by Renee Ryan
For the past year, he’d lived a predictable, uncomplicated existence. There’d been no thought of the future, no concerns over another person’s happiness, nothing other than the next project that lay ahead of him. He’d appreciated the simplicity as well as the opportunity to grieve in his own way, in his own time. But, as of yesterday, everything had changed.
He was married again. To a woman who deserved far more than he was capable of giving her.
Eyes full of grit and smoke, Pete wiped his face with a bandanna, then stuffed it back into his pocket.
He stepped into the stable, absently picking up a harness that had fallen to the ground and returning it to the hook on the wall beside him.
A gust of wind whistled through the hole above his head, reminding him of the damage not yet fixed. Pete switched his gaze to the ceiling. Soon, he promised himself. He would fix the roof soon.
First, he had a new wife to settle into his home. And no matter how many different ways he worked through the situation in his mind, he couldn’t ignore the fact that Rebecca made him uneasy. The problem was in the way she looked at him, with all that hope and optimism in her eyes.
Clearly, she’d misread who and what he was.
Somehow, he needed to make Rebecca understand that he would eventually fail her. Just like he’d failed Sarah.
Familiar grief enveloped him, followed by a wave of sadness. Would he ever think of Sarah without this unbearable pain in his heart? Would he ever be free of the terrible images of her last hours on earth?
He shuddered. Heaved in a deep breath. Then moved from stall to stall, methodically checking the horses.
The sound of a man’s low, off-key whistle stopped him short. “Clint?” he called out. “You still here?”
“Yeah.” The cowboy exited the stall on Pete’s left, carrying a well-worn saddle over his arm. “Just about done.”
“I thought you’d be gone by now.” Not that he wasn’t grateful for the cowboy’s assistance. Clint had shown up midmorning, with specific instructions from Will to help Pete until Edward fully recovered from his injuries. Pete had checked on his friend hours earlier. The man was doing exactly what he needed to be doing to heal. Sleeping.
A sudden burst of fury caught fire in Pete’s belly. Sal Tully and his brothers had better be long gone from High Plains by now. They had better be—
“I fed all the horses.” Clint’s voice cut through Pete’s thoughts. “Star, here—” Clint cocked his head toward the stall behind him “—was the last one.”
The mare in question stuck her long, elegant neck over the railing and nuzzled Pete’s shoulder.
“Hello, sweetheart. No apple today.” He rubbed his palm down the horse’s velvety nose. “Maybe later tonight.”
Checking on the horses would give him an excuse to give Rebecca some privacy while she unpacked. She’d probably welcome the solitude, especially after he explained his decision about the nature of their relationship.
Trying not to ponder the potential hazards ahead of him, Pete rubbed the horse’s nose a little harder than necessary. Star hitched her head in the air, and then blew out an impatient snort. “Sorry, old girl.”
She nudged his shoulder again. Pete continued petting her, running his hand along her sleek neck and then scratching the perfect five-point star on her chest. Hence the name.
“I’ll put this saddle away, then head back to the Circle-L,” Clint said. “Unless you need something else before I leave?”
Pete moved his hand back to the horse’s neck and gave her a quick pat. “I’ve got it from here.”
Clint set the saddle on a nearby sawhorse, his gaze scanning the livery from left to right, right to left. He turned suddenly, opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, snapped it firmly shut, then shook his head.
The cowboy had something to say.
Studying him out of the corner of his eye, Pete gave the man a moment to gather his thoughts. Pete liked Clint. He was a decent man. Perhaps a little coarser and less refined than most men living in High Plains, but the cowboy didn’t drink, cuss or start fights. He was reliable and, most important in Pete’s eyes, a man of his word.
Lips pressed tightly together, Clint walked back to Star and rubbed her ear. “Why is it horses are so easy to understand, while women are so…” He shook his head and sighed. “Impossible to figure out?”
Pete instantly thought of his encounter with Rebecca outside the boardinghouse last night. She’d been incredibly sweet, lifting on her toes so she could kiss him full on the mouth. He’d nearly dropped from the shock. For all intents and purposes, they were strangers.
To say the woman’s behavior had baffled him would be an understatement. But behind his bafflement was something more disturbing. Fear? Dread? A mixture of both?
“I don’t think we’ll ever fully understand women,” he said, trying hard not to feel as defeated as Clint looked.
The cowboy fiddled with the latch on Star’s stall, the casual movements contradicting the furtive glance he shot from under the brim of his hat. “I hear you got married last night.”
“Yeah. Where’d you hear the news?”
Clint shrugged. “The Circle-L. The mercantile. Just about everywhere I went this morning.” He shrugged again. “You gotta know it’s all over town.”
Of course he knew.
“So, uh…” Clint bounced his toe off one of the stall’s low running boards. “How’d you ask her?”
Pete’s gut contracted into a tight ball. “Which time?”
Clint gave him an ironic twist of his lips. “The one where she said yes.”
The serious look in the cowboy’s eyes reminded Pete of the intense way Clint stared at Cassandra Garrison whenever she was within fifty feet of him. It was no secret the cowboy had his eye on the pretty schoolteacher.
Unfortunately, Clint had real competition. Percival Walker, one of the richest men in town, was openly pursuing Zeb’s sister. Aside from his wealth, Percival was refined, well educated and sociable.
No wonder Clint looked dejected.
But he was seeking advice from Pete? About women? The man had to be desperate. Feeling a sense of solidarity, Pete decided to go with the truth. “I asked Rebecca to marry me, instead of making demands of her.”
Clint’s face creased into a thoughtful expression. “And that was all you did? You just…asked?”
“I guess I was polite, too. Women usually prefer a mannerly approach.” Of course, it had taken a dismal first attempt for Pete to remember the necessity of that strategy.
Clint’s expression turned downright glum. “So you were polite and mannerly?”
“That’s right.” Pete didn’t add that he’d been far more nervous than he’d expected when he’d walked into the boardinghouse last night.
Nor did he bring up the fact that there’d been a moment in the kitchen, as he’d looked into Rebecca’s eyes, when everything had seemed simple between them. Settled.
“Polite. Mannerly. Ask, not demand. Got it. Thanks, Pete.” The cowboy’s voice was light, but his expression held a note of concern. “Guess I’ll be heading out now.”
“See you in the morning.”
“Yeah. See ya.” Clint turned to go. “Oh, hey. Wait.” He spun back around. “I almost forgot. I found this when I was mucking out that empty stall over there.”
Out of his back pocket, he retrieved a thin gold chain with a cameo attached.
At the sight of the familiar necklace, every muscle in Pete’s body locked up. He’d nearly forgotten the cameo’s existence. But there it was, gleaming in the stark daylight.
For a frightening moment, Pete lost all sense of time and place. All he could do was stare at the necklace dangling from Clint’s fingertips.
“Do you recognize it?” Clint asked. “I figure it belongs to someone who rented a horse recently.”
Unbridled memories slammed Pete back a step. Swallowing hard, he managed to rotate his wrist until his palm faced upward. “I�
�ll take it.” His voice sounded hollow and distant, like an echo in his ears.
Looking at him oddly, Clint dropped the chain into Pete’s hand. “You know who it belongs to?”
Pete nodded slowly. Very slowly. And somehow he managed to close his fingers over the last gift he’d ever given Sarah.
He struggled to subdue the memories blazing through his mind. But they came, anyway, licking at his composure like all-consuming flames.
Every precise, haunting detail of Sarah’s death was there in his head. Tormenting him. Reminding him of all he’d lost and all he’d done wrong leading to that terrible night.
He clenched his fist tighter around the cameo, his knuckles turning white from the gesture.
“Pete?” Clint asked. “You all right?”
He managed a dull nod.
“You sure? You look kinda…green.”
“I’m fine.” He swallowed again, slower, with a bit more effort than before. Finally, his heartbeat eased. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“If you’re sure…”
“Positive.”
“Right. Tomorrow, then.” Clint headed toward the stable’s entrance. At the door, he stopped abruptly and then slid a long, worried glance over his shoulder.
Pete held himself frozen in place. He didn’t even blink.
Clint shook his head and left the building without saying another word.
Even as the door clicked shut, Pete’s mind was already racing back in time. To the worst moments of his life.
Sarah had never been fully happy in High Plains, but the weeks leading to the birth of their child had been filled with added tension.
In her last days, Sarah had alternated between shutting him out and begging him to take her back to Belville, back to her friends and family. Unfortunately, he’d made a commitment to High Plains. He hadn’t been able to leave just because Sarah wanted to go home. So he’d asked her to give their move a year, and promised that if she still wasn’t happy he’d find a blacksmith to take his place and they’d go home. That suggestion had only upset her further.
All his subsequent efforts to comfort her had failed. He’d tried to get her interested in redecorating their house. He’d encouraged her to build stronger friendships with the pastor’s wife and other women in town. When nothing worked, he’d given Sarah a wide berth, hoping she’d find peace with their move in her own time. That had, at least, ended the arguments, if not the tension.
He’d been confused and out of his league. In fact, he’d been praying for guidance, actually begging God to help him discern whether to stay in High Plains or return to Belville before the one-year stipulation ended, when Sarah had come to him here, in the livery, panicked and in obvious pain. The baby had decided to arrive a month early.
She’d collapsed at his feet. He hadn’t been fast enough to catch her, but he’d quickly scooped her in his arms and rushed her back to the house. That must have been when she’d lost the necklace. He opened his hand and looked down at the cameo resting in his palm without actually seeing it.
His mind was too focused on the past.
The endless hours of Sarah’s torment had been unbearable to watch, but Pete had refused to leave her side. Her agony had only worsened as time went by. Thankfully, Doc Dempsey had been the only other witness to her miserable torture.
Pete still remembered the dark curls of her hair matted to her forehead, the sweat running down the side of her face, the glassy look in her eyes when the doctor had declared their son dead.
He shuddered at the memory.
A need to rage at God kindled within him. He let the anger come.
Lord, why? Why did You make me so strong and Sarah so weak? Why didn’t You give me the wisdom to stay back East where she might have survived the birth of our child?
A soft mewing broke through his painful thoughts.
Pete jerked at the interruption, then looked down in time to see a tiny paw swat at his ankle.
Taking a deep breath, he stuffed Sarah’s cameo in his pocket and, with hands still shaking, picked up the barn cat. “Hello, Leroy.”
The cat eyed him with her usual wariness, as though debating the merits of protesting her ridiculous name with a swipe to his nose. Pete had called the cat Leroy after his grandfather, only to discover that he was a she when she’d birthed two healthy kittens a day later. He hadn’t thought to double check before then.
Despite the mistake, Pete hadn’t bothered to change her name. Leroy suited the ornery cat.
Just like their first meeting, Leroy’s big green eyes stayed focused on his nose. Decision made, she rubbed her head against his chin and proceeded to purr. Loudly.
So. Leroy was in a good mood today.
Pete hugged her closer. “Let’s go check on your babies.”
She responded with a jaw-cracking yawn, already growing bored with him.
He set the cat on the ground and let her lead him to the crate where she’d moved her kittens yesterday.
There was one constant in Leroy’s life. She was always on the move. This particular spot, in the back of the livery’s only empty stall, was the kittens’ fourth home in two weeks.
Pete lowered to a crouch.
For a moment, he simply stared at the tiny faces, their eyes blinking away an afternoon of sleep.
He rubbed the little heads one at a time. Neither kitten looked like its mother. Both were orange tabbies, while Leroy was all black except for her four white paws. Although the kittens were unexpected in every way, Pete knew they were a blessing.
He didn’t understand why death had come to his house a year ago. Or why his son had come early. Worse, he was no longer certain he could live with not knowing. Blind acceptance was coming harder these days.
But these tiny creatures reminded Pete to look forward, not backward. Just like Paul wrote to the Philippians, but this one thing I do, forgetting those things which are behind.
Rising to his feet, Pete promised himself to look to the future more. With renewed resolve, he hooked the squirming bundles over his shoulders, one on each side of his neck.
They took turns batting at his ears.
Smiling, just a little, Pete kept the kittens with him as he went about closing up the livery for the day.
Kittens. Pete Benjamin, her big, strong husband, was wearing kittens around his neck. Captivated, Rebecca stared at the unexpected sight, her jaw hanging open.
With her mind puzzling over the spectacle, her bags hung loosely at the ends of her fingertips. The unbalanced load caused her to sway slightly to her left.
She didn’t make a sound, though, determined to watch Pete move through the livery with those tiny orange balls of fur tangling their paws in his hair.
He didn’t seem to mind their antics. In fact, he was talking to them. Softly, sweetly. In the kind of tone men used with the ones they adored.
There was no doubt in her mind that Pete would make a wonderful parent. He’d protect his children, of course, but watching him now she realized he would also love them.
And yet…
Something in his voice struck Rebecca as odd. She couldn’t make out his words, but she shifted into the shadows and listened, anyway. Sorrow. That’s what she heard in his tone.
Was he thinking of his dead wife and child?
Her heart bled for him, for the loss he’d suffered. And a little part of her—no, a large part of her—wanted to help him heal. The emotion was stronger than before, a mixture of longing and hope and possibilities.
Rebecca sighed, realizing she wanted to be the one to fill the hole in Pete’s heart and help erase his grief.
But how? What if he wouldn’t allow her that honor?
Afraid she would ruin the moment for him, and maybe even for herself, she quickly turned and tiptoed back to the house situated on the other side of the smithy. She would check on Edward later, once she was settled. Maybe he’d be ready to eat something by then.
She’d make sure of it. Food and rest w
ere the best remedies to help her brother regain his strength.
Setting her bags on either side of her, Rebecca lowered to the bottom step and looked around her new home.
Severe was the first word that came to mind. Stark. Forgotten. This did not look like the kind of home where she could raise children. This was nothing more than a group of buildings constructed randomly next to one another.
The smithy on her left was small, its exterior dirty from soot. A stone chimney ran along the back wall. Various-size wagon wheels, tools and iron bars lay scattered near the entrance.
The livery wasn’t much better. It was bigger, and a little cleaner, but still nothing more than a clapboard building that housed a stable and feed store. The large, gaping hole in the roof told its own story. How could Edward stand to live in there? If the roof wasn’t fixed before winter set in, he would have to move. In that, she would accept no argument from him.
At least the livery was the only building of Pete’s that had suffered outward damage from the storm.
Or so she thought.
Just to be certain, Rebecca swiveled on the step so she could take in the house behind her. The structure was a smaller version of the livery. It looked sturdy and safe, but had no charm whatsoever.
Rebecca swung back around and sighed again.
Mrs. Jennings had been kind enough to give her the night off and permission to arrive later than expected in the morning. This was, after all, her first night with her husband.
But looking at her new home and the surrounding buildings that made up Pete’s life, Rebecca wasn’t sure that was a good idea anymore. This didn’t feel like a home. And now that the time had come for her to live with Pete—as his wife—she found herself dreadfully nervous.
What would her life be like here? Lonely? Or rich with love and affection in a way her childhood had never been?
She only had a few moments to consider the possibilities before Pete exited the stable. Without the kittens on his neck.
The moment he made eye contact with her, his steps faltered. But then he straightened his shoulders and continued forward with a more deliberate stride.