Before the Larkspur Blooms (3 page)

Hannah snapped up straight. The sharp intake of her breath couldn’t have been more obvious.

Thomas Winslow Donovan in the flesh!

Yes, of course, why hadn’t she seen it sooner? His silky chestnut locks were cropped short and he was thin—awfully thin. A shadow of a beard had replaced the baby-soft chick fuzz that had once covered his square jaw, but heaven’s saints above, Thom was home! She took a good, long, heart-shuddering look, slowly drinking in his every detail. If they had been alone, she would have thrown herself into his arms and hugged him until he got mad, just like old times.

“Up you go,” Thom said, lifting her from the dry, sun-scorched July dirt after she’d fallen from her saddle. She was seven and he was ten. He dried her tears with the tail of his shirt. “Are you hurt?” he asked on bended knee, turning her around, checking for scrapes and bruises. “Nope, you’re good as new. Takes more than a little fall to hurt you, Hannah-Bobanna.” He stood, and his smile sent a strange fluttery feeling rolling around in her heart, making her cheeks heat almost painfully. From that moment on, Thom was more than the brother of her best friend—he was her champion, and she found herself looking for him before school and after, and every moment in between.

A slight quiver took over her hands, so she locked them behind her back as she pushed away the memories. “Hello, Thom,” she finally made herself say, trying to act nonchalant but failing miserably. He looked up at her with that haunted black gaze. “It’s mighty nice to see you,” she said. “When did you get back?”

His eyes roamed her face briefly before he glanced away. “Just today. A few minutes ago, actually.”

Sheriff Preston grinned. “You two know each other? Well, fine. Hannah Hoskins owns the Silky Hen, Thom. A big responsibility for such a slip of a girl. But don’t let her small stature fool you. She’s strong as an ox and twice—no—thrice as cantankerous.”

“Sheriff Preston! Being a cantankerous ox is hardly how a woman wants to be thought of.” She laughed, but she didn’t miss the muscle clenching at the side of Thom’s jaw when Albert mentioned her last name.

“You and Dwight?” he asked. “You were Hannah Brown the last time I saw you.”

His voice was still honey-warm, slow, and thoughtful. How she used to hang on each and every word that came out of his mouth. Even though his hair was now short, she remembered it ruffling in the breeze as they walked home from school, the warm scents of dry earth and brittle grass filling the air. Their group of friends was always the same: Thom, his older brother, Roland, Anne Marie, and Hannah. Levi Smith walked with them, too, even though he was Dwight’s friend and a bit callous. He lived past their farms on the same road. Occasionally Caleb joined them when he was coming out to visit. Caleb and Levi loved to tease. They would snatch one of her books, or slate, tossing it back and forth to keep it from her until Thom stepped in to intervene. It was all done in fun, but she used to fantasize that Thom defended her because he secretly adored her as much as she did him. Other times, she and Anne Marie would lock arms and totally ignore the boys, walking along behind them in quiet conversation.

All those good times. So long ago.
She dropped her hands to her hips. “Dwight? You know me better than that. No, not Dwight. His cousin Caleb. We weren’t married long, God rest his soul. Four months to the day of our wedding. He caught the flu and passed on.” She paused, remembering the day. “It was terrible. That was a little over five years ago.”

Thom’s expression was unreadable; he glanced down at his hands resting on the tabletop. He and Caleb had been close. Even though Caleb lived in town and Thom on the farm next to hers, the two boys were often together with their heads bent over some book or playing a game of chess. Where Thom was dark, Caleb had been fair, but as opposite as they could be in external things, their hearts seemed to be cut from the same cloth. It was natural Thom would take the news of his friend’s passing hard.
Has he been told yet about his own family?

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have just blurted the news about Caleb like that.” She cleared her throat softly. “The restaurant was his pa’s, if you remember. When he passed on, being Caleb was the only child, it went to him. We have a small son, so someday, if things go as they should”—
and I can keep it afloat
—“he’ll inherit it, too.” She glanced back toward the kitchen, wishing Susanna would come to her rescue. She was babbling on like an idiot and sounded crass, all this talk about money and dying and such, but she didn’t know what else to say. As much as she used to dream about Thom and his wide shoulders and dashing smile, she’d eventually convinced herself that he never even knew she existed except as his little sister’s pesky best friend. Taking a deep breath, she glanced into his face to see what, if anything, he was thinking.

Before Thom could respond, the kitchen door swung open and Susanna hurried over to join them. Tall and slender, she looked pretty in her dress and apron. Her wavy black hair was piled high on her head. She set a small plate of something that looked like a cross between custard and cobbler in front of Albert. “I need you to taste that.” Finally noticing Thom, she smiled and gave him a quick once-over.

“What is it?” Albert took the spoon and scooped out a large bite. He brought it to his nose. “Smells good.”

As Albert tried Susanna’s new creation, Hannah couldn’t stop herself from looking at Thom again. Their eyes met and held. She reminded herself to breathe.

“Susanna,” Hannah said, gently tugging her sleeve to get her attention. “This is Thom. Thom Donovan. Do you remember me telling you how he used to be the smartest boy in class? I can’t remember a time he ever missed a spelling word or math problem—not even once. He was—”

Thom cleared his throat self-consciously, but he seemed to relax a little. “You’re exaggerating, Hannah. If you want to bring up the past,
I
recall going out to spend a leisurely day at the fishing
hole. All was fine until a strange sound caught my attention—something of a grunt—and I went to investigate. I was rewarded with a pinecone painfully cutting my scalp open.”

Hannah gasped and then laughed. “I’ve apologized for that more times than I can count. When are you going to forgive me?”

“Did she throw it at you?” Susanna asked incredulously. Her large eyes were riveted on her friend.

A slow smile crept over Thom’s face. “No. She was sitting on a branch at the top of a pine tree, spying on me. She hadn’t realized just how high she’d climbed until a breeze came up and the branch she was perched on began to sway. She was terrified to come down.”

Hannah nodded, willing herself not to blush. “That’s right. After Thom found me, he climbed up, bloody head and all. I was so scared and embarrassed I started to cry. It took him hours to coax me down.”

“What exactly is this?” Albert interrupted, pointing to the dessert. “The texture is quite different. A bit lumpy.”

Susanna whisked it off the table. “It’s in the experimentation stage. I’ll tell you later.” She turned for the kitchen. “Hmmmm, texture. Lumpy…” she mumbled as she walked away.

The brief distraction was enough for Hannah to find her footing and calm her jittery nerves. “Now, what were you saying?” she asked, picking up where they had left off. “Stew for you, Albert. What about you, Thom?”

“The same for me.”

She could tell he was happy to see her, too. His expression had softened, and a light had come into his eyes. She’d cried for days, even months, after he’d left. By then, she’d been twelve and him fifteen. He was her first love, her only love, even if he’d never known it. Finally, Anne Marie had had enough and had given her a stern talking-to. Then the horrible news had come about him going to prison. One year grew into two, then three. Thoughts and dreams of Thom ever coming home faded. Now, here he was
again, as if the past had never happened. Except it had. So much had changed. She wondered if he even knew the extent of it all.

“Albert, your usual cup of black coffee?” He nodded, and she looked at Thom. But he’d slipped off into his thoughts and seemed a million miles away. “Thom?” she asked. “Would you like coffee, too?”

He blinked. His expression was hard. “Sure.” It came out gruffly, and she wondered at the reason. Yes, much had changed. And not just here in Logan Meadows.

J
essie Logan hummed softly as she moved about the large front room of the ranch house, dusting cloth in hand. Shane had finally given up his babbling and fallen asleep, which gave her precious little time to get things in order before Chase showed up hungry as a horse and wanting his noon meal.

At the mantel she paused, set her cloth aside, and picked up the small wooden picture frame that held the infant-size woolen bootie she had knitted for Sarah all those years ago in the New Mexico orphanage. She’d kept it with her since the day she’d left the horrible place, traveled north to Wyoming on the orphan train, married Nathan, met Chase after Nathan’s death, and married him—all so she could be reunited with Sarah and adopt her.

She held the framed bootie to her chest and closed her eyes, tamping down the panic that washed through her at the thought of the letter she had received from Mrs. Hobbs, the mistress of the drafty old orphan’s house. A mystery of sorts was brewing over a woman who had visited there. Jessie had yet to share the news with Chase. No use both of them fretting.

Bitterness toward Mrs. Hobbs, the woman who had treated Jessie and all the other children so cruelly, bubbled up inside her. The time the old crow sent Sarah to the root cellar to be taught a lesson still had the power to infuriate. She would not be surprised if the letter was some sort of mean-spirited prank just to upset her. She set the keepsake back on the mantel, vowing not to let Mrs.
Hobbs have any more control over her happiness. In all actuality, it was probably nothing at all.

“Mommy, I need help,” Sarah called from her spot at the kitchen table. The child’s slender legs hung six inches from the floor as she practiced writing the alphabet. “I can’t make the tail of Mr. Y go like a fishhook. It’s squiggly like a worm. Something’s wrong.”

When she’d married Chase, he couldn’t read a word. Now, after months of Jessie’s instruction, he was not only literate, but also an enormous lover of books. He took great interest in learning new words every night. Two years ago, when Sarah had turned five, he had taken on the task of teaching her her letters himself. Every time Jessie witnessed his abiding patience with Sarah, she nearly burst with love. Next year, when Sarah was old enough to go to school in town, the child would already know all her letters and would be reading simple sentences.

“Let me see.” Jessie leaned over her daughter’s small shoulder, her heart swelling. Sarah’s waist-length nut-brown hair was brushed to a high sheen and her little hands worked busily as if her assignment was of the utmost importance. “Why, you’ve just turned the fishhook in the wrong direction. Try it again the other way.”

A horse nickered outside. Going to the window, Jessie saw Chase tying Cody, his bay gelding, to the hitching rail. He stroked the horse once on the neck and headed for the back door. It wasn’t but a moment before the door opened. “Anyone home?” he called out playfully.

Jessie rushed to shush him. “Quiet, please,” she said, slipping into his arms. “Your son has finally decided to give me a break. I don’t want you waking him before I get a few more things accomplished.”

“Is that so?”

Jessie ran her hands up the chilly fabric of Chase’s vest, admiring the dark flecks of gold in his expressive brown eyes. He pulled
her close as he lowered his face to hers.
Even after three years of marriage, he still makes my heart flutter around like a newly hatched butterfly.

Chase brushed a soft kiss across her lips. “And just what are those things that need doing?” He chuckled and kissed her neck.

She tried to sound annoyed. “You may think I don’t do all that much, but if I ever stopped doing them, you’d be surprised how fast this home fell down around your e-e-ears.”

She struggled to get the last word out coherently. He was trailing warm kisses around her earlobe, making it impossible to think of anything but him.