A rock landed on my leg, and I flinched.
“Stuck up there again, all alone?” George asked, staring up at me. His gaze held a challenge, the golden flecks in his eyes seeming to mock me. His dirty blond hair was streaked by the sun. It contrasted nicely with his tanned skin and bright green eyes. He was devastatingly handsome.
“On the contrary,” I said, sitting taller. “I mean to be alone, and I am certainly not in any need of being rescued by you again. Your price is much too high. I cannot afford it.”
The corner of his lip twitched. “Won’t cost you but a kiss.”
I grinned, but my heart banged inside my chest. I squinted, trying to recall what I had said to him those many years before. “Not on my life.”
George grabbed at the bark and began climbing. “Then I’ll take an IOU.”
I stood, scooting farther from his grasp. I was mortified when I heard a squeal escape my lips.
George reached the top of the trunk and pulled himself up beside me. “Was that a squeal? I’m disappointed, Elizabeth Pratt. Ladies never squeal.”
My throat caught, my voice turning raspy. “It’s Elle, and I am afraid I am not that type of lady, George Hughes.”
“What type are you then?”
I shrugged. “A tree-climbing one, of course.”
His hands—his gentle and calloused and strong hands—grasped mine, and he pulled me back to my knees. “Elle, I’ve been so childish.”
I nodded. “I have too.”
He sighed. “But I’d be a fool if I gave up on you.”
I could not look away from our hands, the way his fingers laced in mine. “Hmm?” I asked, knowing full well what he meant. I longed to hear him say it once more.
“You know I love you. You know I do.” His voice grew shaky, raw with emotion and cracked with vulnerability. “I’m hard on you—I always have been. I’m horribly stubborn, and I’m nothing like that Mr. Caldwell fellow I’m always teasing you about. I know I don’t deserve you, Elle, but I have to know. I have to know if you love me, if you’ll allow me to court you.”
It was the first time George had climbed up to get me instead of lowering me with rope to the ground below or catching me when I fell. I rather enjoyed sitting in the tree with him instead. I liked him beside me better, meeting me halfway.
“Court me? Those are the words of a gentleman.” A smile broke through my facade. “I don’t want to court you, George.”
His smile fell flat. “You don’t?”
I closed my eyes, inhaling. It was time; I needed to tell him everything. “Courting is for making sure two people are suited. I’ve never been more sure, George; I love your stubbornness and grit, your tenacity and unfailing strength. I cannot do without you.” I swallowed and opened my eyes. My heart caught in my throat.
George looked at me in that way again—that fiercely adoring way of his.
I gasped, not realizing I had been holding my breath again. Then I felt my gaze grow glossy and my lips curl in that pathetic, lovesick way.
George laughed. “You cannot do without me?” He stroked my cheek and leaned in.
And I knew, without hesitation, that he was going to kiss me. But this time, I did not cry or wonder at his intention.
His lips met mine, the perfect meld of strength and care, longing and love.
I pulled back. “It is a relief that is over,” I said, grinning.
George pulled me closer. “You know what they say. Practice is practice.”
I swatted his chest in reproach, but my resolve melted away when he kissed me again. It was a short, soft one—one that left me dizzy yet longing for more.
“Marry me, Elle.” His eyes were pleading, and I wanted to kiss the crease along his brow, the line of concern between his lips.
I caught my breath and leaned my head against his. Marry me, Elle. His words were simple yet laced with sentiment, coated with sincerity. It was all my heart wished for, all I desperately wanted. “Yes,” I said, just above a whisper.
His lips parted and his grin spread, and George kissed me before I had a chance to say another word. His fingers threaded through my hair, his thumb resting on my jawline. There was magic in his touch, the type that sent waves of emotion clear to the tips of my toes.
When at last George pulled back for air, he reached into his trouser pocket.
I leaned against a branch to steady my racing heart and the wave of dizziness that had encompassed me. “What is it?”
“I figure it’s high time we carve our initials in this tree.” He pulled out his pocketknife and set it to the branch beside him, scratching the outline of a heart.
Chapter Thirty-Three
6 MONTHS LATER
TETON VALLEY, 1906
NORA WOULD HAVE BEEN JUST AS lovely a name,” my aunt said, leaning toward the six-month-old baby in Clara’s arms. She was a chubby, blond-haired beauty.
Clara patted my aunt’s arm. “Nora, you know how I love you, but I am afraid her name is Elizabeth.”
Nora sniggered, kissing the baby’s forehead. “It is only right.”
I reached for my niece, cradling the mess of blankets wrapped around her. The baby cooed in my arms. “She’s perfect, Clara.”
My sister’s motherly pride shone brighter than her light eyes. “Thank you for putting off your wedding. I am so happy we could come.”
Little Elizabeth twisted from my arms, reaching for the necklace on Nora’s neck.
“She already knows she can get her way with Nora,” Clara said, shaking her head. “It will be the bane of my motherhood.”
I laughed, handing off the baby. “Clara, will you help me with the veil?” I sat at my dressing table and handed the veil to Clara.
“I’m more than capable,” Mama said, holding out her hands expectantly.
My eyes widened and I swallowed my laughter. Goodness, not on my wedding day.
Clara took the veil in her hands. “I am afraid she already promised me the honor.”
Mama’s brows rose, suspicion etched between her lips. “Mm-hmm.”
Clara darted forward, flashing me a knowing grin. She leaned over and adjusted my hair before placing the veil on top. As always, she knew just what to do. And as always, I was grateful she was there to do it.
We hurried down the wooden steps and out the screen door. It was a chilly March morning, and we climbed into the wagon. The roads were wet from the melting snow, but I saw the sun peeking through the clouds. It was almost spring—the dawning of perfection in the Teton Valley.
We rode two miles to the church, the drive already dotted with wagons. They say a bride is the last to arrive. I swallowed. All eyes would be on me, and this time I would not have a dramatic retelling or smart comeback to push away the attention. It was just me, like a tree without its leaves—bare with emotion and empty of pretense.
“You look beautiful,” Daddy said when I reached the stairs. He leaned against his cane, but his feet were steady, ready for the task at hand.
I gave a nervous laugh. Daddy had never said such a thing, but I heard the sincerity in his voice, felt the gentle way he wrapped my hand around his arm. “Thanks, Daddy.”
“Shall we?” he asked in a quiet voice.
I squeezed his arm in reply and took a step forward, smiling all the while as Daddy walked me down the aisle. His movements were slow and staggered, and his arm shook beneath mine, but I clung to him. Daddy was on his way to recovery, as was our relationship.
Mama. Clara and Paul. Nora and Johnny. George’s brothers. The room was filled to the brim. The Lowrys and Kearnses, the Butlers and Driggses—even the Fosters. The people staring back at me were a part of my past and, I hoped, forever a piece of my future.
Like the square of fabric blowing at the top of the tree, my heart had always belonged here. It had stayed silent in that oak tree, waiting for my return and rediscovery and, ultimately, my own acceptance. I would forever be a splash of lady in a world of country, forever tied to the Tetons and
the trees and my family.
George stood at the front of the chapel just below a large window. Emotion glistened in his lovely green eyes, and sunlight touched his soft smile and pinked cheeks. His adoration for me was on display for the entire valley.
Happiness encompassed me, warming my heart and hastening my steps. There was nowhere I belonged more than Teton Valley, and there was no one I belonged with more than George Hughes.
The End
Acknowledgments
AS ALWAYS, I’M GRATEFUL FOR THE opportunity to share my stories. This particular one would not have been possible without my many summer vacations spent on my grandparents’ farm in the Tetons. There, I learned to climb trees and work and run from angry bulls. Thanks, Mom and Dad, for taking me and showing me the beauty of those mountains.
To my favorite book-reading friends, Melissa, Becky, Laura, Kelly, Aimee, and Helen (three of whom happen to be sisters too), thank you! Your suggestions helped improve this story. I love you ladies.
Of course, I couldn’t have completed this book without the support of my husband, Mark. Not only does he offer encouragement and ideas, he’s the leading man in my life—the perfect model of a dreamy hero. Thanks, darling!
To my four energetic and ever-attention-seeking children, this story would have been completed in a quarter of the time without your constant interruptions. But without such reminders of my greatest joy and purpose (you four little people!), I wouldn’t be nearly as happy as I am today. Your hugs make for the greatest motivation. Thank you.
To Cedar Fort, thank you for making my words shine brighter and my reach extend further.
About the Author
BEING THE YOUNGEST OF FOUR SISTERS and one very tolerant older brother, Heather grew up on a steady diet of chocolate, Anne of Green Gables, Audrey Hepburn, Jane Austen, and the other staples of female moviedom. These stories inspired Heather to begin writing at an early age, and she is now the author of The Second Season, Unexpected Love, and The Forgotten Girl. After meeting and marrying her husband, Mark, Heather graduated magna cum laude from Brigham Young University and finally settled down in a small farming community in southeastern Idaho with her husband and four children. In her spare time, Heather enjoys time spent with family, volleyball, piano, the outdoors, and almost anything creative.
Forever Elle (Regency Romance) Page 20