Chad had argued that it was not safe for Irene to stay there alone, had tried to get her to build their house closer to town; but Irene had insisted on this location because of its beauty. There had been no Indian trouble in years, and she was not afraid of them or outlaws. Since losing the baby and being so rudely awakened to the reality of her marriage and the prospect of a lifetime of emotional disappointment, physical danger meant nothing to her. She would gladly take the risk, if she could at least be here in this beautiful country, far from the rush of another growing city.
Here she had found peace. Here she could think and heal and feel close to God, for if any country resembled what heaven must be like, it was this part of Colorado.
She pushed dirt around the rosebush, then stood up to see how it looked. She breathed a sigh of satisfaction and gazed around the open courtyard, which was in the center of her new home, a sprawling, stucco, Spanish-style structure of only one story. It was far different from their home in Denver, certainly different from the Kirkland mansion. She wasn’t sure if Bea would like this house, if and when the woman came south and used it on occasion, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was that Irene liked it. She had decided she was going to be selfish for a while, indulge in whatever she wanted; most of all, be herself, and not cater to Chad Jacobs’s every whim. She had tried that, and it had brought her nothing but insult and humiliation, and a lost baby.
She was tired of worrying about pleasing her mother and her husband, tired of the pressures of being the center of society in Denver. Here she could just be Irene. She didn’t have to wear fancy dresses or attend social events. She didn’t even want to be around Chad any more than necessary for the time being. His attempts at pretending everything was getting back to normal made her feel sick. In the four months since losing the baby, they had spent three of them in Colorado Springs while the house was being built, but they had not made love. She couldn’t bring herself to let him touch her, and she wondered sometimes if she ever could again. She knew that by turning him away she was only making him more angry and frustrated, but she was tired of simply submitting to his whims because he was her husband. Their marriage had been sorely fractured, and just going to bed together was not going to heal the wound.
She kept hoping he would be a real man about it, would come to her and explain his feelings, would somehow change; but there was no change at all. The new house was not quite finished yet, but she had moved in anyway, no longer able to bear the pretending to which their marriage had returned.
Chad had promised to come home weekends, but he spent most of them in Colorado Springs, sending messengers to the ranch house to be sure she was still all right. She had thought that time alone together here in the quiet, open country would be good for them, had thought they could slowly rebuild their marriage. But Chad had quickly returned to his old ways, charming, laughing, acting as though nothing had changed, as though there had never been a baby, or an affair. At thirty-two, he sometimes seemed like a much younger man, one who had not developed the wisdom and strength a man his age should have. He remained shallow, fake, undependable. His initial sorrow and repentance over the baby had quickly vanished once he got her away from Denver, and she had no doubt that back in Colorado Springs he did not often sleep alone. She put no faith or trust in his promises of fidelity.
At least here she had found a new peace, was building her strength, both physical and emotional. She loved having a garden right in the middle of her house. The sun shined here every day, and she spent long hours sitting in the courtyard and reading. She turned and walked inside to make herself some tea. She loved this house, loved the bit of independence she found here. She had not even brought down any servants yet. She was doing just fine on her own, enjoying the cooking, even the cleaning, with the help of one old Mexican woman named Flor Valdez, who lived in a cabin a half mile away and sometimes cooked for the ranch hands.
She walked across polished wood floors, proud of the fact that she had designed the house herself. Woven rugs of Indian and Spanish design decorated the floors, and huge ceramic pots painted with the same designs sat in every room, filled with exotic plants. The stucco walls made it cool inside, even though outside it was in the nineties. She wasn’t sure why, but she loved the bright colors of Indian and Mexican designs, loved the simple style of the house. Some nights she even slept on a cot in the courtyard under the stars, where she would lie and dream about the nights spent outdoors beside a campfire with her father in the mountains.
Such a long time ago that all seemed, another time, another Irene, one who trusted in true love, who believed in happy marriages, who wanted to please everybody else and be a good daughter and a good wife.
She put a kettle of water on the cook stove, shoving some coal under the burner and lighting it. Soon everyone would be cooking with convenient gas stoves back in Denver, but piped gas would be available only in the bigger cities. Someone had yet to figure out how to provide it in the more remote areas, but she did not doubt that someone would come up with a solution.
Things seemed to change and progress so fast, with the railroad penetrating places no one could have dreamed they would come, running water and soon gas lights and cook stoves in Denver; so much progress in the mere ten years since they first arrived in Colorado and watched dogs and pigs and Indians chasing around in the muddy streets.
She sat down to wait for the water to heat, glad to be out of the rush of business for a while. Kirk was in the mountains again, helping with the dam projects. Bea had temporarily given up plans to go to Europe. She remained in Denver, working as hard as ever. Chad was now Bea’s counterpart in Colorado Springs. John and Elly were both due home soon, ready to take on their roles at K-E. For now Irene wanted no part of it. She had trustworthy women watching over her clothing stores. She knew the rest of the building committee would handle the church project, and she had full confidence in Ramon’s talents.
She missed Ramon. She wished she had been able to explain why she was leaving, had been able to talk once more with him. It angered her, after what Chad had done, that he had dared to accuse her of carrying on with Ramon. He had even objected to this Spanish-style house, saying she only wanted it to remind her of her Mexican “friend.” “I never want his name mentioned in my presence again,” he had ordered. Ever since Ramon had hit him, Chad had been more belligerent, actually turning on her at times, trying to make her feel as though losing the baby were her fault, trying to divert the blame from himself. There were moments when she had actually been afraid of Chad, and for the time being she was almost glad they were apart most of the time.
All she wanted now was peace and quiet. Later today she would take the buggy to Hank Loring’s house, which was a good five miles to the northeast. The hired hands had shown her the road that led right to it, and some of the men would ride with her for protection. Her heart rushed with delight at the thought of seeing Hank’s golden Palominos again, of buying several for herself and starting her own herd.
The water had not steamed yet when she heard horses approaching outside then. She went to the heavy wooden front doors and opened them, seeing a man approach. She was surprised and delighted to realize it was Hank. He had not changed, the same dark, wavy hair, the same rugged, handsome look about him. She recognized the stallion he had ridden the day he came to visit her mother, a grand animal not easily forgotten. How many years ago had that been? Five? Six? He was leading another Palomino, a mare, which was saddled. He smiled the familiar broad grin as he came closer, dressed in knee-high boots and denim pants, a red checkered shirt and a leather vest, a red bandana around his neck. A six-gun rested on his hip, a rifle sat cradled in its scabbard at the side of his saddle.
“Hello, Mrs. Jacobs,” he called out. “Word came to me you were coming to my place today to look at horses.” He rode up in front of her then. “Thought I’d bring my best mare here, and you can ride her back to my place…see how you like her.”
“Hello, Mr. Lorin
g. It’s been a long time.”
He dismounted, removing his hat, his exotic green eyes moving over her in that same old way that brought a tingle to her blood. “Just about five years, to be exact,” he answered. “Last time I saw you was on your wedding day.” He looked around. “Your husband here?”
He did not miss the sudden change in her eyes and composure. He quickly detected something was very wrong. What was she doing here, anyway? Was it true, what the men said, that her husband stayed in Colorado Springs most of the time? Why? If he had a woman like Irene Jacobs to come home to—
“No, he’s not here,” she answered. “We—we’ve come south to build on some investments here—open a bank, build another hotel, that kind of thing. I decided I needed some peace and quiet for a while, so I had this house built so I could get away from town.” She walked up to the mare, petting its neck. “I came here to heal, to get over my grief, Mr. Loring. I lost a child back in Denver.”
Hank sobered. “I’m real sorry to hear that. I understand that kind of loss, Mrs. Jacobs.”
She could feel the hot redness of her cheeks at being so open with him so quickly. She remembered how easy he had been to talk to that day she first met him, already felt an aura of masculinity, a maturity about him that was absent in Chad. “Yes,” she answered, “and your losses were so much greater. I’m so sorry about your wife and child.” She looked up at him then, and saw the terrible sorrow. Here was a man who had been true to his wife, had been a loving husband and father. It didn’t seem fair that God should take away the family of a man like that. It was the same with Ramon—good men who would have been true to their wives, would have made wonderful fathers.
“It’s been five years,” he was saying. “It happened not long after your wedding, I remember. It was Yellow Eagle and his bunch. They’ve still never been caught.” He looked around. “You should be pretty safe here. The Sioux and Cheyenne almost never come to this area any more. And right now they’re pretty well concentrated in the north.”
“That’s why we picked this spot.” She put on a smile for him. “It’s nice to see you again, Mr. Loring. I know you’ve been in frequent touch with my mother and that the cattle business is doing well, but we never actually get to see you.”
“Well, I heard you came to Colorado Springs and were building a house in this area, but I’ve been gone the last few weeks since you moved in…been in Kansas at a cattle auction. Otherwise I would have come by a lot sooner. You finally ready to buy some horses?”
“Oh, yes.” She petted the mare again. “And this one is beautiful.” She met his eyes again, feeling strange little stabs of desire only one other man had ever created in her. “I was going to come to your place later today in the buggy, but this will be so much more pleasurable. Come inside and see the house while I change into my riding clothes. I have some hot water on the stove. Would you like some tea or coffee?”
“Nothing, thanks; except maybe a drink of water.” He followed her inside, thinking how she had changed so little in five years. She was prettier even than he had remembered. He had always admired her beauty and lovely personality. He thought how she was nothing like her mother, totally untainted by wealth, her personality still open and friendly, just as he remembered her. She wore a plain blue dress that gave no indication of wealth, although she carried herself with more poise and elegance than any settler’s wife.
He wondered how her marriage had fared. Chad Jacobs had seemed like the almost ideal man, yet here was Irene, grieving over a lost child, living here alone in her sorrow. It didn’t seem right, and something about the look in her eyes when he mentioned her marriage left him feeling sorry for her.
“By the way,” he told her as he followed her into the kitchen, “considering the fact that you’re technically my boss, you should be calling me Hank.”
She laughed. “Well, you have your own ranch, too, and you’re a very successful man in your own right. You just seem like Mr. Loring to me.”
He grinned. “That isn’t fair. Just because I’m probably twenty years older than you doesn’t mean you have to address me like an elder.”
She pumped a glass of water for him with an indoor hand pump that brought water from a tank outside the house, which was kept filled most of the time by the power of a windmill. “You can’t be twenty years older. I’m twenty-three, Mr. Loring.”
“Well, almost twenty years then, seventeen. That’s bad enough. Please do call me Hank.”
She handed him the glass, feeling the strange tingle again when his fingers touched hers. His big frame seemed to fill the room. “Then you have to call me Irene,” she answered. She reddened slightly and turned away. “I’ll go and change.”
He nodded. “Thanks for the water.”
“You’ll have to be patient with me, Mr.—I mean, Hank. I haven’t been riding in a long time, so go easy on me.”
“I promise not to try to race you,” he answered with an easy grin. He watched her leave the room, then looked around the lovely house. Kitchen cupboards were still unfinished, and outside men were working on building a barn for horses. He walked to a window to watch, thinking how strange it was that someone brought up as she had been would want to be out here in such remote country raising horses. His mind raced with questions—how had she come to lose a child? Why was she out here alone, why wasn’t her husband with her, or why wasn’t she in town with him? Why had she looked so sad when he mentioned her wedding day?
They would all be questions that would have to be left unanswered, since none of them were any of his business. The answers would have to come from Irene, if and when she might decide to volunteer the information. She was hurting. He could read it in those pretty blue eyes. She was hurting, and so was he. They had that much in common.
“Hello, Chad.” Chad looked up to see a replica of Bea Kirkland, but with a younger face.
“Elly! By God, it’s good to see you! When did you get back?” He quickly rose and Elly sauntered closer. “I was hoping you’d be as glad to see me as I am to see you.”
He reddened slightly, walking over to close the door to the temporary office he had taken inside the southern branch of the Kirkland Hotel. “Of course I’m glad to see you,” he told her. He walked up and embraced her firmly, realizing he had better make her believe it. Her sudden appearance had forced him to think fast. Elly was back! Now that Irene had discovered his affair with Milicent, she would be more suspicious. He had better stay on good terms with Elly Kirkland. She knew enough to destroy what little faith Irene had left in him.
“I missed you, Chad,” she said softly.
He thought what an armful she was compared to Irene, but she at least at one time had appreciated him and knew how to be a woman. Already he could tell none of that had changed. “I missed you, too,” he lied, realizing he didn’t even have to look down at her; she stood as tall as he. The fancy, feathered hat she wore made her appear even taller.
“I’m glad,” she answered. “Thank you for all the letters, Chad. I hated staying away so long, but…I was sick the first year…and then I decided to learn all I could—to outdo Irene in my education. I want to be a big part of Kirkland Enterprises. Mother is very happy with everything I learned.”
Their eyes met, and he could see what she wanted. He still held her in his arms, and he leaned closer, meeting her lips in a hungry kiss, as though she had never left. He knew by her response that she was as eager for him as ever, but there was a more mature air about her—more experience? He wondered how many men she had gone down for since she left.
She ended the kiss and rested her head on his shoulder. “Oh, Chad, I was afraid it would all be different, especially when Mother said Irene lost a baby. I thought maybe you had decided to devote everything to her.”
He pulled away. “Things were bad for a while. Irene needed to get away from Denver. We had a house built south of here. She stays there alone. She’s gotten into raising horses. You know Irene and horses.”
&nbs
p; Elly sniffed. “Yes. I suppose she’d rather be out there shoveling manure than here with her husband, where she belongs.” “Something like that.”
Elly caught the hint of guilt in his eyes. “Chad Jacobs, there is something you’re not telling me. Mother said Irene fell at the office, and that’s why she lost the baby. It was past working hours.” She ran a hand over his chest. “You’re the only witness, Chad. What really happened? I know Irene. Something bad happened to make her stay on the ranch while you’re here. What happened to the sister I thought would be such a devoted wife?”
He grinned a little. “None of your business. You haven’t been back long enough that I’m sure I can trust you, you little brat.”
Elly laughed. “I’m not little anymore. I’m twenty years old. I suppose I am a brat, though. But I’ll show you trust, Chad. I’ll tell you something I would never want Mother to know.” She put her arms around his neck. “I told you I was pretty sick that first year. You want to know why?”
He frowned. “You never let on in any letters you wrote home that you had been sick.”
“That’s because I didn’t want Mother to know.” She let go of him and turned to look out a window. “When I first went to Chicago, I had an abortion, Chad. You got me pregnant.”
Silence filled the room. “Good God, Elly, you could have died,” Chad gasped.
She turned to face him. “I almost did. Another doctor had to operate on me to stop the bleeding. The school was afraid to tell Mother about it for fear she’d have them closed down. I promised not to tell if they would promise the same. I didn’t want her to know any more than they did.” She moved to his desk, taking off her gloves. “The doctor removed my uterus, Chad.” She set her gloves aside and met his eyes. “That’s what holds the baby when a woman is pregnant, in case you don’t know,” she said, telling it as casually as if she had lost a fingernail. “It was the worst thing I’ve ever gone through, but at least now it’s impossible for me to get pregnant.”
In the Shadow of the Mountains Page 50