by Sandy James
The moment he saw her, regret had choked him. Without a moment’s hesitation, he’d reined his horse south and headed to White Pines, glad there was no chance of running into her. That trip had been quick and perfunctory, and Caleb had been blessed with few questions and no glimpse of people who’d demand an explanation. He’d loaded up on whiskey and vital supplies and hightailed it right back to the trapping cabin.
Gideon shook out his fingers as if the punch had hurt him as well. “You’re a damned fool. You’ve got a wife who loves you more than life, a son who needs a father, and here you are. Drinking yourself stupid.”
“Go away, Gideon. I ain’t going back.” When Caleb tried to get to his feet, Gideon kicked him hard in the seat of his pants. He tumbled into the dust. “Stop it.”
“When you stop sayin’ ridiculous things. God, I want to beat you ’til you’re a stain on the ground.”
“Couldn’t if you wanted to.”
“Don’t tempt me.” Gideon scowled at him for a few long moments before he shook his head. “Wouldn’t do no good anyway. You’re too damn stubborn. Take some advice from someone older and wiser. Get yourself home, Caleb. Before it’s too late.”
“It’s already too late. I’m thinkin’ a divorce—” That earned him another swift kick in the backside. Caleb fell forward, his face slamming into the dirt.
With a heavy sigh, he rolled over and propped himself up with an elbow. “Stop it!”
“Already told you...quit sayin’ dumb things and I will. Did you forget all about our mama?”
Caleb froze. He had forgotten. He’d been so lost in self-pity over losing faith in his wife he’d pushed all the tales of how his father had rescued his mother from the same kind of life Sara lived.
But that was his mother. That was another lifetime ago.
Sara was his wife.
“What do you want from me?” he asked, rubbing his hand over his sore jaw and pushing aside truths he didn’t want to acknowledge.
“I want you to go home and tell that woman—that woman you love—that you’ve forgiven her.”
“But I ain’t forgiven her. I can’t!” Caleb wasn’t sure he even could. She’d betrayed him in a way he wasn’t sure he would ever find a way to forgive.
She’d broken his heart.
Gideon swept his hat on his head and threw himself into the saddle. He glared down at Caleb as though he dearly wanted to punch him a few more times. “Get your ass home, Caleb. Before she gives up and leaves.”
On that, he prodded his horse and trotted away.
“Good riddance!” Caleb shouted.
His brother’s response was to keep riding, glance over his shoulder, and shake his head.
***
The rooster had started crowing before the sun was even up.
Sara watched the noisy cock saunter around the yard, flaunting his feathery body and bright crimson comb, and considered having him for Sunday dinner simply to get some peace and quiet. She dropped the rest of the chicken feed from her apron onto the ground, trying not to step on any of the chickens frantically scratching and pecking for their breakfast. Judging from the number of eggs she’d gathered this morning and the bevvy of new chicks filling the coop, the noisy cock was inspiring the hens, so he was safe. For another day.
Who knew what tomorrow would bring?
After closing the coop’s gate behind her, Sara leaned back against one of the posts, wiped her forehead with the back of her long sleeve, and sighed. All she wanted to do was close her eyes and sleep for the rest of the day. But there was work to be done. Plenty of work—more than she could truly handle on her own.
But the farm needed to keep running. It was the only way Caleb would ever forgive her—if she saved his farm.
She needed his help. The work was backbreaking for only one person, especially a woman who had to stop often to nurse a greedy baby. Most of the time, she cradled her son against her chest in a sling Drew had helped her fashion. The child would know everything there was about milking cows, gathering eggs, and tilling a garden before he could walk, because he was there as his mother completed each of those chores.
Sometimes Drew and Gideon would come by to lend a hand, but they had plenty to do in their own world. Drew would be acting in a play soon and was kept busy with constant rehearsals. Gideon had his own planting and milking to complete. No matter how desperately she needed help, she wouldn’t ask them to sacrifice their valuable time.
This was her quest—her white whale to harpoon, as the Melville book would claim.
She only hoped her ending was more favorable than poor Captain Ahab’s.
She glanced over to the wooden box resting on the porch. Needing to keep a close eye on her boy, Sara had created a cradle from an old peach crate. All she’d needed was to pad it well with blankets, and the baby could sleep in it anywhere she needed to take him. Since the weather had finally taken a turn for the warmer, it was easy to keep the child close at hand by keeping him in the crate rather than in the sling. Although he was still tiny, he was gaining height and weight rapidly. That slight weight, even when supported against her chest, stole more and more of her waning strength.
The baby. My son. The child. He deserved better. He deserved a name.
Sara no longer doubted that he was Caleb’s son. Everything about him screamed the fact. It helped that Gideon went on and on about how much the baby looked like Caleb, something that was easy to see with her own eyes. But to hear that the boy was the mirror image of Caleb as a baby helped. A lot.
Not that it mattered a lick to her. She loved the boy with every ounce of her heart and soul. He gave her a reason to rise each morning and to keep putting one foot in front of the other.
Thinking she’d honor her son with the same name as Caleb’s father, she asked Gideon for the name. When he’d chuckled and told her, she’d quickly discarded that idea. She wasn’t about to name her son Nebuchadnezzar. At first she thought Gideon was simply pulling her leg, so he’d shown her the family Bible to prove it. The name was scrawled there in big, bold letters.
The man’s middle name had caught her eye. Isaac. More and more she began to think of the baby as Isaac.
She went to the boy, bent down, and kissed his chubby cheek. A smile, one of the first ones she’d managed in the long month, crossed her lips. “Isaac Young. I do believe from today forward, you will be Isaac Young. Your papa can pick a middle name. Serves him right for staying away so long.” To that declaration she gave a decisive nod.
The sound of hoof beats made her glance to the east. A single rider was approaching.
Sara reached to the small of her back and pulled Caleb’s revolver from where it had rested in her waistband. She was so vulnerable out here, all alone. Her son needed her protection.
Isaac. Isaac needed her protection.
Squinting against the sunlight, she breathed a sigh of relief that she recognized the rider.
Drake was back.
He stopped his horse close to the barn, dismounted, and came marching across the yard with the cockiness of that pesky rooster. The same determined frown he’d offered on his other two visits was fixed on his face. He tipped the brim of his hat. “Mornin’, Miss Sara.”
Putting the gun back into her waistband, she frowned. “I told you, Drake. I don’t want you here. I don’t need help. Not from you.” Not from anyone...
With a heavy sigh, he jerked his hat from his head and threaded his fingers through his hair. “I just wanna help.” His gaze drifted around the farm. “You could use some muscle. The fence needs mending. The garden needs more tilling.”
“Those tasks are both on my list.” The long list of things she needed to get done as quickly as possible. Mentally, she moved the garden up to the first slot. The springs and summers in Montana were short, to say the least. She needed to get all the seedlings Grace and Cassie had brought her planted in the garden.
But if she didn’t get the fence mended, the cows were likely to wander. Perh
aps that should be the first item on her list...
“The money’s back in Denver,” Drake said, flopping his hat back on his head.
Her eyes fixed on the flower bed. It was still a mess from where she’d had Drake dig up what was left of the payroll. Thanks to the cash Caleb kept under the mattress, she was able to add enough to replace most of what she’d used to travel from Denver to Montana. His former boss had accepted payment and cleared Drake’s name and reputation.
Which begged the question, “Why are you still here?” Since Isaac had begun to fuss, Sara picked him up and held him to her chest. He’d want nursed soon, and her breasts were full and ready. She just had to get rid of Drake first. “Go on home.”
“I can’t leave you like this, Miss Sara. Not after... Please let me help. It’s the only way I’ll ever shed this guilt.”
“You have nothing to feel guilty about,” she insisted.
He shook his head. “I got plenty.”
Isaac was latching onto her bodice. “Please. Just go. I don’t need your help.” She mounted the porch steps. “I don’t need anyone.
Except Caleb...
***
“What in the devil?” Sara took one look at Drake working on the fence and lost her temper.
She set a fed, burped, and now content Isaac in his makeshift cradle and stomped out to confront Drake. “Are you deaf?”
“Being as your hollering just made my ears ring, I’d say no, ma’am.”
“Then perhaps you’re merely hard of hearing.”
He shook his head, but his lips twitched into a grin. He stuck a couple of nails between his lips, held one against the rail, and pounded it in with the hammer.
“Don’t you dare smile at me, Drake...um... What is your last name anyway?”
“Myers, ma’am. Drake Myers.”
“Then listen here, Mr. Myers. I told you to get off my farm.”
Instead of replying, he hammered the rest of the nails into the post, finishing the work the fence needed. Although she was grateful the difficult task was complete, she found it grating that not only had he done it, he’d done it so easily. All he’d needed was the time she’d taken to change and feed her son.
Drake hung the hammer on his belt and picked up the glass Caleb used to store nails. “Stop letting your pride take the lead.”
“I beg your pardon?”
He leveled a stare at her, his brown eyes full of pity she didn’t care to see. “You need help, but you’re too damn prideful to accept it.”
“My pride has nothing to do with it.”
His scoffing laugh made her want to slap his face. “You can’t do this all by yourself. Let me help, at least ’til your husband comes back.”
“I can do it alone.”
Drake reached for her hand and cradled it in his. “No, Miss Sara. You can’t.”
She tried to tug her hand back, he wouldn’t let go. “Why can’t you just leave me alone?”
“Because I’m the reason you’re in this nasty fix.”
“I–I stole your money.” Her eyes blurred with unshed tears. She hadn’t cried, not once since Caleb left. She wouldn’t allow herself the luxury now, not matter how remorseful she felt over her confession. “You did nothing wrong.”
“Didn’t I? I came riding in here, screamin’ for your head on a platter. I shoulda at least talked to you before shooting my mouth off.” He let go of her hand. “I’m sorry I drove your husband off.” He glanced back to where Isaac slept. “I cost that boy his daddy.”
“He’ll be back.” Her voice held no conviction, because with each passing day her hopes fell a little more. “He’ll be back.” This time she gave him a nod, turned, and walked away.
Drake fell in step beside her. “Let me stay ’til then. Then I won’t feel so damn guilty.”
“I don’t know...”
Moving quickly past her, he turned and caught her upper arms in his grasp. “Please. Do I gotta beg? Let me make this up to you.”
“Why aren’t you back in Denver?” she couldn’t help but ask.
“Ain’t nothing there for me. Besides,” he said with a shrug, “I kinda like it here. It’s...peaceful. Quiet. Tired of looking up the ass...um...backside of steers too. Only wish I had a roof over my head. At least I can see the big Montana sky while I’m bedded down.”
Sara felt guilty all over again. Not only had she robbed the man, now he was sleeping out in the elements because he’d had to track her all the way out here. She owed him so much more than a rude dismissal.
Then the list—the far-too-long list—popped back into her head. She needed help, even if her pride would suffer by getting it. To that point, Drake was correct. Running this farm by herself was a matter of stubborn pride, the pride that had shattered the day her husband, the man she loved with all her heart and soul, called her a whore. Making the farm a success would help her regain some self-worth.
But would that restored pride vanish if she had someone working at her side?
“I’ll pay you a small salary,” she finally offered. “It’s warm enough you can bed down in the loft of the barn. Take it or leave it.”
His smile was so broad, his white teeth sparkled in the sunlight. “I’ll take it.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
The red fox popped from its hiding place, startling Caleb. Then a smile bloomed as a memory floated back…
Sara had made it her goal to save her eggs from the crimson vixen that liked to hunt in the chicken coops. The animal never took the hens, only trotted away with a mouth full of eggs every time she slipped through the fence. In his mind’s eye, Caleb saw a very pregnant Sara, armed with a broom, chasing the fox and threatening all sorts of dire consequences if it didn’t drop her precious eggs.
“Sara! Did you just see that—?”
The smile fell to a frown.
How many times a day did he turn to his wife only to find himself alone? And how many times did that loneliness make his heart tighten and tears sting his eyes?
That bitter seclusion was what made him seek a bride in the first place. He’d been rewarded—blessed—with a woman he came to not only love but to like as well. He missed lying in bed with his wife and talking about their day or the plans they had for their future. Every single day was a gift to Sara, and their farm was paradise in her eyes. Caleb had begun to look at his life in a whole new way.
Thanks to Sara.
Gideon’s visit had robbed him of sleep. Their mother’s story first whispered and then shouted in Caleb’s brain. She’d been a woman—a very young and frightened woman—alone in a rough place where there was no one she could turn to, no one to help her survive the harsh world. Just like Sara. His mother had survived by selling her body.
What kind of man had his father been to take a woman like that as his wife?
A good man.
A forgiving man.
The whiskey no longer drowned the pain, nor did it help Caleb forget her. Instead, she was in his every waking thought—and his dreams, too. He’d awaken in the wee hours, his senses filled with her scent and the feel of her soft skin. With his cock hard and aching, he’d reach for Sara only to grasp nothing but cold sheets.
Hiking back to the cabin, Caleb tried to revive the anger and hatred over the lies Sara had told. Each day, those emotions were getting harder and harder to grasp. They sluiced through his fingers like grains of sand, and they were being replaced by regret and the unending loneliness.
How was Sara? How was the baby? Asking himself those questions was fruitless, so he made up his mind. He needed to find out for himself. Not that he’d ever draw close enough to talk to her. He couldn’t. If he did, he might forget her betrayal, take her into his arms, and never let her go.
Betrayal.
What an odd word. It implied she’d been disloyal to him. But everything she’d done that he blamed her for had happened before he’d even met her. More and more he considered how Sara had been thrown into choppy waters without anyone
to help her. She’d had to face a “sink or swim” situation. From what Gideon had said, she hadn’t wanted to work at The Palace. Far from it. She’d been no better than a slave. And she’d only stolen the money from Drake to escape that horror. Both explanations blunted the sharp edge of Caleb’s pain.
After saddling and mounting his horse, he sat staring at the stark cabin for a long moment. He had a melancholy notion that it represented his heart. Cold and bare.
He couldn’t stand looking at it a moment longer.
***
Another lonely day.
Sara was exhausted. When her stomach rumbled, it dawned on her she hadn’t eaten supper the night before. There was simply too much to do to waste time eating.
She wanted to pull the covers over her head and pretend the world didn’t exist. But that damned rooster wouldn’t allow the luxury. Only a few moments after it set to crowing, Isaac’s cries echoed through the house.
With a resigned sigh, she kicked aside the covers and padded her way to her son’s cradle. “Good morning,” she said as she leaned over and smiled down at him. “It sounds like someone is ready for breakfast.”
After changing him and eating her own breakfast while he nursed, Sara set Isaac on the bed as she dressed. She never bothered with a corset any longer. There was so much bending and lifting during her day and the garment was just too confining. Besides...there was no one to impress. No one to look good for.
Sara braided her hair while Isaac noisily sucked on his fist. She grinned at his slurps. Her son was the only thing that could bring a smile to her lips. Every day he looked more and more like his father. Same hair. Same eyes. Same profile. She thanked God for that incredible resemblance. It allowed her to stop fretting over whose seed had created the beautiful baby boy. Not that it mattered to her… But it clearly did to Drake, who was also convinced the boy wasn’t his.