Abiding Love

by Melody Morgan

  ''Do I have straw sticking out of my hat or something?" he asked, grinning.

  She blushed and glanced quickly at his hat, then away. "No," she answered as innocently as she could, keeping her sight centered on the ears of the horses.

  "Then what?" he insisted, trying to hold her gaze.

  "Nothing. Really." She gave him only the quickest glance with the briefest of smiles. The way she'd been staring, he would think she was like the giddy young girls at the school, and the last thing she needed was for him to get the wrong impression of her.

  Still grinning, Ross shrugged his shoulders and turned his attention away from her rosy cheeks to the trail beneath them.

  Here the snow wasn't deep, but it was untouched, muffling the sound of the horses' hooves. The wagon creaked less without the jolting ruts, and Irene became more aware of the silence in the deepening woods. The sycamore and elm of the wetter lands gave way to the taller trees of the higher ground where they now rode. An occasional woodpecker rapped out a steady tattoo on a branch of deadwood overhead.

  "When I was a boy like Jonathan, there used to be bears and what everyone called panthers roaming these woods," Ross said.

  "Bears?" Irene repeated, a shiver running up her spine.

  "And mountain lions," he added. "But from what I hear, the bears disappeared about ten years ago. And as far as the mountain lions are concerned, I never did see one around here. We just heard stories about them."

  "Ten years ago isn't very long," Irene said, unable to control her eyes from searching the distant trees. "Did you ever see a bear?"

  "Yep. Harry and I used to hide in the trees waiting for them to walk by. When one finally did, it scared us to death." He laughed at the memory, a warm, rich sound. "But that never stopped us. We'd just do it again."

  "Harry?"

  "My brother."

  "Oh." She'd forgotten the stories about the brother who had previously owned the saloon.

  "There it is," Ross announced.

  Peering through the thickset trees to a large clearing in the distance, Irene saw a small log cabin amidst a bramble of brushy undergrowth and a moderate-sized barn with broken fences surrounding it.

  Poking his head between their shoulders, Jonathan shouted, "There it is! Hey, Lydia, look!"

  In a few minutes they pulled into the clearing between the cabin and the barn. Ross climbed down, but not before Jonathan jumped from the back of the wagon and started running toward the cabin. Lydia hopped out and followed.

  While holding onto the seat, Irene grasped Ross's extended hand with her free one, climbing gingerly over the side of the wagon onto the wheel spoke.

  "Be careful," he warned.

  To her dismay, her skirts became tangled with her petticoats, and she couldn't free her foot to take another step down. She tried desperately to shake her foot loose but couldn't.

  "I'm caught," she said, struggling. "I can't seem"

  "Here, let me help." Ross reached his other hand up through the layers of petticoats until he found her ankle and guided it out of the tangle of material and onto the next spoke.

  The touch of his hand made Irene catch her breath. Even Andrew, her fiance, had never touched her ankle. Yet here was this man doing just that as though it was an everyday occurrence. She wondered if for him it was, and her cheeks flamed.

  Once she stood solidly on the ground, she busied herself with brushing her skirts until the cool air took the heat from her face.

  "Just one adventure after another," he said cheerily.

  Her hand stopped in mid-brush. Did he mean the climb down the wheel or her foot tangled in her skirts? she wondered, afraid of risking a look at his face.

  When she finally did glance up, he smiled and asked, "Ready?"

  She simply nodded and let him lead her by the elbow to where the children ran in and out of the cabin's open front door. Beside the opening, a plank door hung at an odd angle to the rest of the building by one rusty hinge. Irene peeked inside. Only two windows and a broken place in the roof dispelled the gloom lurking within. A blackened stone fireplace dominated one end of the room, while a small partial loft hovered over the other.

  "Kind of small, huh?" Ross asked, gazing at the open rafters then down the narrow width of the one-room cabin.

  "Yes. But it looks as if it must have been cozy," she replied.

  "It was." Swiftly, the memories returned as Ross stared at the sagging loft, where a supporting timber had shifted. "Harry and I slept up there. We always felt safe, sort of like when we hid in the trees from the bears."

  Jonathan stood beneath the loft. "Where's the ladder, Ross? The one you said you used to climb on to get up there. Huh?" He searched through the pile of debris that must have been brought in by small animals making nests, but found nothing.

  "Gone, I suppose. Besides it isn't safe anymore," Ross answered.

  "Could we build a fire with some of this wood?" Jonathan asked. "I'll bet Miss Barrett is getting cold."

  "I'm all right, Jonathan, but thank you anyway." Irene smiled at him, genuinely pleased with his show of chivalry.

  "Could we eat now?" Jonathan asked. "That was a long ride."

  "Sounds good to me," Ross answered.

  They returned to the wagon, where Lydia already sat on the lowered tailgate, swinging her feet. "It's so peaceful and quiet out here," she said.

  Ross lifted the hamper over the side of the wagon and brought it to the back. "It sure is," he said, looking around, wondering who owned the property now. A feeling of home settled over him, stronger than the memories he'd carried, surprising him more than a little.

  "I'll bet when the Indians were here it wasn't so quiet and peaceful," Jonathan said, his eyes alight with excitement. "There were probably Indians hiding behind every tree just waiting to shoot someone."

  Ross laughed. "Not when I lived here."

  Disappointed, Jonathan stared at Ross. "Really? I thought you said"

  "I don't mean to disappoint you, son, but the Indians were pretty well gone by then. I'm afraid things were more civilized than that. We had regular chores to do, like milking the cows and feeding the chickens. The only things we looked out for were the bears and the panthers, but no Indians."

  "Oh." Silently, Jonathan accepted the chicken Irene handed to him.

  "Sit up here, Miss Barrett," Lydia coaxed, patting the straw beside her. "It's warmer for your feet than standing in the snow."

  The tailgate was almost as high as Irene's waist, and though Irene would dearly have loved to get up out of the snow, she shook her head.

  Sensing her hesitation, Ross asked, "Why not?"

  But before she could answer, he grasped her by the waist and sat her up beside Lydia.

  "Oh!" she exclaimed in surprise. But when she was seated, she truthfully admitted, "Well, this is warmer."

  Jonathan giggled at the sight of his teacher being lifted off the ground. She looked so funny with her black boots hanging out from under her skirts, dangling off the end of the wagon that way.

  Smothering her own giggle behind her hand, Lydia saw the rise of color in Miss Barrett's cheeks and the huge smile on Mr. Hollister's face.

  Irene mumbled a thank-you and quickly busied herself with the hamper lying open between herself and Lydia. "Would anyone care for bread?" she asked. Glancing up, she found Ross's eyes resting on her with that persistent twinkle, his lips curled into a ready half-smile. More ill at ease than before, she hastily turned away.

  Bringing plates appeared to have been a mistake, since they all ate with their fingers, using the bright red napkins she'd packed. It was something she would remember for the . . . She caught herself. She wouldn't think about if there would be a next time.

  "Cake?" she asked, lifting the already sliced pieces from the basket.

  "I do!" Jonathan cried.

  "Me, too," Lydia said, wiggling around to look inside.

  "I think I'll just have another piece of that chicken," Ross said, standing so close to he
r knees that she didn't dare move. "I'll save the cake for the ride home."

  Irene couldn't look up. Instead, she put some in a napkin for each of the children and handed it to them. Then she chose a chicken leg for Ross and gave it to him.

  He accepted the chicken with a polite nod and moved to lean against the sideboard of the wagon near her shoulder. Sensing that she was uncomfortable with his closeness, he then moved to a tree and squatted down on his haunches.

  "How long did you live here, Mr. Hollister?" Irene asked, not wholly for the sake of conversation.

  Ross tossed the clean bone into the woods and rose, walking back to the wagon. She handed him a napkin, which he momentarily glanced at before wiping his mouth.

  "Not as long as I would have liked. My father was a drifter, a gambler really, so we never stayed in one place for very long." Ross peeked into the basket and rummaged for another leg. "Until Aunt Tilly decided enough was enough. Then she'd insist he bring us to stay with her a while so we'd know what real family life was like."

  "So this place has special memories for you, then." Irene watched as he looked over at the old cabin and the clearing that wasn't very clear anymore. "How nice of you to share it with us," she said quietly.

  He pivoted to look at her, his hat sitting at the back of his head, his sandy hair turned golden in the sun.

  "My pleasure." And he meant it. Her company alone was a pleasure and he didn't mind admitting it. Seldom had the opportunity arisen for him to spend time with a real lady, certainly not in the last five years. It was easy to see that Irene was a woman with roots, a family, a home where meals were eaten at certain times of the day and baths were taken regularly whether little boys liked them or not.

  She glanced away from his perusal of her face, feeling the need to shift the subject to safer territory.

  "Jonathan," she began, "is this where you said you caught those rabbits last week?"

  "Yep," he answered, mimicking Ross's usual response. "Right over there. You want to see it closer?"

  "I certainly do. How about you, Lydia?"

  Lydia jumped off the wagon with a springy bounce. "I'm ready."

  Contemplating the same jump, Irene bit her lip apprehensively. Sure as the world, she'd probably sprain her ankleor worse. She looked up in time to see Ross wink at Lydia before he stepped to her aid.

  "I didn't think you had enough nerve," he said, grinning. Then he whisked her down and set her gently on her feet.

  "Am I suppose to take that as a challenge, Mr. Hollister?" She tipped her head sideways and arched both brows at him.

  "Only if you think it's necessary." He threw her a beaming smile.

  She didn't respond, but mulled his words over in her mind. Did he think her life was without challenges? Hardly. Perhaps she never took chances, but why should she? Only gamblers took chances, and she was sure they lost as often as they won, and probably more.

  They followed some distance behind Jonathan and Lydia, who dashed through the underbrush away from the cabin. Occasionally, Jonathan would run back to Lydia, make a few circles around her, then run on again.

  As Ross walked beside Irene with a small stretch between them, he wondered about her. An unmarried, very attractive woman who took in two orphans in a town full of capable families. She seemed perfectly content to handle the responsibility on her own, in spite of her mother's apparent disapproval. He suspected that the care she gave went beyond the obvious things she'd done for them, like food, shelter, and new clothes.

  With a sidelong glance, he saw her smile at Jonathan's antics. And he liked the easy warmth of that smile. A fleeting thought crossed his mind as he stared at her mouth. Had anyone ever kissed her? Why hadn't she ever married? His only answer to that was, either every man in town was already married, which he doubted, or they had the eyesight of a ground mole in sunshine.

  Finally, Jonathan came to a halt, jumping excitedly in one place, allowing the rest of them to catch up, although Irene suspected she was the one holding up Ross's progress.

  "Right here," Jonathan called. "This is where they lived, in a nest under the leaves and dirt."

  They all stood in silence looking at the place. Irene felt a little sad, and the look on Lydia's face echoed her own feelings. Then like a shot, a blur of brown fur raced from the hole across the snow, dodging each tree as though it knew the path well.

  Irene shrieked with surprise, and Lydia leaped back. Jonathan yelled with delight, and Ross hooted with laughter.

  "Did ya see that!"

  "Oh! Oh, I certainly did!" Irene laughed, her heart pumping.

  "He nearly ran across my feet!" Lydia cried almost as excited as her brother.

  Ross's laughter dwindled to chuckles. "I saw his nose barely sticking out just before he took off."

  Laughing, Irene tried to glare at him with pretended irritation. "That's not fair! You were prepared."

  He shrugged. "Hunter's instinct, I guess."

  "Instinct indeed!" she replied, smiling up at him when she sat down on a fallen log. "I'd say it's more like a mischievous spirit."

  His only answer was a wide grin.

  Jonathan climbed on the log and walked its length, back and forth. Soon Lydia joined him.

  "I think we should be getting back," Irene said, squinting up at the mid-afternoon sun. She knew her mother would worry if they were gone too long.

  "Yep. It's quite a ride back, and it won't be as warm this time of day," Ross agreed.

  They retraced their path to the wagon and everybody climbed aboard with little trouble, including Irene, who concentrated on each step she took up the spokes of the wheel. When everyone was settled, Ross snapped the reins and clicked to the horses, encouraging them to head out of the peaceful, silent woods.

  It wasn't until they reached the river road and turned west toward home that Irene spoke. "This has been a wonderful day. Thank you for taking us."

  "My pleasure, ma'am," he said with an exaggerated drawl, raising his hat slightly to make her laugh.

  The wagon jolted and bounced along the rutted road Once more. With the sun full on their faces, it cast shadows behind them to where Jonathan and Lydia huddled together in the not-so-fluffy straw.

  Unable to help herself, Irene's smile lingered. The day had truly been wonderful. She couldn't remember how long it had been since she'd laughed and had such a good time. How sorry she was to have the day come to an end. Slowly they neared town, passing the bridge to the right and on the left the old inn with its broad porch and tall white columns.

  Shortly, they pulled up at her front porch.

  "Whoa, there," Ross said, bringing the two sedate horses to a halt. "Well, here you are, safe and sound at your front door. None the worse for wear, I hope."

  "Not at all, Mr. Hollister," she replied, unable to stop smiling.

  He turned in his seat to face her, leaning his forearm on his thigh. "Call me Ross," he said quietly.

  Flustered, she stammered, "Iuh, I don't think that's a good idea."

  "Your mother wouldn't approve. Right?" He gave her a half grin.

  "Well, it's not just that. I really don't think I know you well enough and"

  "You're not sure you want to, is that it?"

  Her face burned with embarrassment. "Please."

  Ross studied the cracked and scarred reins in his hands, knowing that if she knew his past there would be little if any chance she'd even speak to him, let alone take a ride in the country. He looked over at her, but she kept her head down. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to embarrass you."

  Forcing herself to look at him, she replied, "I did have a lovely adventure today, but I think we should let it go at that."

  He nodded his head, then climbed out of the wagon.

  Irene hurried to get down before he could assist her, but she wasn't quick enough or adept enough to manage it. With her eyes averted, she reluctantly accepted his hand. At least this time she didn't tangle herself in her own clothing. He released her as soon as she stood s
afely on the ground, for which she was grateful since her mother very likely would be watching.

  Jonathan and Lydia swung the hamper between them after they climbed out of the wagon and headed for the house.

  "Thanks, Mr. Hollister," Lydia called. "We had a great time!"

  "Don't mention it." Ross lifted his hand in farewell.

  "See you later, Ross!"

  Irene followed the children onto the porch. She turned and, with a small wave of thanks, sent him a smile, then watched him clatter up the spokes. He whistled once and the horses moved on. With her feelings in a jumble, she closed the door behind them.

  Glancing into the parlor, she drew in her breath sharply. There on the settee beside her mother sat Clara Wilson. Instantly, her body reacted with ice-cold prickles, much like what a child feels when he's caught telling a lie.

  "Good afternoon, Irene," Clara said, her words dripping with accusations.

  "Hello, Clara," she replied as evenly as the prickles would allow. She shooed the children off to the kitchen to safety.

  Winnie sat sipping her tea, looking for all the world like an innocent bystander, but Irene wondered just how innocent she really was. Somehow she couldn't help but believe that Winnie had called in reinforcements.

  "Is there more tea, Mother?"

  ''Yes, dear, there's plenty. I'll get you a cup."

  Irene lifted her hand to stay her mother before she could rise. "That's all right, I'll get it myself. Excuse me." She needed a little time to gather her wits about her before the coming confrontation.

  In the kitchen, Lydia stared at her with wide eyes while Irene removed her coat, gloves, and bonnet, then found a cup and saucer. She smiled with more reassurance than she felt, and patted Lydia's arm.

  "Everything will be all right," she said quietly, then reluctantly returned to the parlor.

  Far from being collected, but hoping it didn't show, she poured her tea and sat opposite the two women.

  "What brings you out today?" Irene asked Clara, with a fleeting glare for her mother.