heard a shuffling footstep above her and realized he was in the loft. Not wanting to ascend the ladder, Isabelle moved over to the bags of seed against the left hand wall and sat down atop one of them to wait.
Ten minutes went by before she saw him finally descending the ladder. He wore simple gray cotton breeches and a thin blue shirt that was dark on the back and beneath his arms. He had obviously been working up quite a sweat.
Harvey did not notice her sitting atop the seed bags until he turned around. She saw his body tense as he crouched slightly, his hand reflexively drop to his hip as if he were unconsciously searching for a pistol to yank. His move was so quick and fluid, Isabelle was very glad he did not go heeled around the barn or she might have wound up with a hole in her head she did not need or want.
“Isabelle,” he said, standing up straighter. “What are you doing here?”
Harvey cleared his throat and shuffled his feet on the hard packed dirt floor of the barn. He looked awkward and a bit uncertain but Isabelle was not sure if it was because of her presence or because he realized that if he had been strapped, she could be dead.
“Well, I saw you out here working so early this morning that I wagered you had not had a proper breakfast,” she said brightly. “And that will not do. You cannot run a ranch on an empty belly, Harvey.”
“Oh, I appreciate it but −”
“Please eat something, Harvey,” Isabelle cut him off. “I will feel better knowing you’re working on a full belly.”
A slow smile touched his lips and he nodded. “Your brother said you could be a bulldog at times.”
“Well, he would know.”
“He sure would.”
Harvey looked around and grabbed a couple of crates, carrying them over to where Isabelle sat. She watched him turn them both on end − one he sat upon and the other was to serve as a table.
A wide smile on her face, Isabelle pulled the cover off her basket and took out the plate of biscuits and gravy with eggs and bacon on the side she had brought. She set it down on the makeshift table and laughed when Harvey’s eyes grew wide as his stomach rumbled audibly.
“All right, maybe I should’ve eaten a little somethin’ this morning,” he admitted.
Isabelle laughed as Harvey took up the fork and napkin she laid out along with the plate heaped with food. As he ate, she poured him a cup of coffee. She sat back and watched him eat. Harvey was struggling to maintain eye contact with her, as if he were somehow embarrassed or something.
Although she exceled at reading people and intuiting their intentions and mind − an ability that was invaluable in the saloon − there was much about Harvey that remained opaque. It frustrated her to no end that she could not read him as easily as she could other people.
“I am glad to see somebody gets you to eat.”
Isabelle gave a start at the new voice and her head whipped around to see a tall woman with long and beautiful raven colored hair standing in the doorway. She had eyes darke
r than midnight that shone with intelligence, tawny colored skin, and a look of almost − nobility − about her.
Isabelle could instantly tell this was a wise and formidable woman − the sort of woman who could kill you with her hands but preferred to do it with her mind. Isabelle liked her instantly.
“Forgive me, I did not hear you walk up,” Isabelle said with a smile and a hand on her chest, trying to quiet her racing heart.
“That’s kind of her thing,” Harvey replied as he shoveled another forkful of gravy slathered biscuit into his mouth. “And if you could make biscuits and gravy this fine, I might eat your cooking too.”
“Harvey, that is terrible,” Isabelle said.
“Not as terrible as her biscuits,” he muttered.
Isabelle shot him a look as she got to her feet and glided over to the taller woman, taking her hand with a smile.
“You must be Chenoa. I’m Isabelle,” she said. “It is lovely to meet you.”
“Good to meet you too,” she said, her voice deep and husky. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Isabelle felt her cheeks flush but an unmistakable swell in her heart. Had Harvey mentioned her to Chenoa? A smile touched her lips at the thought of it.
“You have?” Isabelle beamed.
“No, not really,” Chenoa said with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “I just know white folk like to say things like that.”
Isabelle erupted into laughter, clapping her hands in delight. Chenoa’s smile was beautiful and made her look a thousand times less severe. Isabelle thought she looked positively girlish. From his seat on the crate, Harvey grinned and rolled his eyes.
“That’s her other thing − she fancies herself a comedienne or something. Like she should be on a stage somewhere.”
“Better than being an old sour puss who laughs at nothing,” Chenoa fired back.
“I agree with Chenoa.”
Harvey smiled to himself and refocused his attention on the plate. He ate with a wolfish appetite that Isabelle was glad to see. She enjoyed the banter between him and Chenoa and thought it was good for him. At least he had some actual social interaction. But she thought that interaction had its limits and the banter did not extend to actually opening up to the tall, dark haired woman.
“I am going into town to pick some things up for the house, Harvey,” Chenoa said. “I’m taking Charley with me.”
Harvey nodded and held her gaze for a moment. “Be careful.”
Isabelle was not certain, but she thought she heard an extra note of earnestness in his voice. She wondered if it had to do with the attitudes of some unenlightened people in town or if he was thinking about the cut fence and how that might be playing out across the other farms and homesteads in the area.
“I always am,” she said and turned to Isabelle. “Good to meet you. Thank you for making him eat. You should do that more often. It’s nice to have another woman around here.”
Isabelle flushed but could not keep the smile off her face. Chenoa gave her a wink then turned and walked back toward the house. Isabelle sat back down on the bag of seed as Harvey finished up his breakfast. He wiped his mouth with the napkin and dropped it onto the empty plate as he picked up his coffee and took a long swallow. Isabelle grabbed all of the used dishes and stored them back into her basket.
Harvey looked at her from over the rim of his coffee mug. He set it down then stretched his back.
“I think I need to walk off that fine meal,” he said. “Would you care to walk with me a bit?”
Isabelle’s heart leapt into her throat and her stomach lurched violently. But a warmth spread through her face that brought a smile to her lips.
“I - I would love to,” she stammered. “I would love to see what you do here.”
Harvey drained the last of his coffee and handed the empty cup back to Isabelle who stored it in her basket with everything else. He got to his feet and reached out, taking her hand and helped her to stand.
“Well, let’s give you the nickel tour then,” he said.
Chapter Eighteen
Being that close to a woman as beautiful and alluring made Harvey’s stomach twist itself into knots. He felt like a jittery, idiot kid all over again. It made him remember the first time he had called on Amy and how nervous he had been. He had almost thrown up half a dozen times before the afternoon was over. Thankfully he had managed to hold it in, but it had been a close thing.
As they walked, he puzzled over his reaction to her. Harvey had found himself in the company of beautiful women plenty of times since Amy passed − at the behest of friends of course. And every time, he had felt nothing. There was just nothing there inside of him. He had always attributed it to a belief that whatever piece inside of him that was capable of love had shut down. Had died along with Amy.
And yet now, as he walked along with Isabelle, he felt things he did not think himself capable of anymore. It felt like a colony of butterflies had been turned loose in his belly and they were battering his insides.
His heart beat around in his chest like an unbroken stallion and his palms were damp in a way that had nothing to do with the heat of the day. That Isabelle could have such a deep and powerful impact on him confounded him.
It also left him with a slew of mixed emotions. He could not deny to himself that he enjoyed Isabelle’s company. She made him laugh − genuine belly laughs of the sort he had not had in a very long time. And she was smart − a lot smarter than he was − and challenged his mind in the same sort of ways his wife had. She made him think, which was something he enjoyed.
Along with all of that though, was an oppressive feeling that bore down on him like the storm clouds that came in off the mountains. It was heavy. Dense. It made him feel like enjoying his time with Isabelle was somehow being disloyal to Amy. Like he was somehow stepping out on her or tarnishing her memory. He tried to push those feelings away as utter nonsense but they continued to persist and he was unable to ignore them.
“I love the smell out here,” Isabelle said.
Harvey gave himself a small shake, pulling himself out of his reverie and back to the here and now. He inhaled deeply and honestly, could not smell much but manure. He cast a curious look at her.
“You like the smell of this?” he questioned.
Isabelle laughed. “Not the manure, if that is what you are referring to,” she grinned. “I can also smell the blossoms on the plants, and the wind has a pleasant aroma to it as well. It smells to me like the world is fresh and clean.”
Harvey tipped his hat back on his head and closed his eyes, inhaling deeply again. He supposed if you could get past the odor of the manure, there was a lot more there to be smelled. Subtle obviously, but he guessed she was right − there was a fresh crispness mixed in as well. Isabelle chatted away excitedly about the different things she was seeing and experiencing − she seemed for all the world, like a child at a fair for the first time.
It was strange and yet refreshing to him that she could give him such a different perspective. He had worked this land for more years than he could count. He lived on it, walked it every day, and the soil had its fair share of his blood and sweat. Yet, seeing it through Isabelle’s eyes was like seeing it again for the first time. The sights and smells somehow seemed new again.
They walked along the outer edge of the fields where he grew corn and other vegetables he sold to the markets. Tomatoes, lettuce, and cucumbers among them. He also grew potatoes out in the far north corner of his land and a variety of other tubers.
As they passed the strawberry field, he saw his two field leads − Jimmy and David − overseeing the crews he had working. They gave him a wave and he tipped his hat to them. He watched some of the people as they seeded the fields. Others were harvesting while others were turning soil. He felt that familiar flush of satisfaction he got when everything seemed to be running smooth as clockwork.
“Were you born here?” she asked.
He nodded. “Born and raised in that v
ery house,” he replied. “I’ve done some work on it. Added on here and there. But it’s the same place my folks raised me in.”
“You’re fortunate to have lived in such a beautiful place your whole life,” she said. “I used to think Grimepass was beautiful. But it sank into a depression that it never recovered from. It is nothing but filth and desolation now. The only people moving there now are the desperate and the criminal.”
Harvey nodded. “Seems to be the way a lot of towns are. They boom big at first. They burn bright,” he said. “But that flame burns out quick and they end up bein’ nothin’ more than dust and bone in the desert. Seen plenty of dried up boom towns in my time.”
“I had such high expectations for my home town,” she said. “I really thought it could be something.”
A Healing Love For The Broken Cowboy (Historical Western Romance) Page 11