A breeze carrying the scent of fresh rain played through her curls and she wrapped her arms around herself. Mornings like this one with perfect quiet made her feel closer to God.
Her heart stretched toward her Maker with a wordless prayer. Everything seemed possible at sunrise, before her misgivings had a chance to take hold. In the early morning, Eloise felt clean and brand-new.
A swarm of sparrows danced through the sky in a choreographed ball of fluttering wings, rising up from a bunch of trees, the whole group swaying one way, then another as they moved on in search of food.
She couldn’t help remembering the sparrows of the Bible:
Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing? and one of them shall not fall on the ground without your Father... Fear ye not therefore, ye are of more value than many sparrows.
The birds rose again and moved like drops of watercolor, slipping across the sky, a vast form of fluttering life. A feeling of peace swept over her. Her life had been turned upside down over the past couple of years, but she wasn’t out of His hand.
Behind Eloise, the front door opened and she turned. Cory stood in the doorway in jeans and a white T-shirt, his feet bare. He held two steaming mugs.
“Am I disturbing you?” he asked.
“Not if that’s coffee,” she said with a grin.
He stepped outside and handed her a mug. “Mind if I join you?”
Eloise scooted over to give him space, and he sank onto the bench next to her, his arm touching hers. He rested his elbows on his knees, his coffee cup dwarfed between his broad palms.
“I love dawn,” she said softly. “Your dad won’t wake up for another couple of hours, and this is time I get to myself.”
“I am intruding, aren’t I?” His dark gaze met hers, and a smile curved one side of his mouth.
“No.” She chuckled. “It’s okay. I can share dawn with you.”
“I like sunrises, too,” Cory said. “It’s a quiet time before the work starts.” He nodded to the pad of paper in her lap. “Writing?”
“Drawing. It’s relaxing.”
“What are you drawing this morning?”
Eloise briefly considered keeping her work private, then dismissed it. She opened the pad to her most recent page, the sketches still rough, but getting closer to her intention.
“May I?” Cory asked, and when she nodded, he took the pages from her hands and looked at them more closely. He looked over at her, respect in his eyes. “It’s me.”
Eloise looked down. “I told you I wanted to draw your eyes.”
“I know.” His tone was soft and he turned his attention back to the page. “The lines around my eyes, this scar on my eyebrow...”
She nodded. “I’m flattered that you recognized yourself.”
“You’re really good.”
“It’s just a hobby.”
He shook his head. “No, it’s more than that.”
“An outlet.”
“That’s probably closer to the truth.” Cory looked at the page thoughtfully. “My eyes—is this what you see?”
“I think about your hands, too,” Eloise replied. “I wanted to try your eyes because they say so much. If I could capture any part of you, I thought it would be your eyes.”
A playful smile teased the corners of his lips. “I could say something cheesy about you being able to capture my heart.”
Eloise laughed out loud.
“So, what about the rest of the ranch? Does it make you want to paint?”
“It does.” She paused, then laughed softly. “I have to admit, I’ve been out of my element here. It’s a bit embarrassing.”
“You’re not that bad.”
She shot him an incredulous look. “Liar. But I appreciate the effort.” She let her eyes roam over the pastoral scene before her. “But this morning, looking out on all of this, I see something different. It’s more than beautiful, it’s—” she cast about looking for a way to describe the hopeful lift in her heart “—closer to God, somehow.”
“I feel that way, too.” He took a sip of coffee. “When I was a kid, I used to come out here and look out on this same scene during the summers. It was different then. More seemed possible.” He glanced at her uncertainly. “Do you know what I mean?”
She nodded. “I get it.”
“I used to think about what my life would be when I grew up. I wanted a horse and a wife. In that order.”
Eloise grinned. “You had your priorities.”
He smiled. “I was twelve. Maybe thirteen. The horse really did seem more important then.”
“And a wife?” she asked. “What kind of wife did you want?”
“A pretty one, who could fix a car.”
She tipped her head to the side. “A tall order, but you could probably find her.”
“I’ve changed my mind about the mechanic part.” Cory chuckled. “What about you? What kind of guy did you dream about marrying when you were a kid?”
“I wanted to marry a man who wore a suit to work and brought home flowers.” Her mind went back to her girlhood fantasies. “Philip did those things. It wasn’t enough.”
“So how flexible are you about that suit?” he asked, teasing in his eye.
“I could live without it.”
Silence stretched between them, the warmth of his arm next to hers so comforting that Eloise leaned against him, enjoying his strength. Cory shifted his weight and slid his arm around her, pulling her against his side.
Dare she get used to this—a handsome guy bringing her coffee and holding her close?
“I have to say, you surprised me yesterday.”
“Oh?” She glanced up at him.
“I never expected you to go out after a calf.”
“I couldn’t very well leave it out there.”
Cory nodded slowly. “You’ve got some country in you after all.”
Eloise laughed softly. “I’m not some little weakling, you know.”
“Didn’t say you were.”
“But you were thinking it.” She glanced up teasingly.
He shrugged. “Maybe. But you’ve proven me wrong, that’s for sure. Now if I could just get you back on a horse.”
“Not going to happen,” Eloise responded. “How’s your arm?”
“It’s fine.”
“Sore?” she asked.
“Not that I’ll admit to.”
Eloise shook her head. “I’ve reconsidered since last night. I think it might need stitches.”
“It’ll be fine.”
“The scar will be worse without them,” she warned.
He laughed, the sound low and warm. “Since when do I look afraid of a few scars?”
“We’re all afraid of scars,” she replied softly.
“Are you?”
Eloise nodded slowly. “Definitely.”
Cory picked up the pad of drawing paper once more and flipped through the pages. The silence was peppered with the morning calls of birds.
“You’re tougher than you think, Eloise.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“You stayed on the back of a runaway horse. You plowed through a storm to find a calf. You take care of my ornery old father every single day.”
“Tough, maybe,” she agreed. “But strength is something different.”
“How so?” He shifted to face her and brushed a curl away from her cheek with the back of a finger.
“Strength is more graceful,” she said. “It’s more beautiful. Toughness is filled with scars and desperation.”
“I beg to differ.” Cory’s voice stayed low and he brushed his finger over her cheek again, his dark gaze enveloping hers. “You’re gorgeous.”
Eloise laughed s
oftly and dropped her gaze to the drawing pad in her lap. “You’re a sweet talker.”
“I’m honest.”
Eloise pushed herself forward to stand up. “I should probably—”
Cory leaned forward at the same time, and they both froze, their faces only a whisper apart. She swallowed, her breath catching in her throat. His warm breath tickled her face.
“I should probably...” she murmured again.
“Yeah.” He didn’t move away, though. “Me, too.”
“I...” She stopped trying to articulate anything and hesitantly looked into his dark, gentle eyes. Then his lips came down onto hers, and her eyes fluttered shut. For a moment, everything but the two of them seemed to evaporate, and Eloise felt a deep longing inside.
She wanted this. She wanted love and passion, kisses as the sun rose, basking together in the pink clouds of a new day. She wanted to be held, to have someone think about her during the day—she wanted all of it. When Cory pulled back, she blinked open her eyes to find him looking down into her face, a smile on his lips.
As Eloise looked into his ruggedly handsome face, the morning stubble on his chin and the lines around his eyes, she suddenly felt a flare of uncertainty. She swallowed hard and looked away, struggling to control her emotions.
“Are you okay?” Cory asked, worry edging his tone.
“This is exactly what I want, but I’m still afraid to trust someone,” she admitted.
“I’m not like your ex, you know,” he said quietly. “I wouldn’t hurt you.”
She shook her head sadly. “I didn’t think he would, either.”
Cory eased away from her, giving her space. “Okay.”
“Are we still friends?” she asked tentatively.
“Of course.” He rose to his feet and met her gaze for a long moment as if he were contemplating something, then stepped toward the front door of the house. His broad shoulders blocked out the rising sun behind him so that he showed a tall, muscular silhouette. “I’d better get to work.”
She nodded.
“Hey.”
She met his gaze again and he said, “I meant it. I’m not.”
Cory didn’t wait for her to answer but opened the door and stepped inside, leaving her alone in the cool morning breeze that smelled of rain, grass and moist earth.
* * *
Cory tossed a coil of rope into the back of his pickup and hopped into the driver’s seat.
“What was I thinking?” he muttered angrily to himself. “Lord, I’m failing at this—”
He slammed the truck into first gear and pulled out onto the twisting gravel road. He was absolutely blowing it. He was supposed to be keeping his distance, so what was he doing kissing her? Since when was that part of the plan?
But he had to admit that it felt amazing. She’d been so close, so open and sweet...
“Doesn’t matter. She’s not mine to kiss.”
Truth be told, he was lonely. He’d buried his desire for a wife when Deirdre walked out on him, but lately, Eloise had awakened those old longings for a woman in his life, a wife with whom he could share this land.
She doesn’t want this any more than Deirdre did, he reminded himself. His truck rounded the corner to Zack and Nora’s little house where Zack stood on the porch, waiting for him. He passed his coffee mug to Nora and leaned over to give her kiss.
“You’re late!” Zack called good-naturedly.
“I know. Sorry.”
Zack walked over and pulled open the passenger-side door. “Nice morning, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.”
He stepped on the gas and they eased back onto the gravel road that led toward the barn.
“So how are you liking having a woman in the house?” Zack teased.
Cory shot his friend an irritated glare. He might be getting hung up on a pretty redhead, but it was the same story all over again—Cory Stone falling for the woman who wanted the opposite of everything he had to offer.
“Whoa. Sorry, man. Just joking around.” Zack put his hands up.
“I’m not in the mood,” Cory said.
“Why not? What happened?”
Cory eased to a stop in front of the barn and turned off the engine. “I kissed her.”
“Really, now.” Zack’s eyebrows shot up. “This sounds like a good thing.”
“Nope, it was a stupid thing,” Cory replied, pushing open the door and hopping out.
“Why?” Zack demanded, slamming his door shut and following Cory to the barn door.
Cory tipped his hat back on his head and slapped his gloves irritably across his thigh. “Because now I want to do it again.”
Chapter Fourteen
“Are you ready to sleep, Robert?” Eloise asked cheerfully, closing the curtains against the sunlight. She’d just cleaned up the last of their dishes from lunch, and her patient was quickly wilting.
“I could sleep.” His voice was weak.
Eloise took out his medication chart and checked her watch. As she put his pills into a paper cup, the old man heaved a sigh.
“I need to scatter Ruth.”
“I know.” She opened the last pill bottle and double-checked the dosage.
“Red...” His voice was soft, rousing Eloise from the pills.
“Yes, Robert?”
“I mean it. It needs to happen. Soon.”
Eloise sank down to the bed beside him. “I’ll talk to your son.”
He nodded weakly. “I might not have been good to anyone else in my life, but I want to do right by Ruth.”
“Sir, you’ve done right by me,” Eloise said softly.
“Have I?” He looked doubtful.
She nodded. “You give me hope.”
“For what?”
“For the kind of love you had with Ruth. My marriage fell apart, but you two had something that was stronger. You had your struggles, but you made it. That’s the goal, isn’t it?”
The old man sighed. “Well, I’ll have a lot of explaining to do when I get to heaven, I imagine.”
“Let me talk to Cory. As soon as he comes back, I’ll bring it up. I promise.”
Mr. Bessler nodded and reached toward the urn on the bedside table. Eloise put it in his hands, and his bony fingers wrapped around the metal container. He closed his eyes and heaved a sigh.
He’s close to the end.
She knew by instinct, and she blinked back a mist of tears.
If nothing else, Mr. Bessler was a prime example of a man in love, even after death had parted him from his wife. That was something extraordinary.
* * *
That evening, after a long day out in the fields, Cory came back in, his muscles aching. He’d been avoiding the house today, mostly out of embarrassment. By kissing Eloise, he had crossed a line, big-time.
He stood at the counter and put together a sandwich, then stayed there to eat it, not bothering to move to the table. It tasted better than Cory thought it would, and he took big, jaw-cracking bites, fresh bread and meat mingling with the tang of condiments. He bit into a crisp pickle and chewed thoughtfully.
Help me to settle this honorably, Father. I don’t want to be that guy.
Finishing the sandwich, he put the plate in the sink.
“I’d better go do this,” he muttered. Putting it off would only make things worse.
Heading down the hallway, he stopped at the library door. Light shone warmly from within, and when he tapped lightly on the door, Eloise’s soft voice called, “Come in.”
Cory pushed open the door. Eloise sat in a leather chair, a book open in her lap. She smiled across the room at him, her green eyes glittering in the lamplight.
“Hi,” he said sheepishly, stepping into the room. “How w
as your day?”
“Not bad,” she said. “I promised your father, though, that I’d set a time to scatter his wife’s ashes.”
“Of course.” Cory cleared his throat. “We can do it in the morning.”
“He’ll be relieved. It’s the last thing he wants to do before—” She stopped, winced.
He walked farther into the room. “I actually wanted to apologize to you.”
“For what?”
“That kiss.”
Eloise’s cheeks turned pink, and she looked away.
“I shouldn’t have kissed you.” His voice stayed low. “It wasn’t your fault. It was all me.”
“No, no,” she replied, shutting the book and putting it aside. “It’s just complicated—we should probably be careful, feeling the way we do.”
That was the first time Eloise had mentioned feeling anything for him, and he found a spark of hope igniting deep inside.
“How do we feel?” Cory asked, his dark gaze meeting hers.
“Attracted to each other?” She arched an eyebrow elegantly. “That kiss wasn’t just you, Cory. I take responsibility, too.”
He felt the heat rising in his own face, and he chuckled softly. “Okay. So we’re both feeling something.”
“Let’s just be careful,” she repeated. “Maybe less time alone together would be good for us, and if we are alone, let’s try to keep things—” she cleared her throat “—friendly. Nothing more.”
“Agreed.”
Eloise nodded, as if that resolved the issue, and he heaved a tired sigh.
“It’s been a long day,” Cory said. “Maybe I’ll just grab a book and head off to bed.”
He strode over to the bookshelf and scanned the titles for something relaxing. At the end of a row, he noticed a narrow tin box slipped in at the end of the books. It was the size of a hard-cover novel, so it didn’t stand out.
That’s weird, he thought, and tugged it free and tried the latch. It was obvious the tin hadn’t been opened in a long time—it was difficult to open. He pried off the lid and pulled out a bundle of envelopes, yellowed with age, and frowned.
“What did you find?” Eloise asked.
“Letters, it looks like.” He turned them over in his big hands.
“Whose?”
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