But perhaps it wasn’t too late to become that kind of man. Too late for the war but not too late to change the rest of his life. And for that Sherwood could thank his father. Ironic, wasn’t it? The duke had sent him here as punishment, and instead of retribution Sherwood had been blessed with a valued friendship. He’d been shown examples of authentic faith that had made him hunger for the same.
Turning his head, he glanced at the clock and was surprised to see how much time had passed. He pushed back from the desk and left the office, too restless to sit and work. It wasn’t his intent to return to the barn, and yet that was the direction his feet carried him. Outside, gloaming had arrived, a gray blanket that softened the land, but golden lamplight beckoned from inside the barn.
He heard Cleo’s voice before he saw her. “That’s it, girl. Here he comes.” She was in a corner of the stall, well back from the mare that lay on her side in a bed of fresh hay. “You’re doing fine.”
Sherwood reached the stall in time to see the foal slip into the world, seventy-five pounds or so of horse visible beneath the opalescent birth sac. Neither mare nor foal moved for a period of time, both of them needing rest. That was when Cleo moved to the gate and stepped out of the stall.
“Things went well,” Sherwood said.
A hint of a smile tugged the corners of her mouth. “Without a hitch.”
“What happens next?” He didn’t need to ask. He’d been present at foalings before. Still, he wanted her to tell him.
“The mare’ll stand and break the umbilical cord and eventually she’ll deliver the placenta. In the meantime…” Her gaze returned to the mare and foal. “The little guy will struggle to get up, and once he does, he’ll give nursing a try. Usually happens within the hour, but it can take longer.”
“I have never known any woman like you before.”
She stilled, then shrugged, not looking at him. “Gwennie says God broke the mold after He made me.”
“I believe she’s right. You are one of a kind.”
“I don’t imagine I’d be me anywhere but here.” Now she looked at him.
“Perhaps not.” Were there tears swimming in her dark-blue eyes or was the lamplight playing tricks on him? “But have you ever tried fitting in anywhere else?”
She was silent a short while before answering, “You saw me up at Morgan’s shindig. Did it seem like the place for me? Couldn’t you tell I was miserable, all gussied up in that dress Gwen gave me?
“That was only a few hours. That isn’t the same thing as settling someplace new. Look at me. Haven’t I adjusted to a life that was strange to me? I’ve done all right, haven’t I?”
“What are you trying to say, Woody?”
Good question. What was he trying to say to her?
“I’m a simple gal with simple needs. I like things the way they are.”
He took a step toward her. “Do you?”
Yes, those were tears in her eyes—tears that she was trying to keep from falling, trying for all she was worth.
“Cleo?”
She lifted her chin.
“You know what Reverend Barker said to me earlier tonight when we were at dinner? He said all things are possible with God.”
She lost her battle with tears. Down they came, leaving damp tracks in their wake.
“Don’t cry.” He reached out and gently swept them away. “It isn’t my wish to make you unhappy.”
“That’s just it.” A tentative smile. “When I’m with you, I’m not unhappy.”
He cupped her chin with his right hand. “Could we see what happens?”
“What happens?”
“Between us. No expectations. Just see what develops without being afraid of tomorrow.”
“I reckon that could be a terrible mistake,” she whispered.
“Or maybe not.”
He was about to kiss her again, but neither of them would be surprised this time. Eyes open, she watched his mouth descend toward hers, saw the incline of his head so their noses wouldn’t bump. At first the kiss was nothing more than a soft brush of his lips upon hers. But then his arms encircled her and he drew her closer. She closed her eyes and savored the tenderness she found in his embrace and the discovery she found in his kiss.
For this moment, here in the coolness of the barn, silence surrounding them, she refused to worry about what would happen down the road. She would love him now and let the chips fall where they may.
TWENTY-THREE
A month had passed since the last time Cleo sat in the mayor’s office. Only a month since Gwen had said, “Oh, my. You do like him, don’t you?” and Cleo had vehemently denied it.
There was no denying it today.
“I love him,” she told her sister.
Several emotions skittered across Gwen’s face, chief among them a look of concern.
“Gwennie, I know you figure I’m gonna get my heart broke, and you’re probably right. But I can’t help it. I can’t stop loving him just because I know there’s little to no chance of a future for us.”
“Does Dad know how you feel?”
“I’m pretty sure he’s got an inkling.”
Gwen rose from her chair. “Maybe Morgan should give Lord Sherwood a position at New Hope. Then you wouldn’t see him everyday and—”
“You want to take him away from me that much sooner?” Cleo stood too. “That wouldn’t be doing me any kindness.”
Gwen rounded the desk and took hold of Cleo’s hands. “Does he return your feelings? Does he love you too?”
“Yes.” Joy bubbled up inside her chest. “Yes, I reckon he does.”
“But he hasn’t said so?”
“No. Me neither, except to you just now. How was it he put it last night?” She heard Woody’s beloved voice in her head and repeated the words aloud. “We want to see what develops without being afraid of tomorrow.”
“I like him, you know. We all like him. But what do the two of you have in common?”
“Not much as far as I can tell.” Cleo chuckled, remembering the first time she’d laid eyes on Woody on the railroad station’s platform.
“Oh, Cleo. I wish I hadn’t teased you about this. I’m so afraid you’ll be hurt. After what happened last year…”
Her amusement vanished. “It’s not the same thing. Besides, I reckon the only way to keep from getting hurt is to quit living, to never take a risk of loving. Sometimes life’s just hard, Gwennie. We both know that.”
Gwen drew Cleo close and hugged her. “Be careful.”
“I will be. I promise.”
“No.” Gwen pulled back and looked into Cleo’s eyes. “I mean…be careful when you’re with him. That you…that you aren’t tempted…that you don’t…” She let the words fade away, her warning unfinished as a flush rose into her cheeks.
Cleo realized what her sister meant and felt a matching blush warm her own face. She’d grown up on a ranch and had a fair understanding of how things were between a man and a woman. “Don’t worry. I haven’t lost my head.” Just my heart.
Gwen hooked her left arm through Cleo’s right. “It’s almost lunch time. Let’s eat together. And for dessert, I think my baby is asking for a piece of pie at the South Fork.”
“If your baby isn’t careful, he’s going to make his mama fat.” She smiled, grateful for the quick change of subject.
After completing his morning chores, Sherwood paused to admire the new colt in the smaller of the two paddocks. He was the same yellow color as his mother and had a similar white blaze on his forehead. Already he moved about as if he’d been on all fours for years instead of less than twenty-four hours.
Griff joined Sherwood at the fence. “He’s a good-looking little guy, isn’t he?”
“That he is.”
“Cleo bought the dam as a yearling three years ago at a sale down in Boise. I didn’t think she looked like anything special, but Cleo saw something I didn’t. She’s been like that since she was a young girl. Always a good judge of ho
rseflesh. Usually a pretty good judge of people too.”
Sherwood nodded.
Griff looked at him. “My daughter’s special.”
“I agree, sir.”
“She’s got a heart as deep and wide as this valley. I don’t want her hurt.”
Sherwood understood that he was about to receive a father’s warning. “I won’t hurt her if it’s in my power to keep from it.”
“I believe you mean that, son, but I wonder if it can be helped.”
Sherwood wondered the same.
The older man nodded, then walked away, and Sherwood returned his gaze to the paddock and the gawky colt.
He meant what he’d said. He would do all in his power not to hurt Cleo. The man he used to be might have spoken those same words without any intent of honoring them. That’s the kind of man he’d been after the war. But no longer.
Sherwood had changed in the time he’d been here in Idaho, in the time he’d known the Arlingtons and the McKinleys. But had he changed enough? Was the change permanent? Or would he revert to his old self when he returned to England?
Change me for good, Lord.
He lifted his eyes and looked—really looked—at the surrounding countryside, the lush green valley and the pine-covered mountains beneath a clear blue sky. Beautiful and peaceful. No wonder God could work on his heart. In this place. With these people.
At the South Fork, townsfolk were still talking about the narrow escape from the fire. One couple stopped by Gwen’s table to thank her for the changes she’d made since taking office.
“One ember on a dry roof, and the whole town coulda gone up in smoke,” the elderly husband said. “Chief Spooner and the other firemen did a good job of protecting us.”
“I’ll be sure to tell him you said so, Mr. Smith.”
Cleo leaned back in her chair and admired her sister. Who would have thought Gwen would be so perfect as the mayor? Cleo hadn’t doubted her sister could do the work required, but she hadn’t known Gwen would take to politics like a duck to water. There was a lot going on inside that pretty head of hers. She had both beauty and brains. Cleo found it hard to believe she and her sister were related, let alone twins.
The couple moved on, and Gwen’s gaze returned to Cleo. “Have you decided what you want? It’s my treat.”
“I thought the meatloaf looked good.”
“Mmm. I think I’ll have the same. And a piece of apple pie for both of us?”
“Sure. Why not?”
The waitress came and Gwen gave her their order. As she was doing so, Cleo saw Doc Winston come into the restaurant. His suit looked rumpled, and weariness lined his face. It seemed he’d had a difficult morning. Could be someone died. Old Mrs. Cooper had been ailing for quite a spell.
The doctor nodded to Cleo and Gwen as he took a seat at the empty table next to them.
“Good afternoon,” Gwen said.
“Afternoon.” Even the word seemed to take something out of him.
Cleo and Gwen exchanged a look, but before either of them could say something more to the physician, the waitress arrived at his table.
“Afternoon, Doc.” She set a menu before him. “Care for some coffee?”
“Please.”
“You okay?”
“I’ve just come from a long and difficult delivery. For a time, I didn’t think mother or child would survive, but they seem to have rallied. I came back to town to get a few things I need and thought I’d better eat while here. But I’m in a hurry.”
“I’ll get your coffee. Do you know what you want?”
“How about biscuits and gravy?”
“Good choice. That won’t take long. I’ll have it out to you in a jiffy.” The waitress moved away.
Doc Winston glanced in Gwen and Cleo’s direction. “Henrietta King delivered a baby boy.” Then beneath his breath, he added, “Poor girl.” He rubbed a hand over his face.
Poor girl, indeed, Cleo thought, remembering the day they’d met on the sidewalk outside this restaurant.
“Please give the Kings my congratulations,” Gwen said. “And tell Mrs. King that I’ll pray for good health for both her and the baby.”
Cleo didn’t add to her sister’s good wishes. She doubted Henrietta would want to hear anything from her. Instead, she raised a silent word of thanks to God for bringing Woody into her life, someone she could love without reserve.
TWENTY-FOUR
At Woody’s invitation, Cleo accompanied him to the spa the following afternoon. Riding beside him in the buggy, she felt almost giddy with pleasure. While she and Woody had plenty of opportunities to spend time together at the ranch, this felt different, special, intentional.
When they reached the bridge, Cleo looked at Woody and said, “Tell me about your family.”
“What would you like to know?”
Everything. “Why don’t you begin with how your parents met?”
“I don’t believe anyone has asked me that before.”
“Well, I’m asking.”
“Very well. A cousin of my mother’s introduced my parents at a ball. My mother was seventeen, beautiful, sweet natured, and from a good family. My father was thirty-two and had recently inherited his title. It was his duty to take a wife and provide an heir for Dunacombe. He decided rather quickly that my mother would make a suitable duchess, and they were married a few months later.”
Cleo wondered if it had been as cool and calculated as Woody made it sound. Yes, she decided, looking at his bland expression. It probably had been.
“My mother successfully performed her most important duty by giving birth to three sons over the next three years. I was born five years after the last. I believe I came as a surprise to them both.”
“A good surprise, I trust.”
He returned her smile but his seemed bittersweet. “Perhaps.”
She leaned over and kissed his cheek, unable to bear the flicker of sadness she saw in his eyes.
“Now it’s your turn. Tell me how Griff met your mother.”
“They met in San Francisco. They were guests at a wedding. Dad says it was love at first sight on both their parts. Mother’s parents tried to tell her she would not be content living on a cattle ranch, but she wouldn’t listen. They were married, and Dad brought her to Idaho. The ranch wasn’t much back then, but Dad had big dreams for it.” Cleo shrugged. “He just couldn’t make them happen fast enough. Mother hated everything about the ranch. So after four years, when Gwen and I were two, she packed up, took Gwen, and moved back with her parents, where she’s stayed ever since.”
“Was there a divorce?”
She shook her head, her gaze shifting to the river off to the right of the road. “Dad expected her to divorce him, but she never did and he never would.”
“When did you last see her? When you were two?”
“No. She came last year for Gwen and Morgan’s wedding, and she stayed on for a lot longer than any of us thought she would. I think Dad hoped she would decide to stay for good, that she would see how different things were now and move back in with him, be his wife again. But it didn’t happen. She finally went back to New Jersey.”
Woody reached over and took her left hand in his right one, squeezing gently. It was only then that she realized tears had formed in her eyes. She blinked them away. After all, she’d made peace with her mother’s choice a long time ago, and sure as shootin’ she wouldn’t have wanted to grow up anywhere but on the ranch. She’d always figured her own kids would grow up there, too, assuming she was blessed with any.
Maybe that explained the tears. If she never married, she would never have children, and she couldn’t imagine loving any other man than Woody—and he belonged in England.
He drew in on the reins, stopping the horse. Then he twisted on the buggy seat and gathered her into his arms, kissing her the way she’d longed for him to do all day. When he drew back, he said, “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“That you were hu
rt. That you felt rejected.”
She was going to deny it, or at least say she was over it. But she realized something: he’d felt the same way. He’d felt rejected too. Perhaps he felt it still.
Tears returned to her eyes as she leaned close to brush her mouth against his. Then she whispered the words she hadn’t meant to say this soon, something she’d been told a woman shouldn’t say first: “I love you, Woody.”
What was it she read in his eyes? She couldn’t be sure. Had she made a dreadful mistake? She drew back and forced a smile to her lips. “Don’t worry. I didn’t say it to try to make you say it too.”
“That wasn’t what I thought.”
Wasn’t it?
“I was remembering the promise I made to your father yesterday.”
“What promise was that?”
“That I wouldn’t hurt you if it was in my power to keep from it.”
How could she help but love him when he said something like that? “I thought we weren’t going to worry about tomorrow. We wanted to see what developed between us. Now I’ve said what’s developed in me.”
“Oh, Cleo.” His hands on her cheeks, he stared into her eyes. “You’re too trusting, I fear.”
“Maybe so, but that’s who I am.”
Something fierce stirred inside of Sherwood. He loved Cleo without question. He loved her openness. He loved her swift changes of mood. He loved her when she wore trousers and when she wore dresses on Sundays. He loved her strength of will and her daring heart. He loved her trusting nature because it was so much a part of who she was. He’d even grown fond of her short hair. And without question, his father would despise all of these same things about her. He would find her wholly unsuitable as wife to a Statham.
But perhaps, with his mother’s help, Sherwood could overcome his father’s objections, no matter how numerous they were. He reminded himself once again what the reverend had said: with God, all things were possible. He could only hope that Dagwood Statham, Duke of Dunacombe, was not the exception to that rule.
The Sisters of Bethlehem Springs Collection Page 39