Holding on to Heaven (3 page)

An hour later, the sun dropped from the horizon and Uncle Mason turned the wagon onto a long, wide drive. Lauren gasped when the ostentatious ranch came into view. Surrounded by massive hardwoods and towering pines, Full Circle embodied rugged splendor.

Smoke billowed from a chimney on the side of the house and drifted skyward. Painted charcoal grey, the impressive structure boasted a pair of white pillars anchoring a wide, sweeping verandah. A rambling two story, twin dormers jutted from a dark gray roof and gleamed beneath the amber rays of fading light.

Mason brought the team to a halt and Estelle ushered them through the front door. A soothing palette of colors in the Great Room¾fawn, buttercup gold, and a rich, earthy brown—greeted them. In the middle of the room, a wide staircase led to the second level. Estelle ushered Biddle and Nelly into the kitchen for a cup of hot tea and then showed Lauren the rest of the rooms on the main level, the kitchen and adjoining pantry, two cozy sleeping rooms, a dining room, and a library. On the second level, three spacious bedchambers circled a spacious landing.

"Our bedchamber," Estelle pointed to a doorway. "The guest room is to your right." Her aunt opened a six-paneled door. "This is your bedchamber, dear."

Ribbons of sunlight filtered through the pale cream and Persian pink curtains and danced across the tapestry rug covering the wood floor. "My favorite colors! How did you know?"

"Your mother adored these shades."

Holding back tears, she kissed her aunt’s cheek. "And I adore you. I just arrived and yet I feel at home here."

"I think you’ll enjoy your stay. Mace claims we’re holding on to our own little piece of Heaven here." She brushed her cheek with a gentle finger. "Come along now, the evening meal is getting cold."

Lauren glanced over her shoulder again before closing the door to her room. She’d fallen in love with Full Circle already and hadn’t met the horses yet.

Chapter Two

Jolted upright by the insufferable screech of a rooster—a pathetic creature whose ungodly crowing annoyed him—Creed Gatlin dragged himself from bed with a curse. The early riser never crowed when rain loomed on the horizon, which meant the sun would shine today. Three days of a hard-driven downpour had rendered the land an endless sea of mire and muck, and he longed to feel the warm rays on his face again.

He dressed, saddled his horse and headed for his parents' house several rods down the road. Shuffling into the kitchen for breakfast, his mother, father and brother, Brand, greeted him.

"You're up early this morning." Brand smiled as Creed settled into a chair beside him.

"Off to the Morse place." He filled his cup, took a sip and grimaced. His mother, Polly, said coffee wasn’t coffee unless brewed strong enough to wake the neighbors. "Estelle asked me to stop by and replace several broken boards in the barn."

Polly rose from the table and returned with a platter of flapjacks that had been warming on the stove. "I thought they intended to raise a new barn this year?"

"If one nail pops through a board, Mason wants it fixed."

Brand grabbed a biscuit from the plate and slathered it with butter. "Until things dry out, I don't think we'll be attending any barn-raisings."

Creed thought about the structures he'd built in the last ten years. He'd picked up a hammer the day he turned twelve and hadn't put it down since. Never lacking for work, he put up buildings faster than he could count¯bunk houses, corncribs, hen houses, and every outbuilding known to man. He liked the variety, the continual change of scenery
and
the luxury of answering to no man.

His father leaned back in his chair, cup in hand. "Estelle's niece arrived this spring. Hails from one of the Carolinas and they say she's a beauty."

Creed shrugged. She could be lovelier than Bathsheba and he wouldn't be interested. He'd yet to meet a woman who held his interest for more than a few weeks. The thought of commitment made his gut clench. His thoughts drifted to Anna. He'd have to tell her it was over soon, whatever
it
was. He slammed down a biscuit, finished his coffee and rose from the table.

"Creed, it's a long morning without food in your belly."

"No time, Ma, but I have time for this." He kissed her on the forehead and rushed out the door.

Blackbirds scattered from the treetops as Creed pulled into the Morse place a short time later. He entered the barn and began wresting the wooden planks from a stall when frantic whinnies from a horse echoed through the rafters. He knew more about animals than he did carpentry, and the beast's bellows screamed panic.

A string of expletives from a woman's lips reached his ears, and then deafening silence. His curiosity piqued, he tossed the hammer on the ground, walked from the barn and headed for the corral.

Sprawled in a cesspool of black mud, long limbs hugged her sides. Warning bells went off in his head.
Had she been knocked unconscious when the mare threw her?
She groaned and brought a hand around to rub her lower back.

Stifling a grin, Creed walked toward her and stretched out an arm. "You must be Estelle's niece. Do you think anything is broken?"

The woman lifted her head, her brown eyes sparking anger. "I’m Estelle's niece... and
no
to your second question." She waved off his offer of help. "I'm capable of standing on my own."

He watched her rise to her elbows with a frown. "Oh, look at my clothes, caked with mud."

"Yes, ma'am, they are." He bit his lip to keep from laughing.

Struggling to her hands and knees, she dragged herself upright, teetered for a suspended moment, and hit the mud again face down. Gasping for air, she cleared the dirt from her mouth with her fingers and followed up with another curse. "Damnation!"

Clutching his abdomen, Creed roared with laughter.

She glanced toward the house. "Be quiet you fool. Do you want the whole world to know?"

"I'm sorry, Miss, I can't help it. I've never seen anything so damn funny—you rolling around in the mud like a pig."

"Well, I'm so happy to amuse you, Mister¾"

"Creed-Creed Gatlin. I'd like to shake your hand, but I have an aversion to mud mixed with pig dung."

"An aversion to compassion too." Her mesmerizing eyes narrowed. "Could you ask your cold heart to tell your face to stop grinning?"

Heat flared in his blood. He couldn't imagine how a woman covered in slime could stir his blood. "I'll do my best, Miss."

"Look." She clambered to her knees again. "I don't know where you came from Creed Gatlin, but you're no gentleman."

"And you, ma'am, are no lady. My ears are still burning from all that cussing."

Anger came sudden and intense, darkening her eyes into veritable flames. "Don't you have something better to do... like leave? Yesterday would have been preferable."

"My apologies, I meant to help." With a flourish of his arm, he bowed and found it hard to stifle the laughter bubbling up his chest. "I'll be about my business then."

Fascination forced him to look at her again. She pressed her mouth into a thin line. He had a sudden urge to kiss those lush lips, dirt and all. Her heart-shaped face, veiled by a waterfall of mud-caked tresses, failed to hide the high cheekbones and delicate features. His breath hitched when her gaze locked with his. Taking a step back, he turned and walked back to the barn, aware of the hard shaft pressing against his trousers.

Still trying to control his mirth, he picked up the hammer and resumed his task in the barn. Fearful the mud-angel might hear him, he clamped his mouth shut while visions flooded him. Despite the grit covering her head-to-toe, she oozed sensuality. The long, dark hair tumbling down her back added to her allure. One thing he knew, beneath all that muck, a woman with grit existed.

Spread eagle on the ground, every body part she possessed came into view. Slender and curvaceous, her legs were long, her waist narrow, and her hips slimmer than a boy's. Despite her anger, she spoke like a well-educated woman, the slow, southern drawl arousing.

Her angry words rang in his ears, and he wondered what gave her cause to speak to him in such a rude tone. He'd offered his assistance . . . and a chuckle or two. With a shake of his head, he ripped a board from the wall. He’d finish the job and erase every thought of Estelle’s niece from his mind.

* * * *

Lauren pulled herself from the mud and limped toward the front porch. Settling onto the bench, she removed her boots and poked about her ankle for broken bones. She should've known better. Hank and Justus had warned her about riding that mare. She had ignored their warning.

Glancing toward the barn, the ugly scene returned in a montage of flashbacks, images that made her look like a fool. The irksome creature from the barn hadn't even tried to hide his laughter. His shoulders shook while walking away from her. Another image surfaced, one she didn't want to revisit—Creed Gatlin's handsome face. Most men of the time fancied the long handlebar mustache, but not him. The trimmed hair above his lip matched his long, midnight hair. His eyes had laughed too, although he’d tried to hide the pale smoke orbs by bowing like a court's fool. His other features were deftly carved and much too aligned for a male.

She gasped when another memory returned. He'd heard her cuss, had the audacity to call her out about the blasphemy. She prayed he wouldn't tell everyone the Morse's niece swore like a sailor. At least he had the decency to remain in the barn while she licked her wounds. With a sigh, she rose from the bench and hobbled into the kitchen.

Nelly looked at her, the whites of her eyes huge. "Lawdy, Lauren, what done happen to you?"

"Never mind about that. Have Biddle bring a tub and plenty of hot water to my room."

"But why is ya covered in mud?"

Sarcasm laced her words. "I wrestled with a pig in the corral."

"I best fetch Miss Estelle from her sewing."

"No!"

"Well how is it ya got tangled up with a pig?"

"Never mind about that either; just fetch Biddle."

Recalling Creed's words about her rolling around in the mud like a sow, her cheeks burned. God's teeth, she didn't want to see the man again for as long as she lived.

Biddle soon appeared in her room with the tub and looked at her, mouth agape.

Before he had a chance to speak, she sent him a withering glare. "Don't ask."

"No, Missy, I won't." He forced a somber face. "I be right back with the water."

Biddle finished filling the tub and left the room. With a prolonged sigh, Lauren lowered her twisted muscles into the steamy water and picked up the bar of soap. She scrubbed the grime from her body and then washed her hair. Nelly would tell Aunt Estelle she’d returned to the house covered in slime, if the little meddler hadn't already.

I'll beat the little busybody at her own game, tell Aunt Estelle the first chance I get, omit the part about the swear words, of course.
Besides, I have a thing or two to tell Estelle about the overbearing Creed Gatlin.

Determined to challenge her aunt and uncle over their choice of hired hands, Lauren broached the subject during their evening meal. "I encountered the most arrogant man today in the corral." She brought a hand to her throat. "I believe he said his name was Creed Gatlin."

Estelle looked up from her plate with raised eyebrow. "Whatever do you mean, dear? Creed is a bit on the wild side, but never condescending." Estelle paused, her expression thoughtful. "What happened in the corral, Lauren?"

Curious, round eyes fell upon her, Uncle Mason's, Nelly's, Biddle's, and Aunt Estelle's. "The mare tossed me from her back and Mr. Gatlin walked from the barn. Rather than offer his assistance, he laughed."

Estelle lowered her chin, but not before Lauren saw a smile curl her lips. "You
were
covered in mud, dear, from what Nelly tells me."

Oh, the day would come when she'd wipe that haughty grin from Nelly's face. "But I could have broken my neck and the impudent man laughed!" She lowered her voice. "What kind of a gentleman would remind me that I looked like a pig rolling around in the mud?"

Mason choked on his coffee and Biddle averted his gaze. When she looked to Nelly again, the girl's eyes sparkled with hidden laughter.

In an attempt to soothe her ruffled feathers, her aunt assumed a straight face. "Lauren, men in this part of the country are not as genteel as they are in the South. They weren't raised in that manner, and I find it quite stimulating."

"I find it loathsome and disrespectful."

Estelle's brown eyes met hers. "This is a rugged land, inhabited by rugged men. If push comes to shove, you'll thank your lucky stars they don't take on the world with linen hankies and ruffled sleeves."

"Maybe so, but that doesn’t give them cause to be cruel."

"Perhaps you got off on the wrong foot. Creed is often aloof, but never mean-spirited."

"We got off on the wrong foot all right," she snapped. "Mine."

Mason piped in. "You won't find a nicer brood than the eight Gatlin children."

"Eight?"

"Yes." Estelle chuckled. "We grow large families in the wilderness. Let's see, there's Creed, of course, the eldest, and then Brand and Finn. And the girls are Belle, Emily, Martha and Minnie."

"I believe you forgot the littlest one," Mason said.

"Oh, of course, baby Jack."

Lauren drew a deep breath. "I hope their mother taught the others manners."

"You'll meet them soon." Estelle winked. "When we have an annual barbeque and dance at Full Circle, people come from miles around."

"Must I?" Lauren whispered under her breath.

Mason reached for the newspaper beside his plate and held it up. "We should turn to more serious matters for a time."

The room fell silent and a niggling fear snaked down Lauren's spine. "What is it, Uncle Mason? What’s happened?"

"On the twelfth of this month, Confederate troops bombarded Fort Sumter in Charleston. The fort surrendered a day later and Lincoln has called for seventy-five thousand troops to stop the rebellion."