Rocky Mountain Oasis

by Lynnette Bonner

  6

  Shilo, Oregon, in the Willamette Valley

  Rachel Jordan put one hand to the base of her throat and sat heavily on the couch which, thankfully, was directly behind her. She was suddenly grateful that Sharyah had stepped out to get some supper ingredients at the Mercantile. This was something she and Sean should discuss before they informed Rocky and Sharyah.

  The telegram in her hand trembled for a moment and then sagged, limply dangling from the corner by which she held it. “Sean?” The word stuck in her throat and came out somewhere between a frayed whisper and a whine. She cleared her throat and laid the paper on the coffee table in front of her as she called his name once more. “Sean?”

  “Yes dear? Coming.” She heard her husband’s voice from the kitchen where he was putting the finishing touches on her new screen door.

  As she waited for him, she eyed the telegram warily, hands clasped tightly in her lap. She had read it twice. She knew what it said, but surely this was all a cruel joke. But Sky wouldn’t do that to them. Jason, on the other hand…

  She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. Too much of the story made sense. This was just the sort of thing Jason would pull. And Sky was the sort to gallantly come to the lady’s rescue. She and Sean had taught him that. For one brief moment she regretted it but shook her head to ward off the thought. She looked up in time to see her husband walk into the living room, wiping his dirty hands on one of her dishtowels. When he saw her, his face immediately registered concern and he sat by her, taking her hand.

  “Rachel? Are you all right?”

  She looked deep into the blue of his eyes, needing to pull strength from him right now. At length she spoke. “I’m fine, but we’ve had a message from

  Sky.” She indicated the paper on the table.

  “Is he all right?” Sean blurted out. “What about Jason? What has he done now?” All these were asked even as he reached for the telegram on the table.

  Rachel sighed as she smoothed the skirt of her yellow dress. “Just read it, dear.” She kept pushing at the imaginative wrinkle while she waited for Sean to finish the telegram, glancing at his face every once in a while to see what he was thinking.

  Sean read the short message. She already had it memorized and knew exactly what it said.

  Am married STOP Jason’s mail-order bride STOP She needs Jesus STOP Wounded soul please pray STOP.

  Sky

  Pierce City

  Sean came to the end of the telegram but still sat staring at the page. He was just as surprised as she had been, but she only knew that because she had been married to him for twenty-five years. Sean was a master at concealing his features. He had to be—he was a lawman. But she knew his face.

  Suddenly he blinked and looked over at her.

  She smiled slightly. “We have a new daughter-in-law.”

  He glanced back at the page in awe. “Yes, I guess we do.”

  Suddenly tears sprang to her dark eyes and she reached up to pat her graying hair into place. “I only wish it was under better circumstances.” She pulled an ever-present hankie from the wrist of her sleeve and dabbed at the corners of her eyes. “I’ve prayed for so many years for the perfect girl for Sky and now…” She waved her hand at the message in his hand, unable to go on.

  Sean patted her shoulder. “Remember, dear, God works all things for the good of those who love Him. And Sky definitely loves the Lord.”

  She nodded, trying to staunch the tears flowing down her cheeks, and spoke in a choked voice, “We have to pray for them. They are going to need our prayers.”

  “Yes, they are. Let’s do that now.”

  They bowed their heads and lifted up their son and new daughter to the Lord. Asking Him to watch over them and protect them. To help them form a relationship as strong and lasting as could be. But mostly they prayed for Brooke’s eyes to be opened to her need of a Savior, and that God would help her overcome the wounds that scarred her past.

  Brooke was running, running hard. Her breath came in great gasps as she leaped through the field grasses, her lungs burning. She had been holding her skirts up as she ran, but now exhaustion overcame her. So tired! Letting one side of her skirt go, she brought her hand to her chest as though she could help herself breathe easier.

  She turned to look back. He was there. Looming just behind her with a wicked sneer, his amused eyes fastened on her. He was walking, not exerting any effort. Strolling even, one hand placed casually in his pants pocket, the other swinging easily by his side, and still keeping up with her frantic flight.

  She turned back around, determined to keep going. To get away. But as she turned, she saw, too late, the log on the ground in front of her. Unable to avoid it, she tried to jump over it, but as her feet left the ground, Hank reached out and grabbed the skirt of her dress, pulling her feet out from under her. Falling on her back with a thud, she fixed her frightened eyes on the leering face of the handsome man who stood over her. Slowly he withdrew his hand from his pocket, and she saw the handle of Uncle Jackson’s quirt.

  “You’ve done it now, Brooke, my dear.” His voice came from far away, sounding as if he was talking into an empty rain barrel. The man’s face morphed—one moment it was Hank’s, and the next it blurred into the visage of Uncle Jackson. “There was no dinner on the table when I came home tonight. You know what happens when there is no dinner on the table, don’t you?” The monster’s head tipped back in an open-mouthed laugh that sent chills of fear down Brooke’s spine. She did the only thing she knew to do— curled into a ball and put her arms over her head.

  With the first blow of the quirt her body jerked and her eyes flew open. The room lay in semi-darkness. Peering out from between her arms at the side of the cold black stove only a foot away, she shuddered, trying to calm her breathing. Her body was soaked in sweat. Uncurling her arms from around her head, she sat up quickly, pushing her mass of curly hair away from her sweaty face. Her eyes jerked around the room, going from one shadow to the next, making sure she truly was alone in the cabin. Still in a hazy stupor, her befuddled mind slowly realized she was safe inside Sky’s house. Tears of relief burst forth. She sucked in air, trying to calm herself, but couldn’t stop the wracking sobs. She lay back down, burying her face in her pillow, her shoulders shaking with the cadence of agonizing anguish.

  How long she cried she didn’t know, but when she could cry no more, she lay silently on her pillow, one hand by her face, staring at the side of the stove, seeing nothing. Nothing but the tormenting memories that paraded through her mind, one by painful one.

  Smoothing the last of the tears from her cheeks with the flats of her fingers, she turned on her back to stare at the ceiling, her hair fanning out on the pillow. The rooster crowed, but she didn’t move. She hated days like this.

  She had had them before. Many times. She wouldn’t be able to forget about the dream all day long. And the dream would bring back many memories, actual ones, that she had no desire to remember.

  The only thing that propelled her out of bed was the memory that Sky would be in soon—and expecting breakfast to be on the table.

  As it was, Sky came in sooner than she had expected and the meal wasn’t ready. Bacon still sizzled in the pan, the eggs hadn’t been cooked, and the coffee was just coming to a boil.

  Sky paused, taking in her red, swollen eyes.

  “I’m—” she gestured helplessly at the stove—“I’m sorry. It will be a few minutes still.” She spun around nervously, tapping her foot as if that could make the bacon cook faster. Finding nothing for her hands to do but poke and prod the bacon, she set the fork down and put her hands to use rolling up her sleeves.

  Sky studied her intently. “Brooke, are you all right?”

  “Yes.” She answered too quickly, trying to give a reassuring smile. “I’m fine.”

  Her hands shook as she removed the bacon strips a moment later and began to crack eggs into the pan. She gave the eggs a stir and then turned to w
here he sat at the table. “I’ll run out and get the milk. The eggs should be done when I get back; then we can eat.”

  His eyes held hers for a moment in question, but he said, “That’s fine.”

  As Brooke went out the door to get the milk, Sky shoved a hand through his hair in vexation. Something was wrong. Very wrong, he could see that. It was so frustrating trying to understand this woman when he knew nothing about her. The only thing he knew was what he’d assumed from watching her react in different situations. Something was troubling her, but he had no idea what.

  Suddenly he wished he was a little boy again and could call on his father to help him figure things out. But as the thought crossed his mind, he chuckled. “You got yourself into this, Sky, so you’re going to have to figure things out on your own.”

  Getting up, he absentmindedly stirred the eggs, trying to figure out a way to let her know that he cared. That he wanted to help her. Would she ever come to trust him? She had obviously been mistreated by someone in the past.

  How could he make her understand that he would never do such things to her, or anyone else for that matter?

  He heard her come in the door behind him, picked up the pan of eggs, and began to move toward the table. But when he saw her expression, he stopped. She looked nervously from his face to the pan in his hand and back again. Quickly she set the can of milk on the table and gestured at the pan. “I can do that.”

  He smiled. “I don’t mind.” In the minutes before she walked in the door, he had decided that the best thing he could do for her was to be himself. It would take time, but she would eventually see that he meant her no harm. He moved past her and scooped some eggs onto her plate. “Enough?” he asked.

  She nodded, moving to get the plate of bacon. He noted that her hands shook as she set the plate on the table and took her seat. Pouring them each a glass of milk, he set the can on the floor and bowed his head to say grace. When he looked up from the prayer he found her nervous eyes on him. He smiled easily. “Smells wonderful.” Stabbing a forkful of eggs, he asked, “How did you sleep last night?”

  “Fine,” she lied. Her eyes were on him as she reached for the bacon, and she knocked over her glass of milk.

  Sky’s reaction was lightning swift. He stood, his chair scraping against the floor as his knees pushed it back, and reached over her head to grab a towel off the shelf behind her. But at her reaction to his movement he froze, stunned, the milk forgotten.

  Brooke, ducking down, her face almost touching the table, had curled her arms over her head, as if to protect herself from a blow. Sky sucked in a slow breath. On her forearms, revealed by her rolled-up sleeves, were criss-cross scars that looked as if they had been left there by a whip of some sort.

  He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt like crying, but tears stung his eyes now. He wanted so badly to pull her into a comforting embrace, but he had to keep his distance if she was ever going to know that he could be trusted. Instead, he squatted down by her, one hand on the table and one hand on the back of her chair. He whispered, “Brooke?”

  She didn’t move at first. The silence in the room was broken only by the steady drip of milk hitting the floor.

  “Brooke.” His voice cracked with frayed emotion.

  She moved this time. Uncurling herself, but not looking at him. She stared across the room at the wall.

  Sky dropped his head toward the floor. He didn’t know what to say. When he felt her move, he looked up to find her teary eyes on his face. He shook his head slightly. “I was reaching for a towel. Not…” He shook his head again, his shoulders slumping. “When I think of what you must have been through in the past, Brooke, I get so…so…angry. I can’t even imagine hitting you, but someone used to hit you, didn’t they?” He gazed into her face.

  She looked away, but nodded slightly.

  Tears welled in his eyes. “I will tell you this. It’s not going to happen to you anymore. As long as I am alive, I am your husband, and I will do everything in my power to protect you, not harm you. You have nothing to fear from me, Brooke. I know those are just words, but I mean them from the bottom of my heart. I wish I could make you believe them, but I can’t, so I will have to show you.” He paused. “Brooke?”

  She turned her eyes back to his.

  “I’m sorry for your past, the way you have been treated, but it’s not going to happen in our house.” He shook his head slowly to emphasize his point. “You said something the other day, when you mentioned feeling like you’ve been living in the desert, that reminded me of a passage in the Bible. I’d like to read it to you now. Would that be all right?”

  She nodded.

  Getting his Bible, he opened it to the 23rd Psalm and began to read. “The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want. He makes me to lie down in green pastures; He leads me beside the still waters. He restores my soul; He leads me in paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.”

  He thought on what to say. “That’s not the whole Psalm. I’ll mark it so you can read the rest later if you want.” He set the Bible down on the table. When he spoke again, it was with tenderness. “Brooke, without Jesus life is like living in the desert. Dry and parched. But there is an oasis. You’ve had a hard life, and I’m sure there will be hard times in the future as well, but you don’t have to go through the hard times alone. I want you to remember that. I want you to allow God to lead you to those green pastures and to restore your soul. Jesus wants to bring you to a place of rest and peace. Cool green pastures with fresh water nearby.

  “This is not a mirage, Brooke. What you see in me is real. It’s not going to fade away before your eyes, because what you see in me is Jesus. My love for Him won’t allow me to mistreat others, because I know how much He cares for them. He cares for you.” He looked deep into her eyes. “I can’t force you to turn to Him, but I want you to think about what I am saying. Will you do that for me?”

  He saw tears rise in her sea-green eyes and spill over, trailing down her cheeks. She nodded. And he was surprised beyond words when she reached out her hand and let her thumb trace over his cheek bone, brushing away a tear. He hadn’t realized that his own tears had brimmed over until that moment. She let her hand fall back into her lap and turned to survey the milk-sodden table.

  Sky knew no more needed to be said right now. He got up slowly and began to wipe up the spill.

  7

  Sharyah Jordan placed the bowl of fluffy, steaming mashed potatoes on the table and straightened the silverware for the umpteenth time.

  Mama, coming in from the kitchen, smiled at her nervous actions and patted her shoulder. “The table looks fine, dear. You can’t make that knife any straighter than straight.”

  True, but she wanted this meal with her brother’s best friend, Cascade Bennett, to be perfect. Sharyah grinned over her shoulder at her mother.

  “There is straight, and then there is straightest.”

  Rachel threw back her head and laughed even as they heard the knock on the front door.

  Sharyah smoothed the front of her dress and patted her blond curls into place as best she could. Her curly hair usually had a mind of its own. “Do I look all right, Mama?” Her dark brown eyes, so much like Skyler’s, shone with anticipation.

  Sean entered the dining room on his way to answer the front door. “You look wonderful dear. Any man would have to be blind not to notice how beautiful you are tonight.”

  Sharyah sighed, some of the tension leaving her shoulders, and Rachel smiled. Had she ever been this distressed over having a young man come to dinner? Then she remembered the first night she had gone to dinner at Sean’s house. She had practically run in circles that night trying to make sure she looked just perfect. Still, I was a couple of years older than sixteen then. I can’t stand to see her growing up so fast. My last baby…

  Rachel’s thoughts were cut off as Sean ushered Cade Bennett into the dining room, and Rocky entered the kitchen from the back door, having finished the nightly chores
out at the barn.

  “Cade, how’re you doing?” Rocky called from the kitchen sink where he had paused to wash up.

  Cade, Rocky, Sky, and Jason had all been the greatest of friends—and the worst of enemies—during their maturing years. Fishing, hunting, and sports had brought them together, and it was usually a girl that drove them apart. But the bonds of friendship had been greater than the throes of infatuation, and as they grew and matured they had become very close.

  Since Jason and Sky had moved away, Rocky and Cade spent every moment they could spare from their busy schedules together. I imagine that’s how Sharyah fell for Cade. He’s been at our house so much in the last several years. With the young man’s charm and good looks, how could a girl keep from noticing him?

  Rachel was afraid, however, that Cade only saw Sharyah as a younger sister, and hoped and prayed Sharyah’s heart would not be broken too badly.

  Cade removed his hat and tossed it on the hat rack in the corner. An easy gesture that said he felt at home. “Hey, Rock! Just fine. Looking forward to some of your mother’s and Sharyah’s fine cooking. I don’t get fed like this out at the ranch, you know.” His dark hair and face, deeply tanned from all the hours spent in the sun on his father’s ranch, contrasted with his twinkling, ocean-blue eyes as he glanced around at the people in the room.

  Rachel laughed. Cade’s mother, Brenda, her best friend, was one of the finest cooks in the whole county. “You are a flatterer, Cade Bennett. I will admit I enjoy compliments about my cooking, but wait until I tell your mother what you said.”

  A pained look crossed his face. “Ma’am, if we could keep that little comment between you, me, and the doorpost, I would greatly appreciate it.” He gave a mock shudder. “I might live a whole lot longer, too.” Rachel, Sean, and Sharyah burst out in laughter at his exaggerated, pained contrition.