by Emily Woods
Then, in one fluid motion, he’d yanked off his shirt and she was shocked in another way. His bare chest exposed, she saw corded muscles along his arms, shoulders, and abdomen, though most of his stomach was a mess of blood. She gasped.
“I’m sorry,” he said, stuffing the shirt against his side to stay the blood loss. “It’s improper, but I need—” He swallowed as if trying to find the strength for the words. “I need your help.”
Just like that, she snapped out of her shock and tried her best to ignore the flush that no doubt had flooded her cheeks as she faced his bare chest. Arthur was in serious need of help and she was the only person to give it to him. More than that, she wanted to help him.
“Just tell me what to do.”
The pain was almost unbearable, but as Violet cleaned and dressed his wounds with the utmost care, he could see the determination crease her brow and feel the steadiness of her movements. It was more than he would have ever asked any woman aside from Ma, but she bore the weight of it like she did the other chores he’d thrown her way. With grace, dignity, and an inner strength he’d never seen in a woman aside from his mother.
With the gunshot—really, a deep graze—tended to, he forced himself into a sitting position, grinding his teeth against the pain.
“The gauze,” he said, nodding to the small table where she’d amassed supplies to help him. “We’ll wrap it around.”
She nodded and reached for the mass of white, unwinding it slightly. Then she knelt at his feet and reached up to press the gauze to his abdomen, her touch feather light. He held it in place against his wound, not letting up on the pressure, and she reached the roll behind him. The act brought her close to him, the scent from her hair filling him as he breathed in against the pain.
“Pull it tight,” he managed, his muscles contracting with the pain.
The heat from her body reminded him just how close she was, despite the fact that his eyes were closed. He needed to keep his head and not cry out so that she wouldn’t be afraid to keep the gauze tight. It needed to help stem the flow of blood. She pulled tighter and he lost the battle, crying out.
“Arthur,” she whimpered.
He opened his eyes to see tears in hers, making them look glassy in the dim light. Then, without thinking, he reached up and cupped her cheek.
“I’m all right. It just…hurts.”
Her lips curled in and pressed tight to one another, determination flooding her again. She finished wrapping the gauze and leaned back. He felt the distance between them and suppressed a shiver of cold at her missing warmth.
“Here. Lie back,” she said, pushing pillows behind him.
He flopped back against them, not willing to use his stomach muscles for fear of opening the wound again. The next moment, she had covered him with a blanket and was sitting on the bed beside him. Her slight weight barely depressed the mattress.
“What happened?” she finally asked, breaking the silence.
His foolish and stubborn pride was what had happened, but he wasn’t sure he was willing to admit to that just yet.
“I…stayed behind. When my brothers took the cattle to the next pasture. I was looking for a few lost calves when I came upon a band of cattle poachers.” He cringed at the memory, closing his eyes. If it hadn’t been for the copse of trees he’d rode headlong into, he wasn’t sure he would have made it back at all. “They shot at me, but I managed to get away. Made it back here.”
“So your brothers are all right?” Was the concern in her tone directed at one of his brothers in particular? Albert had been chummy with her during their family dinner. He mentally berated himself for being foolish. What did he care if Violet had eyes for one of them? It would serve him right…
A memory of his argument with Albert came back to him as if it were happening right then and there. Albert had asked him if he were a blind fool, if he couldn’t see what was in front of him, if he wasn’t enough of a man to pursue a woman as amazing as Violet. All the things Albert had said were true, but he didn’t know how to reply to that.
Then Aaron had started in on how nice she was and the fact that she liked to read and…he’d snapped. His temper had gotten the better of him and he’d told them to mind their manners in no uncertain terms. But had he just been reacting out of jealousy? That they had so easily conversed with the beautiful woman he saw every day and yet couldn’t manage to hold a conversation with?
“They’re fine.”
“I’m glad.”
He didn’t meet her gaze. Was she glad because she hoped one of them might be ‘man enough’ to make her an offer of marriage?
“I’m also very glad you made it back safely.” Her soft, warm hand rested on his on top of the blanket and drew his gaze to hers. There was no malice there, only genuine compassion. “You…scared me.” She dropped his gaze, but her hand remained on his and something ignited inside of him.
Was it possible she could…care for him?
It seemed too fantastic, too much to hope for, but he’d spent so much time mad at himself for what his mother had done to recognize what Violet had done to him.
She’d broken past his defenses and—somehow—she’d become someone he could care about. But would she be able to see past his words to what was in his heart? Because there didn’t seem to be a way to tell her how he felt. The words just weren’t there.
8
Somehow, the last few weeks had turned into a blur of worry and hope intermingled. One moment, Violet was tending to Arthur on the road to recovery and the next, he’d slipped into a fever-induced nightmare that had lasted nearly a week. Without Rose’s knowledge of such things and the help of her and Arthur’s brothers taking turns watching and praying over him, Violet was certain he would have perished.
But he hadn’t, and something about that made Violet unreasonably happy. Of course, she was happy that he was alive, but it was more than that. It was the change the fever had wrought in him. She’d noticed it the first day after the worst of his fever had gone. It was her turn to sit with him, reading portions of the Bible to him and feeding him broth and water whenever possible.
She hadn’t expected much, and she certainly hadn’t expected him to talk to her, but he had. It had started out stilted at first, short stories about when he was a boy and what growing up on the ranch had been like. Then the stories had turned deeper and more introspective.
Sometimes he would catch himself before saying something truly vulnerable, but other times, he would forge ahead. She had done her best to remain quiet during these times, because she knew it wasn’t easy for him. It wasn’t easy for him to open up, let alone to a woman.
That fact alone had become clear to her after overhearing his brothers talking to their mother one night, explaining what had happened on the prairie to make them split up. It had been over her—in a way—and she hated that fact.
But now, as she prepared a tray to take in to Arthur, her hands shook because today, she had decided to say something to him. To take bold action like the heroines in her novels would. To admit to him that, during the course of his sickness but even before, she’d grown fond of him.
The thought terrified her, but her month on the ranch was almost up and she had no idea what Arthur would do. Would he send her away? Had opening up to her merely been the byproduct of a feverish mind or loneliness and inactivity? Or perhaps…
“Violet?”
The sound of her name coming from his lips made her whirl around, the clay cup in her hands slipping to the floor in a shattering crash.
“I’m sorry,” he said, taking a tentative step toward her. He was dressed, though his shirt hung loose and untucked. His hair was a mess of black strands poking up every which way, but the color in his face was good—better than it had been in days.
“You’re up,” she said, knowing her mouth was hanging open at his surprise entrance to the kitchen.
“I am.”
“Yes, well…” She looked down at the mess and kn
elt to pick up the pieces. What had she expected? For him to speak to her like he had during the long hours of quiet? Admit that they had shared confidences with one another? But now, in the daylight and in the kitchen, she wondered if it had been magic wrought by the possibility of death. Had Arthur chosen to open up to her only because he thought he wouldn’t make it?
“Violet,” he said, coming to her. He bent over with a light groan, and pulled her hand into his, helping her stand.
When her gaze met his, she knew it reflected all the hope she held in her heart. She couldn’t hide it from him, just as she couldn’t undo dropping the cup. It had happened and now she had to see the pieces where they lay.
He didn’t speak. His mouth opened as if he might, but then it closed again and part of her shriveled. The part of her that had hoped things would change. The part that hoped that, when he was standing on his own two feet again, he would see that she was no more intimidating to him than a pitchfork. It could do damage, but that wasn’t what it was used for. She wasn’t there to hurt him. She was there to…
To what? Care for him? Be his nurse? But no, it was more than that now. She wanted to tell him how she felt before it was too late.
“Arthur,” she said, stepping toward him. Clay cracked under her shoe, but she ignored it. “Please, don’t send me away.”
His brow furrowed. “Send you away?”
“I know that we had a deal…” She looked down, feeling the distance between them. “But, please. I can’t go back east. I don’t want to. I want to stay…here.” She wanted to say with you, but the words lodged themselves in her throat and refused to budge.
“I…I can’t let you stay.”
Her brow furrowed. “Why? Because you can’t stand to talk to me? Because I’m not good enough of a worker? Because you don’t want me around your brothers?” He reacted to her words like she’d slapped him. “I’m just as good as any worker you could have—at least with the things I’m capable of. I’ll show you that I can stay and work on my own. Just give me a chance.”
His expression fell and he dropped his gaze to his hands. She waited for what felt like an eternity, but he didn’t speak, didn’t move. Why? Why couldn’t he speak to her? Did he have to be near death or delirious with fever for the words to come? She was tired of waiting on him.
She opened her mouth to tell him how she felt, but the look on his face—grim determination—stalled her words. If she couldn’t gain his affection, maybe she could gain his approval. If they were never meant to be anything more than worker and boss, then she would prove herself invaluable. It seemed to be the only way.
“I’ll prove to you I’m valuable,” she finally shot back. “You’ll see.”
She stormed out of the house toward the barn.
Arthur felt like a mute fool. He’d been prepared to tell her what she meant to him. To tell her all the things he’d thought of when he’d laid there in bed talking to her about his past. Somehow, staring at the ceiling, it was easier for the words to flow and for him to imagine she was just like any other person to him. He couldn’t fully forget her beauty, but it had helped the words begin and once they started to flow, he couldn’t have stopped them if he tried.
It had broken some dam inside of him and now he wanted nothing more than to share his thoughts with her. Or so he’d thought, until he came to stand face to face with the stunningly beautiful Violet Chandler. The woman who had fearlessly wrapped his wound, cared for him, worked in the barn, and still found time to make meals and do the wash. She was a pillar of strength and he hadn’t seen it until he’d been forced to do nothing but see it.
His helplessness had done what his mother never could.
Then he’d come in here, prepared to tell her how he felt, and those gray-blue eyes, like a sky on a cloudy morning, had arrested him, holding his tongue captive. He’d wanted to tell her so many things, but they’d built up inside him and clogged the way out.
Then she’d tried to convince him to let her stay on her merits as a worker and he’d doubted what he’d felt. Did she care to stay for him or for her freedom? He couldn’t imagine that she wanted to work as she did, but maybe he’d been wrong.
Now she was off on her way to prove to him that she was worth keeping on. He could have avoided all of this if he’d just told her how he felt. That he wasn’t sure he wanted to go on the way he had before, now that he knew her, knew what life was like with her, but he’d never be able to get those words out.
“Arthur?” His mother came into the kitchen behind him, but he stood rooted to the spot. What was he going to do? How would he move past this?
“What’s wrong, dear?” Ma placed a hand on his arm, drawing him to the table where he slumped carefully into a chair. “You look like you just ate a bad piece of meat.”
He pressed his lips together, fighting the urge to let his thoughts spill out in the form of words. He’d never opened up to anyone, especially not his mother, but something about his weakened physical state and his mother’s solemn and understanding expression pushed him past the point of his carefully-erected walls.
“I’m afraid of losing Violet.”
“Losing… Honey, what do you mean? She’s just outside, isn’t she?”
He shook his head. “That’s not what I mean.”
“Then what do you mean, son?” Her words were firm, a parent to her child, but when he met her gaze, there was compassion there. “You’ve spent years not saying what you thought for fear you’d say the wrong thing, but now might be the time to get over that.”
“You say it like it’s easy.” Hadn’t he tried to get over it? Hadn’t he tried to tell her how he felt?
“It’s not easy.” She leaned back in her chair, lacing her fingers together. “I’ll grant you that. There are many things we can’t control—how people take our words is one of them—but should that stop you from saying them?’
He wasn’t sure.
“Consider this, Arthur.” She clasped his hand. “We only have one life to live and there will come a time where this life you’re living now will come to an end. Will you regret not speaking up?”
He would, he knew he would, but that didn’t mean it would make the words come easier or even the way he wanted them to.
“What if I don’t have the words, though?”
“Oh, Arthur.” She waited until he met her gaze. “I can’t even count the number of times your father thought the same thing. He wasn’t a man of words but a man of doing. Just remember, actions can speak even louder than words sometimes.” She stood and began picking up the pieces of the clay cup from the floor. “Just remember, don’t walk away from something unless you know for certain the door is closed.”
Had he closed the door on Violet? He wasn’t sure. He rose, steadying himself with the back of the chair, and his mother turned to look at him.
“Trust your heart, dear boy.” She offered him a kind, reassuring smile. “Violet’s in the barn.”
9
Violet heaved the mound of hay into the wheelbarrow. Her hands stung at the pace she’d set for herself, but the callouses she’d gained helped more than she would have imagined. She needed to move, needed to get Arthur out of her mind and apparently her heart. She felt like a fool thinking that she would have been able to convince him of anything. Of course he’d want her to leave.
She gasped, tears filling her eyes. She slammed the pitchfork into the soft wood of the barn floor and leaned against it. Her palms stung with the new blisters forming, crying out for her to let go of the handle, but the pain grounded her to the spot.
She wanted to stay. More than that, she wanted Arthur to want her to stay too.
“Violet?”
She jerked out of her thoughts to look at the barn entrance. The large doors were open and revealed Arthur standing there, his shirt still untucked and his hair just as unruly, but his flushed cheeks bespoke of the effort it had taken him to come this far on his own.
She dropped the pitchfork
without thought and went to his side. “You shouldn’t have come out here. You’re not strong enough yet.”
He wavered for a moment and she slipped her arm around his uninjured side to direct him to the side of the barn, where he leaned and took in a deep breath.
“I’ll be all right.”
“Why did you come out here?” Her anger at his foolishness surprised her and made her question sound more like a demand than concern.
“I—” He swallowed and wiped his brow with one hand. “I wanted to…”
She looked up at him, her eyes pouring into his, trying to read there what he couldn’t manage to say. But then, before she could react, his arm slipped behind her and pulled her to him. Her breath caught, and he drew near to her, his lips stopping mere inches from hers. The look in his eyes begged the question of her and she responded by closing her own.
The next moment, his lips were on hers and she could barely breathe, barely think. What was happening? Arthur was kissing her? But…but what did this mean? Why—
Then her thoughts ceased as the warmth of his lips distracted her and the feeling of his strong arms around her created a feeling of security.
Finally, when he pulled back, she felt herself trembling and he held her closer, his eyes never leaving her face. Then he reached up and brushed a piece of hair behind her ear.
“I didn’t know how to tell you.” His gaze flickered to her lips then regained her eyes. “I love you, Violet. I…I know I’m bad with words and every time I tried to talk to you, I made things worse, and…and…and—”
“Shhh,” she said, reaching up to press her finger lightly to his lips. “I love you too, Arthur.” She almost couldn’t believe she was saying the words out loud, but she was.
Arthur’s breath caught. The beautiful woman in front of him loved him too? He never would have guessed, but his mother’s words had echoed through his mind when he saw her coming toward him from the depths of the barn. Actions spoke louder than words and in this case, she’d been completely right.