by Jillian Hart
What was wrong with him? Why was he reacting this way to Linnea Holmstrom? No other woman since his wife had affected him like this.
A gust of wind caught the edge of the barn door and tore it from his grip. The wood smacked into place with a bang, ringing like a gunshot.
He turned around and there she was, standing in the pathway, surrounded by new green grasses reaching up from the earth. The wind buffeted her skirts and had tangled her brilliant gold hair.
She looked as innocent as dawn and as tempting as sunlight and he couldn’t help wanting to be warmed by her touch.
He’d been cold for so long.
“I’ll be back to feed and water the mare. Don’t worry.” He resisted the urge to reach out and wind his fingers through her hair.
He was a man with needs and hungers. That didn’t mean he had to give in to them. “Thank your mother for me. The salve may keep her injury from infecting.”
“I’ll tell her.” Linnea merely gazed at him with her luminous violet-blue eyes, too large in her pale face.
Her cloak was stained and her dress rumpled. Her skirts dragged on the earth, hiding her patched and muddy shoes. With her hair fallen from its knot and dancing in the wind, she was far from the parlor-perfect image that ought to be the epitome of beauty.
At this moment, alone with the wind and prairie, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
“I have been listening for you two.” Mrs. Holmstrom eased into sight on the porch, a shawl wrapped around her frail shoulders. “Major, I hope you are hungry. The soup and sandwiches are ready. Come.”
Anyone could see how joyful the older woman was at the prospect of being a hostess.
But his chest was tight and hurting with emotions he didn’t want to examine, and he knew he’d never chase away the pain in his heart by sitting in her kitchen. He had enough loneliness in his life. Seeing all that he once had—a cozy home, a woman’s touch, warmth and light—would only make the loneliness keen-edged and unbearable.
“Thank you, ma’am, but I have to be on my way. I appreciate the invitation. Hope you didn’t go to too much trouble.”
“Next time I will be quicker to coax you into my kitchen. I shall greet you with a plate of cinnamon rolls and we will see if you can walk away then.”
“Greet me like that and you might never be rid of me,” he teased, and was rewarded with her smile, more beautiful for all the years that had touched it.
“Thank you.” Linnea touched his sleeve, and her beauty was the brightest of all. Honest and gentle, and everything missing from his life.
He headed down the road as fast as he could. Like a hot blade, he could feel Linnea’s gaze on his back, or maybe it was simply his loneliness that hurt more with every step.
* * *
“The major said he would return?” Mama asked over the clack of her knitting needles. “I have not heard him.”
Linnea looked up from her sewing. “He must have fed and watered the mare when we were out on our walk.”
“A shame, it is. I wanted to thank him again. The repairs he made to the roof are good, yes? It rains and there is not a single drip. What a blessing it is he has come to manage things.”
Mama cocked her head, listening as the wall clock bonged the hour. “Bedtime for an old lady. No, I need no help. Sit and enjoy your sewing.”
“It’s only a patchwork quilt, Mama.” No matter what her mother said, she did need some help. Linnea set aside the block she was working on, a nine patch from scraps she’d been able to salvage. “Here, let me fetch your nightgown. I want you to change right here where it’s warm.”
“You spoil me, dotter, when you should be tending children of your own.”
“Ah, but I am happy enough with you.” Heading into the dark bedroom, Linnea found the warm flannel nightgown by feel. The room was damp from the evening’s rain, so she headed to the kitchen to grab the iron warmer from the shelf.
“You spent much time with the major today.” Mama set aside her knitting.
“He needed help with the horse is all.” Linnea set the warmer on the hot hearthstones. She was careful to keep her feelings from her voice. “The mare was sleeping when I went to bed down the cow for the night.”
“She is calm?”
“I wouldn’t say that. She’s afraid but too injured to do much. She took some of the grain I offered her. Who can turn down molasses-covered oats?”
“Ah, true wisdom. I wonder if the major likes molasses cookies.”
“Mama.” Linnea circled the chair and tugged at the older woman’s dress buttons. “You have to promise to stop. You’re making Seth uncomfortable.”
“I merely invited him to eat with us.”
“Yes, but it was the way you said it. Like you were ready to start planning a wedding.”
“I did no such thing. You exaggerate, child.”
“He ran off down the road, didn’t he?” The buttons undone, Linnea took her mother’s frail hand. “Stand and let’s get this dress off you.”
“Nonsense. I can do this myself and you know it. You cling to me when you should be making your own life. A man like the major can give you that.”
“I know, Mama.” Linnea could hear the wobble in her own voice, and she feared she hadn’t fooled her mother one bit.
The woman was so stubborn! Choosing to believe in the impossible. Choosing to wipe the past clean like a slate and start anew. As if it were possible.
After her mother was tucked safely into her bed, Linnea welcomed the silence. No more Mama and her questions about the major. No secret hopes for a daughter’s wedding.
Now all she had to do was to keep her own wishing under control. The parlor felt lonely tonight. A single light burned on the round table next to her rocking chair, casting a glow over the tiny parlor. Flickering over the rag rug where no children’s toys had been left after a day of play. Over the furniture where no husband sat.
Orange firelight blazed a path across the room as she went about her nighttime duties. Banking the fire in the stove, filling the reservoir for the morning washing. She pulled on her father’s old slicker and headed out into the dark to bring in wood for the morning’s fire.
Rain tapped and blew on a low, moaning wind. The night felt cold and lonely, as if the entire world were weeping. Rain streaked like tears down her face as she splashed down the porch steps and into a mud puddle at the base of the stairs. The wind gusted and she tightened the coat’s sash.
She hurried out into the darkness, the wind tearing at her clothes and the mud trying to trap her shoes. There would be no mustangs pursuing the shadows, not on this stormy night. What about the mare? Was she listening to the night? Wondering if her herd would return?
The large dark lump that was the woodpile was hardly distinguishable from the dark. Linnea curled her fingers around a cold wet piece of pine and lifted it from the dwindling stack.
The hair prickled on the back of her neck and she froze. A shoe squished in the mud behind her. She wasn’t alone. She spun around, but the high plains lay shrouded in black and hidden from her sight.
“Linnea?”
The wood slipped from her fingers and splashed into a puddle at her feet. Water sprayed up over her toes. “Seth. I didn’t hear you.”
“Or see me, I bet. Some storm. Guess it means spring is here for good. Did I scare you?”
“Just startled me.”
“Sorry. Let me get that.” He knelt before her, as substantial as the night, a man of shadow and worth that made her feel far too much. “While I’m at it, let me carry in all the wood for you. How much do you need?”
“I’m perfectly capable.” Linnea grabbed the pitchy-smelling piece of wood from his arm and turned to the stack. “Did you come to check on the mare?”
“Yeah, thought I’d make sure she was bedded down all right.” He snatched the wood from her and began filling his arms. “I missed you this afternoon. Figured you’d come out to the barn while I was there.”<
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“I took Mama on an afternoon walk. She loves to get outside when she can. She’s pretty much trapped in the house all winter.” Linnea shouldered past him and grabbed the piece of wood he was reaching for. “I can do my own chores, thank you.”
“I never said you couldn’t. I’m simply a gentleman who can’t stand by while a pretty lady works.”
“Save your sweet talk for the Widow Johanson. She might be impressed by it.”
“And you’re not?” Seth chuckled, so close to her that she could feel the heat of his breath. “Trust me, I’m not trying to sweet-talk anyone. I want to be neighborly. That’s all.”
“Fine. Then follow me to the house.”
The night didn’t feel as miserable with Seth by her side. She didn’t mind the mud sucking at her shoes or the wind that drove rain into her face. The walk back to the house didn’t seem as long. Before she knew it, she was crossing the threshold from darkness to light, from cold to warmth and Seth was emptying his load into the bin by the hearth.
“I’m dripping all over your clean floor.” He straightened and lifted the wood from her arms. “I’ve learned from experience women don’t always appreciate that. They spend a lot of time keeping their floors polished.”
“True. I’ll look past it this time, since you’re being neighborly. And the mud on the floor, too.”
“Sheesh. I can sweep it up.”
“What? A man who sweeps? I’ve never heard of such a creature.”
“Watch and learn.” He stacked the last piece of wood into place and brushed the bark from his coat sleeves. “Where’s the broom?”
“Don’t worry about it. You’ll track mud all the way into the kitchen if you fetch it now. I’ll take your word that you’re a skilled sweeper.”
“Can’t have my competence in doubt.” Seth pulled off one boot, then the other. Sparkles lit his eyes and made him look younger.
She saw a man probably not much older than she was, the lines and burdens gone from his face. A glint of the devil flashed in his grin, slow and steady and only for her, before he disappeared into the dark kitchen. She could barely make out his shadow as he rummaged through the pantry. A loud clunk echoed through the house.
“Oops. I was lucky that didn’t break.”
“I keep a row of crocks on the bottom shelf. If any field mice get into the house, I can hear them and chase them off with the broom.”
“You don’t have a cat?” The pantry door whispered shut, and Seth’s footsteps padded through the dark.
“No, he died last summer. Cats are expensive in this part of the country. I couldn’t find a kitten cheaper than a dollar fifty, so I figured we could do without for a little while.”
“That’s what Ginny needs. A cat to do some hunting around the house and barn. She didn’t need one in town.” Seth emerged from the shadows, and the single light from the table lamp seemed to find his shoulders and worship him.
Her fingers itched to do the same. To know how a real man felt. To explore the tendons cording in his arms and feel the hard expanse of his chest. Just wishing, she told herself, because she couldn’t very well reach out and touch him.
She might be a spinster, but she still had a woman’s desires. She wanted to be held safe in the shelter of a good man’s arms. To know his kiss and his caresses. To feel the heat of his skin. The weight of his body. The pleasure of his loving.
“See what a good job I’m doing?” Seth’s words came easy and unaffected over the rasp of the broom on the polished floor and he gestured to his handiwork. “True to my word.”
Without a doubt, he was a man that a woman could believe in.
Chapter Six
Seth stepped into his boots on the rainy front porch, since he didn’t want to muddy up the floor he’d just swept. The cool wind buffeted him, and water streaked down his face. As powerful as the storm was, it couldn’t wash away the faintest scent of her lilacs.
Linnea hovered in the threshold behind him, her shadow cast long by the light inside. Her skirts snapping, her presence a warmth he dared not think too hard about. He pulled his coat tight and faced the storm where rain and darkness met.
“Want to come to the barn with me?”
Surprise, then delight shaped her soft face. “Let me grab my slicker.”
Her footsteps faded away, and he made the mistake of glancing over his shoulder. She’d vanished from the doorway, but everything she represented remained—the snapping fire in the hearth, sewing left on the cushion of the rocking chair, a welcoming sanctuary made homey with ruffles and lace.
A woman. Home. Everything he’d never thought he’d have again.
Loneliness struck him like the miserable rain, driving through his coat to his skin, chilling him to the bone. Linnea’s arms would be warm, her kiss like new silk. He’d never thought another woman could make him wish for a new start in life. Another chance to love.
A scary thought. He headed into the darkness and let the shadows engulf him.
Tonight the cold didn’t soothe him, but left him hungry and restless, until Linnea appeared in the threshold, lamplight shimmering in her golden curls for a brief moment, and he felt whole. She pulled the slicker’s hood up over her head and pulled the door closed behind her.
The light from the house faded, leaving only the overwhelming storm. He didn’t know what made him do it as he reached out and took her hand. “The steps are slick.”
“It’s gentlemanly of you, but I go up and down these steps all the time, come rain, sleet or snow.” She didn’t tug her hand away, wet and warm in his, as he accompanied her down the stairs.
“I take it your mother’s asleep?”
“Either that, or she was eavesdropping through the door when you carried in the wood. She’s quite taken with you. Thinks you’re a blessing because you fixed the leak in the roof. She praises you all the day long.”
“After I finish planting, I’ll be back to put on a new roof.”
“Then she’ll be indebted to you for the rest of her life. It hurts her to see the home Papa built for her needing repairs we can’t do.”
“Your parents must have shared a deep love.”
“Very.” She sighed, wistful, as if remembering better times. “It was beautiful to grow up basking in their loving marriage. To know that kind of affection does exist.”
“It’s not easy to find.” The wind gusted, and Seth moved to protect her from the brunt of it. The cold battered his back, but he hardly noticed it. “I don’t know any other woman who would give up marriage and a family to care for her aging mother.”
“You make me sound noble, but it’s nothing like that. Nothing at all.” The light drained from Linnea’s voice, her words as dark as the night. “But what about you? Not many men would come to help a stepsister in need, especially when there’s nothing to be gained.”
“I had nothing better to do.”
“No wife or family, you mean.”
“That’s right. I have no wife or family.” The sadness struck like a sudden blow hard to his sternum.
He’d grieved, he’d found a way to survive, then to live each day. But that didn’t mean he would never miss what he’d had. A wife to hold, who at the end of a long hard day would welcome him home with the gleam of love in her eyes. And the high shouts of his son and daughter as they raced through the house to greet him, shouting above each other to tell him the news of their day.
To be welcomed and loved and needed, to feel with a whole heart and have a real life.
This was what haunted him, what hurt beyond endurance.
The music of the rain hitting the earth and the low keen of the wind sounded lonely and relentless, and he swiped rain from his face.
He hefted open the heavy barn door and stepped aside, letting Linnea escape the storm first.
A sharp, warning neigh trumpeted through the darkness and echoed, almost like a woman’s scream, in the hayloft overhead. The milk cow lowed softly, shifting in her stall, and the pad
of Linnea’s quiet steps to the gate made the cow calm, pleased with a little attention.
Listening to Linnea’s soft voice as she talked to the cow, he found the lantern and lit it. The sharp smell of kerosene tickled his nose, but it cleared his head. “The mare doesn’t seem glad to see us.”
“Is she doing better?”
Seth shook the rain from his brim and headed toward the dark stall. Another frightened neigh tore through the darkness, and the loud smack of a hoof striking wood echoed in the rafters.
“Is she hurting herself?” Linnea asked anxiously.
“She must be doing better to have that much strength.” Seth halted at the stall, taking care not to move too fast. “Easy, girl. I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”
The mare must have decided she no longer needed help and bared her teeth.
“Yep. She’s better.” The water in her trough was gone and some of the hay had been eaten. He took his time refilling both, knowing Linnea was watching him with her quiet gaze.
“If that hoof doesn’t show signs of infection, I’ll untie you in the morning, girl.” He backed away, and the mare watched him with intelligent eyes, as if trying to measure the danger she was in.
Linnea said nothing, standing beside the friendly cow that was nibbling on the hem of the yellow slicker. The bovine appeared to be tame as a dog. Linnea had a way with animals and he figured the mustang was a lucky horse to be trapped in her barn.
Maybe he’d be able to gentle the mare before he left at summer’s end. Unless Linnea and her kindness tamed the mare first.
“I said something wrong, didn’t I?” Woman soft, gentle as a hymn, Linnea watched him without moving, her bottom lip drawn between her teeth.
She looked vulnerable and so beautiful it took his breath away. The huge old yellow slicker with the worn cuffs and patched hood ought to make a woman look bulky, not gently feminine. She made the man he was ache with want.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I mentioned marriage and I shouldn’t have done that. I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable. Or to think that I might be fishing for a husband, because I’m not.”