“Sheryl, what’s wrong?” Jordan stopped, glanced at Sheryl’s eager face, then at the man she stared at hungrily.
He paused, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and as he wiped his nose he glanced around.
It wasn’t Mark.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” Sheryl’s shoulders sagged. Feeling slightly dazed she looked around, then, at her purse lying on the floor.
“You know that man?”
Sheryl bent over to pick up her purse, hiding her burning cheeks. “I thought he was an old friend.”
Jordan slanted a skeptical look at Sheryl, retrieved a brush from the floor and handed it to her. "One of your ‘give so little’ friends?”
Sheryl drew in a deep breath as she straightened and shook her head at her lapse.
“I thought for a minute you were going to throw yourself at him.”
“Please stop, Jordan,” Sheryl pleaded, feeling bereft and close to tears. She clutched her purse close to her, biting her lip.
Jordan laid her hand on Sheryl’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. It’s just that you’re normally so cool and collected.” She squeezed, then let go. “Anyhow, what are you doing this weekend? I’ve got tickets for a concert on Sunday.”
“I don’t think so.” Sheryl flashed her an apologetic grin, pulling herself together. “I want to head to church on Sunday.” She had been attending for a couple of weeks, finding peace and comfort there that she wouldn’t at a concert.
“Probably a better idea,” Jordan shrugged. “Well if you change your mind you know my number.” She patted her shoulder once more, then turned and left.
Sheryl walked in the opposite direction to her bus stop, still feeling shaky. Mark was on her mind so much any little thing would bring back the memories—jeans on long legs, cowboy boots, a pickup truck on the city streets. One of the boys stocking shelves in the local grocery store was almost as tall as Mark and wore his hair just as long. Sheryl stopped going there because every time she saw him her heart stopped.
Living with Tory and Mike eased some of the emptiness that pervaded her life since she left Sweet Creek, but not totally eradicated it. Each time Tory said goodbye to Mike their leave-taking was reluctant, and Sheryl took painful pleasure in watching them, even though it was such an aching reminder of her own lack.
Loneliness was nothing new to her. But the angry loneliness of coming home to an empty apartment when she’d lived with Jason, or the sad loneliness that was her constant companion after the accident had never been as unmitigated, as heart-wrenching as the emptiness she felt when she’d arrived in Edmonton.
It frustrated her. Tory and Mike treated her almost like a daughter. She finally had a decent job that paid her enough so that she could attend evening courses at the University of Alberta.
But it wasn’t enough. The courses left her feeling flat, the job was exciting but she felt stifled sitting inside day after day. The city was starting to get on her nerves with its busyness, its impersonal attitude.
The city bus sighed to a halt in front of her, and Sheryl climbed in, forcing herself past the people packed in the front of the bus to the back where there was usually a little more room.
She clung to a pole, staring out of the window as the buildings flashed past, her mind traveling with ease to a place surrounded by purple mountains, broken by creeks and rivers.
They would be baling again, she mused, thinking of Mark driving a tractor, a bandana around his head holding his long hair out of his face. It made her smile.
She wondered how he was doing. Now that Elise had called, maybe she would return the call. She could casually mention Mark’s name, and she knew Elise would take off from there.
If she dared.
Two quick jabs of Mark’s jackknife cut the last of the twine on the large, round hay bale suspended in front of him. With stiff fingers, he picked up all the ends, and in one jerk he pulled the twine loose. Backing up, he motioned to Nate, in the cab of the tractor, to drop the bale into the feeder.
The cows were milling about, bawling, trying to get past Mark to get at the hay. The crazy things were going to get run over with the tractor if they didn’t watch it.
A bone-chilling gust of wind caught the strings and pulled a couple out of his hand, blowing them across the yard. Mark rolled up the remaining twine as he hunched his shoulders against the cold and chose to ignore the others. Later, later, later.
He and Nate had too much to do right now, and pieces of twine didn’t concern him.
Another icy blast of wind pierced the cocoon of coveralls, sweaters and shirt, chilling him to the bone. The coldest day of the coldest October on record, and already that morning he’d fixed the well and taken their new bull in to the vet. Then he’d come home to a tractor that wouldn’t start and a waterer that Nate had forgotten to put a heat tape down.
Mark’s mood was as foul as the weather.
Nate picked up another bale, and it tipped precariously on the bale forks. Mark waved to him to stop but Nate was looking over his shoulder. The bale tipped past the center of gravity and fell off the forks to the ground.
Mark ground his teeth in frustration. Nate got out of the tractor to see how bad the damage was.
“Didn’t you see that the bale wasn’t on the forks?” Mark yelled.
“So I’ll pick it up again.” Nate yelled back.
“It didn’t need to end up on the ground if you had done it right the first time.”
The two of them faced off, glaring at each other as a plume of exhaust from the tractor swept between them. Nate turned, walked over to the offending bale, poked it with the toe of his boot and climbed back into the tractor without a second look at Mark.
Mark turned and got into the truck. He knew he was miserable, but he was also unable to stop himself. Nate could feed that last bale on his own. He had to get to the house to make a phone call anyhow.
With a sigh he put the truck into gear, hesitated a moment, then released the clutch and drove away. Elise had invited him to have lunch at their place, and he could apologize to Nate then. Maybe the drive from his place to Nate’s would settle his temper.
Shivering, he turned the heat up full and stared at the gray clouds drifting over the mountains heading toward them. Snow for sure.
He’d been edgy the past couple of months, and no one knew it better than he did. He couldn’t settle down, and lately he’d found any kind of excuse to go running around the country.
After finding out it would be cheaper to rent a truck and haul the hay himself, he had done so. Four trips to Langley had done little to improve his temper. If anything, driving a semi down the Trans- Canada had almost given him a nervous breakdown.
On his return, the third cut of hay had been ready to be baled. He’d run one tractor, Rob another and in a couple of days they’d had their feed for the winter rolled up in large round bales.
Then he’d saddled up his horse, packed up a second and ridden up into the mountains. He had spent a week longer in the hills than he’d needed to, rounding up strays and herding them back home.
It wasn’t necessary that he personally take care of needling all the animals but with the help of a halogen lamp and a few all-nighters, he’d gotten it done.
Nate had helped with the baling, but after the second trip to Langley he’d told Mark he wasn’t going to try to keep up. Mark had sensed Nate had his own problems to deal with, but wasn’t going to drive himself into the ground doing it like Mark was.
Last week Mark had snapped at his mother when she’d asked him if he was ever going to slow down and take some time out to be with his family.
The truck fishtailed, Mark pulled his foot off the accelerator, glanced at the speedometer and then at the hay trailer.
With a sigh he braked, slowing the truck down, pushing his hat further up his head, leaning back against the
seat.
For a moment he let his thoughts drift where they did far too often, as he remembered
long blond hair, green eyes lit up with laughter, delicate features.
Sheryl.
When he’d come back from the pack trip, two and a half months ago, to find out that she had left already, he’d felt lost, empty and even more alone than when Tanya had mailed his ring to him here at Sweet Creek.
Tanya was a good woman, prettier than Sheryl, more refined. Tanya was friendly, open and fun to be around. She had no major hang-ups and gladly accompanied him to church. But he had never felt the same feeling of absolute rightness with her that he felt with Sheryl.
Or that feeling of emptiness when she’d left.
He tried to see that it was all for the good. Each day he struggled with the same loneliness, the same sense of happiness, elusive, just out of his grasp. If he stopped to analyze his own actions, they didn’t make much sense. Sheryl had only spent two weeks here. She had been gone nine.
In theory he should have forgotten her after the first two. So why had he spent the past couple of months wondering what she was doing? Why did he constantly remember exactly how the light caught her hair when it hung loose, flowing to her waist? Why could he still feel the slenderness of her in his arms?
Theories only worked on paper, not in life.
And the worst of it was his own fear. It had been difficult getting over Tanya. And she was pretty straightforward about her reasons for breaking up with him.
There was nothing straightforward about Sheryl. She confused him, puzzled him and scared him.
He knew Jason had abused her. She had said as much, and Nate had confirmed it only a month ago, telling him about her scars. Even now the thought made him clench his fists around the steering wheel, wishing it were Jason’s neck. But knowing that had also created a distance. Did she hate men? Was she scared of him? He had bared his heart to her, given her as much as he could.
She had never called, never written. But then he wondered if he could expect her to. Given what she had lived with, would she make the first move to him? But also, given what she had lived with, could he expect to be welcomed?
He sighed and slowed to make the turn into Nate’s place. It had been a few days since he’d seen his sister and Ed. Initially he’d turned down the invitation to lunch, preferring to keep himself busy with nothing. But his loneliness became too much even for him and finally he accepted.
A few flakes of snow hit his cheeks as he stepped out of the truck, and he squinted up at the gray sky. It was going to be a full-blown storm by the time evening came. Feeling even more depressed, he pulled his coat closer around him and trudged around to the back of the house.
The porch was almost as cold as the outside, and Mark quickly shucked his coat, coveralls and boots. He stepped into the kitchen, and a wave of warmth, heavenly aromas and the sound of the coffeepot burbling on the stove wrapped around him. This was what a home should smell like, feel like, he thought, inhaling the smell, letting the warmth seep into his cold body.
“Hello, Mark,” Ed greeted him, looking up from where he sat at the kitchen table. He slowly reached with his good hand and shoved a piece of paper across the table toward him. “A message from.. .Calgary. Confirm... reservation for the Stockgrowers Convention.”
Mark picked up the paper and glanced at it before shoving it in his pocket.
“And Marla is coloring...a picture.”
Marla was bent over her coloring book, her nose inches away from the paper, tongue between her teeth. “It’s a present,” she said not looking up.
“Could you color one for me?” Mark asked, hooking a chair with his stockinged foot and dropping on it across the table from his little niece. “I’d like a picture to hang up in my kitchen.”
She pursed her lips at that, tilting her head to study the picture she worked on. “When I’m finished this one,” she replied, flashing him a mischievous grin.
“Got the...cows fed?” Ed spoke up.
Mark nodded, picking up Marla’s crayon box. “Nate and I just finished doing the ones at the other corrals. He’ll be by in twenty minutes or so.” He turned back to Marla. “Which color do you want now?”
“The gray one.” She handed him the pink crayon, its paper peeled off.
“Shouldn’t you make the sun yellow?” he asked, leaning closer to Marla’s picture.
“No. This is a sun in Edmonton. Auntie Sheryl told Grandpa that the days are gray where she lives.” Marla finished coloring the sun a dull gray as Mark sat back, his heart hammering in his chest. The mere mention of Sheryl’s name, coming so close on the heels of his own thoughts, filled him with sudden longing. “Grandpa talked to her on the phone,” Marla continued, tilting her head to look at the picture. “I talked to her, too. Mommy’s talking to Auntie Sheryl now, and if you ask, maybe you can.” She looked up at him and flashed him another grin.
Right then Elise stepped into the kitchen, the phone tucked under her ear, a loaf of bread in her free hand. “It’s not been great weather here, either, like Ed told you,” she was saying. “Yes, Lainie had a baby girl and she’s adorable. Nate’s foot is just fine. No, he’s out feeding cows with Mark. I can give him the message.” She looked up and just about dropped the phone when she saw Mark. “Sorry, what were you saying?” she asked, dropping the frozen bread on the counter.
Mark listened to the one-sided conversation, straining his ears for even the faintest sound coming out of the headset, almost hungry for even the slightest connection with her.
“Well...” Elise leaned her elbows on the counter, staring down at it as if afraid to look at Mark. “To tell you the truth, Mark’s miserable.”
Mark felt his breath leave him as he realized what Sheryl was asking.
“He’s been running around all over the country trying to keep busy. He looks exhausted half of the time. I don’t think he’s very happy, Sheryl.”
Mark glared at Elise, but she kept her eyes glued to the countertop.
“I think he’s missing you…Don’t start that again, it’s the truth.” Elise bit her lip as she clutched the headset. “I think he’s still in love with—”
A few angry strides brought Mark around the table and across from his sister. He held out his hand, and without even looking up, Elise handed him the phone.
Mark held it a moment, his breath coming in short gasps as if he had just run ten miles instead walked ten feet. He blinked, swallowed and then, drawing a steadying breath, he put the phone to his ear.
“Elise are you still there?” Sheryl’s soft voice still held a hint of pain, he thought, his anger melting at the sound of it.
“Hi, Sheryl.” It was all he could say. Nine cold empty weeks and he could barely say her name.
“Mark?” Silence, then, “Where’s Elise?”
That hurt more than it should. “If you want to find out how I am, why don’t you ask me yourself?”
“Please don’t do this, Mark,” her voice pleaded. “I can’t take this.”
“Take? That doesn’t seem to be something you do.” Mark couldn’t seem to keep the angry hurt out of his voice.
She said nothing.
Way to go, Mark, he thought, wishing he had held his tongue. You’re tearing me apart, girl, he thought, wishing he could voice his inner feelings, wishing she would give him any kind of encouragement, any kind of reason. “Sheryl—” his voice became pleading “—why did you leave?” Mark leaned back against the counter, rubbing his forehead, eyes closed, silently pleading. “Are you afraid of me?”
“Ye-es,” she said, her voice breaking. Mark clutched the phone, her single word hitting him and hurting beyond understanding.
“Why? You know I would never hurt you.” A sudden click in his ear told him that she had hung up. Mark lowered the phone, staring morosely at it. She hadn’t even given him a chance to tell her what he wanted to.
Chapter 14
Sheryl lifted her hymn book, flipped it open to the page and, as the organ began playing, felt a lift of her heart. The songs, the music, all seemed to come together to f
ill empty spaces in her life.
Since leaving Sweet Creek she’d felt a deep desire to attend. Tory and Mike lived a few blocks from a small community church, and Sheryl saw this as a clear indication of what she should do.
Sheryl drifted back to the service she had attended in Sweet Creek. A light smile lifted one corner of her mouth as she remembered the emotions that had spun through her mind, tangling up her thoughts.
Much had happened since then. She had relaxed her guard, but not without a struggle. It had meant soul searching and required confession. Since her visit with Ed, they had written, and in each letter he repeatedly apologized, repeatedly offered her his love. It became easier and easier. She found the less she fought, the more she received.
Love was a peculiar emotion. Ed’s love had been misguided, Nate’s confused. She wondered if Jason had loved her or just needed someone to dominate.
And Mark...
Sheryl closed the book and dropped it in its holder with a “thunk." She didn’t know what to do about Mark.
He was a man she was attracted to with a depth that frightened her. If she were to give in to him and to find that once he really knew her he didn’t want her.
It would break her, and she had no reserves to draw on. So she ran away from it.
The chords of the closing song broke into her thoughts, and with a sigh, she got up. She let the words of the song wash over her, soothing and comforting. God was faithful, his love perfect —that she was reassured of each Sunday.
She stopped a moment to chat with fellow churchgoers, turning down an offer for lunch. Tory was expecting her, and she hadn’t seen much of her and Mike the past couple of weeks.
The walk home chilled her, and when she let herself into the apartment it was with a thankful sigh as the heat rolled over her.
“Is that you, Sheryl?” Tory called out as she hung up her coat. “Lunch is on the table.”
“Be there as soon as I wash up,” she replied with a smile. Every time she stepped in the door from church, lunch was on the table. She knew Tory kept an eye out, and as soon as she saw her coming down the sidewalk, went into action.
Homecoming (Sweet Hearts of Sweet Creek Book 1) Page 19