This Place: Holmes Crossing Book 3

by Carolyne Aarsen

  When Duncan joined Miriam in the porch, he spotted Celia's boots and coat in a heap on the floor. Miriam bent over to pick them up just as he did. Their hands brushed each other. Duncan yanked his hand back, then felt immensely stupid as he did.

  Miriam stopped at the island and set the casserole on it, frowning as she watched Celia, who had plunked herself down on the floor. She was chatting with her doll, her voice animated.

  "I can't get over how happy she is when she's here," Miriam said. Then she turned to Duncan, her expression concerned. "She doesn't sleep well at home. Most every night she sits hunched on her bed and cries."

  “About what?” Duncan asked.

  Miriam shrugged. “She just says that it’s noisy. One time she said something about Aunt Esther making her angry and that was why she couldn’t sleep. But I have no idea what that was about.”

  “I can’t figure why she’d think it’s noisy. The house is far from town. It’s quiet as the grave.”

  “In more ways than one,” Miriam murmured and Duncan realized how unsuitable his comment sounded.

  But Miriam was already walking toward Celia. She bent down and said something to the little girl, her voice low. Then she reached out and brushed her fingers lightly over Celia's hair.

  Though Miriam's arguments against taking Celia back to Vancouver with her were difficult to dismiss, he still felt Miriam was exactly the right person for Celia. She was obviously attached and clearly knew what to do with her. He sensed there was a deeper reason she didn't want to take Celia but assumed Miriam wouldn't give up her secret easily.

  "Are we going riding now, Dunkle?" Celia asked, her eyes suddenly bright as she jumped up and ran toward him.

  "I have to get the horse ready."

  "Can Jane come too?"

  "As long as she doesn't scream and scare the horse," Duncan said, playing along.

  Celia chuckled and shook her head. "Jane can't scream, silly."

  Duncan thought of what Miriam had told him about.

  "I'll head outside," he said, taking a step back. "I'll come and get you when I’m ready."

  "Do you need a hand?" Miriam joined them, slipping her hands in the back pockets of her blue jeans. The gesture made her look young and vulnerable, and as she tossed her long hair over her shoulder, he felt a nudge of sympathy for her and the situation his sister had created for her. "Celia and I can help."

  "I think I can get one horse ready."

  "Just one?"

  He caught her surprise. "Yeah. For Celia. I’ll be leading her."

  "Oh. Of course." She sounded disappointed.

  "Did you want to ride, too?" He felt a moment of surprise. None of the women in his life were the least bit interested in horses, let alone riding.

  "Sorry. I just thought…" she let the sentence slip away and he guessed he was right.

  "I can easily saddle one up for you as well."

  She waved off his offer. "You'll be leading Celia and I’ll just get in the way."

  "I can saddle one up for me as well. It's no big deal."

  She shook her head and he wanted to offer again but figured this could go on all afternoon. "Okay, meet me outside in about fifteen minutes by the barn.”

  “Sure.”

  He could see her smile was forced, and he was tempted to offer again. He wanted to erase the faint disappointment she had tried to hide.

  And as he walked to the corral, he figured he would just go ahead and saddle a couple more horses. He could lead Celia and they could ride all together.

  There were three horses tied up by the corral.

  As we came nearer, the snow squeaking under our feet, a small flash of excitement flickered through me. I was going riding, after all.

  When Duncan had said that he was just saddling one horse, I knew that this trip was strictly for Celia, but I had nurtured a secret hope that we would all go riding.

  Now it looked as though my wish was happening after all, in spite of me trying to be all polite.

  Duncan was tightening the cinch on the last horse as we came near. He looked up, his eyes shaded by his cowboy hat, but not his smile. And my previous flicker hummed into a faint glow.

  This guy…

  Was trouble, I reminded myself. I couldn’t get distracted. My focus was Celia, not flirting with this ruggedly handsome cowboy.

  "This one is for Celia," Duncan was saying, as he pointed out a dark-brown one. "Her name is Thistle."

  "Not a promising name," I joked, deflecting my ever-changing feelings around this guy into lame jokes.

  "She's called that because she was born by a patch of thistles. I spent weeks pulling leftover prickles out of my legs and arms after we found her." This netted me another lazy grin, which only served to stoke the glow.

  "She's beautiful," Celia said, her voice full of the awe that young girls everywhere seem to hold for horses.

  "I'll help you on." Duncan reached down for her.

  Celia wasn't light, but Duncan grabbed her by the waist and settled her on the animal as if she weighed no more than thistledown itself.

  "Just hold onto the saddle horn," Duncan advised as he helped her feet into the stirrups.

  "That's a little saddle." I was surprised that it fit her so well.

  "Used to be Francine's." A light note of melancholy tinged his voice, and I felt an answering thrum of sympathy.

  "I imagine we'll keep bumping up against that over and over," I told him, brushing his arm in a gesture of empathy.

  He released his breath on a sigh that echoed my own sorrow. But when he looked at me I saw something else in his haunted expression. Something that hinted at a deeper pain.

  "Are you okay?" I asked.

  But he simply shrugged off my question, patted Thistle, and looked up at Celia.

  "You feeling good up there?"

  She nodded, and the wide grin on her face made me thankful we had decided to do this. She looked happier than she had since I first saw her, eyes bright and cheeks already pinking up in the chilly winter air.

  "I'll help Aunty Miriam on her horse, and then we can get going," Duncan said.

  Celia nodded, one mittened hand on the saddle horn, the other clutching the ever-present Jane.

  Duncan ran his hand over the horse's rump as he walked to where another one was tied up, next to Thistle.

  "This one is Bess,” he said, pointing to the palomino. "Climb on and I'll adjust the stirrups."

  "She's awfully large," I said, a thread of concern tightening around my chest. I had ridden before, but I was sure the horses at my foster mother's farm were a lot smaller.

  "She's older, but steady."

  So, trusting in Duncan's judgment, I lifted my foot up to a stirrup that seemed to be at least at chest height, got my foot in, reached up for the saddle horn, and tried to launch myself as discreetly as possible. I had no intention of scaring this huge creature.

  But my underdeveloped thighs couldn't make the leap and I fell back, foot still in the stirrup, hands slipping from the saddle horn.

  I was ready to try again but then Duncan grabbed me by the waist and lifted me up. The unexpected help surprised me, and with the extra momentum I was nearly launched over the other side. Thankfully, I managed to catch the other stirrup with my foot and recuperated quickly, catching the saddle horn and settling in, feeling all cowgirly and pleased I hadn't made an idiot of myself.

  "Sorry. You're lighter than I thought." Duncan gave me an apologetic grin. "At least the stirrups are the right length."

  "Good guess. Was this Francine's old saddle, too?"

  Again, a shadow slipped over his face. "No. It belonged to my wife."

  "Sorry. I didn't…didn't think…"

  He waved off my apology, then untied the horse and handed me the reins. "Doesn't matter. She didn't use it much." Then, before I could dig myself in deeper, he walked over to his own horse, tied up beside Celia's. In one easy motion, he swung himself into the saddle, settled in, leaned over, and took the
reins of Celia's horse.

  His horses stood quietly, ears flicking but not moving at all and my fluttering nerves settled into anticipation. It had been years since I'd ridden. And even though there was a winter chill in the air, the sun in the blue sky above brightened the day and gave a sense of warmth.

  "Everyone ready?" Duncan asked, turning to look from Celia to me.

  "Let's go," Celia said, kicking Thistle in the ribs. My heart jumped, but Thistle didn't. She simply stood there, seemingly oblivious.

  "Maybe don't kick her, sweetie." Duncan spoke quietly, but his deep voice held a firmness that made Celia stop immediately.

  "Sorry, Dunkle," she said, hanging her head.

  "I forgive you. And so does Thistle. She knows what she has to do." This was accompanied by a faint smile, then with another glance my way, he clucked to his horse, turned it with one hand, and we were off.

  The horses' hooves squeaked over the snow as we walked out of the yard, around the corrals then through an open gate.

  "I thought we would ride through this field and then through the trees along the river," Duncan called out.

  "Sounds good," I called back, as if I had even the faintest clue what he was talking about.

  "Is my horse a girl or a boy?" Celia was asking, rocking with her horse's movements.

  "A girl," Duncan replied.

  "Has she had babies?"

  "A few."

  "Do they live here, too?"

  “No. Some of them are at my parent’s place and I sold one to another family for their little girl.” This was spoken with a gentle smile and their interaction gave me hope.

  The rocking motion of the horse, the warmth of her body, and the bobbing of her head as she walked lulled me. I felt a peace suffuse me and drew in a large, satisfying breath.

  Then coughed as the winter air chilled my lungs.

  The snow was up to the horses' knees out here in the pasture, but they didn't slow down, and as we walked I saw our tracks from the time we took the sleigh.

  Another memory to store away when I left.

  The thought dug like an icicle in my soul.

  I let my eyes wander over the open fields, rimmed by trees, the blue sky like a bowl above us. The utter quiet, broken only by the swish of the horses' hooves in the snow, or the occasional question from Celia, eased the stresses of the past few years. I looked over at Celia.

  My daughter.

  Why couldn't I stay?

  The question snaked its way through the fortress I had put around my heart since she was born. A fortress I had been building brick by brick since Jerrod told me to stay away from Duncan because he was too good for me.

  This I knew but to hear it from my own brother cut me to the core. When I met Duncan I allowed myself possibilities. But deep down I knew Jerrod was right.

  I looked away from Celia, my emotions in flux. Every minute I spent with her, every minute I crouched beside her as she cried silently in her room, every moment I caught a flash of joy in her eyes, every errant smile slanted my way—I felt her presence encroach in my life.

  And I started to really think I could be a mother to her.

  I looked past her to Duncan—solid, broad, his hat pulled low on his head, his hair hanging below. He looked at ease with his horse as he led Celia's.

  It was an apt metaphor, reminding me of Duncan's life, which was such a sharp contrast to mine.

  Family.

  Alone.

  Connected.

  Untethered.

  "We'll be heading down the trail ahead," Duncan called out, pointing with a gloved hand to the break in the dark line of spruce and pine trees. "Then it's just a short ride to the river trail."

  I simply nodded.

  "You okay?" he asked, still looking back.

  "I'm fine," I said with a casual wave of my mittened hand. "How about you, Celia? How are you doing? Are you warm enough?"

  I couldn't read her expression but she nodded and I saw Duncan grant her a faint smile.

  He was the right person for her. I had to trust my brother's judgment. He knew me better than I knew myself. Knew what I had lived and experienced. The poor choices I made.

  The trail closed in as we entered it, the light of the sun, hanging winter-low in the sky now diffused by the forest we entered.

  "It's like magic," Celia said her voice holding a tinge of awe as she looked around the branches frosted by sparkling snow. "Like a princess land."

  I had to agree, the chill of breeze in the open field gone in the shelter of the woods. I couldn't stop looking around, feeling the same wonder that Celia did.

  This place was amazing.

  I wanted to capture it. Translate it to lines and colors on paper.

  We rode a little farther, and then the trees opened up, and suddenly we were on the edge of the world. Trees fell away, a green and white carpet down to the frozen river below us. The white field on the opposite bank flowed toward treed hills that created a large, open valley.

  Duncan reined in his horse, and mine came up beside his. I pulled gently on the reins, and Abby thankfully stopped. "Those fields on the other side of the valley belong to my family as well," he said, pointing across the river.

  "What do you do with them?"

  "It's rich, river-bottom land, so we crop it. Last year it was canola, this year we'll be doing wheat."

  "Wow. You really are a Renaissance man," I said. "Cowboy, logger and farmer."

  He shrugged off my comment as if it were inconsequential. "I like to keep busy," was his laconic reply. "You still okay, Celia?"

  She nodded, her eyes shining, her cheeks pink with the cold. Her toque had slipped off to one side, and her coat wasn't zipped all the way up, but her grin warmed my heart. And every doubt I had about bringing here was erased.

  Duncan was leaning forward, his forearm resting on his saddle horn, his hat pushed back on his head. A smile played over his well-shaped lips. In profile, sitting on that horse, his eyes narrowed, creating a fan of wrinkles at the corner of his eye, he looked even more appealing than he had before. He looked peaceful. At one with nature. And my own foolish heart gave another, heavy, thump of appreciation.

  Then he looked over at me, his grey eyes meeting mine. For a long moment neither of us looked away.

  This is getting dangerous. You can't let yourself be pulled into this. This is not your place. This is temporary.

  I dragged my eyes away, forcing myself to look at Celia. Then she, too, glanced over at me, and her smile dove into my heart.

  The two of them were a force that threatened the very foundations of my life.

  "We should get going," I said, turning my horse away. I had no clue where I was going so I had to depend on Duncan getting the heavy hint.

  Thankfully, he did, and we rode on.

  But I felt that I had, for a brief and wonderful moment, been offered something amazing.

  Something I couldn't accept.

  Chapter 12

  "You horses did good today," Duncan said, dumping a forkful of hay over the fence for them.

  Abby just munched on the hay and Thistle snorted, as if to tell him that this was all in a day's work and nothing to get all sentimental about.

  Trouble was, he did feel sentimental. And a few other things as well.

  Spending the afternoon with Miriam on horseback, his favorite place to be, had put him in a good mood.

  And Celia?

  He tested the thought, as if touching a bruise. To his surprise, having her around today hadn't brought back the same sorrow it did the other times he'd seen her. It was as if the steady exposure to the little girl showed him that she was simply Celia, a young girl, lost and alone.

  But take care of her? Could he do it?

  He shoved the fork into the hay bale and took a moment to rub Abby's nose, smiling as she dropped her head over the fence as if asking for more.

  "So what do you think of Miriam?" he asked, lifting her head. "She's pretty enough, isn't she?" />
  Abby tossed her head as if in agreement, and Duncan eased out a sigh.

  "And why am I asking you?"

  Because he wasn't about to talk about Miriam with Jack or, worse, Les, or any of his fellow workers. He knew exactly what they would say.

  Go for it. She's a catch.

  The words weren't as easy to dismiss as they might have been a few weeks ago.

  You cared for her once.

  And she brushed me off then, too.

  He pushed the fresh snow off the rail fence and leaned on it a moment, watching the horses as they ate, baring their teeth at any of the others if they came too close to their particular pile. They had their pecking order well established, and guarded it with bites and kicks if there was any hint of incursion.

  His mother had, at one time, accused him of doing the same. Keeping people away, especially other women, to guard his heart. To some degree it might be true, but what his mother didn't know was that it was more complicated than that.

  He drew in a deep sigh and pushed himself away from the fence. Miriam and Celia were waiting in the house.

  As was the casserole Miriam had brought. Maybe she would join him for dinner?

  Warning bells pealed at the thought, but in spite of them, he hurried his steps over the snow-covered drive and up the walk to the house.

  Inside, warmth enveloped him, and right behind that came the teasing scent of supper cooking.

  He shivered, shaking the snow off his coat, then hung it up.

  Miriam's worn boots sat neatly beside Celia's, and the sight gave his heart another hitch. It looked the way the porch of a house should look. Other people. Other boots and coats.

  And it would have been that way, had things been different.

  He sent up a quick prayer for strength and stepped into the kitchen.

  Miriam was bent over by the open oven door, poking a fork into a dish inside the oven. She straightened when he came in. "I was just heating up the casserole for you. Thought that was the least I could do before we leave."

  "Thanks. I appreciate that."

  Her cheeks were flushed, some of her hair had slipped from the complicated braid she'd twisted her hair into, and her smile created a crimp in his heart. "The horses okay? You seemed to be out there awhile. I was waiting to say goodbye."