A Family Found (11 page)

Dearest Sophie,

I know how worried you must be about your father. Truth to tell, he has had quite a time of it. In Father's medical opinion, he thinks Andrew is making progress, but it seems slow to us, and Andrew often is quite impatient with himself and others. He doesn't blame God, but he does question why he has been afflicted. As you might expect, Rose is a saint with him, and Alf and Andy follow him like puppies. But, in truth, it is Aunt Lavinia who keeps him from giving up.

Sophie sighed, picturing her father's impatience. Who would ever have thought that Rose and Lily's sophisticated aunt Lavinia Dupree would play such a vital role in their lives, especially Pa's? They had all been surprised when the newly widowed Saint Louis socialite had visited her Flint Hills family and then made the stunning announcement that she was building a summer home there. The woman did not suffer fools lightly, and Sophie could well imagine Lavinia's intransigence in putting Pa through his paces.

She comes to the ranch at least three times a week and barks at him until he does some of the therapeutic exercises and movements she claims to have read about. If the situation weren't so sad, it would be almost comical, yet beyond her badgering and his recalcitrance, I believe they have deep respect for one another. Caleb and Seth do what they can, but their hearts are sore, so it is understandably more difficult for them to be stern with their father. I am sorry to have begun with news which may distress you. On a lighter note, our daughters are thriving and growing like weeds.

Sophie finished the news concerning her nieces, then set the letters aside, lost in worry for her father as the sun finally slid behind the mountains, leaving her in the shadows.

* * *

After church the following Sunday, Sophie and Belle huddled together, studying a rudimentary map of Longs Peak. “See here,” Belle said, pointing to a line on the paper. “This is where the boulder field begins, and I am told the ascent through those obstacles can be rigorous.”

Sophie leaned forward. “Boulder field? You mean nothing but rocks?”

“We will be above tree line there and, yes, guides say it's nothing but rocks, some so big they defy belief. So I propose that in the next month or so we find areas where we can practice rock climbing.”

Sophie nodded, but before she could comment, Martha Tyler bustled over. “You girls, I declare. If I'm hearing right, folks are saying you two plan to climb Longs Peak.”

Belle smiled up at her neighbor. “We are.”

Martha glanced around as if fearing to be overheard. “I'm not one to say you've lost your senses. I get mighty tired of menfolk always thinking they know what's best for women. But I do hope you'll be careful. That mountain can be treacherous.”

“We're doing our best to prepare,” Sophie said.

“I surely couldn't do it myself, but I just wanted you to know I'll be praying for your success.” Then Martha beamed at them both before rejoining the others.

“Well, that's one supporter.” Belle held up an index finger. “On the other hand, Mabel Hawes pulled me aside before church to tell me that rumors of our intentions were ‘scandalous' and ‘against God's natural order.'”

“I imagine it's always been thus with pioneers, male or female. Think about how his countrymen scoffed at Columbus.”

“For me, all such negative comments serve as motivation.” Belle nodded at Sophie. “We have to succeed.”

Riding home, Sophie was charged with excitement. Belle's enthusiasm was infectious, and the idea of proving naysayers wrong stoked her determination. Her brothers had learned over the years that she was fearless, even unstoppable. Yet she knew what they would say if they were here.
You're doing what? Are you crazy?
That had always been their initial reaction to the unconventional things she undertook, like riding in the roundup, but in the end, they had clapped her on the back and crowed,
That's our girl!

Hearing a horse approaching, Sophie slowed to a walk and pulled Ranger to the side of the road. Around the bend came Tate, mounted on his large chestnut. He drew close and reined in his horse. “Where have you been?”

“Good day to you, too,” Sophie said with asperity. What business was it of Tate Lockwood's where and how she spent her time?

“I couldn't find you at your cabin.”

“Of course not, it's Sunday.”

“What's that got to do with it?”

“Along with many others, I attend services at the Tylers'.”

“Oh, that,” Tate muttered dismissively.

Sophie held her tongue, sensing that Tate Lockwood was in no mood for a sermon. “Is something wrong with one of the boys?”

“Why would you assume that?”

“You apparently came to the cabin to fetch me. I can't imagine another reason.”

He leaned over his saddle horn as if cowed. “I've botched this conversation. Let's start over.”

“A splendid idea.”

“I've come to invite you to spend the afternoon with us. The boys have planned some games to celebrate Toby's birthday.”

“Birthday? I had no idea. If you had told me earlier, I would have prepared a gift.”

“Bertie has baked a cake. When the boys realized this morning that I had failed to invite you, they were quite upset.”

Irked, Sophie didn't want to make it easy for him. “I have other plans for the afternoon.”

He raised a skeptical eyebrow, but his tone was gentler when he said, “Surely you won't disappoint the boys.”

“Why do I feel as if I'm being manipulated?”

He grinned. “If that's what it takes...”

“You know very well I can't ignore Toby's birthday, even if his father does lack social graces.”

Trotting alongside Tate toward his house, Sophie couldn't decide if she was more galled or amused. Verbal sparring stirred up her competitive instincts. She was annoyed to have had no advance notice of Toby's birthday, but she looked forward to celebrating with him. Once again, though, Tate Lockwood had caused her consternation. Worse yet, he'd gotten his way.

* * *

What a buffoon! Of course his approach to Sophie had been rude. It was only when Toby asked him this morning if he'd remembered to invite Sophie that Tate realized his oversight, so he'd lit out to find her. He'd been concerned she might turn down his request and thereby devastate his son. Yet his invitation to Sophie had made him sound like an insensitive fool. When they reached the house, she leaped from her saddle before he could assist her. “I'm sorry if I've offended you,” he said as they walked to the front door.

“This isn't the first time and I doubt it will be the last,” she said saucily. She laid a hand on his arm. “But considering the occasion of your delightful son's birthday, you are forgiven.”

With those words, Sophie flashed a mischievous grin and hurried ahead of him through the door, where a noisy crush of dogs and boys greeted them. In that moment of disorder, an inexplicable happiness enfolded him.

Toby threw himself at his teacher. “Miss Sophie, you came!”

“Happy birthday, young man. So now you are nine years old?”

“I am, and we're gonna have cake and games now that you're here.”

Marcus corralled Minnie and sidled up to Sophie. “My brother thinks he's so big, but he's not as big as me.”

“And he never will be,” Sophie said, “but older brothers needn't lord it over younger brothers.”

Marcus cocked his head. “I guess you're right.”

Tate never ceased to be amazed by the woman's instinctive skill in handling the boys. After gathering for Bertie's delicious spice cake, they adjourned to the library for a few games of dominoes, during which Tate noted how Toby's mathematical skills had improved under Sophie's tutelage. Next, Toby wanted to play jackstraws, but after only one game, he tired of the concentration and dexterity demanded to lift a slender stick from the pile. Then Marcus suggested they draw the shutters and make shadow finger puppets. Tate soon learned Sophie was adept at creating shadow figures on the wall. She had the boys giggling over the bird that flapped its wings and the pig that opened and shut its mouth.

“Show me how,” Toby demanded after she'd depicted a cat. Both boys watched intently and then repeated the pattern.

“Would you like to see a bear?” Tate asked, entering into the fun. He formed the image of a bear on its hind legs and growled in accompaniment.

Marcus approached his father to study the position of his hands and fingers. “How come you never showed us that?”

The boy's question pierced Tate's heart. Why hadn't he played with the boys, taught them games? Had he really been that preoccupied with business? Or had he been afraid of making a mistake with them? Had his aloofness been self-protective? What kind of father puts his own selfish needs ahead of those of his children? When the answer came, his heart fell. He was just like his own father.

He turned to Marcus and put his arm around him. “I should have, son. I should have.” He swallowed. “From now on, we'll try to have more fun.”

As his son turned away, Tate heard him mumble, “We'll see.”

The challenge in those words was clear. Tate would have to prove himself, but at least the door was open for change.

* * *

After the games, Tate opened the shutters and Sophie noticed long afternoon shadows on the floor. “Oh dear, I'm afraid I have overstayed my welcome. I have just enough time to get home.” She gave each of the boys a hug and hurried to the door.

“I can't tell you what your being here meant to Toby,” Tate said as he accompanied her outside.

“I'm glad you insisted.” She hesitated, wondering whether to speak her mind and, as usual, honesty overcame tact. “I hope you're aware of what happened this afternoon when you relaxed and let yourself play. Your boys saw a new side of you, one they liked. One I liked.”

“I don't want to appear unapproachable. It's time I realize my parents' mistakes should not be repeated in the next generation. Thank you, Sophie, for showing me a different way.”

Glancing up at him, Sophie was arrested by the raw longing in his eyes. “You are a fine father, and you'll only get better,” she murmured, laying a hand on his chest. She gasped then, as he suddenly enfolded her in his arms and rested his chin on the top of her head.

“With your help,” he whispered. “You are working wonders with the Lockwoods.”

The scent of wood smoke and pine clinging to him made her light-headed. She should step back. Yet it had been so long since she had experienced the comfort of a masculine embrace. Not since...Charlie. And then Tate was twining her hair through his fingers, and she could feel the rapid rhythm of his heartbeat.
Now. Retreat now.
She wrenched herself from his grasp, shaking her head. Somehow she found her voice. “I can't do this.”

Tate, too, stepped back. “Forgive me. My gratitude overcame common sense. I meant only to show my appreciation.”

Clasping her trembling hands behind her, she sought the right words. “Of course. I'm delighted I could help.” She couldn't get away fast enough, but even as Ranger put distance between her and Tate Lockwood, her breath caught in her chest. For that brief moment, she had experienced not only a powerful attraction to the man but a sense of coming home. No! He was her students' father, nothing more. Besides, he had none of Charlie's sense of fun and passion for life.
Charlie, Charlie, Charlie
—her homeward mantra. Yet instead of succeeding in redirecting her thoughts, it only reinforced her memory of that terrifying and wonderful embrace...and of Tate.

Chapter Nine

N
o matter how hard he tried to distract himself with work or how much he tossed and turned at night, in the three days since Toby's birthday, Tate had been unable to banish Sophie from his thoughts. It was insanity. He'd been helpless to keep from embracing her, and now the memory of her silky hair, her light floral scent and her soft body yielding in his arms was pure torment. Couldn't he have governed his emotions? Resisted a need that rose in him like an unquenchable flame? He admitted he was vulnerable with her in ways that both surprised and unnerved him. Never before, certainly not with Ramona, had he revealed details of his childhood or been so aware of his need for approval.

He assuredly had spooked Sophie. So far this week when she'd come to tutor his boys, her greetings to him had been impersonal and professional. This afternoon that had changed. The boys, oblivious to any tension, had challenged the two adults to a checkers match—Sophie and Marcus versus Toby and Tate. So here he sat watching Marcus and Sophie formulate strategies while Toby squirmed beside him, awaiting their turn at the board. “We're gonna beat them, right, Papa?”

Tate tousled his son's curls. “‘Triumph' is our middle name.”

“Really? I thought mine was ‘Philip.'”

Tate laughed softly. “And so it is.”

“But we will triumph, I hope.”

“It's all about strategy, son.”

But what strategy was there to deal with the feelings he experienced each time he looked across the table at Sophie? Sun streaming through the open window highlighted the gold strands in her hair, and he longed to touch the faint freckles on her cheeks. He stood and walked away from the table as if a few feet of distance could protect him from her appeal. Even if he could act upon his attraction to her, he wouldn't. Too much was at stake: a relationship with Sophie could risk scarring his sons if it didn't work out. That settled, he returned to his seat, vowing to enjoy Sophie as a tutor and friend and nothing more.

Toby pointed to the checkers board. “Our turn, Papa.”

Once his decision about Sophie had been made, Tate relaxed into the playfulness of the afternoon, which ended with singing. There was no reason why he couldn't enjoy these pleasant times after the boys' lessons were finished. Besides, Sophie wouldn't be their tutor forever, and it was up to him to learn how to interact with them in a more positive way.

As Sophie was tying her bonnet in preparation to leave, she approached him, though he noticed she kept several feet between them. “Do you recall on the occasion of my employment when I requested use of a horse and cart from time to time?”

“I do.”

“I ask your permission to bring the boys to my cabin this coming Friday afternoon, where I plan to keep them overnight until I return them Saturday around four o'clock.”

“Why would that be necessary?”

“I would like them to learn gardening and the uses of plants, as well as some rudimentary knowledge of baking and cooking. That is more easily achieved at my place.”

Tate mulled over her unusual suggestion. “Would they be safe?”

“I assure you they will be. Don't forget that I know how to protect myself.”

He remembered not only her boasts about marksmanship, but her quick thinking when faced with an angry bear. “I plan to be working in the high pastures those days. You would alert Bertie or Sam to any problems, if necessary?”

“Naturally.” She hesitated before adding, “The boys could profit from a change of scene and some education in practical matters.”

For the life of him, he couldn't come up with a sound reason to refuse her. “Come for the midday meal Friday, and one of my men will have a horse and cart waiting for you afterward.”

Then she smiled, and all his good intentions where she was concerned nearly went up in smoke. Controlling himself, he nodded curtly and walked away, determined to keep their relationship businesslike.

* * *

After lunch on Friday, Sophie loaded the boys into the cart and checked to be sure Bertie had packed a change of clothes, coats and nightwear for each of them. Pancho harnessed a small mare called Sallie to the cart and tied Ranger behind. It was a day of blinding blue skies and warm temperatures, perfect for the lessons Sophie had in mind. Toby couldn't stop asking questions and even Marcus looked happy. Wondering if the boys had ever been away from home, Sophie asked if they were looking forward to spending the night. “I'm excited,” exclaimed Toby.

Marcus gave a more reasoned answer. “We left home when we moved to Colorado and then again when we left Central City to come here.”

“But you've never left just for fun?”

Both boys shook their heads. “I thought Papa would say no,” Marcus added.

“Why is that?”

Marcus frowned. “He thinks we're babies. That we'll get hurt or something.”

“Yeah, he's a scaredy-cat, Miss Sophie.”

“He loves you both,” Sophie explained. “He doesn't want anything bad to happen to you.”

“He doesn't want
anything
to happen to us at all,” Marcus muttered. “I'm sick of it.”

Sophie sighed. Already this adventure had hit a sour note. “Your father wouldn't have given his permission if he didn't think our outing was something you'd enjoy.”

Toby snuggled closer. “I like being with you, Miss Sophie. And I never spent a night in a cabin.”

“It's not fancy, you know.”

“We know,” Marcus said. “But you'll make it interesting.”

Later when the three of them were kneeling on the ground in her garden, she thought she had succeeded in engaging their curiosity. Sophie demonstrated the difference between root vegetables and those grown from seed. “You mean some plants grow under the dirt?” Toby asked, incredulous.

“They do. Some of those have to be planted in the fall.”

Marcus looked up from the onion he held. “Don't they freeze in the snow?”

“Not if they're buried deep enough. Think of the bulbs as being like bears hibernating in the winter.”

Toby stood up and moved to a different row. “Why are these vines climbing poles?”

“Those are beans and they would fall in a heap on the ground and rot if we didn't help them.” Sophie handed each boy a basket. “Why don't you pick some and we'll cook them for dinner.”

When they returned to the cabin, Sophie set the beans to boil, throwing in some onion and salt pork for seasoning. Then while they waited for supper to cook, Sophie pulled a botany book from a small shelf and handed it to Marcus. “See how many of the plants we discussed today you can find. After you read about them, maybe you could tell us what you learned. And, Toby, we are going to need to double the cookie and bread recipes we'll be making tomorrow.” She passed him a sheet of paper, a pencil and two recipes. “You are getting very adept with numbers. Can you compute how to change the recipes?”

It was sweet how conscientiously each boy went about his assigned task. Their eagerness to please her touched a place deep in her heart. After a rollicking supper during which the boys couldn't stop chattering about the differences between their house and the cabin, they adjourned to the front porch just in time to watch the sun dip behind the mountains. Darkness fell quickly, and soon the sky was spattered with pinpoints of starlight. “I would like to know more about stars,” Marcus said quietly.

“The study of stars is called astronomy, and if you would like, we can add that subject to your studies.” Sophie laid a hand on the boy's shoulder. “But there is mystery as well as science in the stars.”

“What's mystery?” Toby asked.

“That which is so beautiful or moving it is beyond our power to explain. Look there.” Sophie guided his arm to a point in the sky where an especially bright star shone. “Do we have any idea how far away that is? Or how a single star can shed such brilliant light for us to see? And even if we wanted, we couldn't count all those stars.” She let a silence fall. “The unknown—that is the nature of mystery.”

Toby snuggled closer. “You're really smart, Miss Sophie.” He tilted his head back and gazed at the heavens. “I like this adventure.”

It was late when she tucked the boys into the pallets she'd prepared for them. Marcus did not look pleased. “I've never slept on the floor.”

“We're like soldiers, right, Miss Sophie?”

“Snug as bugs in a rug, gentlemen.” She knelt between them and, holding their hands, murmured, “Dear God, watch over these Your children that they may be protected through the night and find their rest in Thee. Amen.”

Toby smiled, but Marcus looked uncomfortable. “We don't pray at bedtime.”

“Never?”

“We just go to sleep.”

“Who tucks you in?”

Toby tugged at her sleeve. “What's ‘tuck in' mean?”

Sophie fought tears that would only confuse the boys. “It means this.” She pulled up the covers around each child, then leaned over and kissed each precious forehead. “Sweet dreams, you two, and roses to your pillows.” When she stood to go to her bed, she added softly, “That's what it means to be tucked in.”

* * *

Tate rode the ridge, surveying the landscape for stray cattle. The morning was overcast and the air hung unusually heavy. He would meet up with his hands and head for home as soon as he satisfied himself there were no motherless calves in the nearby box canyon. He glanced once more at the sky, hoping the rains would hold off until Sophie returned the boys this afternoon. Ever since he'd given permission for them to visit her and spend the night, he'd had misgivings. Her reason for inviting them was valid, yet it was one more tie the boys would have to her. The balance between her effectiveness as a teacher and their growing emotional attachment to her was worrying him. He had never seen his sons so happy and productive nor had he ever seen them cotton to a woman with such enthusiasm and affection. However, the likelihood of Sophie's enduring the winter here was slim. He didn't expect her to stay in the valley after her fantasy of independence played itself out. As for her determination to climb Longs Peak? For reasons that escaped him, she seemed intent on proving herself in a man's arena, despite the danger involved.

Glancing toward Longs, he noticed that in just a few minutes it had been obscured by a cloud cover of nimbus formations. On the horizon jagged streaks of lightning speared the distant mountains. He wheeled his horse and galloped toward Curly and the other hands, who were engaged in counting the herd. As he neared them, he hollered and waved his hat. “Leave off. Storm's coming.” Ordinarily he would have insisted they hunker down and weather the storm, but he didn't like the looks of this one. From past experiences with storm runoff rampaging down streambeds, Tate did not want to be stranded in the high country.

It was only as they took off at a gallop for the ranch house that his thoughts turned to Sophie and the boys. A stream ran close to her cabin. Would they be safe? Yet as the first fat raindrops fell, he knew his chances of crossing the river before it swelled with rushing water and reaching Sophie's cabin were infinitesimal. Even as he spurred his horse to greater speed, the boom of thunder drowned out his cry of frustration. All he'd ever wanted was to keep his sons safe. How could he have let Sophie remove them from the solid ranch house built to withstand precisely such a cloud buster? Her cabin was a mere reed in the wind, but it was all that protected those he loved. Then as lightning forked less than a mile away, a stunning thought blazed across his consciousness—those he loved just might include the headstrong Sophie Montgomery. His “No!” was lost in another roll of thunder echoing across the valley.

* * *

At the first sound of thunder bellowing from mountain to mountain, Sophie had understood two things. She must get Ranger and the cart horse into the barn with plenty of food and water. At the same time she had to prevent the boys from panicking. This was no ordinary thunderstorm. Everywhere she looked, she witnessed nature unleashed. Rugged pines shook in the gusts of wind ushering the front toward them. Angry gray clouds scudded across the sky as if driven by a malevolent power. Ordering Beauty to stay, she settled the boys with drawing paper and pencils, before racing to the barn to secure the animals. The crack of thunder deafened her, and the horses' eyes rolled in alarm. The first raindrops hit her in the face as she ran back to the cabin. When she opened the door a violent wind wrenched it from her grasp and banged it into the wall. The startled expressions on the boys' faces conveyed their terror. She secured the latch and drew a deep breath, willing herself to a calm she didn't feel.

“Is it raining, Miss Sophie?”

No sooner had Toby voiced the question than a deluge descended, howling around the house and pelting the roof and windows with curtains of water.

Marcus stared down at his brother. “What do you think, dummy?”

Sophie stood over Marcus, sensing the fear that had motivated his barb. Placing her hands on his shoulders, she said, “There's no need for belittling your brother, Marcus. In stormy times, it's more important than ever to be kind to one another.”

Toby sniffled.

“Sorry,” Marcus mumbled.

A roar of thunder seeming to come from directly above made the boys jump. Toby looked up at Sophie, his eyes wide. “I'm scared,” he said in a thin voice.

“It is, indeed, a gigantic storm, but we are snug and warm. We have plenty of food and, most important, we have each other.” She moved a chair so that she could sit between them. “Now, then, let's forget the rain. I have an idea.” She handed them each two pieces of paper. “Take the scissors and cut these into strips. Marcus, on each strip, write a verb.”

He nodded and went to work.

“Toby, remember what a noun is?” He nodded. “You are to write a noun on each strip.”