Chapter 2
Life returned to normal for Cecily. She chalked her odd premonition up to the emotion of the day and tried to forget all about Marcus Henshaw. She didn’t succeed completely, but she was able to block him from her mind enough to function at a normal level.
And then Sunday rolled around. Marcus had stopped attending their church years ago, so Cecily had no fears about running into him there--until she physically ran into him as soon as she entered the building.
“Oh,” she said. She had been reading her bulletin as she entered the sanctuary; when she walked into a burly form she looked up to apologize, but the words died on her lips.
Marcus grasped her upper arms to keep her from falling, and his fingers curled softly around her biceps. “Okay?”
She nodded. He had nice eyes, she thought. “Are you?” Her words held a deeper meaning, and he knew it.
He nodded. “Thanks.” She heard what he left unspoken, too. Thanks for being there. Thanks for staying. Thanks for comforting me.
She nodded. Unbidden, her gaze dropped to his lips, and she watched them curve into a smile.
Music started and she jumped slightly. What was she doing? This was church--her tiny church where people talked and doted on the slightest nuance. Here she was having a tête-à-tête with Montana’s version of George Clooney. She dropped her gaze and pivoted out of his grasp, finding her seat in her regular pew.
Bad timing. That was the story of her life. If she and Marcus had discovered their strange attraction to each other a few years ago, she would have jumped at the opportunity and pursued him. She had once been a fun and carefree girl who thought life couldn’t possibly ever deal her a bad hand. She had also been the biggest flirt this side of the Mississippi, and probably east of it, too. Previously if she ever thought she stood a chance with Marcus, she would have done anything to capture his interest and attention. And then her world turned upside down.
Her beloved father, the closest person on earth to her, had become involved with a militant militia. With them he kidnapped a state senator. Her brother, Dante, had worked as an informant for the FBI. He begged for leniency for their father, but he still received a penalty of ten years in federal prison. On top of that, his legal bills had almost bankrupted them. Dante was in college at the time. He had offered to drop out and run the ranch, but their mother wouldn’t hear of it. Their parents were divorced and their mother lived in Chicago. Despite the divorce, Cecily’s father and mother were very much in love and had rekindled their relationship after his arrest. She sent money when she could, and it helped some, but the brunt of responsibility fell on Cecily’s shoulders.
For the first couple of years she had floundered. Despite the fact that she had lived on the ranch her whole life, she knew nothing about cows. Her father and their ranch hands had done all the work, and she had reaped the rewards--such as her pretty horse. She delighted in him and used him as an escape from the stress of her new life. And then one day she was out riding and it hit her. Horses. She might not know one end of a cow from another, but horses were almost her obsession. She had land. She had barns. Why not trade her cows for horses? All the ranchers in the area used horses, but there wasn’t a horse ranch for miles. Whenever a rancher in the area needed a new horse he had to drive for hours to get one. If she started a quality breeding program, she could not only serve the ranchers in the area, but in other areas, too.
It was a long, arduous process that was still only in its fledgling stages. She had barely begun to show a profit and probably wouldn’t for a couple of years, but she knew she would succeed because she was passionate. She loved her horses; she loved her new business. Perhaps she loved it even more because it was her own. This wasn’t a business she had been handed; it was one she had started from scratch, and its success or failure depended on her. Her shoulders straightened just thinking about it. There was no room for failure. She would succeed or die trying, and she was determined to succeed.
The problem was that she hadn’t told her father what she was up to. She didn’t want to face the possibility of his wrath when he found out she was dismantling the business his grandfather had started in order to raise horses, something he’d had very little time for or interest in. Still, she doggedly pressed on. Her father wasn’t here; she was. She had to do what was best, so she worked from sun up to sun down every day of the week but Sunday when she took a day off to attend church.
When her pastor announced that it was time to stand and greet one another she realized she hadn’t been paying attention for most of the service already. She smiled at the little old lady next to her and shook her hand. Then she turned to the seat behind her and froze. Marcus was there with his mother and father. He smiled at her and held out his hand. She gave him a tentative smile and placed her hand in his. When their palms touched she realized he was pressing a slip of folded paper into her hand. She pressed her thumb to it and withdrew her hand.
She sat and made herself wait until the prayer before the offering to open the paper.
“Have lunch with me. Mill’s Park. I’ll bring the food.”
She had to read it three times to make sure she understood it correctly. There was no question, only a command.
She frowned. If he thinks he can order me around like a servant, he has another think coming, she thought. She vowed she wouldn’t go and silently listed all the reasons for her refusal in her head. But when the service was over and Marcus looked at her with one eyebrow arched in question, she gave a slight nod and turned her head away to hide her grimace. Spineless coward, she accused herself. Or maybe she was just curious. After all, it could be possible that he wanted to talk business. Maybe he had heard of her new horse venture somehow. She had been keeping it under her hat, but things had a way of leaking out in their small community. She shuddered. If there was one thing she didn’t want leaked, it was her meeting with Marcus. She could only imagine how that would go over. Poor Cecily Blake is chasing Marcus Henshaw. She’s pretty, but can you imagine the nerve? He could have any woman he wants, and she’s six years too young for him. They say his girlfriend was a runner up for Miss Montana…
She knew how the gossip would go because she had heard it all before. Once upon a time she had even participated in it, but that was then; this was now. Now she kept to herself and didn’t gossip about her neighbors; now she knew how much gossip hurt.
There’s the Blake girl. Her father’s in prison. I wonder how she’ll turn out. You know what they say about apples and trees. She had actually heard someone say that about her once. She had pressed her lips together to stop their trembling and turned her head to hide her tears. She had understood then what everyone else already knew: she was tainted by her father’s crime. Everyone seemed to forget the good Yancey Blake had done for the community. Instead they chose to dwell on his one glaring sin, and she was condemned along with him.
The church service ended, and she was ashamed to realize she hadn’t heard one word of the sermon. She couldn’t even be certain she had sung the closing hymn. Instead her mind had been performing mental gymnastics as she pondered what Marcus could possibly want with her. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be worse than the uncertainty of not knowing.
The Cowgirl Who Loved Horses, Queens of Montana Bonus Book Page 3