After the days of working in the harvest, Delaney itched constantly from all the chaff. The sun had toasted her skin a deep golden brown from hours spent working outside. Her feet had swollen so much, she’d resorted to wearing an old pair of Butch’s boots. Each movement she made of her heavy body left her tired. So very tired.
Perhaps once they finished the wheat harvest, she’d spend a day or two doing nothing but resting. Delaney couldn’t even recall the last time she’d sat down and read a book for pleasure.
She’d read plenty this past summer, but it was mostly about caring for bees, equipment manuals, and scanning newspaper and magazine articles for any news that might mention her husband.
In the evenings, when she was so sleepy her eyes would barely stay open, she’d prop herself up in bed and read about helping a child through mourning. She had no idea what to do with her nephew beyond love him. The boy spent the first few weeks at the ranch withdrawn and glassy-eyed. He barely spoke, trudging through each day in a grief-induced fog.
Dill had tried to help Ryatt, having the boy spend time with him, telling his grandson stories and showing him photo albums. The pictures of his parents seemed to upset him more instead of alleviating his problems. Uncertain what else to do, Delaney finally led Ryatt outside and asked Lottie to take him for a ride.
From that moment on, Ryatt started to improve. He loved being around the horses, loved riding them, so Delaney let him ride every day. Gradually, Ryatt began to rejoin the land of the living, smiling and laughing again. The day he sat down after supper and replied to his friend Petey’s numerous letters, Delaney wanted to cheer in triumph.
Now, Ryatt rode in a truck with Tommy as the young man drove wheat into town. There, it was weighed, graded, and added to the stores of wheat that would ship via railcar to a port in Portland before being loaded onto a ship. Ryatt’s job was to help clean the grain out of the truck bed and make sure no grain spilled from the truck as they bumped across the field. Like a happy chipmunk, he chattered nonstop.
Delaney waved at him as she reached the end of the row and turned around before stopping. Golden grains of wheat shot into the back of Tommy’s truck after he parked next to the combine. Ryatt jumped out and scrambled onto the combine, bringing Delaney a welcome treat.
“Look, Aunt Dee!” Ryatt said, handing her a bottle of Coca-Cola that hadn’t yet grown warm. “Tommy and I got you a pop.”
“Thank you, Ry,” Delaney said, taking the glass bottle from her nephew and prying off the cap. She took a long drink then grinned at him. “Boy, that hit the spot. How did you two know I was dying of thirst?”
Ryatt grinned. “Tommy said you have one of the hottest, dirtiest jobs. I used my own nickel and everything!”
“You did?” Delaney would have reached out and mussed the boy’s hair, but she didn’t want to embarrass him in front of Tommy. For whatever reason, Ryatt looked up to the young man and often tried to emulate his actions. It was a good thing Tommy was a dependable, upright teen.
“Guess what else?” Ryatt asked, leaning against her as they watched grain fill the truck in a steady golden stream.
“I’ll never guess so I suppose you’ll have to tell me.” Delaney took another swig of the cold drink, relishing the bubbly liquid gliding down her parched throat.
“Grandpa is sitting on the porch!” Ryatt excitedly wiggled beside her.
She placed a hand around his shoulders to make sure he didn’t bump into something he shouldn’t or fall into the front feeder. “How did he get there?” she asked, pleased her father was outside. The doctor had encouraged him to start walking with the help of crutches, but moving was painful for Dill and a very slow process that frustrated him.
“Lina said he walked out there all by himself. Ain’t it swell, Aunt Dee?”
“It is swell, sweetheart.” Delaney grinned at the boy and couldn’t resist gently tugging down the brim of the old cowboy hat he wore that had once belonged to his father. “You know what else is swell?”
“No? What?” Ryatt pushed his hat back up, grinning at his aunt.
“You.” Delaney wrapped him in a hug and kissed his dirty cheek, then tickled him, making him squirm and giggle. As she held onto him, the baby began kicking and Ryatt stilled, his eyes dropping to her overall-covered belly.
“She likes to hear me,” he said, placing a hand on his aunt’s rounded stomach. He leaned down and raised his voice. “Hi, baby! It’s Ryatt. I can’t wait to meet you. My friend Petey has a baby named Alice, but we call her The Princess. I bet you’ll be a princess, too.”
The baby kicked in response and Ryatt giggled again. “Gee, Aunt Dee, she’s going to be a real royal-stepper. Just like you.”
Delaney hugged the boy again then drank all but one gulp of the soda. She handed the bottle to him with a wink. “Think you can finish that for me?”
“You betcha I can!” Ryatt tipped back the bottle and drank the rest, then hopped down and climbed back in the truck. “See you at supper, Aunt Dee.”
“Yep. I’ll see you then, Ry. Keep Tommy out of trouble this afternoon.”
Tommy grinned and rolled his eyes at Delaney as he put the truck in gear and pulled away from the combine.
Delaney made two more rounds through the field before the baby pressing on her bladder forced her to leave her work. Fortunately, they were in a field close to the house, so she went there. While she was in the bathroom, she took time to splash her face with cool water, comb the snarls out of her hair and braid it again. She brushed her teeth to dislodge the taste of dust and wheat chaff.
In the kitchen, Lina handed her a glass of water with a few pieces of ice floating in it along with two warm-from-the-oven chocolate drop cookies. Delaney drank the water and hurriedly ate the cookies.
“What would I do without your help, Lina?” Delaney asked, giving the girl’s shoulders a squeeze as she made her way toward the door.
“Have a dirty house, filthy clothes, and no one to keep an eye on Dill?” Lina giggled. “Keeping your dad out of trouble is a full time occupation.”
Delaney laughed. “It certainly is.”
Lina, who had been so bashful those first few days at the ranch, soon relaxed and was as quick to tease and laugh as any of the other young people. She and Dill got along famously, a fact that pleased Delaney to no end. She had no idea what she’d do when school started again the following week. A few of the kids promised they could help on the weekends, but Delaney knew they’d be busy with school and other responsibilities. She’d keep them working as long as they wanted to come to the ranch, but the days of having extra hired hands were limited.
Musing over what she’d do without her kids, she thought of the young people who’d labored so hard for her over the summer months. Every single one of them had given their best to the job, done more than they’d been asked, and lifted her spirits during what had to be the worst summer of her entire life.
Delaney returned to the combine and climbed back on the machine. Each time she climbed up, she was sure she wouldn’t make it with the weight of the baby throwing her off balance, but miraculously she pulled herself up and settled onto the seat.
An hour later, she and the others working the field finished and moved on to the next one. Butch brought out jugs of icy cold tea and a platter of doughnuts dusted with some of their precious supply of sugar.
Too tired to climb down from the combine again, Delaney had Ryatt bring her a doughnut and glass of tea. He sat beside her as they enjoyed the treat then he scampered off to get in the truck with Tommy as work resumed.
They were making a final pass before supper when Delaney looked toward the end of the field and saw a soldier standing there, leaning heavily on a cane.
Unable to catch her breath or her thoughts, Delaney finished her row and shut off the machine, her gaze riveted to the man as he limped toward her on the uneven ground. The buttons on his uniform gleamed in the bright afternoon sunlight. In spite of his obvious injury, he kept his p
osture formal and stiff, as though he was afraid of the reception he’d receive.
Her heart screamed at her to run to her husband while her head debated if it was really him. Convinced her mind played tricks on her, she hesitated to believe Klayne had finally come home.
Clumsily, she climbed off the combine and started his direction. The brim of his hat cast his face into a shadow, hiding his features, but she knew it was her long lost husband.
A few feet of distance separated them as they sized each other up, not having set eyes on one another for more than seven months. Klayne was much thinner than she remembered, although he still appeared strong with broad shoulders that could carry all the heavily burdened weight in her world. Almost shyly, he tipped his head back until she could see beneath the brim.
She sucked in a gasp. Whatever happened to Klayne hadn’t left him unscathed. A deep, jagged scar ran from his left eyebrow across his eyelid and continued along his cheek right down to his jaw. Smaller, lighter scars marked where wounds had covered that side of his face.
Without thought to her actions, she stepped forward and swept the hat from his head, taking in the angry, red scar running parallel to his hairline. Someone or something had attempted to scalp him. Thank goodness, the effort had failed, because his brown hair shone in tempting waves in the sunlight.
Of its own volition, her hand traced the scars with a light touch, wishing she could make them vanish, not because of how they looked, but because of the pain they must have brought him.
“Klayne…” Emotion swelled in her throat and obliterated her ability to speak. Anger, relief, elation, dismay, joy, and despair warred within her at the sight of him.
His scent penetrated the smells of dust, sweat, and wheat around her. She breathed deeply of his familiar, masculine fragrance, wanting to wrap it around her like a barrier against the world.
She gazed up at him, forced herself to look into his eyes, and noticed the scar across his left eye. It marred that piercing blue orb that had first captured her attention. Relief filled her when she glanced at his right eye and found it as perfect as ever. Wariness battled with anticipation in the depths, as though he waited for her to welcome him home, grant her approval for his presence.
Shocked by his sudden appearance and the wounds he’d sustained, she took a step back, gaping at him. His uneven gait and the cane in his hand made it clear his leg had been injured. He held his left arm stiffly, as though it ached.
Despite the scars on his face, Klayne was far more handsome than she remembered. Rather than detract from his good looks, the scars gave him a dangerous, incredibly rugged appearance. The girls had been daffy for him before, but she had no doubt they’d find him even more attractive now.
What would a man like him want with a puffed up, pregnant wife who could barely waddle? Hot, tired, and filthy, Delaney knew she smelled like hard work mingled with a bit of despair.
Months had passed since the last time she felt pretty. Between her expanding waistline and the unending list of work on the ranch, she’d given up looking feminine. The only time she fixed her hair or put on a dress was for church, and she’d even stopped attending it regularly.
Additionally, she’d lost control of her emotions weeks ago. Tears sprang up unbidden over the silliest things and lingered ever so close to the surface.
Awkward and bloated, she wanted to duck her head and hide from this gorgeous man who’d broken her heart with his silence even more so than his absence.
For months, she’d done her best to believe he was alive, to dream of the day he’d return to her, open his arms, and profess his undying devotion.
Yet, now that he was here, fury surged through her for all the days and nights of torment she’d endured, imagining hundreds of horrible things that might have happened to him. He’d left her, all alone, to deal with the loss of her ranch hands, the injury of her father, the death of her brother and sister-in-law, and a completely unexpected pregnancy. She’d been the one who’d had to shoulder the weight of too many responsibilities and burdens, not him.
Unable to hold onto the thin thread of reason binding her to the last bit of self-control she possessed, she reached up and slapped Klayne across the face so hard, his head snapped back.
Stunned by what she’d done, a torrent of guilt and anguish flooded over her. If Klayne had been reluctant to reach out to her before, he certainly wouldn’t want her now.
Tears burst from her and she raced toward the house, or at least as best as she could holding her big belly and wearing Butch’s clodhopper boots.
So much for giving Klayne a warm welcome home.
Chapter Twenty-One
Klayne arrived in Pendleton, more uncertain about seeing Delaney with every second that ticked by. When he inquired at the depot office about getting a ride out to the ranch, an older gentleman volunteered to drive him, since he lived near Sage Hills Ranch.
As the man pulled up the lane, Klayne admired the harvested wheat fields, the cattle in the distance, and the big barn standing out against the deep blue of the sky.
The man stopped at the end of the walk in front of the house and grinned at Klayne. “Here you are.”
Klayne stared at the house as he answered. “I’m obliged for the ride, Mr. McBride.”
“My pleasure, Sergeant,” the man said, touching the brim of his hat. “Thank you for your service to our country, young man.”
Klayne nodded and slid out of the car then took his suitcase and bag from the backseat. He waved once as the neighbor left then turned to stare at the buttery-yellow farmhouse. It was as wonderful as he remembered, not just a vision from a dream. Flowers bloomed in pots along the porch and in beds surrounding the house. Someone had recently mowed the lawn and not a weed was in sight.
Unlike before when he felt like an outsider, an interloper on the ranch, he now had a reason and a right to be there. To make it his home. Well, he would if the woman he loved beyond reason still wanted him.
And that was a very big if.
Fear made his legs rubbery as he walked up the porch steps, and set down his suitcase and bag. Klayne knocked on the door and waited. He knocked a second time and the door swung open. A young, shy girl wearing a calico apron glanced up at him.
“Hello,” she said, not quite meeting his gaze which was fine with him.
“Is Delaney Danvers here?”
“No, sir. She’s out in the wheat field. You can find her on the combine, but they’ll be in for supper soon.” The girl flushed a deep shade of red but pointed to a distant wheat field where Klayne could see equipment stirring up a golden haze of dust. “Are you Sergeant Campbell?”
Klayne turned his attention back to the girl standing in the doorway. He wondered when and where Delaney had hired her. She looked too young to be out of school. “I am. If no one minds, I’ll walk out to see her,” he said.
The girl shrugged although she couldn’t help observing his every move as he left his suitcase and bag at the door then limped out to the field.
Years had passed since he’d seen wheat harvested. He stood at the edge of the field and watched his wife drive a combine. Her hair was in a dusty braid, trailing over one shoulder. She wore a cotton shirt and a pair of overalls that looked too big for her slender frame.
Klayne needed a minute to gather his composure before he approached her. When he did, he wanted to drop the cane in his hand, wrap her in his arms, and lose himself in her love.
Delaney was prettier than he remembered. Even through the dust streaking her cheeks, she appeared beautiful. In spite of the scents that attested to the hard work she’d done that day, he caught a hint of her, the fragrance that was all Delaney. It had eased his darkest moments and filled his dreams when he had nothing but pain for company.
For a moment, he thought she was happy to see him. Her hand had brushed so tenderly over the scars on his face. Then she’d slapped him so hard he bit his tongue. Before he could speak or reach out to her, she burst into tears an
d ran off.
Klayne stood perfectly still, watching his wife run away. His very pregnant wife. The shock of seeing her quadrupled the second he realized she was expecting a baby.
For a brief moment, he questioned if she’d been faithful to him. After all, they’d been married less than twenty-four hours before he left town. Had Delaney taken up with someone else in his absence? Had she allowed another man to fill the empty place he left behind in her arms and bed?
Without even asking, he knew the answer. Not a single reason existed to demand who she’d been with or what had happened because he knew all too well who’d left her with child and vanished from her life.
The blame rested solely on his shoulders.
Assailed with guilt over what he’d done — marrying her, loving her, and leaving her — Klayne thought about going back to Pendleton without facing her.
He’d had such wonderful dreams of Delaney running to him when he returned to the ranch. He pictured her rushing to him, arms open wide, declaring her unending love.
Instead, she’d slapped his face and scurried off, but not before he read the emotion on her face as plainly as if she’d written it in big block letters for all to see. Of course, she’d been surprised to see him, but that gave way to pleasure, then shock, as she took in his scars. Pity might have flashed across her face, but first her legendary temper got the best of her. The explosion of tears accompanying her look of anguish and guilt was unexpected, though.
The realistic part of his brain that warned him he’d have to work to win Delaney’s heart a second time wasn’t a bit astonished by the slap she’d delivered. Klayne deserved it and a lot more. Essentially, he’d abandoned her since February. He could have written her from China. He could have mailed her dozens of letters in the past few months while he recuperated in Portland.
Home of Her Heart (Hearts of the War Book 2) Page 24