Sacred Terrain (Traveled Hearts Series Book 2)

by Veronica Mahara

  “Yeah, he was a bit on the stupid side, but he knows how we look.”

  Caleb didn’t want to give credence to this news since his life was finally taking a turn for the better. His hope of being with Jessica faded. How could he tell her about his past and Will’s and Jacob’s involvement? Levi’s voice cut into his worried mind.

  “Sounds good to me. We just keep our heads low and on our work. So, on that note, how’s the land coming, Caleb? Last I saw, those timbers were ready for walls.”

  “Yep, I’m getting there. How goes things on the farm?”

  Caleb couldn’t get her out of his mind, as the mundane talk between the men barely held his attention. He drained his mug and was ready to return to his peaceful homestead. Cork gave him a nudge. “What about the Stanfords?”

  Many nights, Caleb had stayed awake thinking about Burt and June Stanford and their son, Jacob, along with Jessica’s brother, Will. Shaking his head, Caleb sat back. “They’re good people, and they don’t need to know anything about my past that I don’t want them to know. And I’m sure as hell not going to tell them the truth about their son and nephew.” He gave a stern look to both men.

  “All right, then, ’nough said.”

  “Their unwed niece is quite a looker.” Levi elbowed Caleb. “She turn your head yet?”

  “That’s none of your business.” A smile crept over Caleb’s face, revealing the answer.

  Levi let out a small whoop. “You better hope Jacob and Will stay away. They’d skin your hide if they found out you been seeing their kin.”

  “No one has any say over who I set my eye on, Levi. You know me better. Now, if you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I’ll get back to work on my house and land. Thanks for the info, Levi. Be sure to keep me informed.” Placing his hat on his head, Caleb bid his friends good day.

  ~

  A cool breeze had Jessica bringing up her collar with one hand while she laid on the reins with the other. The carriage gave a lurch as the horse moved down the road at a brisker pace. Mr. Talbot had sold most of her small paintings, and she was bringing more to him today.

  As she brought the crate of framed art from the back of the carriage, she spied Caleb’s horse across the street. Her nerves flew into a state of alertness. Mr. Talbot came around and helped her with the crate. “Good, good, my dear,” he said as he came closer to her. “There are a few women in there right this minute whom I know will like these. We could have several sales already.” He pulled back the sheet and looked over the paintings. “My, these are good. Frank did a great job in framing them. I dare say, he’ll take his cut by the end of this month, but don’t you worry. I can get a good sum for these.”

  Jessica smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Talbot. That would be wonderful.” She let him take her artwork, then decided to see if the dressmaker across the street had any new bonnets on display.

  Strolling along the wooden sidewalk, she wondered what brought Caleb into town. She knew he had quit the boarding house and was living in his unfinished house. More supplies for his home, perhaps, or a bit of lunch at Midge’s Café? Before she could think on it further, he stepped out of the saloon. Oh … of course.

  Wanting to get near enough to call to him without sounding obvious, she walked in his direction. “Hello, Mr. Cantrell.”

  Caleb reeled around. “Jessica … um … Miss Messing. Hello. What a nice surprise.”

  “Yes, it is. I was dropping some of my paintings off at the gallery.”

  He nodded his head and took off his hat. “I took a peek inside Talbot’s a few days ago. I love the one with the bell tower. It reminds me of a place I visited with my parents in Upstate New York. I’ll have to commission a painting from you for my home.”

  The thought of a painting of hers hanging in his home gladdened her heart. “I would be honored. Are you still coming for Sunday supper?”

  “I wouldn’t miss it for the world, but for now, I must be on my way. It was a pleasure to see you again, Miss Messing.”

  “A pleasure. Good day.” Sensing he was in a hurry, Jessica turned before he could take his leave. Why she felt compelled to have the upper hand with him today, she couldn’t explain. Perhaps it was his cool demeanor. It didn’t matter. He was his own man, hardly her concern. She was suddenly anxious about Sunday. Would he ask her to take a walk with him after dessert as he had done the last time he came for Sunday supper … and the time before that?

  Chapter Eleven

  With the Sunday supper underway, June finally sat down and began to eat. “I must say, the weather is changing, even for here. I almost had Mr. Stanford start a fire in the fireplace last night, Caleb. And how is your home coming along? I hear the stove is in and the walls are nearly covered.”

  Swallowing, Caleb answered that indeed his home would be warm and snug by Christmas. Jessica smiled at him, and he gave her a wink. She blushed and returned to her meal.

  As June cleared the table, she gave strict instructions for Caleb and Jessica to take a walk. “Or you might want to show him your art shop, Jessica. She is too modest, Caleb.”

  Jessica pursed her lips. “Thank you, Auntie, but it’s not modesty that keeps me from showing him my work. The studio is a mess right now.” She turned to Caleb. “It’s always the case after I’ve painted for days.”

  “I’ll see it when you’re ready,” Caleb said. “A walk sounds good.”

  Taking her shawl off the hook in the foyer, Jessica wrapped herself in it as they headed outside. Feeling a bit silly for not showing off her art studio, she led Caleb around the side of the house and down a narrow lane. At the end stood a neat structure, a small version of the bungalow home—yellow with cream-colored trim. The tidy landscape around the entrance added to its charm.

  When Jessica opened the door, the smell of oil paints and mineral spirits met them head- on. “I’m sorry about the odor.” She went to the two small windows and lifted each one before turning to get Caleb’s reaction to her creative space. In the corner under her easel was the stained rug, the table beside the easel was filled with tubes of paint, a wood palette contained smeared colors, a tin of mineral spirits held several brushes, a few paint-crusted rags lay on the rug next to the table, and her dirty apron was draped over the stool. The easel held the beginnings of a portrait of a young girl and her dog. Her watercolor table was just as messy. Color-dotted rags, a jar of dirty water, an open palette of paints, and discarded attempts at seaside scenes strewn the floor. On the walls hung many of her rough paintings and drawings for reference.

  No one came into her studio. Her aunt couldn’t take the odor, and her uncle would never dream of walking in unless invited, and she hadn’t yet invited him. This was her space to be who she wanted to be and express herself without the concerns of the outside world. In fact, she had hung the portrait of her and Jacob on the wall without hesitation. It was the painting she had done that fateful day back in Hartford after Jacob told her he was leaving town. The lovers in the scene were not so clearly recognizable, but they held a familiarity that may cause some raised eyebrows if the rest of the family saw it. Here she was free to display her heart. Some of her more abstract art was even darker than she would have liked. At times, she let only emotions guide her inner creative self. Not sellable, she kept them as a reminder of her deep self-expression. Now it was all on display for Caleb to see and judge. A twinge of regret pricked her stomach.

  “An artist at work. You inspire me, Jessica,” he said as he leaned in to examine a painted canvas.

  With a wide grin, she accepted his comment. Now more at ease, she explained a few of her works in progress. When she came to the wall of hanging art, Caleb eyes lingered on the one of her and Jacob. She gave no mind to his attention of it.

  He came away and looked at her with a furrowed brow. “Is this you?” He chuckled.

  Bringing a hand to her mouth, she laughed, trying to conceal her nerves.

  “It’s a very intimate scene. I think I’m even jealous. The man … who is he?
”

  Tongue-tied, Jessica walked to her easel and steadied her nerves. She turned to him. “I’m an artist. I have an imagination.”

  “I see you do.” He came closer. The light coming into the room lit his face, and she saw the tension in his neck. Surprisingly, she ached to her very loins to see beyond to his collarbone, to his chest, his stomach. “Jessica, I feel I should be honest with you.”

  Calming her unruly thoughts, she focused on his serious expression. “Honesty is always welcome in a budding friendship, but please don’t put yourself out of your way. We are just getting to know one another.” A distance needed to be established, and she would be the one to do it.

  He tilted his head and gave a slanted grin. “Only friends?”

  “Only friends.” The words “for now” were so close to her lips, she rubbed her mouth to remove them.

  “Then I won’t worry so much about making a great impression on you.”

  The atmosphere became extremely awkward. How could she bring back the pleasantness of the evening? “I think we should return to the house. The days are getting shorter. You wouldn’t want to ride home in the dark.”

  ~

  The daylight was nearly extinguished when Caleb brought his horse into the pole shed that served as a temporary barn. Entering his home, he sat in the middle of the room on the one chair he had built out of scrap lumber. The scent of the new wood permeated the inside, and it gave him renewed purpose. Tomorrow he would finish the walls and make this his retreat, which offered him a normal life. The thought of a wife and children entered his mind. Normality seemed to escape him, yet he remained hopeful despite what fate had in mind.

  The newspaper clipping Levi showed him disturbed his dream, and there it was again—no retreat, no peace. The trails of his past loomed in the distance as if calling him to escape into their fold, hiding him from the law. Canada perhaps. He let his fear take hold and saw Jacob and Will buckling under the pressure of the marshal or an unscrupulous scout. Dead or alive was not mentioned in the article, but most scouts got paid no matter what condition their prey was in. Shuddering, he got up and poured himself a stiff drink. The odds were in his favor, he had to remind himself. Clermont City was a good choice. The small town drew little attention to itself.

  Sleep threatened to take hold as Caleb lie on a palette of wool blankets near the potbellied stove, yet his thoughts drifted to Jessica and her studio. He felt his heart had engaged with hers as he took in the artistic space. Then her words crashed into him. How could he be mere friends with a woman so lovely and so full of life, with an independence that attracted him like no other? The painting of her under the tree with a man sparked his interest. Did the man resemble Jacob Stanford, her cousin, or was it his own wild imagining? Shaking the thought from his head, he concluded he would have to court Jessica differently. Patiently.

  Chapter Twelve

  Clermont City–December 1887

  “Another Christmas is upon us.” Hannah sighed. “I have to say it feels right to be here with you and your kin, Mum. If only my Kevin were closer.” The round-faced English maid tucked Jessica’s undergarments in the chest of drawers, while Jessica looked through her closet for a gown to wear to tonight’s formal dance at City Hall.

  “I’m sorry we couldn’t find work for Kevin in town, but he has good employment with Mr. Moore for now. We will find a way to have him here, someday.” She wanted Kevin out of Frederick’s employ just as badly as Hannah, but for very different reasons. For as long as Kevin Rolland was there, Jessica would have a connection with her ex-husband, a fact she loathed.

  She stood at her bed, surveying each of the three gowns she’d laid out. “Would you mind helping me pick out a dress for tonight, Hannah? I can’t seem to settle on any one I’ve chosen. I want you to accompany me to the dance. Mrs. Stanford has a fine dress for you to wear tonight.”

  Hannah looked down at her feet, uncomfortable with the request. “Are you sure, Mum?”

  “Yes, of course. Please, Hannah, call me Jessica.”

  “Oh!” Hannah placed her hand on top of her head. “First the invitation, now this?”

  “Don’t look so shocked. Tonight, we are both free women.” Hannah silently folded another silky camisole. Jessica saw the sadness behind her resignation. “Hannah, I’m so sorry. I know it pains you to be without Kevin. I promise we will do all it takes to reunite you.”

  “Thank you, Mum, Jessica.” A smile lit up her face. “Do you think Mr. Cantrell will be there? He’s so handsome. I’ll bet he’ll turn all the ladies’ heads. I mean, except yours. Seems that one has already turned his way.” Her eyes gleamed.

  Jessica couldn’t deny her growing fondness for Caleb. He visited her often, and she and her aunt had gone to see the property on several occasions. He’d been so eager to show her the progress of his home, and when she last visited with June, she was truly impressed. The rustic, three-bedroom house had all its interior walls, and with the help of his neighbor, Ben Loggin, and some men hired from town, it was beginning to resemble a real home. The road had much improved, its smoother ride tempting her to visit him more often.

  Standing in front of her full-length mirror, she held one of the gowns up to her body. With a contented sigh, she recalled the visit to Rail River Acres. Then her guilt rose. Where was the man she promised to love, and who promised to love her? Still no letter from Jacob, and now life was taking her in a direction that widened the gap between them. She tossed the gown on the bed and opened her wardrobe doors wide. She would wear a plainer dress this evening. The Winter Ball was an event at which to be seen in one’s finest, and yet she wished only to be seen as herself—an artist. Though why was her heart fluttering at the thought of seeing Caleb at the social event of the season? Would he actually come down from his hill to be there?

  Hannah pulled back Jessica’s hair in a tidy chignon, without the usual tendrils around her face. Jessica bent her head as Hannah secured the last hairpin into place. “I feel old.”

  The English woman peered at her in the mirror. “If you are feeling old, Jessica, then I should feel very old!”

  “I suppose I’m being dramatic.” Hannah laced up her corset, then helped her into the emerald-green gown. It was formal but had no lace. Instead, the wide, ruffled collar draped over her shoulders. The taffeta was soft and elegant. Hannah’s nimble fingers worked the line of covered buttons up the back. Turning, she looked over her shoulder at her reflection, making sure the back flounce was just right. “I think this will do. Now go get dressed yourself. My aunt is downstairs pressing your gown.”

  “Oh! I should be the one pressing the gown!” Hannah rushed out of the room.

  Jessica appraised herself in the mirror. The rounded neckline exposed Jacob’s beads on her silky, white neck. She pursed her lips. Perhaps she’d leave them home tonight.

  ~

  Having never become fully acquainted with all the nuances of formal dancing, Caleb wondered what he had gotten himself into. Thinking back to his boyhood, he saw his mother looking down on him as she led him around the parlor in a waltz, his feet balanced on hers, her gay laughter and loving eyes exclusively trained on him. He felt adored, and when she died on a snowy night, she took the gentility of art, music, and dance with her. His grandmother had him schooled in a more rigid fashion. Although she paraded him around society, she also told him that he was not to consider himself above others. “It’s unbecoming for a man to show his vanity,” she told him. Since his departure from her house, the only dancing he had done was the occasional drunken attempts on a barroom floor to the tune of a mouth harp, which he could barely remember the following morning.

  Looking in the long mirror, which he’d propped up against a wall in the bedroom of his new home, he pulled back his hair, securing it with a string of brown ribbon. It had grown long again, blond with lighter, sun-bleached streaks. He kept his slightly darker goatee trimmed. His tanned body showed the results of working on his home and barn. Tucking a cri
sp, white shirt into his new, heavy, black wool pants, he then adjusted the stiff collar, making sure his tie was in the proper place. His overcoat cut a striking line, accentuating his tall figure. Then his courage waned. He wouldn’t be doing such a foolhardy thing, in such a costume, if it weren’t for the possibility of seeing Burt’s niece.

  She was unlike any woman he ever met. Besides being drawn to her beauty, he felt a sense of truth from her that spoke to his heart. His desire to be close to her was growing, and like the land he had decided to live on, he’d also decided to be with her. Despite his better judgment begging him not to get involved with this family, he couldn’t let her go. The fact that his old gunrunning days were behind him didn’t stop the flashbacks coming to him from the shoot-out in Colorado, Jacob standing above a dead man, a trail of thin smoke coming from his gun. I have no business being involved with you, Jessica. The blood rushed to his chest. “Damn!”

  Walking out of his house, he stood on his new, cedar-planked porch, wishing he had his gun belt around him. He chuckled to himself. It would do you no good tonight, Cantrell.

  ~

  The lights above the expansive hall hung with an uncommon formality. Figures in black-and-white attire led swaying ball gowns around the floor. The music flowed out to the dancers, and they responded with a seamless fluidity. Caleb looked down from the upper tier and took in the swirling, vivid scene. His legs felt weighted as he slowly descended the staircase and gazed out among the crowd for signs of a familiar face. He caught June waving her arm wildly and Burt slowly bringing it to her side. Caleb joined them.

  “Good evening, Caleb,” the couple said in unison.

  “Good evening, Burt, Mrs. Stanford.”

  Then June’s other niece, Sophie, appeared out of nowhere like a whirling dervish. “Oh my, I can’t remember a more beautiful affair!” She was nearly out of breath. “Hello, Mr. Cantrell. Aren’t you striking tonight! You must save a dance for me and make all the other women envious.”