by Cat Cahill
Maggie wrinkled her eyebrows as she soothed the baby. “What does that mean?”
Ivy drew in a deep breath and told her friend about the stares and the bit of conversation she’d overheard in church. And then how Andrew had reacted when she’d asked him about it. “He turned very cold, and then just about accused me of not being a good mother to the children by bringing them into an unknown situation. After that, he insisted this was a marriage in name only.” Just remembering his words pricked at Ivy’s heart. “We barely know each other, and honestly, I wouldn’t have even looked at that marriage newspaper if it weren’t such a dire situation. But I suppose I hoped for more.”
Maggie said nothing as she rested a hand on Ivy’s arm. “Of course you did,” she finally said.
Ivy squeezed away the tears that had pooled in the corners of her eyes. “I can live with it, though. I’d prefer be here, married to a man who doesn’t love me but who will at least keep me and the children safe, rather than finding myself forced into marriage with Mr. St. Clair.”
Maggie nodded emphatically. “You made the right decision. And who knows what may come with time.” She shifted Anabel, who had quieted to lie in her arms.
“He won’t tell me what happened to his first wife. How do I know if I can trust him?”
“Did you tell him why you left Plainfield?” Maggie asked.
Ivy eyed her friend. “No. Not yet. I didn’t necessarily see the need to do so.”
“Perhaps you should. He might be more inclined to share what’s on his mind if you open up to him.”
That sounded easier said than done. Maggie hadn’t been here Sunday night. It was as if an ice storm had roared through and encased Andrew entirely. She’d have to chisel the truth out of him now. She’d have more luck asking one of the gossips in town.
Perhaps that was just what she’d do.
Ivy immediately shook the thought from her head. She didn’t want information that was only speculation. She wanted the truth—from Andrew.
“What are you making?” Maggie nodded at the cloth and needle and thread lying on the small sewing kit Ivy had brought with her from home.
Ivy lifted the tan-colored material. She’d found it, along with some other scraps, in the bedroom she shared with the children. “It’s to be a shirt for Andrew. Most of his have worn thin.” She’d patterned the size from one of his other shirts. She’d worked diligently at it the past several days, and now it was nearly complete.
“Maybe you’ll wear him down with a new shirt, and then he’ll tell you what you want to know,” Maggie said with a grin.
Ivy smiled as she checked the stitches on one of the sleeves. Maggie’s idea was a good one. Perhaps Andrew would be more forthcoming if she was generous with him, and not just with a shirt.
Chapter Eight
Andrew returned from town just before supper, and two very rambunctious children greeted the wagon before he’d even pulled up to the barn. Despite the long day of getting Henry and Miriam reshod and picking up orders from the general store and the hardware store, the sight of the children so happy to see him drew a smile to his face. He didn’t know why they liked him so much, but they’d taken to him almost immediately.
He handed packages to each of them and made Oliver promise to return to help him with the mules, which the boy did in less time than it took Andrew to unhitch them from the wagon. The little boy watched every move Andrew made, imitating the way he spoke to Henry and Miriam and even the way in which he splashed water on his face at the well. Something about it made Andrew’s heart swell.
“You’re good with the mules,” he said to Oliver before they went inside. “You learn fast.”
The boy seemed to puff up with pride. “Thank you, sir. My pa always said I was a fast learner.” A hint of sadness flickered across his face.
Andrew leaned against the post by the back steps. “Do you miss your ma and pa?”
“Sometimes.” Oliver scuffed the dirt with the toe of his boot. “Most of the time,” he amended.
The boy’s words went straight to Andrew’s heart. It was a pain he’d known too well at a similar age. “It’s all right, you know,” Andrew said. “To miss them.” He looked out, past the cottonwoods by the well, across the rear of the property. His property, if he could prove it up in a few years. It stretched eastward, flat for some time, then bounded by slight hills over which the shadowy Wet Mountains rose. In another few minutes, the sunset would lighten them for a brief time.
He looked down at Oliver, who had stopped running his toe in the dirt and had his eyes set on the same mountains. “My ma and pa died when I was young too,” Andrew said.
The boy’s brown eyes fixed themselves to him.
“I was alone and didn’t have an Aunt Ivy to take me in. Some neighbors let me live with them, and while they were nice enough, I wasn’t ever one of their own.” The old memories still held some fire, searing his soul as he spoke of them. It was a terrible feeling, being always on the outside. Pretending not to mind when the family’s real children received peppermints and warm hats and handmade toys for Christmas instead of a hand-me-down pair of trousers and another child’s discarded toy. Always being last to be offered a slice of pie or a helping of meat. He hoped Oliver and his sister never felt that way.
He was determined they wouldn’t.
“Aunt Ivy’s nice most of the time,” Oliver said. “Except when she makes me take a bath. Or when she takes Sarah’s side in an argument.”
A smile tugged at Andrew’s mouth. “Let’s go in and see what’s for supper.”
He didn’t have to tell Oliver twice. The boy ran through the open kitchen door as if he’d been starving for months. Inside, the scent of roast beef, potatoes, greens, and golden biscuits assailed Andrew’s senses.
“You’re just in time,” Ivy said as she set the meat on the table.
“You just said they’re late,” little Sarah spoke up from where she sat on the floor with her doll.
Andrew chuckled as Ivy’s face turned pink. He turned to Oliver. “At least we aren’t so late that Sarah ate all of our food.”
That made Oliver laugh.
Tiny Sarah stood up and put her hands on her hips. “I could eat it all!”
“I’m certain you could,” Ivy said, smiling at the little girl.
They sat down, and Ivy said grace. It was something Mary had done also, and Andrew was surprised at how easily he’d settled back into the routine of it. The second Ivy said, “Amen,” it took all of Andrew’s willpower not to shovel the food into his mouth as fast as possible. Everything was delicious. He’d forgotten how good food could taste since Mary had passed. The beef nearly melted in his mouth, while the biscuits were just flaky enough, the greens perfectly salted, and the fried potatoes crisp and warm. He happily took a second plate of food. And when he could eat no more, he pushed his chair back, certain he’d need the waistband of his trousers taken out if he kept eating in this manner.
Ivy, meanwhile, picked at her food even as she encouraged the children to finish their plates. He watched her as Oliver entertained her with stories of the animals and the things Andrew had taught him about their care. Soft pieces of her dark hair fell about her face, and her eyes were a warm brown this evening. She smiled at the children as if she didn’t have a care in the world, but there was something else lurking behind it.
Andrew was afraid he knew exactly what it was.
He hadn’t answered her question the other night, the one about Mary. He knew he should have. And he almost wanted to. With the truth out there between them, perhaps it would be easier for him to keep her at arm’s length.
But he hadn’t. And yet she hadn’t shared more details about why she’d needed to leave home in such a hurry either. It didn’t matter, he told himself. After all, they were merely providing each other with something the other needed. It was better that way, for both of them.
They adjourned to the parlor after supper, the children sprawled on the fl
oor to play some sort of game they’d created with Sarah’s doll and Oliver’s collection of tiny toy soldiers.
“I have something for you,” Ivy said hesitantly as he picked up the newspaper he’d bought in Crest Stone earlier that day.
Her words caught him so off-guard, he couldn’t think of what to say in response.
She reached down beside the settee and retrieved a piece of tan-colored cloth. She unfolded it on her lap and revealed a shirt. A man’s shirt. Andrew stared at it as if he’d never seen such a thing before.
“Do you like it?” she asked after a moment.
“It’s for me?” He realized the stupidity of his question the moment the words were out of his mouth. It was far too big for Oliver, and after all, she’d just said she had something for him.
“Yes.” She glanced down at the shirt and ran a finger over the collar. “Yours are worn so thin, I thought you could use a couple of new ones.”
He couldn’t believe she’d noticed the state of his shirts, much less made him a new one in such a short amount of time. So this was what she’d worked on all those evenings he’d gone to sleep early. It almost rendered him speechless. “Thank you,” he said, reaching out for it.
Ivy rewarded him with a smile. “I found the cloth and thought it might work. If I can get more fabric in town, I’ll make you some more.”
Andrew could guess where the cloth had come from, but she looked so proud of her creation that he pushed the thought aside, buried it down to mull over later. “I suppose we can purchase some.”
She beamed at him, lighting up the room with her happiness. It was almost as if she’d forgotten the strangeness that had settled between them after Sunday night. And while he knew he shouldn’t think so, Andrew found it . . . refreshing.
Feeling oddly lighthearted, an idea occurred to him. Something he could give to her in thanks for the time she’d spent on this shirt. He shoved down the nagging thought that this was too much, that it would be dangerous to spend time with her in this manner. The children deserved it, he told himself. “Would you and the children like to take a picnic? Perhaps tomorrow, if I can finish work quickly enough?”
Ivy’s eyes brightened in the firelight. “That would be delightful. Oliver, Sarah, what do you think?”
The children happily agreed to the idea, and Andrew made them promise to help more with chores in the morning. “If we work together, we’ll finish up sooner.”
The children nodded seriously before returning to their game. Andrew picked up the newspaper again, marveling at the warm, comfortable feeling in the room that came simply from having other people in it.
This was what he’d been missing, all those months alone. It was what made his heart write up that advertisement. It was what drove him to respond to Ivy’s letter, and what had propelled him onto a train several miles north to Cañon City to purchase a ring and have a marriage license drawn up. This was what he’d been missing the past several nights when he’d gone straight to bed after supper.
He settled back into the settee, very much aware that Ivy sat mere inches away. He was testing his resolve, sitting here and enjoying her company. But, he told himself, company didn’t necessarily mean betraying Mary. Not unless he let it happen. And he wouldn’t.
“Andrew?” Ivy’s soft voice interrupted his thoughts. When he looked up, she was watching him with those trusting eyes. One misstep, and the wall he’d built to keep her out and Mary in would crumble. He glanced away.
“Would you mind reading aloud? I’d enjoy hearing the latest news.”
He nodded without looking at her again and began reading an article about the state legislature in Denver. The words kept him focused and unable to glance up. But when the article was completed, he found his eyes drifting sideways to where she sat, watching the children play. She met his gaze, and he folded the paper.
“I’ll read more tomorrow evening,” he said as he stood.
“It’s about time to get the children into bed anyway,” she replied. “Thank you for reading.” She brushed back some loose hair, and Andrew was possessed with the strongest urge to do it for her. To let his fingers graze her skin and make her smile at him.
He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. And as she told the children to pick up their toys, he made his exit. It wasn’t until he was in his room, with the door shut, that he felt he could breathe again.
It would ease with time, this strange attraction he felt toward Ivy. It had to. After all, it didn’t mean anything. How could it, when he hardly knew her and his heart belonged to Mary? For now, he’d need to tread carefully—for both his own sake and for Ivy’s.
#####
“Can you ride?” Andrew asked when Ivy met him at the barn carrying their lunch.
“Well enough,” she said.
“Good. That means we can go up into the mountains.” He’d already saddled both mules. He chose Miriam, the older of the two, for Ivy.
Ivy ran a hand down the mule’s neck, and Miriam regarded her with big brown eyes. Handing the wrapped package of food to Oliver, she glanced up at the saddle. “I need a—”
Without a word, Andrew clasped his hands around her waist and lifted. She gave a squeak of surprise, and he wanted to laugh—mainly because it would distract him from the urge to wrap his arms around her. Ivy grasped the saddle horn and pulled herself onto Miriam. She crooked one leg around the saddle horn, effectively creating a sidesaddle. Andrew bit the inside of his cheek. Mary had done that the first few times she’d ridden out here too, until she realized there was no one around to make judgments, and then she’d begun riding astride. He wondered if Ivy would do the same. He lifted little Sarah to sit behind her and tucked the food into one of the saddlebags before moving to Henry, the other mule.
“Will we see a bear?” Oliver asked after Andrew had reached down and pulled him up and onto Henry.
“It’s possible,” Andrew said gravely, nudging the mule into motion.
“I don’t want to see a bear,” Sarah said. She held tight to Ivy, her doll dangling from her hand.
“Uncle Andrew wasn’t being serious.” Ivy eyed him with a look that was both reproving and questioning.
“Oh good,” Sarah said. “I’d rather see a tiger.”
Andrew burst into laughter, as did Ivy.
They rode toward the southeast, leaving the homestead behind them. Oliver turned back frequently to look at it, as if he would miss it. Andrew pointed out the direction of the mining camp, toward the northeast, as they grew closer to the hills that sat below the mountains. After ascending into the hills for a time, the terrain became rockier and the pines grew more densely around them. They came upon a stream, and just past it, a flat area where the trees opened to a partial view of the valley floor.
“This looks like a good place,” Andrew said, drawing Henry to a halt. He helped Oliver down before dismounting himself, and the little boy ran to the edge of the slope.
“Don’t get too close,” Ivy called after him.
Andrew reached for Sarah, and she threw her arms around his neck, trusting him entirely. A comfortable warmth flooded through him, melting his limbs and making him feel fiercely protective. He set her down gently, and she thanked him before running off to join her brother.
He reached for Ivy, who had drawn her leg around from the saddle horn.
“I don’t need help,” she said.
“You’ll twist an ankle if you try to jump.”
“I will not.” And with that, she began to slide down from the mule.
Andrew muttered words that were better kept in his head and leapt forward to catch her. She landed awkwardly in his arms, pitching him sideways. He grabbed hold of her as they went down, tucking her against him. He landed hard on the ground, pinecones and tiny pebbles pressing into his back. Ivy’s weight pressed against him, a look of complete surprise on her face.
And as painful as those tiny rocks were, digging into his neck and spine, Andrew found himself not wanting to move
at all.
Chapter Nine
Laughter bubbled up inside Ivy. She’d thought for certain she could simply hop off the mule. She’d done it before at home, after all, but, she realized now, she’d been sliding off to land on a stool. She hadn’t expected that last foot or so, and if Andrew hadn’t caught her, she might very well have twisted an ankle—or worse.
The giggles at her mishap and at Andrew’s unceremonious rescue pressed against her throat, but they dissipated when she saw his face. He clutched her to him, his arms wrapped securely around her waist, but it was his eyes that nearly made her heart stop. The normally clear blue was shadowed, in such a way that she thought he might start whispering in her ear. She felt light-headed, as if she’d laced her corset too tight, and her fingers tingled inside her gloves from where her hands lay against his chest.
It was too much. Too close. Too promising of something he’d already told her wouldn’t be.
Suddenly, she found it hard to draw in a breath. She pressed against him, pushing herself into an upright position before finally standing, the blood racing through her veins at a frightening speed and her hands trembling.
“Are you all right?” she finally managed to ask him as he stirred into a sitting position.
“I’m fine,” he said, his voice a shade lower than normal. He stood and swept up his hat from the ground, looking everywhere but at her. “Why don’t you set out the food while I take care of the mules?”
Ivy nodded mutely and retrieved their picnic from Miriam’s saddlebag. She found a lovely little spot just a few feet away, where a downed tree had made a little bench. She set about unwrapping the sliced chicken, the bread, and the cheese, and had everything laid out when Andrew returned with the children.
They ate while enjoying the birds singing overhead and the stream burbling nearby. Sarah only asked about tigers twice, and the moment she and Oliver had finished eating, they scampered off to chase a squirrel.