by Karen Kirst
He’d married her because someone had linked them together on a piece of paper for reasons she couldn’t even begin to guess. He’d put her happiness above his own, and what had she given him in return?
She’d given him the burden of another mouth to feed, a drain on his already stretched finances. She’d given him a distraction when he needed to focus on rebuilding what his pa had squandered. He should have resented her, but nothing in his actions spoke of bitterness.
Sterling had kissed her three times that morning. Three times. Sure, the last one had been quick, but there had definitely been a lingering quality to the first two. She pressed her fingers against her lips, recalling the warm pressure of his touch.
Her mind spun. Surely he was simply demonstrating the charm she’d teased him about? As she pondered the question, Irene approached and gave her a quick hug.
“Let me hold Gracie.” She held out her arms. “I’ve missed the two of you this week.”
Irene was a few years older than Heather and wore her dark hair in a braided coil at the nape of her neck. Her emerald shirtwaist brought out the green in her eyes, and her full skirts nipped in at her slim waist.
A rush of pleasure passed through Heather. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed having a friend. “Be careful. She’s ornery today.”
“With a couple of boys, I know ornery.” Gracie eyed her new caregiver with a hint of suspicion before settling into her arms. “Come and have some lemonade. I’ve made a cake too.”
Irene made a point of stopping and talking with several people on her way to the dessert table, and Heather’s eyes burned.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Irene assumed an air of innocence. “For what?”
“For showing everyone that it’s okay to speak with me.”
“‘Let he who is without sin cast the first stone,’” Irene quoted. “Everyone always seems to forget that Bible verse when there’s a juicy piece of gossip.”
Mrs. Carlyle stopped and tweaked the lace edge of Grace’s bonnet. “She’s a darling. She looks just like you.”
Heather’s cheeks flamed, and Irene quickly whisked them away. “Don’t mind her. I honestly think she’s trying to be polite.”
“I hope so.”
They sipped lemonade and Heather shared a piece of chocolate cake with Grace, being careful to wipe the frosting from the little girl’s face and hands before she ruined her best dress. She hadn’t anticipated the isolation of living on the ranch away from town. She’d always been a town girl, surrounded by people and within walking distance of the nearest neighbor. The solitude forced her into contact with Sterling, and he had a way of muddling her thoughts just by flashing one of his endearing half smiles.
However, in the church community room, with talk and laughter swirling around her, she forgot her concerns for the moment.
“Where is the rest of your family?” Heather asked.
“Recovering from the influenza.” Irene grimaced. “I had to escape the house, even if for a few hours. Mr. Forester has a fever, but you’d think he has the plague the way he carries on. The boys are on the mend, but I didn’t want to risk making anyone else sick.”
“Let me know if there’s anything I can do,” Heather said, instantly concerned. “You must be exhausted.”
“Oh, don’t worry about me. I’ve been through this plenty of times.” Irene glanced around. “How are you getting along?”
Heather toyed with the lace on her sleeve cuff. “Fine.”
“Everyone is adjusting to the changes?”
“I think so. Sterling never seems to get annoyed, but I can’t tell if we’re bothering him or not.”
“I think you’re bothering him, all right. He can’t stop looking over here.”
Heather glanced over her shoulder and their gazes clashed. Sterling lifted his glass of lemonade in salute, and she smiled shyly before turning away.
“He’s the same with everyone,” Heather said. “He’s always handy with a compliment.”
“Maybe. But the way he’s hovering, I think you’re special.”
Heather’s stomach did a tumble. She wasn’t special. She didn’t want these feelings she was having. She wanted things to stay the way they were. Falling in love meant the risk of falling out of love, and she couldn’t bear that. Not with Sterling. She didn’t want to be on the losing end of love yet again.
“It’s odd,” Irene said. “I’m surprised Dillon hasn’t returned. I know he had his differences with his pa, but he and Sterling always got along. Have you heard from him?”
“Seamus delivered a telegram this morning. He’s been delayed. Indefinitely. I think Sterling is worried. He never says anything, but there’s just something about his face when I catch him unaware.”
“My husband is worried, as well. He and Dillon grew up together. We used to receive letters now and again. Dillon was never much for writing, but he’d let us know when he was assigned to a new unit. We haven’t heard a word from him in ages.”
Unease skittered along Heather’s spine. She’d been so busy with her own concerns, she hadn’t dwelt on Dillon’s absence.
Sterling approached them and tipped his hat in greeting. “You two look far too serious for such a lovely afternoon.”
A guilty flush heated Heather’s cheeks. “Let me know when you’re ready to leave.” There were only a few light afternoon chores to be done on a Sunday, and the men were no doubt eager to relax. “I’ll say my goodbyes.”
“Take your time.” He turned and inclined his head. “My compliments on the chocolate cake, Mrs. Forester. Do I recognize your grandmother’s recipe?”
“Why, yes. As matter fact, that is her recipe. I had no idea you remembered.”
He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “No offense to your grandmother, but I like your version better. What’s your secret?”
Irene smothered a giggle. “A little coffee in the batter. Brings out the flavor of the chocolate.”
“Delicious.” He reached for Gracie. “I need to introduce my best girl to a few people. Do you mind?”
“Not at all.”
Gracie eagerly accepted the change of partner. Sterling set her on her feet and leaned over her, clasping each of her hands in his own. She walked before him, her face alight.
Irene heaved a sigh. “That man could charm the stripe off a skunk.”
“He most certainly could.” Heather followed their progress as he worked the room. There really was no other way to describe him, watching how he made the rounds. He stopped and offered greetings and compliments, asking questions and keeping Gracie entertained while he listened to the answers.
“He’s a lot like his ma,” Irene said. “But there’s plenty of his pa in him, as well.”
Heather hadn’t known Mr. Blackwell very well, but what she did know didn’t match any part of Sterling’s personality. “How do you mean?”
She hungered to know more about his life growing up. She’d learned precious little from Dillon. The more time she spent with Sterling, the more she wanted to know about him. About his life and about his childhood. Her knowledge was based on snippets of conversation she’d heard over the years, and suddenly those little snippets of information weren’t enough.
Irene grew thoughtful. “Mr. Blackwell was two different people. I’d see him with my parents, but I also saw him with Dillon and Sterling. He was always a showman and a charming storyteller, but I saw the way he treated those boys. Dillon took the worst of his temper. It was like he was trying to drain the soul out of that boy.”
“Sterling said as much.”
The thought of cruelty toward him squeezed her emotions.
“Sterling was always trying to step between those two. That’s where he’s a lot like his ma. I don’t think she was e
ver very happy living here, but Sterling would joke with her, and pretty soon she’d have a smile on her face. I think that boy held himself responsible for her happiness. Getting away from their pa was the best thing those boys ever did for themselves, and I don’t feel a bit guilty for speaking ill of the dead.” Irene’s eyes flashed, and she smoothed a hand over her hair. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t go on like this.”
“Sterling encouraged Dillon to join the cavalry,” Heather said. “I think that’s part of the reason he’s worried about Dillon. He feels responsible.”
“That sounds like Sterling. I’ll tell you this much—Dillon never did anything he didn’t want to do. I’ve never met a more stubborn man. If Sterling talked him into something, it was something he already wanted to do. You remember what he was like.”
“To be honest, I didn’t know Dillon at all. He was brooding and quiet, and I suppose there was a part of me that thought I could save him.”
Irene laughed. “Isn’t that always the way with us women? We’ll pass up a perfectly nice fellow for a chance to reform a rogue. Why do you suppose that is? Sometimes I think we want a project more than a man.”
Her words resonated with Heather. Having a project made her feel valuable and useful. As a person with a natural affinity for solving problems, she’d been intoxicated by the challenge Dillon offered. With Sterling she felt about as useful as a glass hammer. He had his pick of women. He didn’t need her.
Most of the congregation had finished their desserts and gone home, and only about a dozen people remained. Lost in thought, Heather lingered.
Irene grew serious. She covered her mouth with her hand, then let her arm drop to her side. “I can’t abide by gossip, but I think there’s something you should know. I’ve been fretting all morning about whether or not to say anything, and I’ve made up my mind.”
Heather’s ears buzzed in nervous anticipation. “What?”
“Someone has been spreading rumors.” Heather started to speak, and Irene placed her hand on her arm.
“Not simply rumors. This is worse. These are lies. Plain and simple.”
“Like what?” Heather asked, bewildered.
Given her circumstances, there was enough for folks to talk about without resorting to lies.
“That you’re spending all of Sterling’s money at the general store. That you’ve bought new curtains and ordered new furniture.”
Irene didn’t expand on her thought, but the implication was obvious: Heather had somehow trapped Sterling into marriage for his money.
Heather’s glance flicked toward Sterling and Gracie. “I haven’t done anything of the sort. Well, I did change out the curtains in the parlor, but those were mine. I thought they’d make me feel more at home.”
“Tom from the general store gave Mrs. Dawson a dressing down when she mentioned something in front of him.”
“He’s just a boy.” Heather’s stomach dropped. “He shouldn’t be facing down gossip for me.”
It was bad enough the rumors were taking hold, but now her friends were being forced to defend her.
“He’s a nice boy who’s sweet on his teacher. He can’t help but defend you.”
“Why would someone say those things?”
“I’m going to find the source,” Irene replied, her stern voice resolute. “That will tell us how to handle the problem.”
“Surely it’s Mrs. Dawson. You know how much she enjoys a good story.”
Irene shook her head. “Mrs. Dawson enjoys repeating the news of the day, but I’ve never known her to make up tales this outrageous. She doesn’t have the imagination. This particular campaign of lies is far too personal. I told you because I want you to be on your guard. Sterling needs to know what’s happening. The Blackwells have an enemy, and this particular enemy is not fighting fair.”
Heather shivered. As though drawn to her, Sterling approached. “Someone is getting sleepy.”
Gracie’s eyelids drooped, and even from her limited experience, Heather knew a temper tantrum was soon to follow if they didn’t leave quickly.
“Thank you, Irene,” Heather said pointedly. “For everything.”
“If you need anything, you let me know. We ladies have to stick together.”
She and Sterling said their goodbyes and joined the rest of the crew, who were waiting at the wagon.
Sterling gazed at Gracie, his expression adoring. “She’s precious when she sleeps.”
“Yes.” Heather’s heart did that odd flip once more. She studied his strong profile, fascinated by the way his hair curled over his ear. He whistled a melancholy tune, the lonesome sound penetrating her troubled thoughts.
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
He brushed a stray wisp of hair from her forehead. “How could anything be wrong on a day as beautiful as today?”
Her heart clattered in turmoil. The day was as gray and worn as an ancient union suit, and the weight of her decision weighed heavy on her. She’d chosen her own happiness over his. She’d talked him into marrying her because he was a kind man, and she’d known he’d do the right thing if she pressed him. He carried the burden of his responsibilities alone, never complaining or pining for something different. He deserved better.
Her throat worked.
He deserved happiness, but somewhere along the line, one of them had made an enemy, and that enemy was now hiding in the shadows.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Otto had been right in his predictions about the snow, just a few days later than he’d thought. Around midafternoon the following week, thick flakes began falling from the sky. Two inches fell in under two hours, blanketing the hills with a pristine white mantle.
Heather took advantage of being trapped indoors and spent the afternoon baking a cake.
She practiced blocks with Gracie, showing her letters and naming the colors. They built a tower and knocked it down again. After she put the child down for a nap, she slipped on her coat and boots.
Though Sterling rarely ate supper with them, the cozy weather had made her lonely for company, and she was hoping to lure him to dinner with the promise of a cake.
She tramped through the snow and paused at the crest of the hill. The house was perfectly situated in the foothills, overlooking the valley with a stream winding through the center of the property. The scraggly hemlocks and knots of tangled chokeberry were frosted with sparkling crystals.
By the time she reached the barn, her toes were frozen and her enchantment with the weather had faded. Once inside the barn, she stomped her feet and shook the flakes from her hat.
Two of the ranch hands glanced up and did a double take. The four men and Otto were seated around the potbellied stove with their feet up. Otto discreetly nudged an opaque bottle behind a hay bale with his toe, and she pretended not to notice. The day was too cold and blustery for any work. The men were simply enjoying some downtime.
Otto sprang to his feet. “What brings you out in this weather?”
“I was hoping to speak with Sterling.”
Otto and Price exchanged an uneasy glance. “He’s not in the house?”
“No. I just came from there.”
“Price, check for his horse,” Otto ordered. “I’m real sorry, Mrs. Blackwell. He went to the Hendersons this morning. I thought for certain he’d be back by now.”
“But that’s nearly five miles. He went all that way in this weather?”
“It wasn’t snowing when he left.”
“Should we look for him?”
“Nah.” Otto waved a hand. “He’ll be fine. He probably saw the weather coming and decided to stay the night.”
The rest of the men chimed in with their agreement. Price confirmed that Sterling’s horse wasn’t in the stall, and she trudged back to the house. She checked on Gr
acie and discovered her sleeping soundly, her arms askew, the blankets kicked free. After securely tucking the covers over the child once more, she started down the kitchen stairs and paused, then made her way back up again. Sterling had left her some laundry, but she recalled his room from before, and knew there was a pile left.
Out of respect for Sterling’s privacy, she normally steered clear of this area of the house. She passed through her room and stepped onto the landing. Pushing open the door, she peered into his chamber. A basket brimming with clothing sat in the corner, and she hoisted the heavy load into her arms.
His room was masculine and bare, with little more than a bed and dresser and a few drawings tacked to the walls. Setting down the basket, she studied the pencil drawings of the ranch. The intricate details and shading were stunning. His talent was evident, and she lingered over each picture in turn. There were no people in the sketched drawings, nothing personal. They were beautiful and yet oddly cold. A shiver went through her, and she wrapped her arms around her body. She was being ridiculous; they were just pictures.
Balancing the basket on her hip she scooted down the stairs. Several of the shirts needed soaking, and she started them in the tub in the kitchen while she dusted. After finishing her side of the house, she dusted her way through the foyer and into the dining room.
While the parlor was decidedly feminine, the dining room was a purely masculine domain filled with dark wood furniture, aged leather chairs and stacks of dusty ledgers. She caught her lower lip between her teeth and glanced behind her. Numbers had always been a particular hobby of hers. There was something immensely satisfying about reconciling a column of numbers.
She flipped open the top ledger and thumbed through the pages. The same distinct handwriting filled in column after column until the last two months, when Sterling had taken over the accounting after his father’s death.
The negative balance at the bottom of the page was like a physical blow. With a gasp, she slammed the book shut. No wonder Otto had warned her about spending money. Her hands trembling, she flipped back through the pages. The decline in revenue carried from column to column in nauseating succession.