The Rescue

by Tanya Eavenson

  Thunder rumbled in the distance, and a light drizzle fell as he mounted his horse. He lifted his face one final time. “Thank you, Lord, for providing rain in our drought. But most importantly, for providing Rosalind with a safe journey to her new home. Now provide me with wisdom and understanding for the two women You’ve placed in my care.”

  It was dark by the time Trent halted his horse at the barn. Blake was inside, scribbling something on a tablet. He spoke without looking up at Trent. “Have a nice ride?” He tore the top sheet off the tablet and stuffed it in his shirt pocket.

  Trent dismounted. “Can’t complain.”

  Blake rose and eyed him for a moment, then took the reins from him and led the horse through the barn to one of the larger stalls.

  Trent leaned against a post, taking off his gloves. “Some-thing on your mind?”

  “Yes and no.” Blake yanked the saddle from the horse and hung it over a rail. “I received a wire from your father today.”

  “Rosalind told me.”

  “And Rosalind told me you were trying to protect her.” Blake closed the stall door behind him. “What I find strange is how a man who has never shown an interest in women because his heart has been set on one comes home with fire in his eyes for that same woman, his bride ... Why would he send her on the train without him? What happened in Boston?”

  “Does this questioning have to do with the new hardware on your chest?” A clap of thunder crashed, and Trent glanced in the direction of the house. Had the thunder frightened Rosalind as it did as a child? He turned back to Blake.

  “No. It has nothing to do with the badge, but my concern for you and your family.”

  “Where’s Boyd? Did he decide to retire being sheriff early?” Trent asked.

  “Shot dead.”

  Trent stood upright. “Shot? What happened?”

  “Not sure really. His cowhands found him in one of the fields along with a few longhorns.”

  Trent couldn’t believe it. Boyd was the first person he’d met when his family came to town, and the last he saw before he left for Boston. They’d spoken about the ranch and taking the herd to Fort Worth when he returned. Trent slumped back against the post. “Any clues?”

  Blake shook his head. “I’m following up on a lead, but not much to go on.”

  The sky rumbled and echoed in the rafters of the barn. “I never took you as a lawman, with your love for horses.”

  Blake let out a deep sigh. “I thought Grace and I had a future, so I took the job when they offered it to me. Shortly after, she told me she didn’t want to marry a lawman.”

  “Sorry to hear.”

  “I keep telling myself she wasn’t the one.”

  “God has someone special for you. You’ll find her.” Trent knew all about God’s timing. He’d waited much longer than he’d anticipated or cared to relive, but God brought him the desires of his heart in the woman he’d loved since they were children. “You plan to stay on?”

  “I plan to stay if you don’t mind. But I’ll get me a place at the boardin’ house and split my time. No job can keep me away from my horses.” Blake smiled.

  “As long as you know this is your home. You and your horses will always have a place. Where are you staying tonight?”

  “I had planned to stay in town for a few weeks while you were gone, but Rosalind showed up.” Lightning lit the dark sky, and the crack of thunder rolled from one end of the barn to the other. “The weather is getting worse.”

  A growing sense of anxiety grew as Trent glanced toward the house. “I should check on Rosalind and Lilly.”

  “Congratulations on your marriage. And for the record, I know you’re avoiding my question about Boston. When you’re ready to talk, I’m here.”

  Trent nodded and pressed his hat on his head before running for the house. The rain plopped hard against him. He entered the kitchen and found Rosalind arranging a jar of sunflowers. She froze at another clap of thunder, and her petite fingers spread across her stomach. He swiped the Stetson from his head and ran his fingers through his hair. “Hi.”

  She noticed him for the first time and greeted him with a worried smile. “Blake said you were riding your land. Every-thing okay?”

  Had she been waiting up for him? “It will be with time...and rain.”

  “Too bad God had to invent thunder.”

  “Still unsettling?”

  “At times.”

  They stood there in silence for a few moments, and he set his Stetson on the table. “Are you heading to bed?”

  “I was waiting for you, to make sure you got in okay.”

  She had been waiting. He smiled and took her hand in his. “Let me walk you to your room.”

  At the bedroom door, he opened it and she entered. Light from a candle flickered softly against the walls as they both tiptoed to the bed and peered down at Lilly.

  “Storms don’t seem to affect her.”

  “I guess not,” she whispered back, glancing at him. “Thank you for understanding about ...”

  Trent knew what she meant, and he meant what he said. It would be difficult to be without her to love and hold at night, but he would wait until she was ready. “You’re welcome.” He leaned in to kiss her, but thunder shook the house and Rosalind gasped, clinching his arms. Nails stabbed his flesh.

  A tentative smile crossed her lips as she released her hold. “Sorry. A bit jumpy at times too.”

  He noted her eyes darting to the curtains and then back to him with every flash of lightning. “Once your head falls against the pillow, I’m sure you’ll doze off quickly. You’ve had a long day and much to adjust to.” He leaned in once again and this time kissed her cheek. Though he wanted to linger, he took a step back. “God will keep you safe ... in every way.”

  “Thank you.”

  “See you in the morning.” He closed the door behind him and entered his room, recalling the storms she feared as a child, taking shelter under tables, in closets, or his arms during the worst of storms. As he listened to the rain pound the roof and thunder roll across the sky for the next hour, he ached to hold his wife, hoping she needed him again. Wishing she’d come. Yet the door remained shut.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Trent’s eyes opened in the darkened room. Within the hour, light would seep through the curtains. There was much to do on the ranch, and he was already behind. But one thing he intended to do was uncover what was happening to his longhorns. If someone had stolen them, they were also capable of killing a man, like his kind friend Boyd, in the process. Instantly, what Glover said at the train station turned in Trent’s mind. If I wanted him dead, he’d be dead.

  Yes, Glover was the type of man who’d kill anyone who crossed him, including Trent, but he wasn’t in Graham. Trent realized then that no matter how much Glover continued to invade his thoughts, Rosalind quickly followed.

  He prayed silently for his wife to have peace within her heart, mind, and soul, knowing that the One who rescued her from Boston would never leave nor forsake her. A Father who truly loved her and was willing to sacrifice His own life. Unlike her earthly father.

  Oh, Rosalind ... my Rose.

  How long had it been since he spoke the name that fit her so well? The rose scent of the bath water she bathed in, the pink tint of her cheeks, the softness of her skin. He smiled. The beauty of a rose ... but had she wilted through last night’s storm?

  Trent doubted she had closed her eyes until the lightning passed in the wee hours, but surely she was resting now. The temptation to check on her and Lilly pushed him from the bed to dress.

  He slid on his clothes and froze. He sniffed the air, then lunged from the room, instantly snatching his hat on the way out. Trent hurried down the steps and prayed the house wasn’t on fire. Following the stench to the kitchen, he found Martin leaning over the stove with a tray. Brown shriveled rocks lay on the pan.

  Trent took two steps farther into the kitchen. “Please don’t tell me this is what you planned
to serve. First I thought the house was on fire, but I don’t know what would be better. The house or my stomach.”

  Someone cleared their throat to the left of where he stood. He glanced over to catch Matthew’s signal that someone was behind him. He turned to find Rosalind biting the inside of her lip, eyes glaring. “I made those.”

  “Why would you?”

  Again, Matthew cleared his throat. His friend shook his head, and his gaze dropped to the floor.

  Rosalind hurried past him and Martin, snatching a towel from the table. “I’ll take those.” She grabbed the pan of biscuits from Martin and upended it on the table. She rushed into the other room, came back carrying a basket and swept the biscuits into it, then spun and marched out the door.

  Trent watched her go, then turned his gaze on both men. “Can someone please explain what’s going on?”

  Matthew shrugged. “I tried to warn you to keep your mouth shut, but you wouldn’t take the hint.”

  Martin gave a mock cough and laughed. White teeth shone across his face. Never had Martin laughed nor smiled since his employment began two years before. Trent glanced over at Matthew, whose eyes lit with laughter but stared openly at Martin.

  Martin straightened his shoulders and his frown returned. He went to the icebox and came back with premade dough he was known to make for the next day. “I don’t believe anyone’s told her I’m the cook. I thought it was strange yesterday when she was cutting the dough in circles. But when Blake explained she thought she had to cook for everyone, and remembering how she burnt the biscuits for supper, I didn’t have the heart to tell her.”

  Heart? Who was this man? Trent dragged his gaze from Martin and ran his fingers through his hair. “And no one had the heart to share this bit of information with me?”

  Martin unwrapped the dough on the table, saying nothing.

  “Well, at least the house is still here.” Matthew coughed, then smiled.

  Trent narrowed his eyes at his friend, settling his hat on his head. With determined steps, he ventured outside in hopes of apologizing to Rosalind for not explaining who Martin was yesterday—or any other thing she’d deem as important.

  Light broke through the darkness with pink and yellow hues across the horizon.

  A horse’s easy canter sounded in the distance. Rosalind wouldn’t try to ride in frustration, would she? She didn’t know how to ride. Small giggles erupted as Blake carried Lilly on horseback from the barn. Trent smiled and waved. As he turned and caught sight of Rosalind at the side of the house, he was keenly aware of her beauty, and how his heart battled to have the intimacy that a husband and wife shared, but most importantly, how God had blessed him and his future.

  He took a few steps forward. “Rosalind?”

  She whirled and faced him, her fingers gripping something he couldn’t see. She turned away and released the object. It landed with a hard thump on the ground. Her biscuits.

  Trent could see the hurt in her eyes, the anger in the firm set of her lips. He recognized her symptoms of injured pride as certainly as he had his own when he thought Rosalind didn’t want him. But he wouldn’t let her push him away, as it seemed she was willing to do.

  He took a few more steps, coming alongside her, and she reached into the basket by her feet and took hold of another. She was about to pitch it when he snatched the biscuit from her hand and took a bite. His teeth ripped into the rock-hard bread.

  She gasped as her eyes widened. “What are you doing? They’re terrible.”

  He continued to chew. “I’m a lucky man to have a wife who’s willing to cook for me and my men when she doesn’t have to.”

  She glanced down at the basket by her feet. “Martin is your cook? He cooks for everyone?”

  “He does, but it’s your choice. If you’d like to cook, you can. Just let me know and I’ll tell Martin.” He took another bite, then tried to swallow the first. He could have used some water. Nevertheless, he planted himself in front of her and chewed.

  She stared into his eyes. “I’m sorry... The bread... I don’t understand it.” Her crystal gray eyes pleaded for him to say something.

  And he would have offered to say something, if only he could speak. His mouth was so dry. But he wasn’t sure if it was from the biscuit or his wife’s presence that had dried it. Instead, he touched a strand of her hair that had come loose from her ribbon and rubbed it between his fingers. Like silk.

  She watched him but gave no indication of how she felt, or if his nearness stirred her heart like hers did his. He wanted to know. Had to know. He suspected over the last two years she’d learned to keep her feelings and emotions tucked away from anyone. But not here. Not with him. He wanted her to know she was safe and free to be the woman God called her to be.

  He tucked the strands behind her ear and grazed her jaw with his finger. A small sigh passed her pink lips, and his heart thumped against his chest. “You’re free to live again, Rose, even if it means throwing rolls in the yard, at my head, climbing trees, or eating chocolate bars in the afternoon.”

  She cocked her head to the side and smiled. “Does that mean you’re willing to give up your share of the chocolate?”

  “Never.” He chuckled, lifting the basket of bread from the ground, and held out his arm for her, as he had many times in Boston.

  She slipped her hand through his arm. “Thank you.”

  Trent’s chest tightened, as did his fingers, which now covered hers against his arm. “You’re welcome, Rose.”

  Rosalind’s heart swelled from the nearness of her husband as they walked across the field, arm in arm. She loved him to the very depths of her soul. She inhaled, enjoying the warmth from the sun on her skin, as they moved farther away from the house. “Where are we going?”

  “I’d like to show you something, if that’s all right.”

  She glanced over her shoulder. “Blake has taken Lilly for a ride. I’d hate to be far off if she needs me.”

  “We won’t be gone long.”

  She nodded, and they continued toward the large tree at the beginning of the property.

  When they neared, Trent set down the basket he’d been holding, then slid his hand to the small of her back. “My first instinct was to build us a home here, but Father suggested it would be better down the hill where the land is leveled.” He shrugged. “After I laid out how I planned to build the ranch, I knew he was right.”

  Us? She struggled to focus. Thoughts of her poor drawings of the house she drew years before came to mind, as did how oddly similar Trent’s living room seemed.

  “This is our land, Rose.”

  Her gaze followed his callused finger, pointing to the bark of the tree. Carved within the wood was a heart. She fingered the shape, then the names nestled inside, Trent and Rose. Moisture filled her eyes. “Our land?”

  “As far as you can see, from this tree and passed the house.”

  She slowly turned to where he indicated. They stood on a hill, overlooking the house, two barns, and, in the distance, another long building. Longhorns scattered about the flat land to the right, some wading within a pond, and to the left was a field of sunflowers. The flowers’ yellow petals sprung toward the feathery sky, brightening the dry land with a golden hue. It amazed her how this land, which she’d never seen before stepping from the train, called to her in its beauty and simplicity. “Sunflowers are my favorite.” She was tempted to run down the hill and collect a basket full, but Lilly would enjoy helping, especially carrying the basket.

  “I know.”

  Every word Trent had written to her in his letters was true. He had included her in his dreams, and ever since he had left Boston, she was the only one. He did this for her all along. For them, a new life, to share together. Rosalind avoided his gaze, for she knew one look and he’d see the tears clinging to her lashes. She didn’t know if she was crying because her hopes and dreams of loving Trent had come true, or because she felt truly wanted and loved inside and out.

  Trent w
rapped his arms around her as if he understood. Her mother’s words written within her Bible took hold. It was true. God directed her path and prepared a place for her ... for them.

  “This is our Promised Land, the land I believe God intended for us all along. Our hopes and dreams were solely fulfilled by the work of the Lord’s hand,” he whispered close to her ear.

  Rosalind tried to speak, but her voice squeaked. She couldn’t deny the peace she felt at this moment, or describe it, as Trent held her in his arms. She cleared her throat. “I think you might be right.”

  Trent loosened his grip and turned her to face him, but his mouth closed as a tear escaped her eye. He wiped her cheek with his finger. “Would you like to go back?”

  She nodded. “I think we should. Lilly might be waiting for us at the house.”

  Trent bent down and collected her basket, but she dumped the rest of the biscuits onto the ground. He glanced at her. “I would have eaten them.”

  “I know.” She chuckled for a moment when her stomach rumbled, and she recalled that they hadn’t eaten. “Oh, dear. You must be hungry.”

  He held out his arm and she looped hers through. “I’ll eat later. Nothing is more important than spending time with you.”

  She smiled at him, fighting every ounce of strength not to yank that hat off his head and request a kiss from her cowboy. He reciprocated with his own smile and then stopped walking. Had he read her thoughts?

  A loud crack broke the silence of the morning and echoed through her mind.

  Trent grabbed her to his chest and glanced around.

  “What was that noise?”

  His focus continued to scan the area. “We need to get you to the house.” He took her arm and quickened their pace. A single horse trotted toward them. Blake had one hand wrapped around Lilly, reins in the other. Lilly waved feverishly at them as she neared.