Finally, he let out his breath and nodded. Exhaustion lay on him like a pall. He turned his hand in hers and clung to her as if only she could give him sustenance.
"I'm afraid there's more," he said after a moment.
Fresh dread wove through her. "More?"
"I promised China..."
Ardith searched his face, trying to see beyond the darkness in his eyes. "What did you promise her?"
He let out his breath in a stream. "That after losing her mother and Matt, she'd never lose anyone else she cared about. That I'd keep the people she loved safe."
Ardith blinked at him. "Oh, Baird! How could you make her that kind of promise?"
His shoulders hunched, his fingers tightened. His gaze held hers. She could see the torment in him, see how hard he was trying to do what was best for his daughter.
"How could I refuse her? She's lost so much, and she's so afraid of losing everything."
Not seeing what he sought in her face, he released her hands and shoved to his feet. He took his empty cup to the sideboard and filled it to its gilded rim with whiskey. He downed half of the liquor in a single swallow, braced his hips against the cupboard, and stared at her.
"What would you have done?"
What indeed? How could any person who loved a child as much as this man loved his little girl deny her that security? She could see it wasn't arrogance that had driven him to give such a promise. It wasn't recklessness or lack of concern.
She came slowly to her feet and crossed her arms against her chest, confronting him. "What made you make that promise?"
He glared at her, not understanding what she wanted. "I told you. China needed—"
"Why did you make that promise?" She wanted him to say the words, not so much because she needed the confirmation—she could see how he felt about these children—but because he did. Making him admit his feelings was the best gift she could give him to see him through the coming days.
"Because it tore me apart to see her so—"
"Why, Baird?"
There was an almost imperceptible softening in his face. He lowered his eyes as if he were ashamed for her to see the truth in them. "Because I love her."
"You love all of them, don't you?" she insisted softly.
"I'm their father, Ardith. I'm supposed to love—"
"Don't you?"
His gaze came back to her, so hot and fierce it took all her gumption to stand her ground. "I do love them," he told her. "Even Durban."
She nodded, warm, deep satisfaction settling inside her. "Loving them is a good thing."
"Is it?" he demanded almost angrily. "I've never done very well by the people I love."
"That was then. You're different now."
"How do you know?"
She smiled, half to herself. "Because you promised China. Because you'll do everything in your power to live up to the children's expectations of you. And in the end, whether you fail or whether you succeed, you've given them something dearer by far."
"And what is that?"
She went to him without hesitation and curled her arms around his waist.
"Yourself."
She spread her palms against his back and gathered him in. He was broad and solid and still damp from being out in the storm. His arms came around her, too. He drew her against him.
As their bodies aligned, awareness tingled along her nerves. It hummed in her flesh, resonated at the core of her, a remnant of another time when they'd been together. But tonight it was a subtle thing, quiet, nurturing, a counterpoint for other more potent emotions.
Baird leaned into her, his head bowed, his muscles loosening. He rested his cheek against her hair.
They stood quiet for a very long time, sharing their warmth, listening to the steady rhythm of life beating in each of them, communing in a way that went well beyond words. Ardith closed her eyes and gave herself up to the unexpected succor of that simple contact, holding tight to Baird, touching him and being touched. They drifted, bound together.
At length Ardith stirred. "It's late," she murmured, her voice slurred and soft, almost as if she had been sleeping.
Baird eased back and blinked at her. He had been as caught up in the safety and companionship as she had been.
He shifted away, and she could see him trying to put some semblance of order to his world. "Let me help you take care of those things," he offered, gesturing to the teapot and cups at the end of the table.
Ardith shook her head. "They'll be fine where they are until morning. It's time we found our beds."
Both of them were worn beyond their endurance by the events of the day, and would be tested again on the morrow. But there was comfort here, something tangible and familiar, something unexpected and new.
He nodded in agreement. "I want to thank you—"
"There is no need."
"No, I need to thank you, Ardith, for taking such good care of China. For taking such good care of me. For making me see, well—" He hesitated and smiled at her. "—what you made me see."
She smiled back, warmed way down deep by his words. "Between the two of us, we'll get China through this. She's a strong girl."
"I know."
"Stronger than her mother was."
He smiled a little more. "I realized that myself tonight."
Baird touched her cheek, a caress so gentle that it might have been a veil of silk brushing over her skin. And then he turned toward the stairs.
In spite of herself, Ardith paused in the shadow of her own doorway to watch him. He wasn't the Baird Northcross she thought she knew. He had changed, or perhaps it was that she had come to see him differently. He was a man with fears and foibles and feelings far more complex and fragile than she had ever imagined he could harbor. He was a man, Ardith was forced to admit, for whom she had come to care far too much.
* * *
Baird climbed the steps to the back porch of the ranch house and surveyed the gathering in the yard. For all his tender years, Matt Hastings had been a well-known and well-loved figure in the Powder River ranching community. Neighbors from far and wide had come to attend his funeral. Reverend Schneider, who had been overnighting at Fort McKinney, had conducted the service. Now everyone had gathered to fill their plates, lift a glass or two in Matt's memory, and tell stories of a boy who had been mostly raised by the cowboys in one bunkhouse or another since his folks died ten years before.
Baird sought China in the midst of the crowd and saw several of the neighbor women petting and consoling her. He searched out Khy and saw his son with three younger boys by the corral, showing them Little Paint. Durban stood with Cullen McKay. Something about the way Durban hung on his cousin's every word wrung Baird's insides.
He scanned the crowd for Ardith, hoping to catch her eye, knowing if he did she'd swoop down on Cullen and the boy and lure Durban away. But Ardith wasn't visiting with neighbors gathered at the end of the porch. She wasn't overseeing the long serving table set up outside the kitchen door. She wasn't anywhere in sight.
Baird shifted uncomfortably. His world felt a little out of balance without her there.
He wandered into the house, wondering where she'd gone. It was cool and dim inside, peaceful and quiet. He was about to turn and leave when he heard a sound, soft and small, like the mewling of a kitten. It was muffled and indistinct, but it drew him toward the half-open door to Ardith's bedchamber.
Though he'd never been inside, he could have found it by the smell alone, the tang of linseed oil and turpentine. He pushed the door a little wider and saw a worktable filled with brushes and paints in front of the window. A half-finished painting was fastened to Ardith's drawing board.
He stepped carefully inside. On his left was a scarred pine dresser with a ruffled cloth, painted china dishes of hairpins and doodads, vials of cologne, and an ivory-backed hairbrush.
At the end of the room was a log-frame bed. Ardith was seated at the edge, her dark head bowed and her body curled in tight upon itself.
>
At first he thought she was praying and didn't want to intrude. Then he heard that tiny, choking sound again, and he realized she was crying. He silently closed the door behind him and went to her.
"Ardith?" he whispered.
She raised her head with a start, too quickly for her to wipe away the tears, too spontaneously for her to hide the anguish in her eyes.
He came and knelt beside her. He took both her hands. The sorrow in her face sank into him.
"Oh, Ardith," he murmured, and without another word he drew her against him. Without another word she came to him. He held her, broken and fragile, in his hands—his brave, strong Ardith. "It's all right, love. You're safe with me."
As if she knew she was, Ardith curled against him. He splayed his hand against her back and circled gently. "It's all right, Ardith. Just let me hold you."
"I didn't mean to do this," she said, her voice muffled against his shirtfront. "I just felt so—so overwhelmed all at once."
She'd waited until no one needed her.
"It's all right, sweetheart. You've been so strong for all of us."
God knows, she had been strong. Strong for the children when their mother died. For China when the news came down the mountain about Matt. For him last night. He didn't know what he'd have done without her.
"It was having everyone together—like a family."
They had become a family. Baird hadn't thought about it, but that's how it felt. Like a family—he and the children and her, Buck and Myra and the cowboys—and that family had lost one of its own last night.
They'd lose the rest at the end of the season. And Ardith would lose the most.
No wonder she was grieving.
He pulled her closer still and stroked her hair, feeling as helpless to change what was going to happen in two months' time as he'd been to change Matt's fate last night.
"I know," he whispered, rocking her a little. "I know."
There was something so right about the weight of her in his arms, the warm silk of her hair beneath his cheek. Something so gratifying about knowing he could give her this bit of comfort. It warmed him that she'd allow him to see her so vulnerable. He felt privileged that Ardith had trusted him with her tears.
She let him hold her for a good while longer then finally shifted away. She swiped at her eyes with her fingers and sniffled. Baird offered her his handkerchief.
"I gave mine to China," she explained and blew her nose—not delicately, not in some ladylike sniffle. She blew her nose as if she was done with crying and meant to get on with living. Something about that made him smile.
"I didn't mean to go to pieces like that," she apologized and ducked her head. "I came in here so no one would see..."
"I'm glad I came upon you, then," Baird said. "I'm glad you let me help."
She gave him a watery smile.
Seeing that she was better, he pushed to his feet and stood for a moment looking down at her. She was marked by her bout of tears in the way fair-skinned women always were. Her nose was red, and her mouth had a blushed, smudgy look about it. He balanced this Ardith against the one she usually showed the world and savored the unexpected dichotomy.
He reached down and cupped her cheek, his thumb at her temple and his fingers rough along the curve of her jaw. She had fine, strong features, broad across the cheekbones and jaw, dark brows with a wry arch, a wide mouth. She was not a beauty by any means, but there was something compelling about her, something undeniably pleasing.
He tried to smooth the loops of her chignon and came up with several hairpins instead. They were warm from the heat of her body, heavy, and made of tortoiseshell.
He held them out to her. "You'll want to wash your face and tidy your hair before you come back outside."
She nodded and took the hairpins. "I want you to know how much I appreciate—"
He smiled at her and sketched the slightest bow. "I'm pleased to offer you this one small service, after all."
Sugar Creek Ranch
August 16, 1882
My Dear Gavin,
I regret to tell you that we are going through sad times here. We buried young Matt Hastings yesterday. I am certain I have mentioned him to you either in my accounts of the roundup, or as China's special friend. He was a fine young man, considerate, hard working, and quite hopelessly infatuated with China—as she was with him. He was struck by lightning while herding cattle. It is an occurrence, I am told, that is all too common.
China, of course, is devastated, and I am worried about her. It also reminds both her and the boys of how recently they lost their mother. Baird and I have agreed that it is important for both of us to be here at the ranch with them. That will necessitate him riding back and forth to the summer camp, and me staying on until mid-October.
When they drive the stock to Cheyenne to be sold, I will in all likelihood accompany them, and catch the train east from there. Once I'm settled again in Concord, I will have a good deal more time to dedicate to my books. I do thank you for your recent letter and your report on the continuing sale of "Abigail Goose Goes to Town." I can hardly believe that it has already gone into a third printing. Needless to say, I am delighted by its early success.
Your devoted friend,
Ardith
Chapter 12
Ardith decided to make her announcement at supper. But before she could utter so much as a word, Khy began recounting his afternoon. He'd spent it stalking butterflies through the fields on the far side of the creek and had managed to snag several excellent specimens.
"Myra made a net for me from a looped-around branch and some stuff she called cheesecloth. Do they call it that because it has those holes in it?"
Durban glanced up from a copy of Tale of Two Cities he'd brought to the table in spite of Ardith's specific ban on reading material. "Buck says Khy caught something called a Tiger Swallowtail and a Northern Blue."
"Things have such interesting names out here," China murmured half to herself. "Swallowtails and Waxwings and Fairy Slippers."
Ardith glanced up at her niece. In the several weeks since Matt's death, China had been sleepwalking through her days, and Ardith didn't know how to waken her to the world again. In some ways Baird seemed almost as preoccupied tonight. He'd been more attentive to his children's needs since he'd brought Matt home, but seeing the weariness in his face Ardith wondered how much longer he could keep up the pace he'd set for himself with visits to the summer camp and his duties here.
When Myra arrived at the end of the meal with slices of pie and coffee, Ardith decided it was time to share her news.
"I heard from Gavin today," she began, sliding his letter from her pocket.
"Gavin?" Baird murmured, addressing her directly for the first time since they'd sat down.
"Gavin Rawlinson, my publisher," Ardith reminded him.
"I like Gavin," China put in. "He was nice to us when we were in Boston."
Baird's mouth narrowed with what could have been either disapproval or dyspepsia. Ardith chose to ignore him, and with a crinkle of pages, began to read.
My Very Dear Ardith,
I have marvelous news! Last evening an old friend of mine, Justin Daniels, stopped here at the office to pick me up on our way to a lecture on Goethe.
"Goethe?" Baird echoed with a hint of derision, as if only hopeless prigs attended lectures on Goethe. Ardith scowled at him and kept on reading.
As you may know, Justin is an art dealer of some repute. While he was waiting for me, he leafed through the copy of "Abigail Goose Goes to Town" I had on the corner of my desk.
"Does this author ever paint anything but these quaint little animals?" he asked me. I assured him you did and showed him both your illustrated letters and the watercolor sketches you've been sending me.
He seemed quite impressed. "This 'Auntie Ardith' has undeniable ability," he said. "But these Western scenes are entirely unsuitable for a female to be painting. I'd show her work at the gallery, if she'd adopt a pseud
onym so I could tell my patrons she's a man."
Ever since the mail had arrived that afternoon Ardith had envisioned the children's exclamations of surprise that an art dealer wanted to show her work, and Baird's hearty congratulations. Instead Khy pushed the last limp string bean around on his plate. Durban sat absorbed in the perils of Sydney Carton and the Manettes. China blinked at her, completely missing the significance of what she'd said. When Baird raised his head, Ardith's heart swelled with anticipation.
"This art dealer wants you to sell your paintings under a man's name?"
Ardith battled an urge to curse with pure vexation.
"Well, I, for one, don't think it matters about the name!" Myra stepped into the breech, thumping the coffee pot down on the table for emphasis. "Just imagine! Ardith's paintings are going to be sold in a gallery in Boston. Why, the next thing you know, the portrait she made of me will be hanging in a museum!"
Ardith flashed Myra a grateful smile. Trust another woman to understand how monumental this accomplishment was.
"What does he mean, 'adopt a pseudonym'?" China asked, just catching up to the conversation.
"It means your Aunt Ardith would have to pretend she is a man in order to sell her Western paintings," Baird answered in an aggrieved tone. "Which is patently absurd!"
Ardith blinked at him, mystified by his outrage on her behalf. "That's what I thought at first," she answered as reasonably as she could. "But once I got used to the idea, I decided it wasn't so terrible."
"Well, take my word—once your patrons meet you at that gallery, they won't be fooled. You're too damn pretty to get by calling yourself by some man's name."
Pretty. The word rolled over her like high surf, leaving her reeling, exhilarated, and a little breathless. She'd been waiting sixteen years for Baird Northcross to think she was pretty. And he'd told her now—now when she needed something else from him entirely. It was all she could do to keep from kicking him under the table.
"I thought I would sign the paintings with my initials. I'd sign them as 'A. E. Merritt,'" she told him, "and let people draw their own conclusions."
"You should sign the paintings with your real name, and let that be the end of it!" Baird declared and pushed to his feet.
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