The Road to Love ; Hearts in the Highlands

by Linda Ford

  Cheered by the idea, Dougie abandoned his pout.

  They played for more than an hour while the storm continued. Finally Kate shoved away from the table. “I’ll have to make supper.”

  Hatcher jerked to his feet. “I’ll go milk the cows.”

  She stopped him with a hard look. “Wait until the storm ends. Besides the cows will have found shelter and will refuse to move even to get milked.”

  She fried up potatoes and the last of the pork. Mr. Sandstrum had given her carrots from his root cellar in return for the milk she took over so they had cooked carrots. “Time to put the game away.”

  Mary packed it away carefully then helped set the table.

  Kate served up the meal, indicated Hatcher should remain where he was.

  He looked ready to leap up and let the wind carry him away.

  Happily, she’d stopped all the holes and he couldn’t escape.

  She sat down. “Will you say the blessing, Hatcher?”

  He blinked, looked at each one around the table, then bowed his head and prayed. “Heavenly Father, thank You for Your many blessings and especially the gift of food. Amen.”

  As he prayed, she imagined him at the head of her table, day after day, offering up prayers of gratitude, surrounding the family with love and support. Kate kept her head bowed a second after his “amen,” pulling her futile wishes into submission.

  “Help yourself.” As she passed him the meat, their gazes connected.

  “I should not be here.” He spoke softly as if he didn’t want the children to hear.

  She thought he meant because of what Doyle had said, the stigma of his past.

  “You have neighbors,” he murmured.

  Realizing what he meant, her eyes burned. People would consider Hatcher’s presence inappropriate.

  “I’d send neither man nor beast out in this weather. It will surely end soon, though I can’t imagine how much damage it will have done. Last time we had a blow like this, it brought down the board fence next to the barn and the cows got out and moved with the storm. They ended up at the Olivers. They could have just as easily missed the barn and ended up in the next state. You never know with cows.” She clamped her mouth shut to stop her babbling and turned to serve Mary potatoes.

  Not until Mary’s protesting, “Momma,” did she stop.

  “Oh dear.” She’d scooped half the bowl onto the child’s plate. What was she thinking? She took most of it back.

  She closed her eyes and filled her lungs slowly. There was no reason to be all twisted up inside. But she couldn’t get Hatcher’s presence out of her senses. People would certainly talk if they could read her mind and see how desperately she wanted him to stay.

  “Momma, did I ever play Snakes and Ladders before?” Dougie asked.

  Thankful for his distraction, Kate pondered his question a moment. “I don’t suppose you did.”

  “Hatcher, you ever play it before?” he asked the man.

  Hatcher stared at his plate, the food untouched.

  “Hatcher?” Dougie asked, puzzled that his question wasn’t answer.

  Hatcher shook his head. “Sorry. What did you say?”

  Dougie repeated the question.

  Hatcher picked up his fork. “Used to play it with my brother.” He put his fork down again and stuck his hands beneath the table.

  “You have a brother?” Kate stared. It was the first bit of information Hatcher had ever revealed and she knew he hadn’t intended to.

  “Used to have.”

  Mary gasped. “He’s dead? Like my Poppa?”

  Hatcher kept his head down. “Not so far as I know.”

  “What happened to him?” Mary demanded.

  Hatcher looked at the child, pointedly avoiding Kate’s wide-eyed curiosity.

  “Nothing. I expect he’s fine. I just haven’t seen him in a long time.”

  “Why not?”

  His shoulders crept toward his ears, his eyes grew dark. Kate felt sorry for him. The more he tried to extricate himself from the hole he’d stepped into, the deeper he got. She was every bit as curious as the children. She wanted to know more about this man.

  “I haven’t been home in a long time.”

  Both children watched him now. Kate could feel their curiosity, their sadness that anyone should be away from home too long. She shared their concern. Home meant comfort and safety to her. But she wasn’t sure what it meant to Hatcher. With the accusations he’d faced, perhaps home meant other things to him.

  “Don’t you want to go home?” Mary asked.

  Hatcher’s expression grew tighter with each passing moment. Kate couldn’t stand any longer to witness his discomfort. “Children, enough questions. Eat your supper.”

  He sent her a brief look of gratitude then turned his attention to the plate of food before him.

  But Mary continued to stare at him, her blue eyes swimming in tears. “You can stay with us.”

  Kate stared at her daughter. “Mary, what a thing to say.”

  Mary blinked back her tears and gave her mother a defiant look. “Why can’t he stay? Everyone needs a family.”

  Kate’s shock softened. “You’re right.”

  “Don’t you want to stay?” Dougie asked.

  Hatcher’s eyes turned to liquid coal. “I can’t think of any place I’d rather be.” He gave each child a gentle look. “But I can’t stay.” He raised his eyes to Kate and smiled—regretfully.

  Her heart sang. He didn’t want to leave.

  If she could stop time it would be at this moment—this tender, fragile moment when the four of them shared a common place, acknowledged a single wish.

  How would she manage when he left? To still the pain that didn’t have the kindness to wait until he left to make itself known, she forced her thoughts to the farm.

  The seed would be in the ground but then there was haying and eventually, God willing and with the gift of rain, the crop to harvest. She could hire someone with a threshing machine. But she didn’t want to go back to what she was before he came—driven to do it all, driven to keep the farm at all costs. The one cost she hadn’t thought about, had overlooked, was her children.

  Yet it was for them that the farm had to remain intact. Never would she allow them to experience the fear and cold and misery of not having a solid roof over their heads. Never would they know the feeling of stomach-clenching uncertainty about the future.

  Jeremiah told her as long as she held on to the farm, they would be safe and sound. It had been harder than she imagined, more work, more responsibility.

  If only Hatcher would stay...

  Together they could manage nicely. But it wasn’t for the sake of her children or the farm she wanted him to stay. It was for her.

  She hadn’t been lonely since Hatcher came. She could look out the window any time of the day and see him, slouched into a comfortable posture on the tractor, or heading to or from the barn, milk pails swinging from his hands, or striding across the prairie on his way from the little shanty.

  How could she, in such a short time, have grown used to seeing him? Anticipated looking up and glimpsing him nearby. Felt settled and safe by his very presence.

  How ironic. She’d never before felt safer and it was with a man accused of murder, though Hatcher could no more murder someone than Mary could. It just wasn’t in him.

  “Is there any way I can persuade you to stay?” she asked.

  The lines around his eyes deepened. His lips flattened as he met Kate’s begging gaze. “I can’t.”

  She nodded, ducked her head to hide her disappointment. “Finish eating,” she murmured to the children. “There’s chocolate cake for dessert.”

  They ate in silence. Silence? “The wind has died down.”

  Everyone cocked their head and listened then res
umed eating without comment but even the cake didn’t excite them. The children were saddened at the idea of Hatcher leaving.

  They finished up. Kate offered tea. Hatcher refused and pushed from the table. But before he could escape, an automobile growled into the yard. Kate glanced out the window and groaned. “Doyle again?” She hurried to the door at the sound of his knock.

  “Hello, Doyle. Have you come to make sure we weathered the storm?”

  “I knew you’d be fine.” He peered past her shoulder. “What’s he doing in your house? I thought he’d be gone.”

  Chapter Ten

  Hatcher’s gut twisted so he wished he hadn’t eaten. He’d hoped this moment wouldn’t come. He knew better. He never allowed himself get close to people. It carried too many risks.

  This time saying goodbye would hurt even worse than his father’s goodbye.

  Yet knowing that, he’d spent the afternoon in the luxury of feeling things, thinking things, wishing things that could never be his.

  It was time to accept the inevitable; he was destined to be a wanderer and a vagabond.

  The Lord’s anger was aroused that day and he swore this oath: because they have not followed me wholeheartedly, not one of the men twenty years old or more who came up out of Egypt will see the land I promised on oath...he continued reciting the passage until he reached the verse that seared his brain. He made them wander in the desert forty years, until the whole generation of those who had done evil in his sight was gone. Numbers thirty two, verses eleven through thirteen.

  His desert included the ocean, the mountains and the parched prairie.

  And for a few days, this oasis of longing and belonging, hope and despair.

  It was time to return to the desert. That solitary, desolate place. He’d be more alone than he’d ever been but he didn’t regret one minute of the time he’d lingered here. Memories of Kate and her children would be his companion in the days to come.

  He’d move on as soon as he did the thing he’d promised Kate—put in the crop. In the meantime, he would help with the chores and he grabbed the milk buckets. “I’m just leaving.” But when he tried to push past Doyle, the man blocked the door.

  “Exactly where are you going?”

  Hatcher understood the man’s unspoken order. But he wouldn’t allow Doyle to tell him when and where. “To milk the cows.”

  “Think again. You need to be gone for good.”

  Hatcher grinned, knowing it would annoy the other man. “I’ll go when I’m done.”

  Kate’s angry look should have warned Doyle, but he ignored her. “Doyle, he’s putting in the crop. You know that.”

  “He’s a mur—”

  Kate clapped her hands. “Children, go outside and see how Shep is. Check on your bunny and make sure it’s safe. Don’t come back until I call you.” She jerked Doyle from the door so the children could leave. Mary hurried out as if she couldn’t get away fast enough.

  “Momma.” Dougie started to protest, sensing he was about to miss something and not wanting to.

  “Go.” She pushed him after his sister.

  Hatcher tried to slip out after them but Doyle stepped in front of him.

  “Like I started to say, murderers are not welcome here.”

  Kate leaned back, her eyes burning. “Doyle, we’ve been over this before. Obviously Hatcher isn’t a murderer or he’d be in prison. Besides, I say who is welcome here.”

  Doyle stared at Hatcher, his washed-out blue eyes snapping with dislike.

  Hatcher returned his look. He had long ago learned to deny any emotion but this man’s dictatorial attitude toward Kate made Hatcher’s skin prickle. Did he think he could order the woman around and she’d meekly obey? He squelched the emotion. Replaced it with studied indifference. Gave the man a look that said his opinion carried as much value as fly guts.

  “Is this your mode of operation? You worm your way in with a widow and then take advantage of her. And if anyone interferes, they mysteriously die? I wonder how many people you’ve murdered since Loggieville.”

  Some people wanted to believe the worst about others because it somehow made them feel superior. Hatcher had seen it time and again. Not that anyone had before accused him of repeated murders. But he’d seen the quick judgments men often passed. A man refused to offer a job and suddenly becomes a Commie. Someone hoards his last bite of food and he’s accused of stealing it. As if calling a difference of opinions something evil didn’t brand both the accused and the accuser. Judge not, that ye be not judged. For with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged: and with what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again. Matthew chapter seven, verses one and two.

  Hatcher knew how to deal with people like Doyle. Walk away. Don’t give the satisfaction of letting them see their words mean anything. But he wouldn’t walk away and leave Kate to deal with this man. Even if she intended to marry him. He stood his ground, staring at the man hard enough to burn a hole through his skin.

  Kate surged forward. “Doyle, I will not allow you to make such vile accusations in my house.” She planted her hands on Doyle’s chest, glowering as she pushed him out the door.

  Doyle looked startled. Maybe even a little scared. Then he took a step back and straightened his suit jacket.

  Hatcher repressed a smile. Silly little man. Unsure of himself, he accepted no limits in the quest to prove to himself and everyone else his importance—the most dangerous sort of person.

  Doyle gave Hatcher a look that reminded Hatcher of a rabid dog he’d once seen—full of hate and meanness. “You might fool Kate but you don’t fool me. I know you’re up to something. And I intend to find out what it is.”

  Hatcher shrugged and stepped past the man. “Come along and you can see for yourself. I’m just going to milk the cows.” He took his time as he headed toward the barn, shamelessly listening to the conversation between Kate and Doyle.

  “How dare you act like that on my farm? Who do you think you are? You don’t own me. Or my farm.” He could hear the anger in Kate’s voice, imagined the way her eyes would bore into the man.

  “Kate, it’s for your own good. He’s a murderer.”

  Weaselly little whine.

  “If you really believe that, tell the sheriff. Have him arrested.”

  “I told you. Everyone is afraid to testify against him. Afraid of his violent anger.”

  Kate snorted. “I’ve seen him handle things without ruffling a hair. In fact—”

  Hatcher glanced back to see Kate jabbing her finger at Doyle’s chest and he grinned. Doyle had pushed too far and he would soon discover the depth of Kate’s spirit—something he thought a man who planned to marry her should already be acquainted with.

  She stuck her face close to Doyle’s. “I’ve seen more anger from you in the last five minutes than I’ve seen from Hatcher his entire stay.”

  “Kate, trust me. He’s a danger to you and the children.”

  Kate snorted. “I can’t imagine where you’re getting this information. I know it isn’t true. Maybe you should look for the facts instead of believing falsehoods.”

  “I don’t know how he’s done it but he’s duped you. You need to trust me on this matter. I understand these thing far better than you.”

  “I admit I don’t know legal terms but you don’t know people like I do.”

  Hatcher grinned as he ducked into the barn where he could no longer hear the conversation. Kate was right about knowing people better than Doyle. Doyle didn’t even know Kate.

  But she didn’t know him—Hatcher. He did have murder in his heart when Jerry died. His anger ruled his actions. It was judged accidental but he’d been running from his anger since his release, afraid of its evil power.

  As long as he didn’t let himself get close to anyone, as long as he didn’t care about anything, he could control his
anger but he’d been here long enough to start caring about Kate. About her children. He’d crossed his mental line. He had to leave before anyone got hurt.

  Yet part of him wanted to stay and protect her, care for her.

  He pulled a stool up beside the patient Jersey and milked her. A man could find satisfaction in regular chores like this.

  It wasn’t possible. One more day and he’d be done the seeding and on his way.

  When he took the milk to the house, Doyle and his fancy car were gone.

  Kate met him at the door. “I’m sorry for what he said. You have to realize he doesn’t speak for me.”

  Hatcher let himself look into her eyes. They had none of the fire and anger he’d seen when she challenged Doyle. He felt his resolve swirling in their warm brownness.

  “You believe me, don’t you?” she asked.

  He jerked his gaze away. Stepped back three feet. “I believe you.” He wouldn’t look at her, wouldn’t allow himself to be tempted by the welcome in her eyes.

  He remembered the way she’d smiled at him earlier this afternoon out on the prairie, a smile full of warmth and caring. Welcome even? He’d let himself believe so for a bit. Even let himself respond to it.

  Only years of practice enabled him to successfully bury the thought.

  “He’s not the sort of man you should marry.” He jerked his chin back. He should not have spoken the words aloud.

  Kate looked equally surprised at his statement. Then she grinned, making him forget he’d moments ago forbidden himself to think how ferociously beautiful she was when she smiled, how her eyes widened as if surprised then softened unexpectedly, how the sun kissed her skin with uncommon warmth.

  She snorted, signaling laughter that filled his heart with a waterfall of pleasure. “I’m not going to marry him. Truth is, I’m not sure the offer is still open.”

  She sobered, pinned him with a demanding look. “Hatcher, I know you didn’t murder anyone. What really happened? What are you running from?”

  “You know nothing about me.” His voice grated past the tightness in his chest. “You don’t understand the damage my anger can do.”