Winds of Paradise (Paradise Valley Book 2)

by Vivi Holt

  She disappeared, then returned with a cup of water.

  “Thank ya again.” He took a long drink of water, relishing its coolness, then headed for a patch of shade by the tool shed where he often sat to eat. It was a pleasant little spot – he could lean back against the wall of the shed and lay the plate in his lap as he watched birds flit by and squirrels fight over the nuts scattered on the ground around him.

  Just as he situated himself and took the first bite of beans, he saw Jane emerge from the back of the schoolhouse with a plate and cup of her own. “Do you mind if I join you?” she said as she came over, her eyes flitting back and forth between him and her plate. “It looks so lovely out here today and I don’t know how much more fine weather like this we can expect.”

  The breeze caught her skirts, showing off a flash of stockinged legs. He swallowed hard and gestured to the ground. “Help yerself.”

  She sat demurely beside him and curled her legs up beneath her to eat. “I’m so grateful for all your hard work, Mr. Lewis. It’ll make a world of difference for us, and for me in particular. I hope you know that.”

  His eyebrows arched in surprise. It was the first sign of gratitude he’d received from Jane, and he wasn’t sure how to respond. “Well … yer welcome. Ya should be snug and cozy all winter long once I’m through.”

  She smiled and took a bite of bread, chewing it thoughtfully. “I wonder if you’d answer a question for me?”

  “Shoot.”

  “I feel as though I should know something about you, since we see each other every day.”

  “Like what?”

  Jane held her breath for a moment, thinking about what to ask. She knew he wasn’t married – she’d asked Genevieve that first thing. But that was all, and there was so much more she wanted to find out. Everything about him made her curious. Why did he always eat alone? Where was he from? Was he close to his family? When did he become a cowboy and how had he found his way to Paradise Ranch?

  Yet she knew it would be impolite to inundate him with questions, especially when she didn’t plan to reciprocate with answers about her own life. So she asked, “Have you always liked ranch work?”

  Dusty looked at her as though he was expecting her to ask something else. “I suppose I have. Ever since I was old enough to know what it was. I grew up on a farm in Georgia, but as soon as I was old enough, I headed west. I’ve done it for so long now, I don’t know how I’d manage anythin’ else.”

  “So you left your family all the way down in Georgia to join a cattle drive?” She was always surprised by people who were willing to walk away from their families. If she’d had a loving family, she’d never have left Boston.

  “Nope. My ma and pa passed when I was still young. That’s when I left.” He took another bite of beans and his gaze drifted up into the trees.

  Her stomach knotted as she considered the pain behind his words. She wondered how young he’d been when he found himself all alone. He must have felt so afraid and lost. No wonder he acted so tough. She lifted her gaze to follow his line of sight and saw a woodpecker tapping against a nearby trunk with its tiny hard beak. The sound reverberated around them. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  His darkened eyes found hers for a moment, and a thrill ran through her. “Thank ya. It was a long time ago, though. So where’re ya from?”

  “I was born in Boston, but have lived in Missoula the past few years.” She bit into the thick piece of bread, filling her mouth with it in the hope that it would prevent him from asking any further questions about her past.

  “Why Missoula?” He was studying her closely and her cheeks warmed under his gaze.

  She chewed, swallowed and drew a slow breath. “I was offered a teaching position there. I came out with a wagon train and stopped when I found work. It just happened to be there.”

  “Seems ‘bout as far as ya can get from Boston. I’da thought a young lady such as yerself would want to be close to family.” He set his hat on the ground and scratched his head.

  “Yes, well … I wanted to go west too, I suppose. I still have family in Boston, but I doubt I’ll ever go back. And now I have Genevieve here and everything is working out … so …” Her foot set to tapping, even though it was caught up beneath her. She was full of nervous energy – being so close to him, his earnest eyes on hers, waiting while his questions drew closer and closer to the one thing she couldn’t talk about, made her shivery. She closed her eyes and breathed slowly in an attempt to calm her quavering pulse.

  “So yer folks …”

  She leaped to her feet and the water sloshed from the cup in her hands. “Sorry, I just remembered – I have to prepare something for class before the children come back in from lunch. Good day, Mr. Lewis.” She stumbled away, the confused look on Dusty’s handsome face lingering in her mind.

  Jane’s heart raced and her stomach felt queasy. That had been close, too close. She couldn’t let her guard down like that – she’d only get hurt; have her heart broken all over again. She could tell she was starting to see Dusty differently, to feel something for him. If things kept going the way they were, pretty soon she’d lose all control over her wayward heart. She had to keep her senses about her.

  Falling in love was out of the question. And unfortunately, Dusty Lewis was just the kind of man a woman could easily fall for – hard.

  Chapter Eight

  Jane dipped her finger into the stew and yanked it back with a cry, putting it in her mouth and sucking it clean. She shook her head – she’d been daydreaming again and had burned herself. It certainly wasn’t the first time and no doubt wouldn’t be the last. She reached for a bowl and poured a ladle full of stew into it. She licked her lips and smiled as the aroma of meat, potatoes and vegetables drifted around her.

  She carried the bowl to the kitchen table, setting it beside the single spoon on the tablecloth trimmed in a needlepoint depiction of mountain knapweed. She loved doing needlepoint and these days it was one of the only occupations of her free time, as she still didn’t have a social life to speak of.

  Just as she was about to take a bite, she heard a noise outside - a thud or a thump, but not loud enough to tell what caused it. Or had she imagined it? She set the spoon down and stood slowly, her heart pounding. There was nothing for it but to go outside and see what it was – living alone, she couldn’t very well wait for someone else to do it. And if it was someone intent on doing her harm, she’d rather surprise him than the other way around. She set her jaw, squared her shoulders and strode for the back door, grabbing a lantern and her shawl on the way.

  The air outside was cool, and a pleasant breeze lifted the loose tendrils of hair from around her face. She strained to listen for any other sound, then heard a man’s voice from behind the tool shed. It couldn’t be Dusty – he’d waved goodbye a half-hour earlier on his way to the Langston’s for supper, after a full day painting the outside of the newly-chinked schoolhouse.

  She raised the lantern high and tiptoed across the yard to the tool shed. A crescent moon hovered over the woods around it, throwing a faint eerie light over the place. She gasped as she stepped on a twig, snapping it, and froze in place, but heard nothing in response. She stopped briefly to pick up a long stick, not sure exactly what she could do with it, but it gave her a little extra confidence.

  She peered around the corner of the shed and saw a small lantern lighting up a circle in the dark space between the shed and the woods. In the circle, Dusty squatted over a tiny deer, murmuring something to it in a low, soothing voice.

  She frowned. What was he up to?

  He fixed a stick to the fawn’s leg, wrapping a cloth around and around it. The animal struggled, but he gently pushed it back against the ground, admonishing it with kind words.

  She stepped closer – right onto another twig.

  The noise made him turn his head to look directly at her. “Good evening, Miss Wilder. I could use some help, if’n ya don’t mind.”

  She nodded and
hurried over. “You gave me such a fright. I thought you were long gone, and when I heard a noise I came out here to investigate.”

  He raised an eyebrow at the long stick still firmly grasped in her right hand. “What were ya gonna do with that, skewer me?”

  She dropped it on the ground with an embarrassed sniff. “I thought maybe you were a bear or a wolf or something.”

  He laughed. “Ya’d have needed more than a stick, then.”

  “What happened to this poor fellow?” She knelt beside the animal and stroked its smooth face. Big brown eyes blinked up at her and small wet nostrils quivered. It struggled again.

  Dusty held it down with a firm but patient hand. “Broke its leg somehow – maybe a trap nearby. I found it out here. I don’t know where its dam got to, but it’s out here all alone and needin’ help. So I’m fixin’ its leg, and if ya could set with it a while, I’ll go and get it somethin’ to eat and some straw for it to lie on. Do ya have a bucket of water we could use for it to drink from?”

  “I was using a few buckets around the building to catch the rainwater that leaked through the roof before you fixed it. I’ll run and get one.” Jane stood and hurried off, her thoughts churning. She hadn’t expected this from him, a hardened cowboy used to life on the open plains. Why would he take the time to tenderly nurse a fawn back to health? Anyone could see it was no use – the fawn would likely never walk again and most likely die. Yet here he was, tending to the fawn as if it were his own child instead of eating a warm supper with the Langstons.

  She found a bucket in the foyer and pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders before heading back to Dusty and the fawn. She’d thought she understood him, convincing herself he was just a cowboy like any other and probably had a girl in every town from here to San Antone. He probably never wanted to settle down and would no doubt break a heart as soon as win one. Or so she’d told herself. But maybe she was wrong.

  She handed him the bucket, and his fingers closed over hers on the handle. Her quick gasp made him let go, and it dropped to the ground with a loud clang and a slosh of water over the side. Her entire body trembled and she bit her lower lip and held her breath for a moment.

  He picked up the bucket with a quick “thank ya,” and, avoiding her gaze, offered it to the fawn. He had to lift the animal up so it could reach to drink, but within moments it was slurping thirstily, its little nose puffing and sucking in air as it did.

  All Jane wanted to do was run back to her room as quickly as she could. But she knew she needed to sit with the fawn while Dusty fetched food and straw for its bedding. Her thoughts whirled, and she was flooded with the sudden desire to wind her fingers through his hair and feel his hands run up and down her back as he pulled her close. She couldn’t believe the audacity of her own thoughts and covered her mouth with her hand to hide her quickening breaths.

  She coughed once, and rubbed her palms down the sides of her skirts. She couldn’t help admiring his chiseled cheeks, and hazel eyes that looked black in the lamplight, the unruly curls of golden-brown hair that sprouted from beneath his brown Stetson, and the muscular arms that so gently held the young deer for it to drink. Maybe she’d misjudged him. Could he be someone she might share a life with? What if he wasn’t the type of man to betray her as others in her life had done? And was she ready to take the risk to find out?

  Dusty laid the fawn back on its side and stood to his feet with his hands on his hips. “I’m gonna head off. Are ya all right to set with him awhile?”

  “Yes, I’ll be fine.”

  ***

  Dusty set off at a run, anxious to get back to Jane as quickly as possible. He hated to leave her outside like that, with only a lantern and a lame fawn to keep her company. But it wouldn’t take him long to get to the Langstons’ barn and back again.

  He shook his head as he ran. It had happened again – when his fingers had inadvertently closed over hers to take the bucket, it’d felt as though the earth shook beneath his feet and something sharp and urgent had shot between them. He wasn’t only imagining the attraction between them – she seemed to feel it too, the way she’d stammered in that quiet, whispery voice, how she’d gasped and dropped the bucket at the same time he had.

  But why would a beautiful, sophisticated, educated woman like Jane Wilder be interested in a reformed drunk who spent his days chasing cattle and fixing fences? And even if she were, it didn’t follow that he had to do anything about it. After all, he’d decided on a solitary life in his small cottage by the river, maybe with a lame deer to keep him company. He grinned. The image in his mind was mighty appealing.

  But it wasn’t until Jane joined the fantasy that he felt his heart ramp up to a gallop.

  It made no difference how many times he argued himself into circles over it. He couldn’t escape that one fact that had been eating away at him for more than two weeks: Jane Wilder had gotten under his skin. She’d set his heart racing from the first moment he’d laid eyes on her, and it hadn’t entirely slowed again since.

  ***

  Jane peered out the window to watch the children play outside. They were all laughing, running and skipping, save for the Thompson children sitting quietly on the schoolhouse steps.

  She kept an eye out every day for the little fawn Dusty had cared for a few nights earlier, but there’d been no sign of it since. She hoped its leg had healed enough for it to make its way with the splint, but wondered what it would do once the splint was no longer needed. Would the wrapping simply fall off over time? She left a plate with some oats on it out behind the tool shed each night, and every morning the plate was empty. Perhaps it was returning for supper.

  She wished she could catch one more glimpse of it, just to make sure it was well. She’d grown attached to it in the short time it’d stayed with them. And seeing Dusty so attentive and gentle with the creature had given her a new appreciation for him.

  She focused her mind on the present, shaking Dusty Lewis from her thoughts with a bob of her head. Thinking about him would mean nothing but trouble for her, and she’d had enough trouble in her life to last until the Tribulation. She frowned. What was going on with the Thompsons? They were still sitting, watching the other children frolic, but not joining in. She went outside to find out, and sat on the step next to twelve-year-old Emily, the eldest. “I hope you’re enjoying your lunch.”

  “Yes, Miss Wilder,” Emily replied, her eyes focusing on the step in front of her, her empty lunch pail on its side next to her.

  “What did you have?” Jane asked.

  The children exchanged glances and wriggled in place. “Well … it was delicious,” answered Hubert Thompson, a ten-year-old boy with a dirty face, holes in his socks and a tear in his faded homespun shirt.

  “Is that so?” Jane replied, her heart dropping. “Well, that’s good to hear.” She returned indoors and stood with her back pressed up against the door, her eyes closed. Those poor children had nothing to eat – the way they responded to her questions, she could tell. How long had it been going on? She usually left the children to their own devices during lunch so she could eat her own meal and prepare the next lesson. She certainly hadn’t checked what they were eating, assuming their parents would give them what they needed. Perhaps she’d been remiss.

  She knew the Thompsons were poor. Mr. Thompson was a miner over in Alder Gulch, and she’d heard the rumors around town – he’d find the occasional gold flakes and even a small nugget a time or two, but always drank the money away long before he reached home. She knew he sent his children to town in rags, but never imagined he’d let them go without food.

  She marched back to her own rooms, opened the small pantry, and found a can of beans and a half loaf of bread. She split the beans between three bowls and hacked the bread into large chunks with a dull knife, making a mental note to sharpen it when as she had the chance. Putting the bread in the bowls, she carried them out to the porch.

  The second she opened the door, three pairs of hungry
eyes flicked up to greet her.

  With a wide smile, she stepped outside. “You know, I had these beans and bread in my rooms. I’m afraid they’ll go bad if I leave them overnight, and I can’t possibly eat another bite myself. Do you think you might do me a favor and finish them off for me? I can’t bear to see good food go to waste.”

  The smallest Thompson, seven-year-old Harvey, swallowed hard. His eyes traveled to the bowl, then up to his sister’s face, awaiting her response. Emily’s eyes narrowed as she tipped her head to one side, studying Jane. Jane kept her expression friendly and open, hoping the child wouldn’t be able to see through her white lie.

  Emily nodded. “Thank ya, Miss Wilder. We’d be happy to help ya out, if yer sure.”

  “Yes, I’m sure. Here you go.” She handed the bowls out, then turned and strode back inside. Looking though the window, she saw them digging into the beans and bread with glee. She wished she’d had more to give them – if she’d known, she would have prepared something ahead of time. Tomorrow morning, she’d make them something special to eat. Just the looks on their faces would be all the thanks she’d need.

  Wouldn’t it be wonderful if she could do more than that, something to really help them out? She knew she couldn’t overstep her bounds – people on the frontier tended to be hardy and proud, not wanting others to think they needed charity. She certainly didn’t intend to offend the children’s parents.

  But surely there was something she could do for them without causing offense? Their clothing had certainly seen better days – and she was a much better seamstress than she was a cook. But if she sewed them new clothing, how could she get such gifts past Mr. and Mrs. Thompson, without crossing the unspoken boundary that family provided for its own?

  Well, she’d just have to worry about that later. For now, she knew what she wanted to do – the rest would work itself out.

  When school let out for the day, Jane hurried to the mercantile for groceries to properly feed the Thompson children the following day, then to the haberdasher’s to buy the fabric she’d need for their clothing. She had to make her own winter clothes anyway, so she might as well sew for the children too. Her cash reserves were running low, but the store gave her what she needed on credit. She was willing to accept help – she just hoped the Thompsons would as well.