She studied him as he picked up his pen. In no manner did he appear the pale-faced, dreamer who scraped to make his living as an artist. Luke’s broad shoulders did not suit her image of how one should look. She’d watched him ride, his strong legs capable of controlling his mount with the slightest pressure, and when he’d wanted a better vantage point for sketching the ranch house, he’d pulled himself into a tree with little effort. No, he didn’t lack the strength. But did he lack the resolve? “I think you already know my answer.”
“Yes, I suppose I do. It’s my choice now, isn’t it? If I do this, I would give up the job I have.” He gave a mirthless laugh. “The bird in the hand. But with mother gone, I’ve no one who needs my support. It’s just me and the risk matters little.”
“And there might be much to gain?” she asked. “I noticed you have your watercolors with you.” Her gaze fell to the box of pigments beside him.
“I realized that if I’m not returning to school, my only teacher will have to be experience.”
A wavy lock of hair fell across his brow. How could he look at once stern and in the next boyish with excitement? His lips parted as he narrowed his eyes, tipping his head to study her from a different angle.
“Is it more difficult?” She knew the answer, because of her own experience. But she wanted to hear him talk about his art, wanted to hear the passion in his voice.
“What?”
“Painting.”
His hand once again darted across the page. “It requires a different skill.” He leaned back, his expression serious as though he was debating with himself, the answer to her question. “We don’t live in a black and white world, so in that respect it’s somewhat easier.” He shifted his gaze to her, locked on her face. An enigmatic smile drove away the somber expression. “But an artist comes to any subject with a filter of his own imagination.” Lifting his pen, he pointed it to her. “You, for example, if I had drawn you on the first day that we had met, your portrait would not have been as flattering.”
She frowned. “And why is that?”
“I saw you as having a capricious nature, charming but decidedly inconstant.”
“Capricious, me? You describe yourself! I believe your window into my personage is actually a mirror, Mr. Brennan.”
“That impression was only my first.”
“And now?” She could scarcely hold the intensity of his gaze.
He brushed the same wayward lock of hair behind her ear and traced her neck with his finger, letting it come to rest at the top of her collar. His eyes flickered from her eyes to her lips. “And now I see you as you really are—unveiled. I see you, Miss Fairburn, a glimpse of your truer nature. A woman of uncompromising convictions, yet tempered by a tender heart.”
Dawn sat up, struggling to push her feet beneath her, heart hammering against her breast. This was too much, too soon. She reached out to the tree for support until certain of her balance. “I think we’d better join the others.” She tried to make her tone light, but failing. To her dismay, tears pooled, stinging her eyes. She brushed at them with the back of her hand and scanned the ground for Evan’s walking stick.
Luke scrambled to his feet and held it out to her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.”
She leaned on the branch, grateful for its support. Squeezing her eyes closed, she willed her heart to quiet. “I’m just so unaccustomed—” she whispered.
“I shouldn’t have spoken so freely.” He raked a hand through his hair. “But you have—you see me. When you talk to me of all that matters most, I think you know me. You reflect to me my own flawed thinking. I need—that honesty.” He dropped his hands to his sides. “I’ve needed that in a friend.”
Emotions warred for Dawn’s urgent attention, a confusing battle of wills as though two people now lived within her breast, the woman of yesterday and the one who had courageously crossed the threshold last night while dancing in his arms. With faltering steps, she started back along the shoreline, desperate to put distance between them, for time to realign her feelings.
Luke gathered his drawing materials and hurried to catch up to her. He reached for her elbow, then pulled back his hand. “May I?”
Dawn slowed. Doubting he’d allow her to refuse his help, she accepted his supporting hand on her arm. In silence, they walked the shore. His grip on her arm was at once firm and then scarcely touching her.
As soon as she saw her father, she gave Luke a courteous thank you, and stepped away, never once looking back at him.
Bart called out to them, “Pick up a plate and I’ll put a slab of beef on it for you.”
More gracious than Bart in her invitation, Lena handed them plates, already filled with fried potatoes and Jessie’s herb rolls. “Here you are. We’ve made a place for you on the quilt. The twins are asleep in the back of the wagon, so if we eat quickly, we might finish before they start fussing.”
Dawn settled herself beside her father who was happily describing to the men, his battle with the fish of his dreams. She avoided Luke’s eyes, keeping her attention on the conversation instead.
The emotion pressing against her ribs pained her. It began with two words—if only. As her shock slipped to memory, and memory grew warm in her breast, she imagined what might have happened had she not pulled away. She imagined and felt another pang of if only. If only she could return to that moment, yielding not to her fear but her need to know. So much of what she wanted to know remained a veiled path.
Were Luke’s advances spurred by a genuine attraction for her, or born of his need for intimacy with someone, anyone? Or nothing more than the passing desire for casual feminine companionship? If that incomplete scene she’d walked away from had been the response to the former, a legitimate attraction, would there have been yet another threshold waiting for her to pass through?
Had she, in one moment of cowardice, constructed a barrier neither of them would cross again?
Luke and Evan stood apart from the group, conversing with earnest gestures and serious expressions. Had he chosen, then, to take on the risk? Would he travel into the mountains, following in the footsteps of frontier artists?
The two men strode over to the hobbled horses where Evan removed a rifle from his saddle scabbard. Luke’s fierce concentration gave evidence that this was no casual discussion or opportunity for Evan to boast. When Luke accepted the rifle into his own hands, he promptly lifted it to his shoulder, sighting down the barrel at the hills. Evan reached over Luke’s shoulder, making an adjustment to the rifle’s position.
Jessie passed her a plate with a slice of pie towering upon it. “Looks like Luke is determined to learn to shoot straight.”
“He’ll get the hang of it soon enough,” Bart said between bites. “If he’s got the wanting, Evan’s the man to teach him.”
Of the little she’d learned of the man, Luke possessed the wanting. Her eyes drifted to the jagged mountain tops, rising beyond the hills. What threats awaited him? She drew her sweater around her as her imagination drew unpleasant images of fierce beasts. Cursed imagination.
“Are you cold, Dear?” Her father leaned close to her ear. “I have a coat in the wagon. Shall I get it for you?”
She looked up into his face, touched now with fine lines, the recorded tracks of past smiles.
“I’m fine. It was just a cool breeze.”
Lena said, “The mountains send us reminders from time to time that seasons will change.”
Dawn wondered if the woman also knew of the two men engaged in conversation, drawing a similar conclusion.
“I think those breezes keep us appreciative of the season we’re in.”
Lena’s philosophy held a striking similarity to her own. It is much better to stay anchored to the present than to allow your thoughts to stray too far into tomorrow. But there was something lacking in the woman’s observation. Unlike Dawn’s, Lena’s made no mention of risks to be avoided. The next season might bring hazards—but might it also bring unim
aginable happiness?
In one other area, the woman’s philosophy differed. For Lena, the present was an opportunity for expressing gratitude.
***
Luke absorbed all the advice Evan gave him. His plan was neither rash nor over-reaching his current abilities. With some borrowed equipment, including a carbine and Colt pistol, he’d take two days to explore the lower elevations west of the Big Wood River. With a little luck, he might come back with more confidence and a few sketches to prove to himself that his greater goals could be realized.
Only his melancholy thoughts of Dawn intruded on his hopeful outlook. He’d made a fool of himself, assuming her interests in him were as strong as his were for her. The memory of her shocked expression troubled him. He’d humiliated himself and offended the first woman he’d dared to consider a kindred spirit. It came as a relief to see her join in so enthusiastically with the others, making him hope that his rash actions would be quickly forgotten, and simply relegated to the ranks of her many past, failed suitors.
To dismiss his thoughts of her, with her jade green eyes and alabaster skin, would have been easier if not for the jealousy that flared upon seeing Nathan waiting for them outside the barn upon their return. Looking his typical effervescent self, and groomed more appropriately for the streets of New York, he greeted Luke with an affable grin. “Hailey transformed itself for the occasion. Did you manage some sketches you’re pleased with?”
Luke nodded, thinking to inquire in kind.
“I have a few that might suffice. Why don’t we share them later?” He nodded toward the approaching wagon and its cargo of picnickers, smiling conspiratorially. “Hope you had a chance to get to know our mutual friend a little better.”
Luke stiffened, wondering if the man meant the comment as a jest. As the wagon pulled up beside them, he was spared giving an answer. With a flurry of skirts and unloading of boxes and blankets and sleepy children, Luke managed to slip away.
Before he could remove himself from range, he heard Nathan’s voice call out to Dawn. “I have news to tell you.”
Without waiting to hear the news of which he spoke, Luke strode into the house, more determined than ever to act on his plan, and as quickly as possible. Tomorrow wouldn’t come soon enough.
Chapter Nineteen
With Your Will
“Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you have imagined.” Henry David Thoreau
July 5, 1890
Dawn woke early, feeling more herself as sunlight shooed her troubled dreams to the dark space beneath her pillow. Nathan’s telegram from his photographer friend, might be just the news that would redirect Luke’s plans. She’d encouraged Nathan last night to tell him, convinced that knowing Nate was no longer a threat to his job would be good news for Luke to hear. But Luke had not reappeared from his room. This morning, they would tell him straight away that Nathan’s friend had purchased both the equipment and the studio to begin their photography business.
She dressed quickly, pulling her hair into a twist, scarcely securing it, before tapping on her father’s door. “Are you ready for breakfast?”
He opened the door fully dressed and in bright spirits. The sight of his relaxed, smiling face brought another wave of remorse at her own short-sighted selfishness. She wondered then if he’d been lonely for a long time. Mrs. Corbyn had made a difference.
He kissed her cheek. “How did you sleep?”
She bent the truth with an attempt at humor. “In my bed.”
He laughed, then folded his arms over his chest. “Are you joining me for a last day of fishing?”
“You mean sitting on the bank and admiring your technique?”
He gave her a pained expression. “No. I mean fishing. I enjoy your company.”
Dawn couldn’t stop her thought from taking the road to her soon-to-be stepmother. Would Mrs. Corbyn acquiesce to becoming his fishing companion? “First, I’d like to see what Lena has planned.”
When Luke did not appear for breakfast, she wanted to ask Jessie or Lena where he might have gone. Instead, as soon as she had finished her meal, she walked to the barn to learn for herself if his horse was still in its stall.
“Are you thinking of going out for a ride, Dawn?”
Dawn turned at the sound of Evan’s voice. “Not really. Well, I might—later.” She drew her hand to her throat, fingering the top button. “I noticed that Luke’s horse isn’t in the stall, the one he’s been riding. Do you know where he’s gone?” She felt her neck grow warm when he smiled at her.
“I do, in fact. Think you know he’s been talking of traveling into the hills to do some sketching.”
She nodded her understanding.
“He took off before sunrise, heading west of the Wood River.”
“I see.”
Evan turned back to his work.
She brought her hands together before her, lacing her fingers tight. Questions swirled. She pulled in her lower lip between her teeth. Then said, “I suppose he’ll be gone some time, then. I was hoping to say goodbye.” Her throat squeezed tight. “Before we depart.”
She looked up to see Evan studying her, as though he had something more to say. “I think he plans to return before you leave on Wednesday.”
“Did he say that?” A spark of hope flared.
He hitched a shoulder. “In a manner of speaking. He asked me when you were leaving.”
She understood the implication, but he may have asked in order to avoid her. And yet, she couldn’t believe he would leave without saying something to her. The words rose before her like twin specters. If only. Along with those two words came their complement, what if.
Equally confused and dismayed, Dawn left the barn and wandered along the pasture fence line, scarcely aware of her surroundings. The object of every thought centered upon one person, one man about whom she knew so little. It was illogical for her affections to focus on a virtual stranger; irrational of her to allow it to continue. She clenched her hands in annoyance.
Her resolve proved weaker as questions rose, taunting her. Had Luke left so suddenly because of his resolve to test himself, or his conviction that she was disinterested in him? Would he return in time to declare himself, if that was his intent?
Dawn found the walking stick Evan had given her propped against the front porch railing. She used it as she walked along the south facing slope to the stream. Her father was sitting high on the bank, working to extract a hook from his finger.
“Stop. Let me help. You’ll only make it worse by digging at it.” Because the hook had not set deeply, Dawn extracted it with her fingernails, chiding him for making a fuss.
“Glad your hands are small.” He wasted no time baiting his hook and throwing out his line into the gurgling stream. His boyish glee drew a smile to her lips. “Mrs. Hartmann have any plans that top fishing?” he asked.
“She plans to return to town tomorrow. I suppose I’ll go with her. Nathan might come along.”
She felt her father’s eyes upon her. “Heard that Luke headed out this morning on his own adventure.”
Surprised, she turned a quizzical look at him.
He shrugged a shoulder. “Heard him talking to Evan late last night.”
She frowned and turned away, watching the worm skewered on her father’s fishing hook. “He said nothing to me.”
A moment passed in silence, broken only by the song of the brook as it wove its path to the river. He asked, “Did you show any interest?”
Dawn tried to swallow past the lump swelling in her throat.
“I hope you know; I have no interest in seeing you marry for any other reason than love.”
She drew up her knees and wrapped her arms about them. The topic was unwelcome, and she found it difficult to meet his eyes.
“I don’t want you to sacrifice your happiness to please me. I know I’ve made a mess of things.”
She reached out and touched his arm. “No. I did, by not seeing how lonely y
ou were.”
He gave her a ghost of a smile, patting her hand. “You know, I brought you here so we could talk. We’ve always been able to share our thoughts.”
“But not by a stream with your line in the water,” she teased.
“That’s true. But it’s only an added benefit, a kind of rider on a house bill.”
They both laughed then.
His face grew sober. “Promise me, that you’ll only marry for love.”
She dropped her gaze to his hand wrapped around hers. The gesture represented so much of what she depended upon. There had always been the constancy of his affection and care for her—his hand holding hers.
“Don’t settle for anything less, my girl. Promise me.”
She looked up into his imploring eyes and answered, “I promise.”
Dawn stayed with him for a time, seeing him in a different light as they talked of the things that mattered to them both. He reminded her of his sister’s invitation to travel through Europe, attempting to excite her imagination for what such a trip could do for her perspective on the world and her place within it.
He assured her that he wanted her involved with his political career, and how much he valued her opinions. Even as he spoke of what she had accomplished for him in the past, she wondered if her opinions were needed now. Was she needed now? Hadn’t her role changed forever?
As for love, the first man she’d ever allowed to draw close to her, she’d driven away.
For the rest of the day, she attempted to deflect her thoughts from Luke. She entertained the children for a time while Jessie worked to perfect a recipe she’d found in one of Lena’s cookbooks. It was a chocolate souffle that held promise for the church social next weekend. Her mention of next weekend, only a few days hence, gave her pause. She’d be back in their New York home, returning to an altered world. Her imagination failed to paint more than diffuse colors of green and brown.
That evening she played cards with Nathan, Jessie and Bart, but she knew her choices gave her partner, Nate, many opportunities to control his tongue. She confused the suit and the bid far too often in the short time she played.
A Portrait of Dawn Page 19