Love Finds You in Wildrose, North Dakota

by Tracey Bateman

  Chapter Six

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  The awkward silence between them seemed almost ridiculous, considering they were kin. Staring at Rosemary now, he couldn’t help but think of Rachel. The two sisters, though the spitting image of each other, were as different inwardly as two pebbles from a brook. Always the responsible one of the two, Rosemary had helped her pa on the ranch, while Rachel had preferred to read dime novels—though she had sworn him to secrecy about those—and Lord Tennyson. Rachel surmised that their differences lay in the fact that, although born the same night, Rosemary arrived thirty minutes earlier. And she’d always taken on the role of older sibling…as silly as that sounded.

  Somewhere deep down, she must have believed her pa would leave her the ranch, for Rosemary gave her thoughts to man’s business and wasn’t shy about sharing what was on her mind even when she disagreed. And her pa mostly agreed with her. Finn had been on the receiving end of that humiliation more than once. And though he had to admit that time usually proved her right, he still wasn’t too keen on being outwitted by a woman.

  Rachel, on the other hand, wanted nothing more than to become a proper wife and mother. She had made him happy, except for her lack of cooking skills, but he was willing to allow his stomach to suffer for the joy of living with his delicate flower.

  How Rosemary had ever become so proficient in the kitchen when she spent so much time on the range with the men, he couldn’t imagine. But the proof was nearly scraped from his plate for a second time.

  He realized he had been comparing the two women since he’d arrived home and found his sister-in-law, but how could he not? They looked so much alike, his heart ached—and yet this woman sitting across from him could no more be Rachel than he could.

  “More?”

  Rosemary’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts and he wondered, with surprise, what he’d done to indicate that he’d welcome a bit more of the food. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

  “No trouble at all.” She stood, and he handed her his plate. “More coffee?”

  He nodded. “Thank you.”

  When she had filled his cup and plate again, she took her seat once more.

  “You’re not eating?” he asked, pointing to her plate with his fork.

  “My eyes must have been bigger than my stomach.” She folded her hands on the table and leveled her gaze with his. “Finn, you said we should discuss my plans.”

  He could have kicked himself. So that was why she wasn’t eating. He’d upset her. “We don’t have to talk about it tonight, if you’d rather not. I don’t think anyone would start talking if I stay in the barn for a couple of nights. You’re kin, after all, and my closest neighbors are good friends.”

  “We’re not blood kin.” She sighed. “And people care more than you might think.”

  He put down his fork and returned her sober gaze. “I know you came all this way expecting to find your sister alive and well and ready to welcome you into our home.”

  Tears sprang to her eyes, and Finn inwardly chided himself for just coming right out and saying the words like that. He had to remember that as painful as Rachel’s death still was to him, for Rosemary, the wounds were only one week old.

  Rachel had told him more than once that the bond between the sisters was strong, but only someone who had a twin could possibly understand the depth of their devotion to one another. “It’s as though I am only half a person without her sometimes,” she’d tried to explain once. “If I’m weak in one area, she’s strong.” She had grinned and ducked her head. “Like how Rosie is the best cook in the world. Everyone says so. But I’m much better at understanding what a person feels. Sometimes she’s not sensitive like I think she should be. She thinks things one way and expects other people to think that way too, and she gets annoyed if they don’t. But that doesn’t mean she isn’t sensitive herself. She cries easily if she’s hurting.”

  And her tears were the last thing he needed right now when he had to say what was on his mind. “So I guess what I’m trying to say,” he said, “is that, things being as they are now and all, it would be better if…”

  “I know we can’t live here together, Finn.” A sigh passed her lips—lips so like Rachel’s he had to force himself not to be distracted by their fullness. “But I can’t abandon Rachel’s baby. I won’t. Especially when she doesn’t seem to be thriving.”

  “And you feel you need to take care of her?” His ears burned and anger rose quickly inside him.

  “I don’t know if either of us can fix what’s wrong with Sarah, but I don’t believe I could leave her. Not now that I’ve seen her and held her.”

  Her eyes grew gentle, and Finn held his breath. There was something different about Rosemary…. “Then what do you propose?”

  Her face went scarlet. A sense of dread filled his gut before she could even stammer out the words. “M–maybe we sh–should… I mean, for Sarah’s sake, do you think we ought to…?”

  “Rosemary…,” he said with a groan.

  “No. Of course you don’t want to marry me.” Her lips trembled. “I know I’m not Rachel. But, Finn, listen to me. I wouldn’t demand anything of you that a wife has rights to. You wouldn’t share my bed or even have to share your thoughts with me. I can drive my own wagon and put in a garden. But Sarah…” She paused for breath. “Sarah is my sister’s baby, and I have no intention of walking away from her and leaving her without a mother.”

  “You’re not her ma.” Finn stood, faster than he’d intended, and the chair fell over with a crash that woke Sarah. She whimpered and then let out a wail. Rosemary stood, but he stayed her with an upraised hand. “I’ll get her.”

  “All right,” she murmured, taking her plate and heading to the counter. She poured water from the bucket into the washtub and shaved soap into the water as he quieted the baby and changed her clothes. He cradled her in his arms as he walked back to the table.

  Rosemary turned and walked toward him, carrying the coffeepot. Sarah cooed at him and he smiled. As she gave him back a toothless grin, he lost his breath. “Did you see that?” he asked, glancing up at Rosemary, who had just filled his cup again.

  She smiled and nodded. “Her first?”

  “Yes.” At least it was the first time he’d noticed a smile. Was she feeling better because of the way Rosemary had fixed her milk? He shook off the thought before he let his gratefulness cause him to act rashly. “There, she did it again.” His heart bubbled over at the sight.

  Rosemary let out a small laugh. “Get used to it.” She turned and set the coffeepot back on the stove. “Little girls love their pas.”

  As she plunged her hands into the soapy water, he frowned. “I know she needs a woman’s influence. And I even know Rachel would want it to be you. But I…”

  “But you can’t bear the thought of another woman calling herself your wife, even if it is a marriage in name only.”

  He nodded even though her back was to him. “I know it would be sensible to marry up when the preacher comes through, but…” Their neighbors would think it sensible, anyway—for all the reasons his logical nature did. Sarah needed a mother. Rosemary could be a mother to Sarah better than anyone else. He knew she felt his rejection, and he wanted her to understand.

  “I understand,” she said. “Please, let’s stop talking about it.” She turned and nodded toward his plate. “Finished?”

  Though he’d barely touched the third plate of food, he couldn’t have forced a bite down his throat. “Yeah. Sorry. I guess my eyes were also bigger than my stomach.”

  “The dog’ll be glad to get it. What’s that mutt’s name, by the way?” She combined the leftovers from both plates onto one and walked toward the door. “I forgot to ask Mr. Freeman that night he came.”

  “Cooper.”

  “Odd name.” She laughed. “Rachel must have come up with it.”

  He grinned. “She said she read it in one of her dime novels when she was younger and wan
ted to name either one of her children or a dog Cooper.”

  “Lucky for Miss Sarah, there, that the dog came along first.” She opened the door and stepped outside. “Cooper! Come here, boy!” Laughter exploded from her, jolting Finn. Rachel’s laugh had been gentler, more subdued…almost as though she felt she should apologize for laughing in the first place.

  “What’s funny?” he surprised himself by asking.

  “I bent over to give him his food and he licked my nose, the ornery little beast.” She walked back inside, carrying the empty plate and wiping her nose with the back of her hand. “He’s been trying all week, but I’ve managed to avoid him. I guess I was distracted this time and he hit his mark.”

  Unable to resist a chuckle, Finn spoke before he thought. “He knows a pretty girl when he sees one.” As soon as the words came out, he wanted them back. And from the indignant look on her face, Rosemary felt the same way.

  “I’m sorry.” Though it seemed ludicrous to apologize for giving a compliment.

  “Don’t apologize,” she said through tight lips that belied her reassurance. “You weren’t seeing me.”

  The baby began to squirm, searching for food. “She’s squirming. Is there enough of the cool milk for her?”

  “I filled two of her feeders with the diluted milk and put them in the cold cellar. Would you mind getting one of them?”

  “Of course.” He stood up and took a step toward the door.

  “Are you taking her with you?”

  “I planned on it.”

  “Can you climb the ladder with a crying baby and then back up with her feeder?”

  He could—and had—but not without a struggle.

  Rosemary raised her eyebrows. “Maybe I could soothe her while you go?”

  He relinquished Sarah to Rosemary’s outstretched arms. She smiled at the baby. “Did you have a good nap?” she cooed. Turning her back, she walked toward the rocking chair, leaving the rest of the dishes undone.

  When he returned, the baby was crying in earnest. “She’s ready to eat,” Rosemary said, reaching for the feeder.

  Finn watched as she deftly maneuvered the tube from the feeder and slid the rubber nipple into Sarah’s mouth. Instantly the cries stopped. Glancing about, he wasn’t sure what to do now. He knew they hadn’t finished their conversation, but the moment felt too intimate with Rosemary rocking Sarah and cradling her while she ate.

  “I’ll be saying good night now,” he said. “Thank you again for the food.”

  She expelled a weighted breath. “Honestly, Finn. Stop thanking me. I’ll have flapjacks and bacon for you at sunup.” She met his gaze. “Do you want to say good night to your daughter before you go?”

  He reached down and rubbed his fingertips along her silky head. He recognized the signs of contentment as she sighed, the pit in her stomach starting to fill up. An urgent love compelled him, and as though caught in her spell, he bent and pressed a kiss to his daughter’s forehead. Without rising up, he pulled back far enough to look at her sweet face.

  Then Rosemary’s soft breath tickled his ear. Warmth slid up his neck as he realized how close his head was to hers. He stood up quickly without meeting her eyes and headed to the door. He murmured a quick good night and ducked outside.

  The chill in the air felt good against his hot skin. He took two steps then stopped to regain his composure and collect his breath. Cooper nudged his hand, and he gave the dog a pat. “Come on, boy,” he said. “Let’s get some shut-eye. Tomorrow is going to be a trying day.”

  Cooper whined softly and hung back.

  “What’s wrong, Coop?”

  Inching back to the door, he plopped down across the threshold.

  “Good boy,” Finn said. “Watch over Sarah.” But he had to admit, it wasn’t just Sarah Cooper was looking out for. Clearly, this past week, Rosemary had made a friend in the big, floppy dog…something Rachel had never really done. “He’s so big, he scares me a little,” she had admitted.

  Back in the barn, Finn stretched out on the pallet he had made earlier. His mind returned to the awkward moment just before he left the house. It was only natural, he told himself, that he would have been confused in that moment. If Rachel had been feeding the baby and the same opportunity had arisen, he would have kissed the baby and then kissed his wife before standing up. Not that he’d been close to kissing Rosemary. But if he’d turned his head…

  A scene like the one with Rosemary would have been so sweet if only he could have shared it with Rachel, but she had never been able to feed the baby. Finn remembered spooning milk into Sarah’s mouth, not nearly fast enough for the baby, who fussed her way through every meal. Finally, Rachel had insisted he ride to the general store fifteen miles away and purchase the contraption that fed his daughter now. The baby feeder had a cork and a tube with a rubber piece on the end that would serve as a teat.

  Finn never would have left Rachel that day if she hadn’t promised him she felt much stronger. Reluctantly, he had moved everything within reaching distance of the bed—including the milk, which he’d set in a bucket of snow to keep fresh as long as possible. Then he’d ridden as fast as his horse could go in the nearly two feet of snow on the ground.

  Frank Morehouse, the proprietor of the general store, didn’t stock baby feeders, but two years earlier, he’d ordered a dozen of them for a local couple after the woman stopped producing milk. Frank figured the baby was eating solid food now.

  Desperate, Finn had ridden the extra seven miles to the couple’s homestead and introduced himself. There were four baby feeders left, and he bought them for the cost of the new ones, but he felt they were well worth the price if they put Rachel’s mind at ease.

  By the time he had returned home, though, she was nearly delirious with fever and Sarah was screaming in her cradle. His Rachel never regained consciousness. She slipped away from him the next night.

  He’d gone wild with grief. For two months, he slept when Sarah slept and woke when she did. He took care of the animals and not much else. Shame shot through him once more at the thought of the mess Rosemary had walked into a week ago. He couldn’t blame her for being concerned about Sarah.

  But that was all in the past. He had left his homestead a broken man who believed exactly what Rosemary believed—that he wasn’t capable of caring for his beautiful Sarah. He’d returned determined to do right by the child Rachel had left in his keeping, and by gum, he would not let her down.

  He wasn’t sure how he would take care of her when he ought to be plowing his fields, but he’d find a way. And he’d do it without a bride of convenience.

  * * * * *

  The moon was high before Rosemary felt the slightest bit sleepy. How could she fall asleep when she’d made an utter fool of herself by asking a man to marry her? Oh, she was just mortified by her behavior. It was bad enough she’d asked in the first place, but then to make those bold statements—“You won’t have to be a real husband.”

  “Oh!” She groaned and buried her face in the feather pillow. He must think she was some desperate spinster trying to force her way into her dead sister’s life. The truth was, she wasn’t sure anymore what her true motives were. All week she’d been formulating this plan: if Finn had gone for supplies and returned, she would calmly suggest that the most logical thing for them to do would be to marry so they could both be there for Sarah. But somehow when the time came to speak up, she’d gotten all tongue-tied and nervous.

  She had never been the sort to beg, and she wouldn’t do so now. But somehow she would find a way to make it on her own in this rough Dakota Territory and still stay close to Sarah. Perhaps Finn didn’t want to marry her, but she wasn’t about to allow him to push her away, either. Not when Rachel’s baby girl needed her. And whether he knew it or not, Finn needed her too.

  Chapter Seven

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  Rosemary awoke to cold, wet droplets falling on her face in the kind of drip-drip-drip fashion that meant only two
things: the rain was coming down hard and the roof wasn’t holding up. She pulled herself up, ran a hand across Sarah’s cradle to assure herself that nothing was falling on the baby, then went to the kitchen for a pot, which she set on the bed where her head had been five minutes ago. The rain pinged into the pot, and Rosemary knew there would be no more sleeping for her tonight.

  She glanced at the mantel clock—a gift from Pa on Rachel’s wedding day—and noted that it was time to awaken anyway. She needed to gather the ingredients to make flapjacks for breakfast. She wanted to fry bacon as well but didn’t like the idea of going outside to the root cellar in the rain, so flapjacks with strawberry preserves would have to do. She had no idea where Rachel had come up with the preserves, but Rosemary had discovered a jar earlier in the root cellar along with the bacon and the rest of the meat.

  Still in her dressing gown, she padded to the stove and used the water that remained in the bucket to start the coffee to boiling. Then she gathered the ingredients for flapjacks from the shelf above the stove.

  She had noticed the shelves with appreciation the first day she’d arrived. Finn might not have given Rachel a wood home, but at least he’d built her some shelves so she had a way to keep things tidy in the cramped space with the earthen floors.

  While the baby slept, Rosemary dressed in her dark green muslin gown. She hadn’t brought anything black, even though Pa had died. He’d made her promise she wouldn’t wear such a dreary color. She had kept her promise but couldn’t bring herself to wear bright colors either, so she had chosen to have the seamstress make deep blue and dark green gowns for her just two weeks prior to Pa’s death.

  A soft tap at the door made her jump. Mercy, Finn had arrived early for breakfast. “Come in,” she called in a soft voice, so as not to awaken the baby. He opened the door and stepped inside.

  “Breakfast isn’t quite ready,” she said.

  “I’m not finished with the chores either, but I saw the lamp lit and thought you might want milk for the baby.”