Gracie banged on the rungs of the cradle Sterling had discovered in the attic.
“Wa!” she demanded. “Wa!”
Her wild red curls were damp against her forehead, and her round face was red with anger. She’d pitched all of her blankets, pillows and even her stockings in a heap outside her crib. Her bare feet stomped on the mattress.
“No,” Heather said sternly. “No water tonight. Go back to sleep.”
Irene had warned her that Gracie’s late-night demands were more out of habit than actual need. The child woke and wanted attention. According to Irene, the habit was difficult to break.
Gracie wailed and flailed her arms. “Wa!”
She flopped onto her back and kicked her feet against the slats of the crib. The top rungs rattled against the wall. A sharp pain throbbed in Heather’s temple.
At this rate, she’d scream the boys in the bunkhouse awake.
“All right, all right.” Heather lifted the child into her arms. “I’ll fetch you some water.”
She retrieved the demanded water and paced the floor with Gracie in her arms, shushing and soothing her. She’d told Sterling they wouldn’t disrupt his life, and she meant to keep her promise. Only lack of sleep was turning her peevish. This afternoon’s fiasco was a prime example. She’d seen plenty of mice in her lifetime without shrieking and dancing on a chair like a madwoman. Sterling had been indulgent considering her out-of-character breakdown, but she didn’t want to test his patience.
She stifled a yawn and padded across floor. Gradually Gracie’s eyes closed, and she drifted off to sleep once more. Heather’s arms ached, and she gently lowered the sleeping child to the mattress.
She curled her toes into the expensive rug beneath her feet. Though exhausted, she lingered over the crib, brushing the damp curls from Gracie’s eyes. Always before there’d been a hollow place inside her that never seemed to be filled. With Gracie, the ache wasn’t as acute. There were times when she even felt as though she might belong in this house. Other times, when fatigue weakened her resolve, she accepted that she was little more than a hired servant, going through the motions, caring for Gracie and the house without ever really being a part of the world around her.
If she’d never known love, she might have been content at her aunt and uncle’s house. But she’d known love and she’d known caring. Her mother had been doting, and for six years, she’d known happiness. Having that peace and contentment abruptly snatched away had changed her.
That’s what she’d been trying to tell Sterling that day in the church. Her ma’s death had been a turning point. The moment her pa had relegated her care to her aunt and uncle, her life had changed. The little girl from before disappeared, and she was never the same. She’d aged a decade in that first year. For a time, she’d convinced herself that her pa might come back for her when she was older, and she’d labored to show her independence. Her efforts were futile. The next time she’d seen him, she was sitting in the funeral parlor.
Sterling was watchful and polite, but distant, as well. He’d declared them friends, and she’d done her best to accommodate his vision. She’d seen plenty of friendships bloom and die in the schoolroom. Some children flitted from group to group, while others found a pairing and stuck tightly to each other. The future was uncertain, and the past had taught her to be miserly with her hope.
The children who made friends and thrived were the children who made the effort. What effort had she made with Sterling? She’d separated the house and separated their lives.
She padded to the window and gazed over the moonlit fields. The ranch hands had cut wood that afternoon. If she closed her eyes, she could see the stove-length pieces and smell the sweet breeze drifting from the mountains.
Her first month in Montana, she’d reached for a pebble at the bottom of a stream. She’d stretched her arm into the clear water and discovered the bottom was farther than she’d expected. The clear mountain runoff had tricked her into believing the stream was shallow.
Likewise, she was now afraid to test the hollow place in her heart. Afraid of discovering the emptiness was all of her own making.
Gracie would never feel that pain. Instead of teaching Gracie to close her heart to Sterling, she’d show her what an amazing man he was. She’d show Gracie how fortunate the little girl was that Sterling had chosen to be her father.
* * *
Sunday morning Heather was as pretty as a warm spring day in her pale blue striped dress with a lace collar. She wore ribbons braided through her hair, with a few ringlets hanging loose. She topped her head with a tightly woven straw hat, and Sterling disguised his disappointment. He preferred seeing her hair over the silk rose pattern of the hat.
She caught his curious gaze. “Is something wrong?”
“Your hair reminds me of a field of poppies in the spring.”
She laughed and playfully slapped his arm. “Save your charm for the church ladies.”
Her reply sent an odd pang of disappointment through his chest. His compliments were genuine and sincere, yet she brushed them off as though they were of no more consequence than crumbs on the table.
She’d dressed Gracie in the frilly pink dress she’d worn the first day. The child toddled around the kitchen in her ever-present search for mischief. She discovered a pan on a low shelf and banged on the lid, then moved on to another cupboard, testing the door. She never seemed to stop moving and exploring, and he wasn’t certain how Heather kept up with her all day.
He tilted his head. “When did you buy Grace more dresses? I never considered that she came with nothing but the dress she was wearing.”
The child rarely kept the same outfit through an entire day. There was always a pair of stockings or a dripping pinafore, along with washed-out nappies, draped over a string above the sink. He’d never considered how much work was involved in raising a child. Not simply the care and feeding, but all the little distractions that constantly cropped up.
“I purchased a few things in town,” Heather said. “And Irene rustled up some hand-me-downs from the other ladies.”
“If you need anything else, we can stop by the general store today.”
“Maybe some fabric,” she said. “I noticed there’s a sewing machine upstairs.”
She blushed, and he immediately sought to put her at ease. The sewing machine was in the corner of his room. “I’ve got nothing to hide from you, Heather. If you ever need anything out of my room, I don’t mind.”
“I noticed the sewing machine when I fetched your laundry the other day.”
“I don’t know why Ma bought that, she never was much for sewing. I think she liked the way it looked in the case.”
“It’s a beautiful machine.”
Heather had done his laundry despite his insistence on taking his clothing into town. He appreciated the personal gesture.
He tweaked the collar of his shirt. “How did you get the stain out?” He’d spilled coffee down the front nearly two weeks before. “You managed the impossible.”
“A little soaking did the trick.” She pressed her white-gloved hand against his chest and narrowed her gaze. “I don’t even see a shadow.”
His heartbeat picked up in rhythm. Unable to resist, he caught her hand and lifted her palm to his lips. Her gloves smelled of lavender sachets, and her fingers quivered beneath his touch. His gaze met hers, and he held her there, his mouth pressing against the soft fabric.
“Thank you,” he murmured.
She pulled her hand from his grasp and buried it in the folds of her skirts. “I thought you were saving the charm for the ladies at church.”
Her voice held a slight tremor, and he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I have enough charm for everyone.”
She tipped back and uttered a slightly dazed “Oh.”
Unable to resist the temptation, he dropped a quick, impersonal peck against her lips and stepped back. Her mouth was parted, her breath an audible whisper across the smooth, pink surface of her lips. It was almost too much to hope for that this woman might be his. He didn’t deserve her honesty or her innocence. He should have minded his own business and let her find the joy she deserved on her own.
How different her life might have been if he’d kept his peace with Dillon.
The future he’d rejected haunted him.
There were years when the warm spring weather lured the trees into blooming early, only to be felled by a late frost. The blooms withered and died on the limbs without ever having the chance to fully open their petals. He’d done that—he’d come along like an early frost and destroyed any chance for a different future for Heather. He didn’t believe she was holding a candle for his brother, and Dillon had certainly left without ever looking back.
He’d taken for granted that happiness and love were moving targets to be dodged until the moment was convenient. He’d assumed the future was a matter of timing, and not of God. What if folks were only ever offered a single chance, and once lost, that chance was gone forever?
A knock sounded on the door, breaking the mood. He and Heather exchanged a confused glance.
“Are you expecting someone?” he asked.
“Not me. Must be for you.”
“I’ll see who it is.”
He crossed through the parlor and into the foyer, then opened the front door and stared into empty space.
A hand tugged on his pants leg. “Down here, mister.”
The boy was young, not even ten years old, with a threadbare coat hanging loose off his slim body. He’d grown out of his boots and the laces were missing, the leather tongues flapping loose.
The boy extended his arm. “Got a telegram for you, mister.”
Sterling grasped the paper. Nels hadn’t even bothered with an envelope. There were only four words printed neatly across the page.
“DELAYED INDEFINITELY STOP DILLON.”
Heather appeared behind him. “Gracious, Seamus, what are you doing all the way out here?”
“Nels gave me a dime to deliver that telegram.”
“You walked all the way from town?”
“Nah. Mostly I ran. Stay warmer that way.”
“Well, come inside.” She scooted past Sterling and ushered the boy into the foyer. “We’ll give you a ride back into town.”
Seamus scampered into the foyer and tipped back his head, gazing at the dangling chandelier. “That sure is pretty.”
“Take off your shoes and go on through to the kitchen,” she ordered gently. “I’ll fix you something warm to drink.”
The boy eagerly slid off his boots and skipped through the parlor.
Heather caught sight of the paper in Sterling’s hand, and the blood drained from her face. “What is it?”
“Dillon has been delayed.”
Her shoulders visibly relaxed, and she pressed a hand against her chest. “Oh. That’s all.”
“That’s all.”
The precarious nature of their situation struck him anew. She wasn’t nearly as confident as she let on. She’d been terrified the missive was about Gracie. Each day that passed was a stolen moment. He sensed the shifting ground beneath their feet. There were no guarantees for the future. There was no guarantee he’d pull the ranch through until spring. Each knock on the door reminded him that the future wasn’t written yet.
Heather gazed at her reflection in the looking glass beside the door, fussing with a strand of hair she tucked beneath the brim of her hat. Her fingers trembled and he glanced away, giving her a moment to collect herself.
“That’s Seamus, the Phillips boy,” she said, her voice low. “I think his pa has fallen on hard times.”
“I thought as much by looking at him. That boy is thin enough to slip through the slats in a barn door. Nels isn’t paying him enough to come all this way.”
“Seamus can be quite persistent.” A shout of youthful laughter came from the kitchen, chasing the shadows from her eyes. “Do we have time for me to fix him some eggs?”
Sterling nodded. “We can make up the time on the way to town. I don’t think the Lord will begrudge us a late arrival to church for such a good cause.”
Heather returned to the kitchen, and he trailed behind her. He paused in the doorway, leaning his shoulder against the frame. Heather and Gracie had breathed new life into the space. He’d never spent much time in the kitchen before their arrival, and now the room was the heart of the house. The table had been covered with a checked cloth, and the blue plates had been set out. The sounds of her puttering around the kitchen warmed his spirit.
“Why are you working for Nels?” Heather asked as she fussed over Seamus.
“I’m saving up for a new saddle,” the boy declared proudly. “My uncle gave me a pony for my birthday, but I don’t have a saddle. When I have a saddle, I can make all the deliveries for Nels. My ma needs the money. My pa’s been out of work since he busted his leg.”
Heather set a plateful of eggs and a biscuit before the boy. Seamus attacked the offering with gusto. When she turned away, he surreptitiously stowed the biscuit in his pocket.
Sterling pushed off from the doorframe and crossed the kitchen. “I might have an extra saddle in the barn you can borrow.”
“I can’t do that.” Seamus stubbornly shook his head. “My pa said we don’t need charity.”
“This isn’t charity.” Sterling stacked a plate high with biscuits and set the overflowing heap near Seamus. “This would be a loan. While you earn enough money for your own.”
Seamus exchanged a glance with Heather. “Is that all right?”
“Ask your pa first,” Heather said, flashing Sterling a grateful smile. “I’m sure it will be fine.”
“I’ll load the saddle in the back of the wagon,” Sterling said. “Dig into breakfast. We don’t want to be late.”
“I’ll fix a basket for the ride,” Heather said.
Sterling donned his hat and set out the back door to check on the wagon. When she joined him in the clearing before the house, her expression was inscrutable. He handed up Gracie and threaded his fingers into a step for Heather.
“You don’t have to do that. Your hands will get dirty and I’m too heavy.”
“I’m a rancher. My hands are always dirty. Besides, you’re light as a feather.”
“Now you’re exaggerating.”
She set her toe in the cradle of his fingers and braced one hand on his shoulder and the other on the buckboard. Once she’d gained her seat, Otto assumed his place, and she scooted nearer to Sterling. This time she didn’t even bother leaving a space, and he hid his smile of satisfaction before slapping the reins against the horses’ rumps.
Seamus was sitting in the back, his elbow proudly braced against the saddle, a grin stretching across his face. They didn’t need the saddle; it was too small. By the time Gracie was old enough for a pony, they’d buy another. He understood pride, though, and he respected Seamus for wanting to earn his keep.
“Thank you,” Heather said. “For helping Seamus. His pa is a proud man.”
“And his son takes after him.”
Sterling glanced over his shoulder. “I have some chores he can do around the ranch. He can deliver packages for Nels in the summer, when the weather is mild. He shouldn’t be riding around alone this time of year.”
She pressed a kiss against his cheek, and he grinned. She might decry his charm, but she wasn’t completely immune to him.
This day was looking up. As long as they kept stringing days like this together, they just might have a bright future ahead of them.
A future that didn’t include storm clouds.
* * *
They definitely caused a stir upon entering the church. Heather sucked in a breath and braced herself for the stares.
Sterling leaned over Gracie, who perched between them. “I don’t know what’s funnier. The people who are outright staring, or the folks who are pretending not to stare.”
“Shh!” She pressed her index finger over her lips. “Someone will hear.”
He stretched his arm across the back of the pew, his fingers dangling near her shoulder. Her pulse thrummed. She was captivated, not by the masculine strength he was capable of, but by the lure of his gentle hands and generous spirit.
In order to distract herself, she studied the congregation, catching a few looks in the process. While most of the attention was curious, she sensed confusion and even a little censure in some of the faces.
Her gaze landed on the man sitting tall and proud beside her, and her heart softened. Sterling was struggling under a failing ranch, the burden of responsibility for his ready-made family and the expectations of carrying on a family legacy. Yet despite the difficulties, he’d offered to assist Seamus. Pride and hope blossomed in her chest.
There was a natural openness to his personality that she envied. There was an inherent optimism in his character that she found both fascinating and baffling, especially given Otto’s dire predictions that he was on the verge of losing everything. Despite the difficulties in his past, though, he kept moving forward. A lesser man might have cut and run by now.
Thankfully, the reverend’s sermon held a lot less condemnation than the week before, and a lot more talk about forgiveness. His relief at having restored the moral order of Valentine was palpable. The hymns buoyed her spirits, and Sterling’s deep baritone voice vibrating beside her earned them admiring glances.
He was beyond anything she might have expected in her life. While she was a shadow who stuck to the edge of a room, he was as bright as the morning sun in summertime. He possessed an innate confidence of spirit that drew people to him. He compelled the people around him to look at the world differently simply by refusing to be cowed. She sensed there was even more power inside him, as yet unleashed. He was fascinating and frightening, reminding her of her own inadequacies.
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