by Emily Woods
Then, slowly at first but with a swiftness she hadn’t expected, Albert wrapped her up in his arms and buried his face in her neck. He breathed in deeply and spoke into the softness of her neck where her hair slipped from its bun.
“I love you, and I forgive you.”
Albert never would have expected to feel the way he did in this moment, but he was overwhelmed with love for Della. With understanding and even anger toward the man that had deceived her. What was missing was any sense of blame or hurt for her lies to him. He’d told her he forgave her, and he did.
When he finally pulled back, he cupped her face between his hands so that she would meet this gaze.
“You are beautiful to me. All of you. And the little one inside of you will be like a son or daughter of mine. I won’t make a distinction.” He watched as tears coursed down her cheeks and he wiped them away with his thumbs. “Thank you for telling me, and I’m sorry I didn’t listen before.”
She merely nodded, unable to speak. Then he gently pulled her in for a kiss. It was quick and he pulled back to search her eyes to see if it was all right. Now that he knew what had happened to her in the past, he would proceed with even greater caution. He would show his love for her in his patience. Whatever she needed.
He slid his arms down to her shoulders and held her there for a moment, just taking in the sight of her. Then her eyes widened, and she looked down at her abdomen. Now that he knew the truth, he could see the slight evidence of it in the way her dress fell. He felt like a fool for not having seen it, and yet neither his brothers nor sisters had noticed either. Only his mother.
Thinking of her reminded him. “My mother—”
“Wait,” Della said, reaching for his hand. Then, to his great surprise, she rested it on her abdomen. “Feel it?”
He concentrated and closed his eyes, willing himself to feel what it was that she felt.
Then, as suddenly as a rushing wind, he felt a gentle fluttering beneath his fingers. His eyes locked with hers and they shared a smile.
“I feel it!”
She laughed. “As do I!”
“But…how?”
She merely shrugged. How were they to know the mysteries God created in secret?
“He feels like a strong one,” Albert said with a laugh.
“And what’s to say it isn’t a girl?” she quipped.
“I’d be happy for either.”
“As would I,” Della said, meeting his gaze. Then she said, “But Albert, what about Red?”
The drastic change in conversation threw him. “What about Red?”
“You have to promise me,” she said, grabbing his hand in hers again. “You must promise us that you will go through with your deal.”
He was shocked. Why was she so adamant about this?
“I don’t understand?”
“Don’t you see?” she said, pressing his hand against her stomach again where the kicking was strongest. “You have to show this little one that it’s all right to reach for your dreams. That they can come true. I know mine have.”
The look in her eyes was filled with such wonder and hope that it overwhelmed him. And suddenly, he didn’t care what his family said— No, that wasn’t true, he cared but he wanted them to see why he was so excited about the deal. He wanted them to join in with him and feel the rush of success alongside him.
“I will,” he said, looking deeply into Della’s eyes. “For you, for the little one, and for my family.”
They looked at each other for a long time before Della leaned forward and drew him into a deep kiss. It sealed their promises to one another and the fact that they would stand on the truth now. Nothing else would get in their way.
Della walked down the creaking stairs, her hand on her abdomen and the assurance that her love rested firmly in the hands of her husband. She had nothing to fear, and yet she was still afraid.
The smells of baking bread wafted up to greet her, and she felt the little one inside of her kick for joy at the thought of food. She almost laughed, but the reality of her situation sobered her. She’d told Albert not to come with her, that she wanted to do this on her own, but she wished she had him next to her, his strong hand in hers.
In the doorway to the kitchen, she peered in and saw Rose standing at the wash basin. Her hands were in the soapy water, but her gaze had traveled outside. Della wondered where she was, the look of her thoughts heavy. Then suddenly she turned around and their gazes collided.
Della stepped forward, unsure of what to say to break the tension.
“You’re with child,” Rose said. Her words were tempered but, surprising to Della, they were not filled with malice.
“I am.” Della’s brow wrinkled, unsure of how to continue.
“I’m sorry for the way I acted.” Rose pulled a flour sack towel from the counter and began to wipe the sudsy water off her hands. “I realize now that I jumped to all sorts of conclusions, all of them negative to you. That wasn’t fair.”
Della was about to protest, saying that she’d been right, but Rose held up a hand, taking another step forward.
“But what my son reminded me was that his love is enough to ensure a mother’s love.” Then, right there, Della watched as Rose broke into a warm smile. “My boy has finally found a woman he loves, and I almost went and ruined everything. I suppose I was hurt when he left for the East the way he did, and then to top it all off, I assumed you were just using my son for your own gains. I see now that you care for him too, you have the glow of love about you as well.” She winked and took a final step to close the gap between them, reaching out and taking Della’s hand in hers.
“I’m sorry, my child.” A tear trickled down her cheek. “I should have done nothing but love you, and instead I judged you. No matter the truth, I love you and your child and will embrace you both with welcome arms. Forgive me?”
It was Della’s turn to cry as she allowed herself to be pulled in against Rose. They stayed like that for a long time and only pulled back finally when Albert cleared his throat in the doorway.
“I see you are friends now,” he said, coming to Della’s side.
“No,” his mother said. They turned to look at her. “We’re family.”
An Unconventional Love
Falls Creek Western Romance, Book 1
1
Coleman Reynolds stepped off the train and drank in the sights of Great Falls, Montana. The squat buildings resembled those of a hundred towns along the way from east to west, but these burgeoned with the promises he’d cherished for the past five years.
People bustled about in the streets, pausing to stop and greet a friend or smile at a child. A few older men stood around speaking vehemently on some unknowable subject. The dusty streets didn’t bother Coleman, not at all. He rejoiced in the sight of them.
Even the air was sweeter here, cooler and fresher than back in Philadelphia. He’d left the place where he'd been born and raised without a backward glance. His face bore the distinct look of faint pleasure, if not a full smile. He was here on a mission, one that had been forming in his mind for many years. After finally receiving his inheritance, his goal was within reach.
“Your horse is ready,” the conductor informed him, pointing to the end of the platform. “Have a good day.”
Cole, as he preferred to be called, nodded at the man and thanked him. Eagerly, he walked toward where his horse was being held. As he approached, a spontaneous smile now formed on his face. Black Knight, Knight for short, was his one consolation in the world. He had lost his parents when he was young, enduring years of neglect and indifference, but his horse, the stallion that he'd insisted on having when he was sixteen, was his loyal companion. He’d sorely missed him on the nearly week-long ride over. The brief visits he was allowed at stops were not enough. Spending time with Knight brought peace to his belligerent spirit.
Knight bobbed his head up and down as Cole approached, a standard greeting, and then snuffed at his pockets for a treat,
which Cole quickly delivered. The horse whinnied in gratitude and then gave him a slight nip on the shoulder. It didn’t hurt, and Cole only laughed. It was Knight’s way of expressing excitement.
As he led the horse away from the train, his mind flickered back to the day he’d bought the animal. His grandparents had balked at the idea of his buying a stallion, sure that the horse would be difficult, but Cole had insisted and even paid for the animal himself. They couldn't understand why he didn't want a gelding, or better yet, a mare. It was hard to explain, but in the absence of a father or even an approving father figure, he wanted a strong horse, one that would be capable of breeding one day if he wanted.
Surprisingly, Knight was not an aggressive horse, especially not with him. In many ways, he was more like a dog, following his master's every movement and seeking to please him. The relationship was reciprocated. Cole was devoted to Knight.
“Sorry about that, boy,” he murmured, stroking the horse's white muzzle. It was the only part of him that wasn't black aside from a bit of coloring on his hind legs. “If things go as planned, you won't ever have to ride inside a train again. I certainly don't want to either.”
He walked the horse toward the road and slung his traveling bag behind the saddle, tying it tight. The rest of his meager belongings were still in storage back in Philadelphia. He would send for them when he was sure of his future, but for now, all he needed was in this bag.
“Do you know the best way to get to Triple Range Ranch?” he asked the first man to cross his path as he stepped into the dusty streets of the city.
“Sure I do,” the older man replied. Cole listened carefully to the instructions, then thanked the man somberly. After stopping for a quick bite at the town's hotel, he was on his way to the ranch he hoped would prove to be the path to the fulfillment of his dream.
Although he was anxious, he didn’t hurry on his way. The ride was spectacular and more than enjoyable on this crisp spring morning. He paused every now and then to breathe deeply and simply take in his surroundings. Every so often, there was a stinging behind his eyes, so emotional was he at finally being in the place he’d been dreaming about for years. The West had been in his heart ever since he’d met an old cowboy in the barber shop where he’d been working part-time. The man had regaled him for hours about tales of the wild country. Old James, as he was called by his friends, had been forced to come east by his daughter, who had cited his poor health as the reason.
“Well, Knight, we’re finally here. So far, it’s everything I imagined.”
The horse nickered as though in agreement. They stood in the knee-deep grass just off the path, luxuriating in the sun’s rays and breathing in the clean air.
“Can’t get that in Philly,” he informed no one in particular.
Less than two hours later, he spied a large house nestled into the lush valley. The spring rains must have been abundant to create such a verdant paradise. At least, that was how it looked to him. He'd never been a city boy, not in his heart, and had strained at the education his uncle had subjected him to, insisting it was his parents’ wishes. He didn’t believe that. His father had been a warm man, generous in nature as well as with his finances.
Although he'd been good in school, he hadn't enjoyed it. The long windows had looked out onto the street, but he'd always tried to imagine that just beyond the concrete buildings lay forests, streams, fields, and mountains. Of course, there weren't such things in the heart of the city, but his mind never stopped dreaming.
Now, his dream had become a reality. Here he was, minutes away from hopefully becoming the newest ranch hand on the famous Triple Range Ranch, the one Old James had told him about. He’d passed numerous ranches on the way out, but this one was his goal.
As he neared, it seemed like a better idea to approach the barn first, instead of the house. In the middle of the afternoon, the owner wouldn't likely be inside. He'd either be out riding or working in the barn.
It didn't take long to find someone who looked to be in charge. Was this the owner? James had already told him the name.
“Morning,” he called out. “I'm looking for Luke Winston. Do you know where I could find him?”
“Who's asking?” the man replied, tipping his battered hat back to get a better look at the newcomer.
“Name's Cole Reynolds,” he replied evenly, sensing that this was not the man he was looking for. “I'm looking for a job.”
The man inspected him a little more closely, his brows lowering and a shadow of a frown appearing on his face.
“You might get down from your horse and look me in the eye,” he declared lightly. “I'm John Porter, the foreman and one in charge of hiring.”
Quick as lightning, Cole slid off Knight's back and stuck out his hand. “Please to meet you...sir. Uh, Mister Winston doesn't do it himself?”
John shook his head. “Nope. He figures I have better judgment when it comes to this.” Again, he regarded him closely. Cole knew he didn't give off the impression of being particularly strong or industrious. His lean figure and average stature of a couple inches below six feet were not awe-inspiring, but whatever he lacked in physical strength, he made up for in willpower. “Where are you from?”
He knew that he would answer most questions truthfully, even when it didn’t benefit him to do so. He needed to appear to be trustworthy in every respect. “Philadelphia, sir. Lived there all my life.”
“Hmm. City boy then.” John looked amused. Cole was pretty sure young men such as himself came by frequently looking for work. “Ever work on a ranch or the like?”
“Uh, not exactly, but I'm a good worker. I’ve had many jobs in the city, and I’m not afraid of hard work.”
“Yeah, every man says that of himself, but if you've never done it, how can you know?”
He pulled his shoulders back and looked the man in the eye. Careful to keep his gaze steady without appearing sullen, he gave a small smile and replied, “I’ve hauled crates, swept floors, done building, assisted a blacksmith, and I've been riding for nearly four years now, sir.”
John made a noise in his throat that Cole couldn’t interpret and then turned his attention to Knight. “Fine horse you've got. I'll give you that much. Did you pick him out yourself?”
“Sure did. He's an American Quarterhorse, stallion.”
The corner of the older man's mouth quirked a little and Cole realized that it sounded like he was showing off.
“Yep, I can see that. How old were you when you got him?”
Cole realized the man was trying to decipher his age, and even though he was somewhat tempted to lie in order to seem older, he didn’t.
“Sixteen.”
John nodded and seemed to be considering. “Well, we are going to be needing a few more men. I was actually going to put up a post in town next week, so you've come at the right time, but I just don't know if you're right for the job. I'm looking for men who don't need a lot of direction or training.”
“I've read everything about ranching that I could get my hands on,” Cole replied, trying hard not to sound too eager. “And I guarantee you won't be sorry.”
“Oh? How are you going to do that?”
Cole had known that there would be a chance of not getting hired very easily and made an offer.
“I'll work the first month for nothing except room and board. If you're not happy with my work, you don't have to pay me. If you are, you keep me on.”
John was a little taken aback by the offer, but then gave a bark of laughter. “Well, I gotta say, I like your confidence. You're hired...for a month, at least. I'll show you where the bunkhouse is.
Madelyn Winston threw the embroidery down on the sofa beside her in exasperation and let out a groan. She'd pricked herself three times in the past ten minutes and couldn’t seem to redo the pattern to cover up the spots of blood.
“Why in the world would anyone do this to themselves?” she grumbled, glaring at the offending piece of fabric.
; Carefully, quietly, she stood up and, moving slowly to not make any noise, crept to her parents' room where she found a pair of her dad's jeans and an old shirt. She quickly changed, using a belt to cinch the waist of the pants. Again, listening for the sound of her mother, she slipped out the door into the inviting sunshine and ran in the direction of the barn.
Only when she was a good piece away from the house did she let herself slow down and take a big breath. Nearing the barn, she started to grin even before she entered. The smell of horses reached her nose and ignited her excitement. Of course, horses meant manure, but she didn't even mind that. She'd much rather be out here mucking the stalls than inside doing feminine things, especially if it meant she'd have a chance to ride.
No one was near, so she waltzed over to the second stall from the right, whistling three specific notes. Immediately, a chestnut mare stuck her muzzle out and snorted a greeting.
“Hey there, Spark,” she murmured, fishing an apple out of the nearby barrel and extending it on a flat palm. The mare delicately lipped it out of her hand and crunched it with satisfaction, or so Maddie imagined. “Want to go for a ride?” she asked, slipping into the stall and rubbing the horse's sleek neck. “It's a beautiful day.”
However, before she could saddle her horse, she heard John talking to someone. When the other man responded, she couldn't place his voice, and she knew everyone on the ranch. As the conversation continued, she pressed herself against the side of the stall, well out of their line of sight, and strained to hear what they were saying.
“We have more than a hundred head of cattle and over two dozen horses, most of which are used for herding, but we breed some and train them for fancy folks back east. They pay a pretty penny for a well-bred horse. Twice a year, we round cattle up and put them on trains that bring them over to Kansas.”
John droned on and on, telling the other man all about the ranch, facts that Maddie had known for years, everything a person could have hoped to know around the table of ranchers and ranch hands.