by Linda Ford
Carly’s face burned and she dared not look at Sawyer. Instead, she hurried to her room to collect Jill’s things and carry them to the smaller room. She and Sawyer passed each other, his arms full of his things.
“Where shall I put my stuff?” he asked.
“I left the drawers open that held Jill’s things and there are hooks to hang stuff on.”
“Can I take my bed?” Jill asked. “I like it.”
“Of course. We’ll exchange beds.” She counted on doing so. Jill’s bed was too short for her. Had been since she was twelve. Two beds would mean they didn’t have to share.
“I dinnae think so,” Father said. “Leave the little bed in your room.”
“Don’t you feel guilty at what you’re doing?”
“Nay, daughter. Sometimes a little push is necessary.”
A little push? Is that what he called this manipulation?
Too upset to deal with her father, she continued to the small room and quickly arranged Jill’s things. She took longer at the task than it required, even after Jill decided it was okay and left.
Sawyer came to the doorway. “Are you all right?”
“Father is playing games with us.” She kept her back to him, afraid he would read far more in her expression than she cared for him to see.
“We don’t have to play along.”
“Seems we do.”
“Except we decide the rules of the game.”
She nodded. Stiffened when he crossed the room. Fought an urge to turn into his embrace when he planted his hands on her shoulders.
“Carly, I will never expect more from you than you want to give. You can trust me.”
She trusted him. Knew he would keep his word even when she wished otherwise. Her heart echoed with impossible longing. “You can trust me, too.” She slipped away and returned to the kitchen. It was past time to make dinner.
The rest of the day she kept busy, weeding the garden, mending the chicken-yard fence, fixing a tear in the trousers Jill wore. But avoiding her bedroom and the evidence of Sawyer’s presence in it were impossible no matter how frantically she worked.
How were they going to handle this situation and remain true to their promises?
You can trust me. She wasn’t sure she meant his words or hers.
After supper, Sawyer disappeared outside. She watched out the window as he traipsed toward the river. She longed to join him…to ask what he really thought of sharing her room. But he seemed to prefer his solitude, so she and Jill cleaned up the kitchen together.
“Beth said I did almost as good as she does,” Jill said.
Carly smiled at the sweet child, recognizing her yearning for approval. “Jill, honey, you are so helpful. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Jill beamed. “Mama would be proud, don’t you think?”
Glad that her father had retired to the other room so Carly could relax, she hugged the child. “She would be so proud.”
Would Carly’s mother be proud of her?
She straightened and looked out the window. Mother had always praised her, always told her how much she was loved. Now she saw something she had not been aware of before. Not until Mother died had Carly tried to be a son to her father.
Why did it matter so much at that point?
She found the answer. Because she missed her mother’s approval and sought her father’s instead.
“It’s time for bed,” she told Jill a short time later.
“Are you still going to read to me?”
“Of course I am. You get washed up and into your nightie while I get the book from my room.” She retrieved the storybook and joined Jill in the little room. It still held hints of Sawyer’s presence—a worn brown shirt he’d overlooked hung on a hook behind the door and most telling of all, his scent. She tried to ignore it as she lay beside Jill and read her a story. The kitten lay in the crook of Jill’s arm. At least it was content with the arrangement.
Jill said her prayers, then crawled into bed. Carly pulled the light covers up to Jill’s chin and bent to kiss her.
Jill wrapped her arms about Carly’s neck and held her. “I liked being in your room.”
“I liked it, too. I’m going to miss you close to me.”
“Granddad said this is the way it should be.”
“I know.” She kissed the child again. “You have a good sleep.” She petted the kitten. “You, too, Skippy.”
Jill giggled. “She’ll crawl up to my neck as soon as you’re gone.”
“Just make sure she doesn’t eat you alive.” She tickled Jill and laughed.
Jill grew serious. “She would never hurt me.”
“I know. Now you go to sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”
She returned to the kitchen. Father sat in his big chair watching her. She sat at the table with her back to him.
“Where’s Sawyer?” he asked.
“Outside.”
“Aye, and why? Are you cold toward him?”
“Father, don’t be blaming me for something you started.” Next he’d be telling her she should get prettied up for her man.
“Me?”
Sawyer banged into the house.
She was inordinately pleased to see him. It would put a stop to Father’s meddling. She sprang to her feet. “Would you like tea or coffee or something to eat?” They’d never bothered with a bedtime snack before but now seemed a good time to start doing so.
“No, thanks.” He didn’t sit.
His hovering presence unnerved her and she stood, too, and met his gaze. Saw so many things. Or imagined she did. Regret perhaps. Or simply acceptance. If only she could believe she saw longing.
He looked past her to Father, watching and waiting, brought his gaze back to her and smiled, a gentle comforting smile. “You go ahead and get ready for bed. I’ll come in a few minutes.”
“Thank you,” she murmured. This might not be difficult if Sawyer was understanding about it.
She hurriedly prepared for bed, hesitating about slipping into her nightgown. She couldn’t sleep in her clothes and she pulled the night garment over her head as quickly as she could. With a grimace, she lay on the child-sized bed. She’d be unable to straighten her legs unless she lowered them to the ground. But she wasn’t about to complain.
Sawyer tapped lightly to warn her that he was entering and slipped in. “Your father is watching to make sure I don’t sneak out and sleep in the barn.”
She groaned.
In the dim light coming through the curtains, he studied her. “That isn’t going to be very comfortable.”
She shifted to her side and drew her knees to her chest. “I’ll be fine.”
“No, you won’t. You sleep in the bed and I’ll sleep on the floor.”
“I can’t do that to you. After all, it’s my father who is forcing us to do this.” She tried not to shuffle in an attempt to get more comfortable.
“Sorry, but I absolutely refuse to allow this.” He grabbed a pillow and the quilt folded at the bottom of the bed. His boots thudded off. The rustle of material suggested he’d removed his jeans and shirt. With a sigh, he settled on the floor on the far side. “You might as well take advantage of the bed.” His disembodied voice came to her.
“This is silly.” She waited for him to change his mind but he remained on the floor and she knew he would. He was a man who meant what he said. Something she both respected and regretted from time to time. “If you insist.” She scrambled into the bed and stretched out with a sigh. “It’s lovely. Thank you. But now I feel bad that you’re on the floor.”
“Don’t. I’ve slept on harder ground as you might recall.”
“I suppose you have.” She stared at the ceiling, so aware of him on the floor beside her that she could hardly breathe. “That trip to the Bar None seems like a lifetime ago.”
“The bulls have settled in with the herd. Your father was right about bringing them in.”
“Yeah, he’s a canny cattle
man.” She waited a second to continue. “Too bad he doesn’t understand people as well.”
Sawyer chuckled. “Especially his own daughter.”
“Aye,” she said with a great deal of dismay. “’Tis the truth.”
He chuckled. “It’s been a long, trying day. Try and get some sleep.”
“Good night.” She shifted to her side.
“Good night.” His voice sounded more distant and she guessed he had rolled away from the bed.
She didn’t expect to sleep a wink but drifted off almost at once and wakened as Sawyer tiptoed from the room in the morning. She sprang up, dressed and hurried out.
Father limped from his room and sat down to wait for coffee. Sawyer had gone out to tend to the chores.
She felt Father’s eyes on her as she made breakfast. The coffee boiled and she poured a cup. When she turned to hand it to him, his eyes twinkled. “So now you’re well and truly a married woman.”
Her cheeks stung but she stared at him without letting him guess at the truth. It was necessary for him to believe what he wanted to believe in order to save the ranch.
The day went smoothly. She went about her work. Sawyer kept busy with Big Harry. He said the horse needed his hooves tended to.
That night, she again went to bed while he waited in the kitchen.
She grabbed the pillow and quilt and curled up on the floor, getting as comfortable as possible.
He tapped and entered. He looked down at her, his hands on his hips. “What are you doing there?”
“We’ll take turns. If you recall, I have slept on the ground a few times, too.”
“Carly, it isn’t necessary. I don’t mind.”
“I do. So leave it be.”
“I don’t want to argue. Can you imagine your father’s reaction if he heard us?” He chuckled softly.
She laughed, too. “Sure don’t want him barging in to straighten us out.”
The springs sighed as Sawyer crawled into bed.
All she could see of him was his elbow crooked as if he clasped his hands behind his head. He was her husband and now he lay within touching distance. Yet there was so much she didn’t know about him. “Sawyer, did you never have a lady you were interested in?”
“Once or twice. There was a young lady I thought I cared for. Gladys Berry.”
“What happened?”
“She wanted what I couldn’t give her.”
Carly sat up so she could see him. Even in the dim light, she could tell he seemed unconcerned about the fact. “What couldn’t you give her?”
Sawyer tipped his head so he could see her. “According to her, I wasn’t capable of feelings.”
“That’s what you told me that first day.” She grinned at the memory. How wrong he’d been.
“I felt I had to be honest.”
“It isn’t true, you know.”
They studied each other across the narrow space. She wished she had lit a lamp so she could see him better but nevertheless she felt his surprise.
“Why do you say that?”
“Because I know you feel things deeply. I’ve seen you laugh. I’ve seen concern in your face when you talk about Jill and I’ve seen sorrow when you talk about your ma and Johnny. Which reminds me, thank you for making those markers for your family. It means a lot to Jill.”
He lay back. For a moment, she thought he’d gone to sleep, then he turned to her. “Your turn.”
“For what?”
“Tell me about your beaus.”
She gave a mocking laugh. “That won’t take long. I think men are afraid of me because I do a man’s work.”
He made a scoffing noise.
Somewhat eased by his response, she continued. “There was Bart Connelly. I thought he cared about me.”
“Didn’t he?”
“I think he saw me as a shortcut to a ranch. He thought I would turn into his idea of a regular lady and he would run the ranch.”
“I expect you corrected him of that idea.”
The amusement in his voice sang along her veins. “Guess I did.”
Another pause. She was about to settle back down on the hard floor when he said, “Did you care for him a lot?”
“I suppose I thought I did. Father rather liked him.”
“Was that the only reason you cared for him? Because your father approved?”
“Why am I always doing what Father would like? What’s the point?”
“Maybe he’s happy enough to have you as his loving daughter. Perhaps you don’t need to try and be anything else.”
She lay back on her pillow. Was Sawyer right? Was being his daughter enough? What would it take to discover the answer to her questions?
Would pretending she and Sawyer were well and truly man and wife suffice for her father?
Sometimes she wondered if anything would satisfy him. She reminded herself she wasn’t going to seek his approval any more. But without it, he would sell the ranch.
Was her love of the ranch influencing her decisions more than she wanted?
Chapter Seventeen
Sawyer had worried about sharing the bedroom with Carly. How was he to keep his feelings hidden? But he found they settled into a comfortable enough routine alternating nights on the floor. And talking quietly as darkness settled over the land. Both of them seemed freer in the privacy of the room and he liked learning more about her.
It was his turn to sleep on the floor. There were so many things he longed to discover about her. “What was your happiest memory?”
She shifted to her side and peered at him over the side of the bed. “I’ll have to think about that for a moment.” She considered her answer. “I think I’d have to say it was the Christmas I was thirteen and a half. I remember Mother braiding my hair. She had made me a new dress and said I was so pretty. Father gave me a pocketknife.” Her voice deepened. “I think he’d been saving it for a son but that was the year the fourth baby boy had died.” Her voice brightened. “That was the year Mother gave me the little china shepherdess. I said I couldn’t take it. I knew how fond Mother was of it. She told me it had served her well and she wanted me to take it and remember what it stood for. The Shepherd’s Psalm. ‘The Lord is my shepherd… He leadeth me—”
Her voice grew deep and she stopped speaking. “Mother died that spring.”
How it must have hurt her to lose the figurine. He felt responsible. “I’m sorry about the shepherdess getting broken. I wish I could replace it.”
“I just realized something. Mother would not let the breakage upset her because the words of the psalm were in her heart.” She smiled. “They’re there for me too.”
He studied her, wishing he could see her better. “That’s good to hear.”
“It’s your turn.”
He knew what she meant. They had played this game every evening. “My happiest memory was the year Johnny was born. I remember how Ma placed him in my arms. She said he was my baby and I should always look after him. I failed to do so.” He couldn’t go on.
She reached over and found his hand. “You did for five years.”
“I wish he was still alive.”
“So many deaths. Your mother. My mother. Your brother. My baby brothers. Now your father and Jill’s mother. It’s overwhelming at times.”
He longed for a way to comfort her and grabbed at another sweet memory. “My ma used to read to me at bedtime.”
“Mine, too. When I grew too old for the Bible storybook, she read from the Bible.”
He sat up, her hand still in his. “We could do that.” He released her hand, shuffled toward the bedside table and lit the lamp. “Where’s your Bible?”
She opened the drawer of the little table and pulled it out.
He took it. “What shall I read?”
“A psalm?”
He found the place and read the first psalm, closed the Bible and returned it to the drawer. He lay down.
“That was nice. Thank you.”
He squ
irmed about, trying to settle himself so none of his bones protested about the hard floor. He could feel her eyes on him. “What?”
“You don’t look very comfortable.”
“I’m comfortable on the inside.” He smiled at her.
“What do you mean?”
“My ma used to read to me from the Bible, too. This is like having a bit of her back.”
“I know. I miss my mother.”
“Me, too.”
“Poor Jill,” they said in unison and turned to each other.
He reached for her hand. “We must do what we can to make up for her loss.”
“Agreed.”
At that moment, something as solid as rock bound them together.
Later, after the lamp was out and they had settled down for the night, he realized it wasn’t just that moment that had forged the bond…it was the accumulation of nights they’d spent together, talking and sharing.
*
Carly lay in the darkness of her bedroom. Sawyer’s deep breathing indicated he had fallen asleep. She felt close to him, and she didn’t mean because he lay on the floor inches from the side of the bed. It was far more than that. Over the past few days, or rather nights, he had allowed her to see into his heart and she liked what she saw. A man with many sorrows counterbalanced by his strength and kindness. A man worthy of her admiration.
And her love? She shifted about carefully so as not to waken him.
Love was not part of their agreement.
She stiffened as he moaned. She lay tense, listening for an indication that she might have disturbed his sleep.
He moaned again and mumbled.
“Sawyer?” No response. Perhaps he was dreaming. She flipped to her side, close enough to the edge of the bed she could see him. In the thick darkness, she could barely make out his form. One of his arms hit the bed and caused her to jump. “Sawyer?” she said again in a hoarse whisper.
He muttered something. She couldn’t make it out but his tone sounded troubled, afraid even. From a nightmare?
She patted his shoulder. “Sawyer, wake up.”
He thrashed about.
She shook him and spoke louder. “Sawyer, wake up.”
He startled, drew in a shuddering breath. “I was dreaming.”
“I thought so.”
A shiver shook his body. “It was awful. I dreamed I was trying to rescue Johnny. I fought my way through flames only to discover he’d moved and I had to go through more flames.”