by Karen Kirst
“I’ll make it quick, then.”
As soon as the Dane reached them, the trio moved off by themselves. Alice turned to Evelyn with an apologetic smile. “I’m learning there are many issues involved with the establishment of a prairie town. They shouldn’t be long. In the meantime, I’d like for you to meet a friend of mine.” Drawing the young woman to her side, she said, “This is Winona Eaglefeather. And this handsome young man is her nephew, Dakota.”
“Hello, I’m Evelyn Montgomery.”
Winona smiled shyly. Outfitted in a print dress the color of orange blossoms, the statuesque beauty wore her coal-black hair in two thick braids that hung past her shoulders. She must be Cheyenne. There was a reservation not far from Brave Rock.
“Nice to meet you,” she carefully enunciated each word, her musical voice heavily accented.
“Because Lars is fluent in Cheyenne, he is teaching Winona English,” Alice supplied.
Winona’s expressive obsidian eyes flicked to the big blond man. Admiration stirred in the dark depths. “He is very good man.”
“I wish you could’ve met his sister, Katrine, today. She has become a particular friend of mine,” Alice said. The breeze tugged a stray curl across her mouth, and she deftly dislodged it. “Maybe next week.”
Evelyn wasn’t sure she’d be back. For one thing, she was risking her brothers’ ire by coming here. For another, she felt out of place. These were Gideon’s friends. No telling what they must think of her, despite their friendly manner.
Winona held out her open palm. A shiny red bead flashed there. “May I?” Her gaze slid to Walt, still hunkered in the wagon bed with his toys.
She agreed with some surprise. “He’ll like that. Thank you.”
Winona moved with effortless grace to the wagon’s side and spoke softly to Walt. She held out her hand. Evelyn and Alice watched his face light up at the unexpected treat.
“You’re welcome to join us for lunch.” Alice waved a fan in front of her face. A misty sheen brought on by the overhead sun enhanced her peaches-and-cream complexion. “The Excelsior cast iron stove Elijah ordered arrived last week, and I’ve been breaking it in every chance I get. How does pot roast with all the trimmings sound?”
How she missed cooking on a real stove! Reid had ordered one from the mercantile, as well. She wondered if it had arrived. “Delicious. However, I’m not sure Gideon would want to stay.”
“Stay for what?” his deep voice sounded at her right shoulder. Close. He was too close. Had that mesmerizing voice whispered words of love to his bride? Suppressing a shiver, she was stunned to recognize a seed of envy sprouting in her heart. Absurd! She wanted nothing from this man but to be left alone on her claim.
“I was asking Evelyn if she’d like to have lunch with us.”
Gideon paused a moment, then said, “I appreciate the invitation. Maybe another time.”
Relieved he’d declined—really, how comfortable could a meal with the Thornton clan and their friends be?—she murmured her goodbyes.
One Thornton was about all she could handle, and even that was stretching it. Right now she needed a bit of distance from this troublesome cowboy. Maybe then her good judgment would be restored.
Chapter Ten
“Mmm. This fried chicken rivals my momma’s.” Across the table, Evelyn tucked into a mound of green beans with gusto. “She was one of the best cooks in the county.”
Gideon chewed on a buttery roll and marveled at how he’d ended up in Brave Rock’s only café with her. He’d fully intended on rushing straight home so he could ditch the widow and work out some of his frustration on the nearly finished stable. The smell of fried chicken wafting down Main Street had proved impossible to resist. That and the man-sized growl that had sprung up from Evelyn’s midsection.
Recalling her look of horror, he took a sip of coffee to hide a smile. The sturdy cup in his hand sparkled, as did the silverware and serviceable white dishes. Everything in Molly Murphy’s café was brand-new—red gingham curtains hung at the windows overlooking Main Street and wooden tables filled the space, a jar of perky orange blossoms on each one—a far cry from the dirt-floor tent restaurant she’d operated over in Boomer Town. Hers had been the second establishment to open in Brave Rock, right after the mercantile. Business remained steady due to the simple, stick-to-your-ribs meals the Irish woman served up.
“Eat your carrots, Walt,” Evelyn advised. When he wrinkled his nose in disgust, she looked at Gideon. “Were you a picky eater when you were a boy?”
“Couldn’t afford to be. We were lucky to get what we got and Obadiah never let us forget it.”
Her brows collided. “He doesn’t sound like a very nice man.”
“Nice is not a word I’d use to describe him, no.” He sipped more of the fragrant brew. “Cousin Philomena tried to make our stay more tolerable whenever she could.”
Her fork tines hovered above mashed potatoes and gravy. He noticed she ate all of one item before moving on to the next. “Your stay? You make it sound like a brief holiday gone wrong. Your father’s cousins were your caretakers after he died, right?”
He grimaced. How had he gotten drawn into this conversation? Evelyn talked. A lot. But it wasn’t frivolous or even annoying. Oh, no, he found he enjoyed listening to her. She was intelligent and witty and, despite her problems, optimistic. Her chatter was the only thing currently preventing Lije’s disturbing message from echoing in his brain.
“Let’s just say my brothers and I were eager to strike out on our own.” They had, too, the very day Lije turned eighteen. Occasionally, he wrote to Philomena to let her know how they were doing, an acknowledgment for her small kindnesses.
“So you returned to Thornton Hall.”
“Not immediately. We found work in Pennsylvania. Lived in a boarding house for a few years before deciding to return to Virginia.”
What a catastrophe that had turned out to be. The truth of that was reflected in her big brown eyes, the tightening of her lips. Back then, it had felt like the town against the Thornton brothers, the Chaucers leading the charge. Theodore in particular had refused to let them be. He’d hunted trouble at every opportunity until, on the night of their altercation, he’d found it in the form of a broken nose.
Ready to halt the trip down memory lane, he asked, “Do you miss Virginia?”
Evelyn stopped midchew. Eyes narrowed, she studied him as if to gauge what had prompted the inquiry.
“Yes, actually, I do. I miss the green, lush neighborhoods, the trees everywhere, the hills and mountains.” She glanced out the window and frowned. “Here it’s so flat and there aren’t as many trees. It’s pretty in its own way, I suppose, but I’m finding it difficult to get used to.”
“You must miss your friends.” Evelyn was a social person. Unlike him, she seemed to crave companionship.
“I do. I miss my church most of all. The people there were like an extended family. We supported and encouraged one another. I’ve made a couple of acquaintances here, but it’s not the same.”
“Seems to me Alice would make a good friend. You should give her a chance.”
“You’re forgetting she’s in the enemy camp along with you and your brothers.”
Old contentions leaped to life in her eyes, and he despised her for refusing to see the truth. What about her admission that she was experiencing doubts about him and the issue of the stake? Clearly they weren’t very strong doubts. She still saw him as the adversary.
“That’s your loss, then, isn’t it?” Tossing his napkin on his plate, he leveled a glare at her. “You’re a grown woman. Maybe it’s time you form your own opinions instead of letting your brothers do it for you.”
Leaving her to fume, he wove his way through the crowded tables to find the waitress and settle the bill. Then he strode out the door
, ruing the day her life collided with his.
* * *
Evelyn was putting the finishing touches on a sketch of a viceroy butterfly—she’d sat very still as it drank its fill of nectar from a nearby bloom, getting as many details as possible on paper before it flitted off—when a shadow fell over her. Recognizing Gideon’s manly scent, she snapped the album closed. No one was allowed to see her drawings. The inevitable criticism would not only steal the joy drawing gave her, but it would make her question her skill. It was enough that she was satisfied with her work.
Gathering her pencils, she risked a glance upward. Gideon had steered clear of her the past two days, ever since he’d abandoned her and Walt at the café. Well, he hadn’t exactly abandoned them. He’d waited to give them a ride, which had turned out to be one of the longest, most uncomfortable moments in his presence to date. She’d been hurt by his insinuations. Her desire to rail at him was kept in check only by the memories of his turmoil during and after the service. While she’d battled to keep her mouth firmly closed, he’d acted as if she didn’t exist, as if she weren’t sitting right there beside him on the swaying seat.
She’d revisited their exchange multiple times since then, continually snagging on the stunning revelation: he’d had a family. Certainly he’d had a wife. What about children? Her stomach did an odd little clench at the image of the big brawny cowboy cradling an infant to his broad chest. He’d accused God of not saving his family. The deep-seated sorrow on his handsome face warned her something terrible had happened.
Gauging by his expression now shadowed by his hat’s brim, the frost had yet to thaw.
“Can I help you?”
She refused to acknowledge her heart’s quickstep in response to the way his periwinkle shirt made his skin appear more golden, his eyes a striking gray, his hair a shinier brown. And she would be foolish to notice how his thick biceps strained the sleeves and the soft cotton molded to his muscular chest.
His glacial gaze flicked to Walt, who was curled up asleep on a blanket, hand tucked beneath this cheek. Lion stretched out nearby, lazy in the warm afternoon sunshine.
“It’s time to pack your things.”
Evelyn shook her head, certain she hadn’t heard correctly. “What did you say?”
“I’ll be glad to help you. Just point me to what you want moved first.” He waved a hand to indicate the various trunks piled beside their tent. He was dead serious.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she huffed, scrambling to her feet, album pressed to her heaving chest. How dare he? “I’m not going anywhere, Gideon Thornton.” She poked him in the chest. “Nothing has been decided. Where do you get off ordering me off this land? You’re touched in the head if you think I’ll jump to do your bidding!”
Gideon’s impassivity and cool stare infuriated her, made her itch to shake him.
“Are you done?” he intoned.
“No, I am most certainly not done—”
When she went to poke him again, his large hand seized hers and held it captive. “Would you be quiet and listen?”
Knowing it was fruitless to try to wrench free of his hold, she stilled, leveling the full force of her ire at him in a stinging glare.
“You and Walt are moving into the tack room for the time being.”
“The tack room?”
With the help of his brother Clint, he’d finished the roof late yesterday evening and this morning had attached double sliding doors to the stable’s entrance.
His grip loosened a fraction, the smooth heat of his palm almost a caress, scrambling her thoughts. What was that about the tack room?
“It’s not the finest of accommodations, I know, but it’ll be a roof over your heads. You’ll have privacy and protection from the elements.”
“I thought you were moving in there.” She’d overheard him and Lars Brinkerhoff talking about it.
“I’m fine where I’m at.” Shrugging, he released her and moved to stand beside the tent, fingers poised above the buttons. “How about I dismantle this so that you can gather your bedding?”
“I don’t understand.” Arms folded over her album, held against her chest like a shield, she met his unflinching gaze. “Why are you doing this for us?”
“For the boy,” he corrected. “I’m doing it for Walt.”
He’d said something similar the day he brought Petra to her. The distinction stung a little. “You didn’t answer my question.”
His chest rose and fell in a steadying breath. “Do I have to have a reason? Besides, I’m sure you’ll pin your own meaning to it, no matter what I say.”
Turning his attention to the row of buttons on the tent, he effectively dismissed her. Apparently she wasn’t going to get an answer. Do you deserve one? a voice wheedled. How would you feel if you were in his position?
Tucking her album into the trunk containing her books and writing implements, she woke Walt and explained what was happening. The idea of sleeping in the stable with horses didn’t strike him as unconventional. He was downright giddy with joy.
Evelyn caught Gideon watching Walt bouncing on his toes, an affectionate smile softening his austere features. He genuinely likes my son, she thought, stunned, and cares about his well-being. Her heart expanded until it felt too big for her chest. The salty taste of tears reached her mouth, and averting her gaze, she concentrated on dusting off their blankets and rolling their pallets. Not surprisingly, Walt dogged Gideon’s steps, eager to do his part. Also not surprisingly, the quiet cowboy invited the boy’s help, patiently instructing him what to do.
Stop comparing him to Drake. Evelyn gave herself a stern lecture. So he’s kind to little boys. Lots of men like children. You just happened to marry one who didn’t. Doesn’t make this one special.
She toted her rolled-up pallet inside the stable. This was the first time she’d been inside since its completion. The scents of fresh straw, elm sap and horseflesh hovered in the still air. All but two of the stalls were occupied, which meant soon smells of a more unpleasant nature would fill the rectangular space. She wouldn’t complain, however. They’d been blessed with good weather, but she knew that wouldn’t last. The thought of riding out a thunderstorm in that flimsy tent sent a shudder through her.
Lost in thought, Evelyn walked to the end of the wide center aisle and, turning to enter their temporary quarters, plowed smack into Gideon.
“Oh!” Her bundle tipped sideways and tumbled to the straw-dusted floor.
His hands shot out and gripped her arms, steadying her. Mere inches separated them. From this proximity, she could see threads of silver shot through his fog-gray irises. His lashes were pitch-black and spiky. Up close his lips looked incredibly soft and inviting. You’re staring, Evelyn. Blushing, she jerked her gaze upward, amazement rippling through her at the answering longing in his face—a raw, unmasked need so great she was tempted to wrap him in her arms and console him.
Confused by the direction of her thoughts, the compassion he inspired in her, she looked down to where her fingers were clutching his front. “I, uh, seem to have wrinkled your shirt,” she mumbled, uncurling her hands and smoothing out the material.
Big mistake. Beneath the cotton, his chest muscles flexed. He sucked in a startled breath, and his hands tightened on her, drawing her closer.
He’s going to kiss me. Gideon Thornton. Wait a minute...I can’t let a Thornton kiss me! The frantic thoughts raced through her mind, but her body was locked up, frozen, unresponsive. Shock, mingled with renegade anticipation, ricocheted through her veins. Her heart was the only movement, a wild fluttering in her chest as his head lowered a fraction.
Suddenly he stiffened, all emotion dissolving until his face was a blank mask. He dropped his hands and brushed past her in a hasty retreat.
Evelyn didn’t move as his clipped footsteps f
aded into oppressive silence, sure of only one thing. Gideon Thornton was bluffing. The solitude and emotional distance he prized so highly weren’t what he really wanted or needed. It appeared he was human after all.
Chapter Eleven
“Evelyn? Are you in there?”
Jumping up from the long cot tucked against the wall opposite the door, one she’d unearthed earlier this afternoon in one of the unpacked trunks, she left the tack room, rushing outside. “Brett.” She smiled, impetuously throwing her arms around his neck and planting a kiss on his smooth cheek. She found she missed seeing her brothers every day. “What brings you here?”
Behind the wagon parked in front of the stable, she spotted Reid hoisting Walt into his arms.
Brett shoved the caramel hat farther up his forehead, then gestured over his shoulder. “We thought you could use some hens.”
Moving to the wagon, she gripped the side and peered down at the cages, counting four Dominickers—good for meat and eggs. Wood planks were piled in beside them. She pointed. “Is that what I think it is?”
Brett came to stand beside her. “Can’t have hens out here without a henhouse.”
Again she hugged him, earning her a curious look. She wasn’t usually so effusive in her affection. She must be lonelier than she’d realized. “Thank you, Brett.” She shot her twin a smile. “You, too, Reid.” An unsettling thought occurred to her and she frowned. “Wait. Shouldn’t I get Gideon’s permission first?”
Shifting his nephew against his hip, Reid scowled. “Why would you need that cur’s permission to build a henhouse on your land?”
“He was here first—”
“Have you forgotten that it’s your husband’s stake in the ground?” he demanded, his coffee-colored eyes shooting sparks.
“Of course not.” Toying with the buttons on her bodice, she wrestled with what to do. On one hand, she felt she owed it to Gideon to ask his opinion. Another part of her agreed with Reid—why should she have to check with him when it was essentially her land?