Liza reached out, touched his hand lightly. “Don’t try to force the memories back. They are starting to come back on their own. You just need to give it time.”
He knew she was right, but he really wished she hadn’t touched him. The lightest touch, barely grazing his skin with her fingertips, yet still it sent the blood pulsing through his body. Europe. The Grand Tour. He would focus on that. Another memory regained from the treasure room locked up in the back of his mind.
There was another reason he hadn’t planned to return east. Ned’s sister, Belinda. Newly grown-up, just out of the schoolroom, she had come to Europe with a few of her school friends and her chaperone. They had joined Matthew and Ned for part of their tour through Europe. She had laughed at him and flirted with him, been warm one moment and icily formal the next. He had not known what to think about her, until he saw how she behaved with that young count they had met in Baden-Baden. She had only been using Matthew to sharpen her claws on, playing with him like a cat with a toy, and then she had dropped him and gone off for richer prey. That was when he had realized that beautiful women were not to be trusted. They were interested in the latest fashions and the most prestigious beaux, but little else. Like exotic birds in an ornamental cage, they made a pretty noise but had no idea of what to do with their lives besides being decorative.
Then he had met Liza. He frowned. He still could not remember their meeting...it was just out of his reach, like a word on the tip of his tongue. Still, his memories of Belinda, with all her gilded beauty, faded in comparison to the girl standing beside him now. Liza was more lovely and more...more alive somehow. It felt right, walking beside her in this forest, thousands of miles and whole worlds away from his old life. He did not miss it.
His silence seemed to fret her. “I s’pose this doesn’t seem like much to you. I mean, you’ve seen all those fancy places all over Europe. I’ve never even seen the ocean.” She waved her hand toward the setting sun. “Pa says the Pacific Ocean is just over that ridge, or maybe the one after that. Not too far, anyway. No more than a week’s ride.”
“It does seem strange to come this far across the continent and not go just that much farther.”
“Maybe next year, Pa said. I would love to see it. I can’t imagine a body of water so wide that you can’t see to the other side.”
“Can’t you just sail down the Columbia to the ocean? The men I was talking to down at the dry goods store, they told me it only took the Lot Whitcomb ten hours to reach Oregon City from Astoria. It’s bound to be a faster trip downriver.”
“I was thinking that if there were even a little left over from the harvest, I could talk Pa into coming with me.” She let out a sigh, very softly. “If there is any money left, and if he feels up to traveling.”
“I’d come with you.” Where did that spring from? He saw her eyes grow wide and amended, “Or...you could go with your pa.” He needed to keep his distance. He needed to be careful, not make things more complicated than they already were. She was in love with a man he could not even remember.
Liza stared at him. “I thought you were planning to leave as soon as the harvest was in.”
He shrugged, trying to act as if his comment had not been all that important. “I don’t think there’s all that much of a rush. There’s still work that needs doing even after the harvest. Until your pa is up and walking around without crutches, I think I could help out.”
His easy tone must have reassured her. She said thoughtfully, “I admit, it would make life easier if you stayed. I could ask the neighbors for help, after they finish harvesting their own crops. Problem is, too many of them are single men, and I don’t want to feel indebted. I do wish it were January.”
“You are tired of summer?”
“A married man can claim twice as much land as a single man. That’s the law. But it only holds good until December, do you see? So nobody’s going to be pressing me to marry them in January.”
I wouldn’t be too sure of that. January or June, there must be plenty of men willing to marry this lovely woman, with her hair like ripened wheat and her graceful way of moving. Everything about her was so beautiful, the way she turned her head, the way she put her hands on her hips and stood up to him. The way she fit in his arms when he had caught her on the log, as if she had always belonged there.
She looked around at the clearing. “That’s why I like to come up here. Places like this, they’re so beautiful that they feel sacred to me, somehow. I come here whenever I am feeling overwhelmed by my troubles.”
He could understand that. The birds had fallen silent. All he could hear was the sound of the wind moving through the branches high above and the endless rushing water in the stream bed below. The peace of this little clearing was almost palpable, reaching out to soothe even him. And he needed soothing, needed it badly. His emotions were in turmoil. He wasn’t sure what was happening to him, but it was all happening too fast.
Back in the dry goods store, when he had first woken up after being attacked, he had remembered what it would feel like to touch her skin, stroke her hair. Now his emotions seemed to be starting to remember her, as well. It felt natural and right to be with her. Only his mind was still blocked, his memories hidden behind a door that was not only closed, but locked and barred, as well.
And here she was showing him something that mattered to her, and all he could think of was that he needed to hold her in his arms. A clumsy, bumbling fool, no better than a schoolboy. He had to get himself under control.
“This is the most special part of the claim to me. It’s like a secret part of myself.” She raised her head to look him in the eye. “Do you like it?”
Did he like it? She was dazzling. She was so incredibly beautiful that it was beyond words to express it. It was all he could think of. He had to get himself under control. He turned his back and his hands clenched into fists with the effort of reining in his emotions. He took in a deep breath. “It’s very...nice.” For the life of him, he couldn’t manage anything more. His throat felt clogged with all the words he could not speak to her. Not yet. It was too soon—for both of them.
The more he thought about staying on past the harvest, the more the idea appealed to him. Living on this claim with Liza could be more than a temporary arrangement to help them both out of a difficulty. He had been so wrapped up in his past troubles, he had been blind to his present situation.
Standing there in that circle of trees, he acknowledged what his heart had apparently already decided for him. Even without his memories, he was happy here on the claim. He wanted to stay.
That was impossible, of course. He did not know who he was. With most of his memories still missing, he was only half a man. He could not allow himself to risk becoming emotionally involved with Liza, not while he still could not remember what he had been doing all this time down in California.
He wasn’t the man she had fallen in love with. He suspected that the long months apart had turned her memories into an idealized version of the man she had agreed to marry, one without flaws. Her description of their courtship had lacked any signs of two people adjusting to each other’s little differences. It had all been sweetness and light. If she weren’t desperate for his help, would she even want him in her life as he was now?
Doubt dampened his mood, like a trickle of cold water down the spine. She might not want him to stay longer. Considering how he had made a clear and public declaration that they were nothing to each other, he could not blame her if she turned him down. It was surprising she was even speaking to him.
He had assumed that the best thing he could do for her was get the harvest in. Perhaps he could offer her more than that. Friendship. He couldn’t court her, but he could at least win her trust. He would take things slowly, not rush her. Give her a chance to get to know him as he was now. Maybe then she would want him to stay longer.
Liza cleared her th
roat, moving to a stake in the ground at the edge of the ridge. “This spot here marks the corner of the claim.”
He focused on the land beyond the claim stake and winced. Instead of forest, the land was filled with stumps, raw, ugly, broken-off trees. She followed his gaze. “That is the Baron’s land. He hauls the trees to Portland to his mill there. There’s a great demand for lumber in California these days.”
“I suppose it’s necessary,” he said reluctantly. “But I would think he would do better to tear out the stumps and plant new trees to replace the ones he’s taken.”
“I can’t imagine this territory ever running short of trees. But yes, it is ugly.” She avoided Matthew’s eye. “We should be getting back. It will be dark soon.”
* * *
Coming back down the ridge from her tree refuge, Liza felt as if she were returning to earth after soaring through the skies in a hot-air balloon. For a moment, she had felt as if she had reached the old Matthew, the one who had loved her. There had been a connection, she was sure of it. And then it was gone. She was back with a stranger who turned his back on her.
Her mind returned to his offer to accompany her to the ocean. For a wild moment, she had thought he was making the offer because he wanted to spend time with her. It was more likely that he was only being polite. He must feel sorry for her not having had the chance to travel more. To have crossed the continent, come so close to the edge, and not go all the way? It must sound pathetic to a man who had sailed all the way across the Atlantic and traveled around Europe. Perhaps his offer had been based on pity, offering her a treat the way you would comfort a crying child.
It took an effort to walk upright and not trudge with her shoulders slouched. Her feet felt as if they had lead weights attached to them. She had let herself become vulnerable, shown him the most secret part of her life, bared her soul to him. In response, Matthew had turned away and closed his hands into fists. With that gesture, it was as if a door had closed inside her, shutting off a dream. He could not have been any more clear how he felt about the claim. About her.
If she let him go now, in her heart, then it would be her decision. Rather than him abandoning her, she would be letting him go. A small difference in perception, but it would ease the pain a bit. She was tired of other people making the decisions for her. When the time came for him to leave, she would be prepared to let him go.
From now on, she would have to work harder to keep him at a distance emotionally. That was the only way to deal with the ache inside her. She wished he would grow his beard again. That would help. Though she would still have to hear his deep, soothing voice, and notice the crinkle around his eyes when he smiled.
She was going to have to work with him, side by side, until the crops were harvested and the only way she could see to survive that would be to treat him like a stranger. It was hard, but in a curious way the decision brought with it a sense of peace. Matthew’s fate was in the Lord’s hands. She would accept that. She would have to.
As they reached the level area in front of the cabin, Doc Graham came out and untethered the reins of his chestnut gelding from a nearby stump. “Good evening, Doctor!” Liza called out. “Come to see how well your patient is doing?”
“Yes, indeed. Your father’s much the same. Improving slowly, as I said. And what’s this?” The doctor took in the scythe that Matthew had picked up on their way back to the cabin, and his eyebrows rose in an expression of almost comical dismay. “You never told me that he’s going to stay here and harvest your crops for you, Miz Fitzpatrick. I thought he was just passing through on his way to Portland.”
“What does it matter?”
The doctor’s face flushed an unbecoming red, and he spoke much quicker than usual. “I didn’t mean this kind of backbreaking labor. Using a scythe is much too strenuous. It could be dangerous to a man in your condition.”
Matthew rested the scythe on the ground. “You told me to go apply for a job at the lumber mills. Is that any less strenuous than farm work?”
Mr. Fitzpatrick appeared in the cabin doorway, leaning against the door frame. “Boy’s got a point,” he drawled. “If he’s not feeling any effects, who’s to say this work is not just as good as any other for him?”
“And he’s not,” Liza joined in eagerly. “Having any ill effects, I mean.” She cast Matthew a beseeching look. “Are you?”
“No. I feel fine.”
“Well, then! That’s all settled.” Clearly, she wanted to end this discussion. “Are you joining us for supper, Doctor? No? Then maybe you’ll excuse me if I go help with the meal.”
Mr. Fitzpatrick lingered in the doorway a moment longer, eyeing the doctor speculatively. Then he shrugged and went inside, as well.
The doctor barely noticed their departure. He mounted his horse and sat looking down at Matthew. He held his gaze, letting the words sink in. “You should go. It would be for the best.” A pause. “Staying here could be bad for your health.”
Then he put his heels to his horse’s flanks and headed off down the road, leaving Matthew standing there staring after him.
One more secret I don’t hold the key to. He could only hope it was not a mystery he needed to solve any time soon. He had enough to deal with as it was.
Chapter Eight
Liza’s resolve to keep Matthew at a distance was tested almost immediately. The next morning, she avoided looking at him as they ate breakfast. She cleaned the breakfast things away, and then sat down again to fuss over the little kitten. It batted her hand away when she tried to scritch its ears and nipped playfully at her fingers, but that was better than looking at Matthew.
Pa sharpened the scythe and then swung off on his crutches for his favorite fishing hole. Almost as soon as the door had closed behind him, a bonnet came over her shoulder to dangle down right in front of her face. She picked it up with two fingers. “I believe we have discussed this.” The kitten reached out its paws and batted at the bonnet strings.
“You should wear it,” Matthew said patiently. “Ladies wear bonnets. You’ll get freckles.”
Her other hand went to her nose, self-consciously, but she put it back down. Stiffly, she said, “I wear a bonnet when I am in town because it is expected of me. I do not wear one out here because it would be ridiculous. Have you ever tried wearing one of these?”
“Now you are being ridiculous.” He picked up the scythe and held the door for her to precede him outside.
“I’m serious.” She dropped the offending bonnet on the table. The kitten scampered off into the sunlight, and she followed after it, but the stubborn man went back inside for the bonnet.
Maybe he just needed a little more explanation. As they walked down to the field, she said, “The flounce comes so far forward that you feel like a horse with blinders on.”
“Women’s fashions are often ridiculous, but there is some merit in wearing a bonnet. It will protect you from the sunlight.”
“But I’ll be able to see what I’m doing better without it.”
“It’s not proper for a lady to go bareheaded.” They had arrived at the wheat field, the kitten still trailing them, and he handed her the bonnet again.
She squinted up at the sky, then around at the fields on every side. “Whom would I shock?”
“You are not taking into account the feelings of this innocent young kitten. They’re very sensitive at that age.” One corner of his mouth twitched, as if he were trying to restrain a smile.
“I am starting to wonder about this kitten. No matter how often I offer him food, he never seems hungry. Are you still feeding him snacks at odd hours of the day?”
“I have no idea what you are talking about,” he said, straight-faced.
“I think I should name this kitten here Elijah. The ravens must be bringing him food.”
“I think you are trying to change the subject.”
“It is my head, and whether I put a bonnet on it—or not—is my decision.” She draped the bonnet over a stump.
Liza knew she was being stubborn on this issue, but it seemed important to make that point clear. He was trying to look out for her, protect her. That was his instinct with women. But he could not have it both ways. He could not protect her at the same time he was planning to leave her.
He’d made it clear it was no concern of his what she did with her life. And that was fine with her. Just fine. Really, she was quite comfortable without him.
If she had learned anything this past year, it was that she could survive without Matthew. Or Pa.
She thought the discussion of the bonnet had been settled. At the end of the day, however, he made it a point to bring the bonnet back with him. “You never know when you might need it. Your good friend Frank might happen to pass by.” He raised one eyebrow, giving her a mocking look.
She refused to rise to the bait. “I do not think that is very likely. He has his own affairs.”
“Hmm.” Matthew did not sound convinced. “Or anyone else might come by. The birds. Squirrels. Squirrels are easily shocked, you know, sticklers for propriety.”
One corner of her mouth turned up before she could stop it. “I can’t imagine how you could fail to sway any jury in the land. Very persuasive.”
“And yet, you are still bareheaded.”
“We Westerners are hard to persuade.”
“All right.” They were walking along the creek at the point where it slackened its headlong rush, widening into an area of calm water. He picked up a stone and sent it skipping across the pool. A bird startled up from the rushes on the other side, flapping away. Matthew turned to Liza. “Let us try something new. You claim that I taught you how to play chess.”
“You did, yes.”
“Let’s settle this over a game of chess. If I win, you wear the bonnet out in the fields.”
His Forgotten Fiancée (Love Inspired Historical) Page 9